The Puppetmaster

Hsiao-hsien Hou's The Puppetmaster (1993) is the second part of his trilogy of historical films which focus on Taiwan's development. This time the period of time is between 1908 and 1945, which means the focus of the film is on the Japanese occupation of Taiwan. Taiwan's situation is reflected through the true story of a puppeteer, Li Tianlu (who has acted in Hou's other films). Hou mixes elements of fiction and documentary by recreating scenes of his life while letting his interviews with the puppeteer narrate most of the film. The director's admiration of the central character can be seen in the film - he once said that Li Tianlu is one of Taiwan's national treasures.

The easiest way for me to write a review of The Puppetmaster is to compare it with the first part of the trilogy, City of Sadness. While both of them share the social and historical layers, the intimate layer (personal, on the level of characters) is more perplexing in The Puppetmaster because characters come and go and there seems to be no central character other than the puppeteer himself - who remains a bit distant figure throughout the film. The narrative is more like a collection of short bits from here and there - and the way tension is subtly gained and then let loose is weird yet incredibly haunting.

Sadly, the way I saw The Puppetmaster only added to my confusion: the video was severely cropped so some of Hou's compositions were a bit messed up and the complex lighting lost some of its magic when the picture was too dark at times. Despite all of that, it didn't destroy Hou's formal magic that is a feast for the eyes - even though it is very minimalistic. And most importantly the music plays a significant part in The Puppetmaster - a soundtrack so poignant and fitting.

The Puppetmaster is a hard film to digest - there is no doubt about it. I will have to rewatch many times before I give my final evaluation for the film - so don't take this rating as the one that I will firmly stand by.

Score: 9 out of 10

Andrei Rublev

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Andrei Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev (1966) is a film that blew my mind - and I find it nearly impossible to write a proper review of it. It is something that has to be seen. The questions it raises about art, religion, society and power are profound and intriguing. Tarkovsky's meditative and brilliant form kept me glued to the screen throughout the film. Just go and watch it.

Score: 10 out of 10

The Taste of Tea

Katsushito Ishii's film The Taste of Tea (2004) has often been called very Ozu-like. The comparison isn't completely appropriate even though the focus of the film is on a family - and the film reminds me of Ozu's slice-of-life films. Surely there are patterns that can be found in Ozu's films, but Ishii breaks these patterns completely once in a while for the sake of the story. The result is what would happen if Ozu made a film in the noughties - after taking some LSD. Personally, I would also like to compare Ishii to Akira Kurosawa because he seems to be able to create wonderful characters effortlessly.

The Taste of Tea is a story of a contemporary Japanese family. The father of the family (Tomokazu Miura) is a hypnotherapist who works far away from the home; the mother (Satomi Tezuka) is an animator making a comeback to the business; the eldest child, Hajime (Takahiro Sato), is socially a bit withdrawn and throughout the film he struggles with expressing love; the younger child, Sachiko (Maya Banno), has a problem with a gigantic version of herself who keeps haunting her all the time; the peculiar grandpa (Tatsuya Gashuin) spends his days by drawing and coming up with the "coolest" battle poses; the uncle (Tadanobu Asano) - who works as a sound mixer - also lives with the rest of the family. Each of the characters has a clear storyline, but Ishii's (slightly) fragmented narrative makes the film seem more like a slice-of-life portrayal of a family.

Ishii succeeds at creating a vivid picture of a family's everyday life which is full of tiny details. Then there are moments when he switches the tone to be extremely surreal (like in this song sequence) which break the film's harmony. Sometimes the effect is good (like the uncle's story of his first "outdoor shit"); sometimes these moments make the film fall apart (a sequence involving a HUUUUUGE flower). In general, it does bring more delightful details into the everyday life of the family members. While the film focuses vaguely on family life in general, there is a significant amount of content featuring anime's effect on Japanese people. Ishii masterfully observes both the animators and the otakus as if he was an outsider and an insider AT THE SAME TIME. I'm not sure how he pulled that off, but it works well.

The film's form is more obviously Ozu-like: long takes, nice framing and the habit of revisiting earlier compositions. But when the film's content becomes surreal, the form goes crazy as well - as it should. Ishii's use of music is fascinating as well because there is such huge diversity in the soundtrack.

While The Taste of Tea is a slightly flawed and confusing film, it is immensely entertaining and insightful. The way Ishii combines minimalism and absurdism is interesting and promising.

Score: 8 out of 10