The Naked Island

Essentially Kaneto Shindo's The Naked Island (1960) is a simple film. It depicts the hardships of a family living on a small and isolated island. The parents spend their daily routine maintaining their crops and the most time-consuming task for them is to fetch water from a long distance twice a day. They have two boys: one of them goes to school and the younger one spends his days on the island.

At first the film introduces us to the family's daily routine and despite its simplicity Shindo manages to make it very fascinating. In a single brilliant scene (with a magnificent, long buildup) he establishes the family dynamics. The film moves onto show how the family manages to survive through each season until the first "traditional" conflict is introduced in the final third of the film. Even then the film is more like a slice of life of the family's life instead of a dramatic narrative we so often see in other films.

What is so brilliant about the film's approach is the silence Shindo employs. Not a word is spoken apart from short bits of singing and chanting. Music is occasionally inserted, but even that is used rather subtly so that most of the film's power relies on the writing and the visuals. And these two aspects are worthy even on their own. Even though the film gives a rather stereotypical image of the Japanese (who dislike the image) it's a very striking and tragic portrayal of the problems of social change and isolation, among others.

Shindo's cinematography is mostly static or at least the movement is so smooth and controlled that the viewer hardly notices it. It gives the daily routine a fitting rhythm and emphasizes the cyclical life of the family. Although the pacing of the editing is rather fast it doesn't feel like the film rushes towards the ending. Shindo likes to intercut between multiple motions and creates rather fascinating scenes out of simple moments (like rowing).

The film is not without an arguable flaw. The blandness of the characters is probably intentional, but it decreases the impact of the film's ending a bit too much. Luckily the tragedy is still intact.

Score: 9 out of 10

Passing Fancy

Yasujiro Ozu's Passing Fancy (1933) is a slight inferior film from the director's silent era. Takeshi Sakamoto plays an unresponsible widowed father whose attempts at courting a younger lady lead to no good.

The film does play around with the themes Ozu often explored and there are a few interesting aspects in store for Ozu fans because he modelled the main character after his father and few other men he knew as a kid. There are times when the narrative simply implodes under the pressure caused by the imbalance of comedy and drama. Luckily that doesn't destroy the screenplay completely since it happens only on a few occasions that are surrounded by all around pleasant writing.

Ozu's form is a bit careless with random camera movement and stiff editing. However, he manages to get brilliant performances from the actors and especially the lead character's child is surprisingly natural in his role.

Even if Passing Fancy has its significant flaws, it is flawed in an interesting way for the fans of the director.

Score: 7 out of 10

I Was Born, But ...

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Yasujiro Ozu's I Was Born, But ... (1932) is often called the masterpiece of Ozu's silent era and I agree with that sentiment. It succeeds at being a pitch-perfect comedy about childhood and a heartbreaking film about social injustice and family.

Even though the focus is on two brothers Ozu creates a huge ensemble of unforgettable characters around them. At first the film lulls the viewer with its lovely humor as performed by the wonderful cast of child actors, but gradually the tone becomes more and more serious ending in a heartaching way that is more than capable of delivering the central message.

Ozu also seems to finally master his form in this film: where it seemed a bit overblown or tired in Tokyo Chorus (1931) it seems to work smoothly despite still being vastly different from his sound film aesthetic.

I Was Born, But ... is an essential film for any cinephile - and especially if you're a fan of Japanese cinema or a fan Ozu, you can't miss out on this one.

Score: 10 out of 10

Tokyo Chorus

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Yasujiro Ozu's Tokyo Chorus (1931) is the film that (as David Bordwell said) was the important turning point for the director: it made him a major director. It is a fascinating mixture of comedy, drama and vastly different subjects - and all of that is charged with strong social values that are common for Ozu. There is a downside to the screenplay: it barely keeps its explosive expression together throughout the film. There's a constant change in mood and there are times when that almost doesn't work.

Like the writing, the form is also a bit different from what we are used to in later Ozu films. The kinetic yet precise camerawork and fast pacing make the film a bit exhaustive, but with its short running time (90 minutes) that's not a problem. Acting is good in general, but I'd like to give a nod to Tokihiko Okada for his great performance as the lead. He manages to combine the acting style common for silent films with a more grounded and tangible presence.

In the end Tokyo Chorus is a satisfying Ozu film even if it does not reach the height of his later masterpieces.

Score: 8 out of 10

Tokyo Twilight

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Yasujiro Ozu's Tokyo Twilight (1957) is probably the darkest film the director ever made. The familiar explorations of marriage and family are shadowed by grave misfortune. The focus is on two sisters who try to deal with children and marriage without a mother who left them when they were still kids.

Being an Ozu film, I had high expectations for Tokyo Twilight and even then I was a bit surprised because the film nearly reaches the complexity and emotional impact of the so-called Noriko trilogy. With a strong cast of characters (and actors) and a thought-provoking approach Ozu manages to create yet another unforgettable story.

Tokyo Twilight is not an exception to the formal aesthetic of Ozu's sound films and it isn't exactly stand out in his filmography, which means it is quite stunning on its own. The soundtrack is surprisingly a bit more emotional in comparison to the director's other films, but the difference isn't that significant in the end.

Ozu's incredible streak of great movies seems to have no end. Tokyo Twilight is often forgotten because the focus is on his other masterpieces like Late Spring (1949), but it is extremely fascinating and sublime as well.

Score: 10 out of 10

Samurai Rebellion

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Masaki Kobayashi's Samurai Rebellion (1967) is a spiritual sequel to Harakiri (1964): Kobayashi's critique of authority in a heavily dramatized form. After Isaburo (Toshiro Mifune) is forced to have his son marry a former mistress of a powerful lord the entire family discovers that the girl isn't as bad as her reputation suggests. Due to a grim turn of events Isaburo and his son decide to disobey the lord's newer orders even though it puts their family in danger.

Even though I would call Samurai Rebellion Kobayashi's bloody revenge story it doesn't involve a lot of action until the final third of the film (which has a lot of it). Most of the focus is on the fascinating central family that is used heavily for the director's strong message that is approached in a possibly better way than in Harakiri. The downside of the screenplay has to be the ending. While the final scenes are perfect it stumbles for 10 minutes before that. The tension generated in the film is released way too early and some of the scenes lose the dramatic impact they were supposed to have. There's also the mystery of Tatsuya Nakadai's character whose relevance is questionable and it almost feels like his role was severely cut in the editing room.

Kobayashi's form is full of menacing energy that stems from the absolutely brilliant photography and the intense yet "slow" editing that hits the viewer like a ton of bricks when it is needed. The approach to the climactic action scenes is surprisingly tame, but they are still powerful enough. Toru Takemitsu's soundtrack is great again. The entire cast delivers magnificent performances and especially Toshiro Mifune is in top form this time.

Samurai Rebellion could have become another masterpiece for Kobayashi in the vein of Harakiri, but the slight (but drastical) mistake near the end hinders the film a bit too much.

Score: 9 out of 10

Early Summer

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Yasujiro Ozu's Early Summer (1951) is yet another observation of family and marriage in post-war Japan for the director. A surprisingly large cast of characters is introduced in the first third of the film before the major conflict is even ignited. Not the only characters are rich, but the writing in general is deeply (but subtly) touching in the unique way Ozu always managed to embed into his films.

From Ozu one can always expect formal brilliance and Early Summer is not an exception. Scenes are shot from a fixed low positions in the traditional Ozu way, but there are surprisingly many moving shots this time. Some of them work well, but there are a few that feel more like formal deficiencies. Luckily they are few and the other parts of the film easily overshadow the moments the form stumbles. It's also miraculous how Ozu's musical scores are always so timeless whereas other Japanese films from the same period of time offer soundtracks that in hindsight seem so "obviously 50's" (not to say they are bad, but when you give enough thought for it, that's how it seems).

Ozu's deeply moving and life-affirming films are one of the biggest reasons why I'm so fascinated by cinema. The repressed emotions and subtlety of his writing and his utterly unique aesthetic provide unforgettable cinematic experiences that make me speechless. I hope I can one day express that delight in words because right now I'm not exactly satisfied with what I've written. Nevertheless I urge everyone to go and see the director's films because they are a lot more rewarding than what modern cinema can offer.

Score: 10 out of 10

Flowing

Even though Mikio Naruse's Flowing (1956) tells about the geisha tradition in post-war Japan the audience is never shown scenes of the actual entertainment apart from brief glimpses of young geisha practicing. The film's focus is on the large cast of characters, all the different sort of people who live in the financially unstable geisha house.

Naruse's films usually develop at a relatively fast pace, but even under his standards Flowing's narrative is like a whirlwind. As multiple storylines develop simultaneously and intertwine, Naruse builds a fascinating world which easily gathers the audience's attention throughout the film. Each character is more or less colorful (and unforgettable) and the acting is top-notch. It is funny (yet amazing) how the film features so many of the greatest Japanese actresses of the 50's (only lacking Setsuko Hara).

The films Naruse made in the 50's follow the same sort of formal pattern so it is really hard to say anything new about it, having seen so many of his films in a row. It would be possible to approach each film more individually if I were to write an analytical text of the films, but within the restrictions of the review format it is quite impossible to say anything drastically different about each film. Flowing is formally excellent due to its great compositions (which differ in significant ways depending on whether the scene is set in an interior or exterior location) and crafty editing.

On the first view Flowing is great, but I'm not sure whether it is on the level of Naruse's greatest masterpiece (When a Woman Ascends the Stairs) yet. I guess I will have to watch it again at some point for final evaluation.

Score: 9 out of 10

Sound of the Mountain

In Mikio Naruse's Sound of the Mountain (1954) Setsuko Hara plays a housewife whose husband cheats on her. She faces an insurmountable decision as she has to figure out whether she should divorce him or not. Her close relationship with the father-in-law (who in turn neglects her own daughter) complicates the matter.

Essentially Sound of the Mountain is Naruse's exploration of family and marriage. It might be something he often observes in his films, but he always manages to bring a new aspect or approach to it - and this is not an exception. He handles the intimate "chamber drama" well in order to bring forth interesting details of the characters - which not only deepen the themes, but also make the film a lot more compelling to watch.

Naruse's form is pretty much the same as it is in his other films. His formal choices are barely noticable, but they are surprisingly powerful. In general it works well, but it is not mindblowing. In Naruse's film the soundtrack is often a bit of a nuiscance, but it isn't that bad this time.

Sound of the Mountain is a fine achievement for a director who is slowly becoming one of my all time favorites.

Score: 9 out of 10

Flight of the Red Balloon

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Flight of the Red Balloon (2007) reminds me of the director's earlier film, Café Lumière (2003), because in both films he explores a foreign culture so vividly and profoundly in a minimalistic way. Whereas Café Lumière was only about that Flight of the Red Balloon's scope is a bit bigger. As a vital reference to Albert Lamorisse's Red Balloon (1956) a mysterious red balloon follows the son of a puppeteer and his babysitter in Paris.

Hou's "slice of life" approach is still refreshing and brilliant in a way that's hard to put into words. There's a heart-warming aspect to it although the film's atmosphere is occasionally gloomy. Hou creates one of the most interesting characters of his entire career with the Chinese babysitter, Fang Song, who is also a film student interested in shooting footage of the boy's adventures in the city. Despite its freewheeling nature as a vivid document of the culture the film also deals with family issues and art in a significant degree, which makes it even more interesting.

Hou's minimal (but not static) camera movement, gorgeous compositions and calm editing (most scenes are shot with a single take) are as captivating and sophisticated as in his greatest masterpieces such as City of Sadness. The instrumental music is used in a slightly cathartic way that reminds me of Hou's earlier films although this time it was even more effective. Especially the song used at the end of the film was a great choice.

Hsiao-hsien continues to amaze me with his wisdom and sophistication which seem to be never-ending seeing that his career has lasted for so long already and he has never stumbled drastically.

Score: 10 out of 10

Evangelion 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance

Evangelion 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance (2009) is the second part of a movie series that attemps to retell the story of Hideaki Anno's Neon Genesis Evangelion - a TV show that I utterly love and praise way more than anything else. Even though the first film was a rather uninventive remake of the first 6 episodes of the original show with brand new animation, the second film takes a significantly different direction to make the new films quite different from the original show.

Essentially Evangelion is about a group of teenagers saving the world in their giant robots from creatures called the "Angels" while mysterious old men smugly conspire for something much bigger. As interesting and mysterious as the plot sounds, it's only the framework for the grand psychological and philosophical issues which are also filtered through religious imagery.

Where this film seriously differs from the original show is its inclusion of a totally new character who - despite appearing as far less complex than the original cast - twists the storyline a lot via her chaotic (and badass) involvement. The already-familiar characters seem to evolve in slightly different paths this time, but I'm not sure if it is going to have an impact in the end since there are still 2 movies to be released. All in all, the writing is nearly as complex as in the original series (which is the ultimate masterpiece of cinema and TV in my opinion) and the film brings new interesting aspects to the characters and the world around them.

Anno's form is still top notch after 15 years. The editing is phenomenal throughout the film and the compositions are breathtaking. The vast budget is well used for gorgeous animation that only enhances the already rich cinematic experience. Shiro Sagisu's soundtrack might be a bit weird in comparison to the TV show because it includes some of his music from other shows and it is a bit more guitar-driven on a few occasions. Despite its different nature it is still quite awesome.

Hideaki Anno proves he is still at the top of his own game despite not doing anything for years prior to the earlier film. No matter how you look at the film, you can't find any flaws at all. It's a clear-cut diamond.

Score: 10 out of 10

Love Exposure

I reviewed Sion Sono's Love Exposure (2009) last December after I had seen it for the first time. I finally decided to rewatch the epic 4-hour film now that I own it on DVD. The film doesn't lose even a shred of its tremendous power on a rewatch. The experience of watching the film for the first time was so involving that I mostly forgot to approach it more analytically. During this rewatch I received the chance to fix that and the film still holds up as one of the greatest films I've ever seen.

Essentially Love Exposure is a love story. Try to imagine the most absurd and convoluted love story ever made and make it one that is intensive and interesting for 4 hours - then you are close to understanding what Love Exposure is like. Add outrageously funny jokes, an exploration of religious problems, crossdressing as a serious story device and a lot of other things. Love Exposure explores so many different directions it's a miracle that it is even coherent.

Even though (obsessive/delusive) love is more like a frame story in Love Exposure it is also an important, central subject/theme in the film. As the title suggests the film is about "being exposed to love", but the film adds its own twist to it by exposing love to a few of the most mentally screwed characters of the decade. The conflicts and problems of organized religion are approached via moral corruption and amorality that is guaranteed to disturb anyone. It really tells something about the film's perversive screenplay that panties and hard-ons are used as significant motifs for self-discovery.

Not only does the writing switch constantly between different moods (tangible drama/tragedy & laugh-out-loud comedy), the form is very flexible as well. Visually Sono employs interesting techniques on different occassions: Tarantino-esque editing and camerawork, long take aesthetic, modern shakycam (surprisingly well done in the right context) and even splitscreens. He knows exactly when to pause the chaotic madness and lets the audience catch their breath - and even then the plot marches forward at an insane pace. The soundtrack also reflects the various moods by alternating between Yura Yura Teikoku's charming psychedelic rock and classical music.

Due to its enormous length the film relies a lot on its young cast. Nishijima, Mitsushima and Ando perform superbly - and even though Nishijima does most of the heavy lifting, the ladies steal every scene they are in. Weirdly enough that never distracts the audience because Sono manages to make it feel fitting/justified.

Love Exposure is Sono's magnum opus in all possible ways: it delves into heavy themes while retaining his interest for gore. It's one hell of a tour de force for everyone involved in the production because it is utterly complex yet surprisingly simple and understandable at the same time. It's not only a technical exercise in complexity and absurdity, it's also emotionally involving to the point that it becomes a truly enjoyable catharsis for the viewer.

Score: 10 out of 10

Late Chrysanthemums

Mikio Naruse's Late Chrysanthemums (1954) is a film about 3 former geishas who try to cope with monetary and family issues. Weirdly enough the film offers a great observation on the geisha tradition even though we see none of the activity onscreen. Instead it focuses on the effects of the profession on the three main characters when they are already old.

The characters are clearly and strongly characterized, which makes the film a lot more enjoyable because its focus is on the characters in the end. The narrative is satisfying - even if its methods of exposition (forced bits of dialogue and inner monologues) are a tad awkward, they fit into the context of the film.

Naruse's form functions well although it is not necessarily spectacular. At times it reminded me of Ozu's visual aesthetic due to the low camera positions and actors talking directly at the camera. However the similarities are only superficial - and it's probably better that way. The lighting was a bit hard to judge because the image was quite dark in BFI's DVD release, but it seemed reasonable.

Late Chrysanthemums falls between When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960) and Floating Clouds (1955) in terms of quality: it's a thoroughly solid effort, but nothing more.

Score: 8 out of 10

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

The Searchers

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John Ford's The Searchers (1956) is considered one of the most important (and best) films of the western genre. After seeing it for the first time, I agree completely. It is the culmination of the genre tropes and a stunning experience. John Wayne plays Ethan Edwards, a man whose brother and sister-in-law are killed and their children kidnapped by the Comanche. The film's title, The Searchers, refers to his and a young man's (a relative of the family) search for the two daughters who are held by the Indians.

First of all, the characters are so wonderfully flawed and thoroughly developed. It is unbelieveable how Ford creates such a huge cast of colorful characters, all of whom are fascinating and well written. The narrative flows smoothly throughout the film even though it covers a very long period of time. By the end of the film so much has happened that you almost feel like you're a member of the society.

Ford's cinematography is absolutely stunning. The compositions and colors took my breath away on so many occasions that I can't count them with my hands. The film's editing might not be ambitious, but it is brilliant in its precise execution that helps the storytelling a lot. The song used at the beginning and end of the film, Tex Ritter's Searchers, is unforgettable. When the song kicks in at the end of the film and John Wayne is seen walking away in the door frame, my heart melted. It's such a poignant yet simple ending (that revisits an important composition as well) that it's hard not to like it.

The Searchers is a magnificent achievement and certainly makes me more eager to see Ford's other films.

Score: 10 out of 10

Summer Wars

Whoa. Just whoa. Mamoru Hosada restored my faith in the future of anime industry with his latest film, Summer Wars (2009). The plot synopsis is hard to write for this film and doesn't even do justice for the film's content, but I'll add it anyway: a pretty girl tricks a shy but mathematically gifted boy into acting as her boyfriend before her relatives. Meanwhile, an Internet-like system called OZ is under attack by a mysterious force. How do these two come together in the film? Find out yourself by watching the film as soon as you can.

First of all, this film is epic in scope. There are at least 30 notable characters who have been flawlessy and colorfully designed (Sadamoto is impeccable as a character designer) and their roles are cleverly written into the complex screenplay. This film would be a huge success even on the level of characters alone: their interaction is interesting and deep on its own, but Hosoda adds layers of social satire and science fiction into the mix and the result is fantastic.

Hosoda's form is not only thrilling (had me at the edge of the seat on many occassions) and relaxed when either "mode" is needed - there is also a lot of sophistication in the editing. The background art is on par with Studio Ghibli's and Makoto Shinkai's work - and the film is only enhanced by this beauty.

Summer Wars is a masterpiece in all aspects - a film that should be praised. Hosoda proved himself to be the best anime director right now. Where will he go from here? Whatever he'll do, it will certainly be fascinating.

Score: 10 out of 10

Yi yi

Edward Yang's Yi yi (2000) is a film that moves me unlike any other: it can be said that the movie tells in a nutshell what it means to live in a contemporary society. We take a look at a Taiwanese for a short period of time that includes several major events (wedding, funeral, birth) and the time gaps between them. There are lots of important storylines which smoothly develop at the same time and somehow Yang keeps the entire situation perfectly clear to the viewer throughout the film. That's a great achievement on its own. The narrative is freakin' dense. For example, it can be seen in the character (and plot) development and the sheer number of all sorts of motifs.

Even though the film comments a lot on Taiwan's current situation, it is handled subtly. In addition, the film deals with a lot of universal problems so it can easily touch a viewer of any nationality. Yi yi manages to take on so many themes and subjects and explore them in profound ways. First of all, the generation gaps between the grandmother, the parents and the kids are explored thoroughly. Secondly, even though the film focuses on family dynamics, there is no serious problem between the family members themselves. However, even in a good family each member faces loneliness and alienation from time to time - and that's what the flick's multi-layered content focuses on.

NJ, the father of the family, is an honest and reliable guy - unlike his greedy business partners who he has to deal with. After he meets his ex-girlfriend his daily routine is thrown out of balance as the reunion makes him revisit painful memories and face nostalgia. Due to his work, he meets a wise Japanese man, Mr. Ota, who gives him the best possible advice in many ways. Ota is also a fascinating character and Issey Ogata's performance is stunning. When Yang began writing Yi yi, he wrote the character of NJ for Nien-Jen Wu, a famous Taiwanese screenwriter. His performance really captures the essence of the character and I find out more and more incredible layers in his performance after repeated views.

Min-Min, the mother of the family, faces an existential crisis after her mother falls into coma. Her character development happens mostly off-screen and relies only on a few bits of dialogue. Through a spiritual trip she realises something essential about life. Elaine Jin makes the most of her relatively short screentime and turns in a breathtaking performance - especially her rant about her life's meaning is praiseworthy.

Ting-Ting, the older child of the family, deals with guilt and first love after she befriends the new neighbour. Arguably, she experiences most emotional growth in the film and that is why she is the most fascinating character for me. Kelly Lee's restrained and natural performance is probably the greatest among the brilliant performances of the film. There is an elegance in her performance that is quite rare for someone of her age.

Yang-Yang, the younger child of the family, is hungry for knowledge as he takes photographs, faces problems at school and becomes distracted by innocent attraction. Along with Mr. Ota, Yang-Yang delivers the most philosophical and thought-provoking ideas in the film - such as the idea of us seeing only "half of the truth" because we can see what is in front of us, not what is behind us. After a long bout of minimalism, his speech at the end of the film is the best bit of sentimentalism (probably) ever used in film. Jonathan Chang's performance is one of a kind: Yang tried to make him feel as natural and free as possible in front of the camera and it shows. There is no pretension in his facial expression or posture. It is a surprisingly honest performance for a child actor.

There is also the story of Min-Min's brother, Ah-Di, who gets married at the beginning of the film and he has to deal with financial problems throughout the film. His storyline is weak in comparison to the other storylines, but it isn't bad by any means. In fact, it is brilliant, but its connection to the others isn't strong and it is unfair to compare any story to those three brilliant storylines that dominate the film.

When all of these storylines and characters come together in a single 3-hour film, the viewer is given an unforgettable experience. The content alone is so beautiful and profound that it leaves me in awe for days after I've seen the film. No matter how many times I watch the ending scene (or lots of other scenes, as well) I shed a tear - not because it is necessarily sad, but it is so beautiful and tangible.

Yang's cinematography is calm and distant. The camera moves in the least possible ways for many reasons: it gives us time to enjoy the gorgeous compositions and it gives the film a life-like pace. In addition, the film uses a lot of long takes. Some of the action happens off-screen because (for example) the view is blocked by a wall. Yang employs this technique very effectively. He often uses reflections in the compositions to create fascinating imagery. Often Taipei is reflected on the glass for many thought-provoking purposes.

The camera is often far away from the central characters so that we can observe them more objectively. Or as the director himself said: (not a direct quote, more like a sum of his thoughts on the commentary track) If the camera was close to the characters, why would they reveal their innermost secrets to a stranger (referring to the camera) who is near them. But when Yang uses close-ups of the characters, they are very, very hard-hitting.

The film is not only visually stunning and intriguing - it enthralled in auditive ways as well. The use of sound is very central: there are even important audio motifs in the film (e.g. the sound of lightning in Yang-Yang's storyline). Sometimes the sounds from different storylines overlap to another in order to create interesting parallels. The soundtrack consists of known classical compositions and Kaili Peng's (the director's wife's) instrumental music. All the music in the film fits in perfectly and creates occasionally a haunting atmosphere for the film. For example, the closing scene ends with one of Peng's compositions (that isn't sadly released ANYWHERE) which plays all the way through the credits. This composition refuses to leave my mind at peace because it's so moving in its subtlety and simplicity.

Even though this review is quite long, I feel the task of covering everything important about the film impossible. There is so much to be found on repeated views and there is so much I still have on my mind, which I can not express in this review. The film provides me with something that other films don't succeed in (at least on Yi yi's level): a perfect and thorough catharsis.

Score: 10 out of 10

Late Spring

Yasujiro Ozu's Late Spring (1949) is the first part of an unofficial "Noriko trilogy" (3 Ozu films which have a character called Noriko performed by wonderful Setsuko Hara) of which I have seen only the last part before (Tokyo Story, one of my favorite films of all time). It tells about a woman and his relationship to his old father as he tries to get her married before it's too late.

Ozu's observations on family and changing values are still hard-hitting - even 60 years after the film was released. As differing values clash (regarding remarriage, arranged marriages and independence), something so utterly sad yet profound emerges.

Ozu employs his minimalism in a very successful way yet again. The restrained emotion of the story (up until a certain point, as usual) and the lovable characters make the film an unforgettable experience. Ozu's regulars, Setsuko Hara and Chishu Ryu, perform wonderfully yet again.

Even though Ozu is known for his minimal form and static camerawork, Late Spring features a few scenes in which the camera moves quite a lot. It proves that Ozu knows exactly how to use the camera in different scenes. His precise framing and impeccable editing make me jealous (in a good way, though).

Yasujiro Ozu delivers yet another masterpiece with Late Spring - a film which won't leave my mind at peace during the following weeks.

Score: 10 out of 10

Samaritan Girl

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If you had asked me a year ago whether I'm a Kim Ki-duk fan or not, I would have replied 'yes'. Even films like The Isle fascinated me. However, I have gradually begun to lose my interest and appreciation for his films. I then decided that Samaritan Girl (2004) will be the last of his films I will watch (apart from the possible rewatches of 3-Iron (2004) and Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter ... and Spring (2003)) if it doesn't turn out to be as good as I remembered.

Samaritan Girl is a film about two teenaged girls who resort to prostitution in order to earn some money (apparently they want to go to Europe). The film's first "act" is a solid and rich piece of writing that fascinated me a lot. The characters seemed promising (and well developed) and it felt like Kim really had something to say this time instead of vague and shocking content.

However, a dramatic twist in the plot ruined the rest of the film. The characters became irritatingly static, the focus of the film turned into something so ridiculously redundant and out of place. It seems to be almost a trademark for Kim to throw in a lot of prop motives which only hint at something undefined and end up being rather useless and empty. This can be found in Samaritan Girl as well.

Kim's form is refined though. His clean yet "chaotic" visuals rarely fail to deliver. Pleasant (and occasionally intriguing) compositions, good (and calm) pacing and smooth camera drives make the film enjoyable. This time he also mastered the use of music throughout the film: the bittersweet instrumental soundtrack hits hard. However, there is one peculiar exception to the quality: his use of Erik Satie's Gymnopedie is somewhat unconvincing. The weird thing about it is that I find it hard to see how someone could fail using that masterful composition. As a side note, it is also weird how there are so many Asian films that feature the song - even to the point of obsession.

Samaritan Girl's problems seem to be same as with other films by the same director: while his form is more or less brilliant, his writing stumbles.

Score: 6 out of 10

Barry Lyndon

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Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon (1975) is a three-hour film divided into two parts which in turn depict the title character's rise to wealth and his eventual fall. Even though Kubrick intentionally remains distant from the story's emotional side he somehow keeps the Baroque elegance intact. One could say that is the "most Baroque" film ever made, judging by the set and costume design. The film's reliance on a narrator gives the film a sarcastic tone - especially when you take into consideration that the narrator might not reliable.

The form is astonishing. Nearly every review already mentions it, but I have to say it again: nearly all of the film's shots look like great impressionistic paintings. The gorgeous scenery, delicate compositions and the calm and hypnotizing camera movement create a unique cinematic experience. Kubrick's use of music is flawless yet again - the classical pieces fit perfectly into the film's mood.

Barry Lyndon is a masterpiece in all aspects - one of Kubrick's best films.

Score: 10 out of 10