Café Lumière

It has only been 3 months since I last reviewed Hsiao-hsien's Café Lumière (2003), but I decided to watch it again to see its chronological position in the director's filmography. I recommend reading the older review first because I'm going to cut to the chase in this review. The earlier review approached the film solely as an Ozu tribute, which is something I didn't notice until now. The film is so much more than that - and it gains more resonance through rewatches.

Even though the filmis devoted to its exploration of Japanese culture, it is also a thorough character study. Yoko's journey is captivating in its simplicity and relaxed emotion. 'Relaxed' is a fitting adjective in this case because the emotions are not necessarily "restrained" - though there are a few minor cases of that as well. By exploring her as a character, Hou plunges deep into the Japanese culture beyond the superficial level that most other films remain. It is surprising how much one can realize from repetition (primarily referring to the train rides and long walks) - which is the key word in Café Lumière's writing.

The form is probably as minimalist as it can get in cinema. It gives the film a natural feel (that doesn't simply "mimic reality"). Personally I also love the fact how Hou uses a lot of visual footage of trains that are both vital to the Japanese culture and for my silly obsession with trains. Unfortunately there's one flaw I can't forgive in the film's form. The few brief instrumental pieces of background music are painful due to their distracting misplacement.

Café Lumière is only a bit away from reaching the status of a "true masterpiece" - for which it certainly had the potential.

Score: 9 out of 10

Café Lumière

While Hou Hsiao-hsien's Café Lumière (2003) is clearly a tribute to the Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu, it is still distinctively Hou's film. The film's slice of life narrative follows a wandering Japanese woman who comes to terms with life and independence.

It is interesting to compare this film to Ozu's films because Café Lumière is the closest thing to a modern Ozu film. Japan has hugely changed in the past decades and the result is somewhat puzzling. Family and unity have become irrelevant to the individual - this point can be seen in the film's main character, Yoko. The biggest pro of the film is certainly its calm and observant attitude towards its main characters and life in general. Yoko is fascinating and Yo Hitoto's performance is prominent - she can even rival Tadanobu Asano's performance in the film, which should be worth something.

The form is clearly Hou-like: static shots, long takes and the habit of revisiting the same compositions can all be found in the film. There is a lot of great train (and train station) imagery in the film and it certainly satisfied my strong obsession towards trains (and train stations). As well as being beautifully shot, the pacing is nigh perfect.

In the end, Café Lumière is "only" a good film: it works well in every department, but it never plunges deep enough into its subject and its form is not that fascinating when compared to Hou's other films.

Score: 8 out of 10

A Time to Live and a Time to Die

While A Summer at Grandpa's was inspired by the screenwriter Chu Tien-wen's childhood, A Time to Live and a Time to Die (1985) was influenced by the director Hou Hsiao-hsien's own childhood memories. It is by far his most personal film - and it is also his first movie that uses ellipses in a ridiculously confident way. While ellipses were used already in his earlier films, this film takes their use to a whole new level. 

A Time to Live and a Time to Die concentrates on a Chinese family which moves to Taiwan in 1948. As time goes by, the gap between two generations in the family becomes visible because the older family members are confused due to being cut off from their cultural heritage. As the narrator says at the beginning of the film, the film consists mostly of the director's impressions of his father and memories of growing up in Taiwan. We witness the family's story through the eyes of Ah-Hsiao (Hou's "onscreen alter ego") during a period of several years.

The film's impact slowly burns into your mind and leaves you feeling empty - in a positive way. At first it seems as if it has no way to affect you, but especially after you're done watching the film, it goes deeper and deeper into your mind. The film lingers there for a long while. It is surprising how universal the film's content seems to be even though it's very personal and autobiographical.

Hou inserts small political, cultural and technological details that subtly create the film a world of its own. These details emphasize the distance that grows between the generations. The film isnt completely minimalistic though - for example, its statement on the social position of women is quite vocally expressed through dialogue. It is almost scary to see just how confident Hou is in handling the content of the film.

It is apparent that Hou's skill - to use the same compositions on more than one occasion to have an effect on the viewer - is becoming finer by each film. In this film he makes a lot out of it even though he doesnt use it excessively. His framing is even more precise and admirable this time around. His use of long takes also seems to emerge in this film.

A Time to Live and a Time to Die is a difficult film to watch due to its elliptical and subtle nature. I bet it's a film that only gets better by rewatches and its impact isnt at its best during the first view.

Score: 9 out of 10