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

Stray Dog

I'm taking a break from the "Hou marathon" I've been on for a few days. But I'm not making this break easy for me at all for I have decided to rewatch a few films by none other than Akira Kurosawa. The first choice for me was Stray Dog (1949) because when I saw it for the first time years ago I thought it was boring. Oh, how wrong I was back then.

Essentially, Stray Dog is the story of a young cop whose gun is stolen and he tries to get it back by all means necessary. While the film explores the feeling of guilt and paranoia that the cop experiences, it goes far beyond that.

The title, "stray dog", refers to the man who commits crimes with the stolen pistol. As Takashi Shimura's character (who becomes a mentor to the young cop) says, a murderer is like a stray dog: he only sees the road in front of him. Kurosawa's main point seems to be in showing how the World War II has affected the Japanese - especially its influence on upbringing. In the end, the cop and the murderer are almost the same - only different by occupation and one single choice.

There is also an interesting polarisation Kurosawa uses between the young cop and his "mentor". While the young cop strictly believes that evil is the result of negative surroundings, the older cop dismisses that belief outright. "Evilness is purely evil", he says. It is also very interesting to see how the film almost literally explodes into ferociousness in its final act. Kurosawa certainly knows how to build the tension up towards the climax.

Akira Kurosawa's form is also fascinating. His way to place the characters onscreen is powerful. When compared to Yasujiro Ozu, Kurosawa's editing is aggressive. That can especially be noticed when he uses montages which are used quite well actually. Kurosawa wouldn't be Kurosawa without melodrama, and the music is a bit dramatic most of the time, but luckily it is never too distracting. The same thing can be said about acting in his films, but in Stray Dog the melodrama never bothered me. In fact, Toshiro Mifune's melodramatic performance was so great that he even rivalled Takashi Shimura's more restrained performance.

I would strongly recommend Stray Dog to anyone: it's a powerful (even if old-fashioned) thriller that has a lot to say.

Score: 9 out of 10

Thirst

I've been eagerly waiting for a chance to see Chan-wook Park's (who happens to be one of my favourite directors ever) latest film, Thirst (2009). In my opinion, the films of his "Vengeance trilogy" are among the greatest cinematic masterpieces. As a trilogy, I would even consider over any other trilogy. I hold him as one of the few true masters of black comedy, and he even seamlessly merges it with a dramatic aspect in his films. So when I heard he was working on a story that involves a priest (played by Kang-ho Song!) turning into a vampire, I knew it was going to be an awesome film. It had all the ingredients to be an extremely "delicious" story for Park, and he made it even funnier and more complex than I could ever expect. After being transformed into a vampire, the priest tries to help a woman (Kim Ok-vin) he falls in love with.

Thirst's black humor is by no means a disappointment when compared to Park's other films. It is not as wild as in I'm a Cyborg But That's OK (2006), but it isnt subtle by any standards. There is hardly a scene without a reason to laugh out loud. Even the "creepy" and "shocking" moments are handled in a satirical (or even farcical) way. Yes, the film has a lot sex, violence and blood (LOTS of it) - and all of these are handled in a funny way despite being a bit exploitative. Sucking blood is awfully (or shall I say, "deliciously") loud, which provoked me to laugh hard. Park's genuinely funny and refreshing take on vampires is something the "Twilight generation" desparately should see.

Even though the film is full of hilarious dark humor, Park manages to dive deep into a surprisingly wide selection of themes: guilt and immortality as the most important (and obvious) ones. There is also a lovely amount of metaphors in Thirst, more than what I'm used to with Park's films - and that's a good sign. This huge amount of content makes the storytelling a little clunky at times. The pacing might seem a little uneven sometimes, and that is what a lot of critics have used as an argument against Thirst. I was able to get through most of it although there was especially one plot point that felt very uneven and rushed, but luckily it didnt distract me for longer than 5-10 minutes. The narrative will certainly cause problems for a lot of viewers, and that is why I can't honestly call Thirst perfect. Some critics say Thirst "drags on" or "overstays its initial welcome", but I can only shrug at those statements. Thirst is a very tightly packed film which couldnt be any shorter and all of its wild content is essential to maintain the film's admirable complexity.

Park's use of camera movement is unbelieveable in Thirst. The camera moves a lot, and in fascinating patterns which really pack a strong punch. His cinematography is fantastic in other aspects too. The compositions, lighting and colors are simply breathtaking and they are really used as well as they can to set the mood. Similarly to Park's Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2001), there isn't a lot of music in Thirst. Although there are a few short bits here and there, it is almost completely nonexistent. Even the short bits are a bit subtle and silent so that even those moments are not dominated by music.

As expected, Kang-ho Song's performance is brilliant in Thirst. The priest would have been a juicy role for anyone, but Song is simply perfect for it. But surprisingly the real scene stealer is Kim Ok-vin whose pitch-perfect performance is haunting, cunning and extraordinary. She delivers the various aspects of her character (who gets an incredible amount of character development during the film) in a fascinating way. Her demonic facial expressions are simply unforgettable. As usually with Park's films, his regulars appear in small roles yet again.

In overall, Thirst is a brilliant film which is a bit difficult to watch on the first time due to the clunky storytelling, but that is only a minor flaw for me because it is - in a way - justified for the sake of maintaining the complexity.

Score: 9 out of 10