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

Three Times

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I'm a fan of director Hsiao-hsien Hou, but even then I wasn't that fascinated by Three Times (2005). The film is split into three segments that take place in three different periods of time (1910's, 1960's and 2000's) where Shu Qi and Chen Chang appear in the central relationship. As you might guess from that, Three Times' major theme is love.

The first segment is a schmaltzy tale of a soldier chasing an adventurous woman in the 60's. Why do I call it schmaltzy? There is an abundance of pop music of the period that is so mind-numbing in the end that the music loses most of its impact. Even Aprhodite's Child's "Rain and Tears" had a surprisingly tame impact due to the frequent usage.

The second segment is an oddly pretentious effort for Hou. Most of the segment tries to imitate silent films by muting dialogue and sound effects yet changes nothing else so it's a Hou film without sound apart from a constant flow of music. I guess he decided to approach the segment that way since it takes place in the early 20th century. However it's not only distracting, but nearly terrible because Hou still relies on dialogue as much as he usually does so that means there are a lot of title cards that becomes rather tiresome after a while. It also has a very calm, dreamlike pace for no good reason.

The final segment is Hou's take on love in the modern age and I have to say it is clearly the most successful and interesting one. It is the most complex and interesting one and there are no formal deficiencies in the way either.

Apart from the oddities specific to each segment, the form is rather fluid. Hou's incredible photography and sparse editing are still as beautiful as they have always been. The musical choices are good even if occasionally misused. The greatest occasion must be the closing song for the final segment: it is so well as a continuation of the heart-aching ending. And if there's anything to be truly praised in this film it's Shu Qi's amazing acting. The innocent joy of the first segment, the elegance of the second segment and the fragile tour de force of the final segment are all top notch performances. I hope she will eventually be acknowledged as one of the greatest contemporary actresses.

Even though Hou doesn't have that much to say about love he approaches it from so many different perspectives that the film is at least satisfying. I wonder what would have happened to the film without Shu Qi.

Score: 6 out of 10

Early Spring

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Yasujiro Ozu's Early Spring (1956) is a departure from the director's work thematically: even though the focus is on family and marriage the story is about a salary man who begins cheating on his wife after becoming dissatisfied with his life and work. There is a lack of authority and it is replaced by other social concerns. Ozu's musings on work are enigmatic since nearly every scene is related to work, but nothing comes out of it at least on surface.

Ozu's form has clearly become static by now as there is only one moving shot (that is used in a tad confusing way to be honest). The pillow shots are mostly of interior locations as opposed to the vast amount of scenery shots used in the director's other films like Tokyo Story (1953).

Early Spring might be a lesser masterpiece from Ozu, but that's not surprising because he made it right after one of the greatest masterpieces of all time, Tokyo Story. However it's a refreshing film (even if way too long at two and half hours) from Ozu's filmography so I would gladly recommend it.

Score: 8 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

The Face of Another

The Face of Another (1966) is third collaboration between the director Hiroshi Teshigahara, composer Toru Takemitsu and writer Kobo Abe. The trio's achievements could be seen as pretentious and hilariously gritty, but somehow they always manage to completely enthrall me. It seems almost if their work became more subtle the more they worked together. The Pitfall's experimentality was strongly present throughout the film and even Woman in the Dunes was a bit, but that roughness was fitting for the film. The Face of Another is a significantly more restrained effort because even the unconventional bits flow smoothly.

The main character of the film (played superbly by Tatsuya Nakadai) explores the ambiguous nature of identity after his face is accidentally deformed and then replaced by a new one. Despite its heavy themes the film advances in a clearly comprehensible way that might be a bit ambiguous once in a while, but it never goes to the extremes of the trio's earlier films that are much more obscure (but not necessarily bad that way). The writing is intellectually very stimulating and provokes strong emotional reactions as it follows the questionable ethics of the main character.

Whereas Woman in the Dunes was formally claustrophobic, The Face of the Another is schizophrenic. After the menacing and experimental opening the film's form diverts a little from what is expected from the trio. The intense close-ups are fewer and Takemitsu's wonderful musical score is more subtle than before. The lighting and cinematography are just about as refined and powerful as they can be.

What could have been a misadventure in obscurity and pretension turns out to be yet another masterpiece from the famous Japanese New Wave trio.

Score: 10 out of 10

Mystery Train

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Jim Jarmusch's Mystery Train (1989) consists of three storylines that have two things in common: all of the characters end up in the same cheap hotel and Elvis Presley is present in some form in each one. The first segment (Far From Yokohama) deals with two Japanese tourists who have come to Memphis to visit the home of Elvis Presley. The second one (A Ghost) is about a foreigner stuck in the city due to flight problems - and she eventually spends time with an incredibly talkative woman. The last segment (Lost in Space) focuses on a fascinating triangle dynamic between three guys who are in deep trouble.

Even though these segments are heavily interconnected their quality varies surprisingly lot. While the first segment offers a pitch-perfect piece of deadpan comedy the other two are only amusing at best. The Japanese couple of Far From Yokohama form such a great chemistry not only between the characters but also between the two performances that overshadows the rest of the film. Even though it is notably the "driest" part of the film in terms of direction the other two segments can not possibly rival it because Jarmusch's lack of exaggeration sometimes diminishes the impact of the comedy. Luckily none of the segments is bad, but there is a troubling inconsistency in quality that distracted me a little.

Jarmusch's form isn't exactly minimal because it uses a variety of techniques - especially in cinematography - but instead I would call it "calm". It lets the screenplay unfold at its own pace and the subtle humor is never pointed at. Most of the camera movement is subtle because it is done so slowly and smoothly that the viewer doesn't easily notice it - apart from a few scenes where the movement is obvious from the editing patterns. The soundtrack of the film is almost the complete opposition with its neverending charm and energy delivered by Presley, Orbison and other similar musicians. It's at least a fascinating and functional contrast so it doesn't hinder the film.

Mystery Train is a disappointing film in its own way: after a brilliant beginning the comedy falls a bit flat and even when Jarmusch gives the film more energy afterwards it never fully recovers. Nevertheless it is a rather funny and well executed film.

Score: 7 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

Floating Clouds

Mikio Naruse's Floating Clouds (1955) is mostly ruined by a disastrous first half. The film establishes the story of obsessive love between the two main characters in such a rush that the viewer is left confused. The narrative doesn't calm down once for the first 25 minutes - and even after that it's still a bit lost until the film reaches its midpoint. The characters aren't really fleshed out until it's a bit too late and the music is as subtle as a sledgehammer when it should only be like a gentle push. Even Masayuki Mori's and Hideko Takamine's brilliant performances seem offbeat due to the sloppiness.

Yet the film still manages to be unified by a clear exploration of obsessive love and the photography is mostly spot-on (along with satisfying editing). Fortunately the film gets better the further it goes: the characters become interesting, the narrative remains dense - even though the pacing is a lot calmer - and the music is used well (even if it is still rather melodramatic). The tragedy is final when even the toughest character breaks into tears.

I admit I had high expectations for this film after When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960) blew my mind and I have to mention that these two films are vastly different. I wonder what the final film of my Naruse Collection DVD set, Late Chrysanthemums (1954), has in store for me.

Score: 6 out of 10

When a Woman Ascends the Stairs

Even though I'm a big fan of Japanese cinema I hadn't seen a film by Mikio Naruse before I watched When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960). His name is often mentioned alongside the Big Three (Kurosawa, Mizoguchi & Ozu) and the Japanese New Wave directors (Oshima, Imamura etc) as the most important (and best) Japanese directors of all time. At least judging by this film I wholeheartedly agree.

Essentially When a Woman Ascends the Stairs is about a Japanese bar hostess (set in post-WW2 Japan) at a significant point in her life: because she's already 30, she has to either open her own bar or get married. The screenplay offers a thorough depiction of the age, a stunning character study AND in a subtle way it also explores the weak position of women in the Japanese society. Naruse doesn't point fingers as obviously as Mizoguchi - and even manages to find some delight for the main character within her restricted choices. Even though the main character is fascinating and complex enough on her own the huge cast of side characters is also given a lot of attention - and they are not disappointing characters either. The screenplay's epic scope leaves me rather speechless.

The form is not subtle in the minimalistic Ozu way. Instead Naruse employs effective yet nearly unnoticable editing patterns that keep the focus on the essential. Mostly medium distance shots are used to keep a pleasant sense of intimacy, but when an "empty" (= a lot of empty space in the shot) long distance shot is used, it is used to great effect that is almost cathartic. The compositions are also rather interesting. When a Woman Ascends the Stairs is certainly a film I'd like to study closer at some point - even if only for its visual aspects. The restrained jazz music of the soundtrack is also used in an excellent way.

Japanese cinema delivers yet another big surprise for me. Even though I was aware of Naruse's reputation among film buffs I didn't realize I would experience something as vivid as this film. It has certainly found a place among my favorite films of all time.

Score: 10 out of 10

The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya

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The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya (2010) is the latest release in the Haruhi Suzumiya franchise which was originally released (and still continues) as light novels. The fans of the franchise know very well that the anime series has had its ups and downs: while the first season was nearly as perfect as it could get, the second season was riddled with intentional redundancy - unlike anything else I've ever witnessed before. The makers have now resurrected the franchise by animating the most popular volume of the light novels into a 3-hour ride full of astonishment and development.

Writing a compact plot synopsis would be a futile attempt so I'm going to simply refer to what others have written about the TV show that preceded this film. The film leaves behind the show's "pseudo-scifi" (meaning that the science fiction becomes hard this time) and comical aspects so that the focus remains on the complex plot that serves as a great way to explore the main character, Kyon. It's not only Kyon who faces a drastical amount of character development in the film, but the advancement of the central storyline brings forth new things about the characters in a way that is - as much as I hate to use the word - surprisingly deep.

The film is a great visual achievement as well. The melancholic art direction and editing - which were seldomly used in the show - dominate the picture in an enthralling way that fits to the grim content. The simple fact that the film is incredibly well animated for 160 minutes makes the film a special and asthonishing case in the anime industry.

The film left me nearly speechless. It's unlike anything I've experienced while watching an anime film since, well, End of Evangelion and the second Rebuild of Evangelion film. Excluding the latter title, The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya is certainly the finest animated effort in the film format in the last 10 years.

Score: 10 out of 10

Millennium Mambo

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Millennium Mambo (2001) shows the director exploring yet another directorial dimension. The final result is bewildering but interesting: it combines the experimentation and subject matter of an up-and-coming director with the confidence of an experienced auteur. The film focuses solely on Vicky, a woman in need of a change to her life. The film begins by showing how her relationship to Hao-hao began - an on/off relationship that eventually comes crashing down.

This is the first time Hou sets the entire film in the contemporary Taiwan (and partly Japan). This time the setting doesn't play a role as huge as in his other films - now the focus is completely on the characters. They are intriguing because most of them are trapped and flawed in a tragic way. Hou explores Vicky's life in dense detail (and honestly) which makes the film emotionally tangible.

Even though Hou experiments a lot with the form this time, he hasn't forgotten his long take aesthetic. Most scenes are built around one long take where the camera is in a fixed position (although it turns around a lot). He mostly uses the same angles and positions for every set throughout the film - which gives the viewer a concrete idea of the surroundings. This is especially effective in Vicky's apartment that is mostly shot from a single position. The experimentation with bokeh and slow motion is intriguing and mostly successful. For example, the opening shot of the film is one of the most haunting ones Hou has ever shot. And that says a lot.

Before I forget I have to mention the clever use of sound in the film. There's a faint musical score in the background most of the time and Hou likes to use "authentic" (not sure if it is, but it sure sounds like that) background noise for most scenes (with the exception being the dreamy passages that serve as emotional catharses).

Millennium Mambo is a fascinating film dominated by its towering lead performance by Shu Qi. She carries the film quite effortlessly even when it could have stumbled hard. It is an all-around good film that could have been better. It creates a strong emotional bond to the characters, but doesn't achieve much through its experimentation.

Score: 8 out of 10

5 Centimeters per Second

Makoto Shinkai's 5 Centimeters per Second (2007) is the culmination of the director's career. His lyrical storytelling and mouth-watering visuals come together seamlessly in this sad and melancholic love story.

The fragile main characters reach for love, but they face difficulties as alienation, melancholy, distance and longing come in their way. The bittersweet ending montage summarizes the film's idea in a stunning way. The film consists of three short stories that focus around one main character during his youth. Each segment calmly gathers tension that is often subverted to make the melancholic tone more tangible.

Shinkai's breathtaking background art, fascinating compositions and lyrical editing give the film a poignancy that is hard to achieve in cinema - especially with the running time of only a single hour. The voice acting should also be praised because it carries the film so well. The childlike innocence of the first segment is especially tangible through the soft and charming performances.

5 Centimeters per Second is an incredibly touching and gorgeous film that I like to return to once in a while - even if only to watch a few clips from here and there.

Score: 10 out of 10

Paris, I Love You

I've never been a big fan of portmanteau films, possibly because I haven't yet found one that could be considered a masterpiece. Paris, I Love You (2006) certainly doesn't change my opinion on them. Even when you have big names like the Coen brothers, Alfonso Cuaron and Christopher Doyle collaborating for one, it still doesn't work well.

Most of the short films are either bad (Oliver Assayas' Quartier des Enfants Rouges), forgettable (Bruno Podalydès' Montmartre) or decent (Wes Craven's Père-Lachaise) at best. There are a few great shorts, such as Alfonso Cuaron's Parc Monceau and Vincenzo Natali's Quartier de la Madeleine, but they are easily forgotten in the mix of the other films. Portmanteau films often rely on their holistic value, but Paris, I Love You does never quite come together because most of its segments are not worthwhile.

The film's mood goes all over the place (in both a good and a bad way) and the cinematography is stunning in each segment, but it lacks coherency and interest for the most part. I would certainly not recommend it even though it is just barely enjoyable.

Score: 5 out of 10

Singin' in the Rain

Stanley Donen's and Gene Kelly's Singin' in the Rain (1952) is generally considered one of the greatest musical films of all time, but I have never watched the film for some reason. I decided to erase this peculiarity from my knowledge on cinema by watching this legendary movie - and I don't regret it. Essentially the film is about actors struggling with new cinematic innovations (most importantly, sound) and love. In the musical tradition, they often break into long and complex song and dance numbers that captivate the audience.

I was surprised by how intricate and deep its exploration of cinema and acting was. Even though most of the songs performed in the film are quite corny, they fit well into the film's context and serve as a great source of entertainment. The narrative is really hyperactive because of the physical acting and vast number of musical bits. There's also a breathtaking, long musical sequence near the end of the film that baffled me a bit because it was almost distracting in its epic scale.

Most of the film's brilliance stems from the manic form, perfect acting (especially the physical acting is stunning) and intricate dance choreographies that left me in awe. It's not a surprise why most of the songs have become so popular - and why the Singin' in the Rain sequence is so famous (because Gene Kelly's performance is GODLY).

Even though I wouldn't consider Singin' in the Rain one of the greatest cinematic achievements of all time, it certainly works very well under its genre's restrictions and it's great for what it is.

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

The Rules of the Game

Jean Renoir's The Rules of the Game (1939) is insane. INSANE. The director introduces us a huge cast of characters so effortlessly and throws them together for an enormous party that spirals out of control quickly. The characters are complex, intriguing and most of all, very captivating. The narrative weaves them together in such a dense and clever way that I'm still baffled even though it was the second time I saw the film. In only 100 minutes, the film covers so much character and plot development that it could fill a 4-hour film.

This time Renoir's form is also very convincing. The camera drives are powerful and brilliantly connect the different storylines all the way from the servants to the rich. The editing never lets the viewer catch their breath once the real action kicks in - and that's only for the better.

The Rules of the Game is one of the most stunning cinematic masterpieces I have ever seen.

Score: 10 out of 10

Super Dimensional Fortress Macross: Do You Remember Love?

Shoji Kawamori's Super Dimensional Fortress Macross: Do You Remember Love? (1984) is one of the most stunning animated achievements of the 80's. It's not only an ambitious rewrite of the original show (Super Dimensional Fortress Macross, which started the entire franchise), but its animation quality is miraculous. The franchise is known for combining mecha action, Japanese pop music and love triangles and Do You Remember Love? is not an exception to the trademark. A gripping love triangle is created between Ichijou (a young mecha pilot), Lynn Minmay (a ridiculously popular idol/singer) and Misa (a high-ranking female officer).

The idea of combining an epic battle scene with a pop song is not necessarily inviting, but Do You Remember Love? succeeds at making it work in an awesome way (the same can be said about the entire franchise). The jaw-dropping, mouth-watering climax is the reason why everyone should see it: that scene alone is a masterpiece in editing, animation and songwriting. The narrative rushes forward, but that never lessens the film's impact even though it doesn't give enough space for a few side characters. However, the film works very well on its own and that's a great achievement for a young director like Kawamori (only 20 or 21 years old back then). The idea of a love triangle is usually off-putting for me, but this film made it work incredibly well - and I have to give it credit for that.

Kawamori's insane editing can already be found in this movie (and he will develop it even further in the following Macross shows he went on to direct). For example, there are moments I would call crosscutting at its very best. Character and art design are also wonderful so the animation is not all about ridiculous amount of detail.

Do You Remember Love? is a landmark not only for the mecha genre, but for anime in general. Even though I have to admit that I feel like holding back from a 10 (because Kawamori is not in his most refined state yet), it's a film that should be considered a masterpiece.

Score: 9 out of 10

Red Beard

Akira Kurosawa's Red Beard (1965) stumbles a bit for the first two hours: its introduction of the characters overstays its welcome and the narrative is a bit uneven. As we get to know Red Beard (a famous doctor who helps the poor), Yasumoto (a young doctor who is unwillingly forced to help Red Beard) and a wide range of side characters, there are moments of thematic brilliance (social injustice is only the most visible theme) even if the narrative is a bit messed up. Luckily the last hour (basically the part after the intermission) is very solid in all aspects because it gives the film a clear focus.

Kurosawa's form is great yet again with impeccable lighting, striking compositions and gripping editing. Reviewing the form of a Kurosawa film becomes quite meaningless because it is nearly flawless almost on every occasion. The only exception to the rule is The Idiot because it was butchered by the studio.

Even if Red Beard is a slightly flawed film, it's certainly worth watching because the last segment of the film is so masterful.

Score: 8 out of 10