Elina: As If I Didn't Exist

The Finnish director Klaus Härö has recently reached international fame with his film Letters to Father Jaakob (2009). I decided to watch his entire filmography and started from the debut, Elina: As If I Didn't Exist (2002) which I had seen once as a kid. It is the story of a Finnish girl who has problems with her strict teacher (played by Bibi Andersson, by the way) and coming to terms with the death of her father. The film shoots questions concering old-fashioned education, bilingual problems and coming of age. Klaus Härö makes most of the short running time (80 minutes). He creates truly wonderful characters and sucks the viewer effortlessly into his world.

Härö's storytelling and editing rely on basic tricks, but he uses them in the best possible way. While these aspects are rather ordinary, his cinematography is breathtaking by any standards. I was flabbergasted at the colors and compositions in pretty much every scene. The way the swamps and the school are portrayed is impeccable.

Elina: As If I Didn't Exist is one heck of a debut for any filmmaker. All of its aspects work well and Härö is able to make the film a truly emotional experience without falling for over-the-top sentimentality.

Score: 9 out of 10

Nobody Knows

At first I have to mention that Nobody Knows (2004) is the first film I've seen from the Japanese director Hirokazu Koreeda. The film's screenplay was written during a period of 15 years and it was inspired by a real life story. The film tells the story of 4 children who are left alone by their single mom who runs away with a new boyfriend.

Essentially the film is about lost childhood and the importance of family. It is tragic to see the family fall apart although the end is not completely somber. The children try hard to escape their anxieties - they don't even realise their horrible situation at first. What Koreeda has to say is somewhat relevant, it never feels like he has a precise idea on what he wants to say - or his ideas are a little too narrow for the film to become "perfect". Luckily, its complex narrative is rewarding (and involving) even though it is challenging as well.

Koreeda handles the subject with strict minimalism: a lot of plot development happens offscreen, the performances are very naturalistic (the film has one of the greatest casts that consist of only children) and the camerawork isn't elaborate. The slow pace of the film might not be easy for everyone, but it fits the film's content perfectly. It allows us to see the development in more detail so that the impact is bigger while still retaining its subtlety. And even with this calm pace, the film is incredibly dense in its storytelling. If you are going to watch this film, pay attention to the last hour - it's even more amazing when you take this into consideration. Even the use of music (and the music itself) is very subtle - with the exception of an awesome song sequence near the end of the film.

Koreeda's cinematography is rich: the compositions are not only beautiful but also meaningful. There are lots of subtle ways through which Koreeda sets the mood for each scene. For example, there is a scene in which the oldest boy of the family, Akira, meets a schoolgirl for the umpteenth time. Koreeda opens the scene with a shot of their legs: while the schoolgirl has proper shoes for the school outfit, Akira only wears terrible slippers. Even though the scene itself is sweeter, Koreeda tries to emphasize the difference between the two characters.

Ultimately, Hirokazu Koreeda's Nobody Knows is a film presented in the best possible way even though its content is a bit disappointing in the end: the ambition which is visible in other aspects made me think the film would go even further. But don't get me wrong: I nearly loved the film because it did affect me although its impact was hardly on the level of City of Sadness or Love Exposure.

Score: 9 out of 10

Dodesukaden

Akira Kurosawa's first color film Dodesukaden (1970) offers a rich portrayal of poverty-stricken people in Tokyo. Among the massive ensemble, there are two drunkards who swap wives, a boy who drives and maintains an imaginary tram while living alone with his mother and a homeless man who spends his days designing his dream house with his son.

Kurosawa's skill to create unforgettable characters is obvious in Dodesukaden because each one of them is rich even though there isn't a lot of screentime for anyone in particular. When you take into consideration the ridiculous amount of characters, the running time (140 minutes) isn't very long - yet the film manages to delve into all of their lives in enormous detail. The narrative seems to switch between the stories aimlessly, but due to Kurosawa's magical storytelling it never becomes hard to follow the story.

Even though it does not give a favorable image of Tokyo, it never seems critical about the city (or the country, for that matter). The absurd conditions help the film from falling into simple social criticism. The eccentric sets make the film seem independent of the real world - and that's only good because the attention should be on the characters. Kurosawa handles the characters in a genuinely caring and compelling way even though there are strong elements of tragedy. His powerful passion for the characters is directly passed along to the viewers. And that's what makes Dodesukaden great.

Kurosawa's form is fine as well although it is a bit more confusing than in his earlier films. Most of the time, everything works really well in terms of telling the story poignantly. The compositions and pacing are especially good. His use of long takes pays off excellently. His overemphasis of colors is distracting at times which makes the film feel a bit uneven for a moment.

I came to the conclusion that while Dodesukaden is underrated (or at least it isn't given enough attention), it is one of Kurosawa's "lesser" masterpieces. The genuinely interesting characters make the film worthwhile.

Score: 9 out of 10

Harakiri

The story of Masaki Kobayashi's Harakiri (1962) is set into motion when a young and poor man (Akira Ishihama) is forced to do what the title suggest: a suicide by disembowelment. Why did it happen? The movie is set in Japan during the year 1630 which is 11 years after a peace was negotiated among the warring clans. This led to the dissolution of the Geishu clan that had at least 12 000 retainers under its control. All these former retainers were forced to live in poverty. As a result, some of the ex-warriors resorted to threatening the remaining clans by performing harakiri in front of the clan's estate. To avoid this, the clan would have to pay a great amount of gold. As you have probably figured out by now, the harakiri at the beginning of the film was the result of things going horribly wrong. A few months later, an older man (Tatsuya Nakadai) comes to the same clan in order to perform harakiri. As the disembowelment approaches, he begins to tell a story that is essential in order to understand the story and thematics.

The film is almost like a deconstruction of the entire Samurai code. Kobayashi observes the (implied) emptiness of the code in cruel detail. The problems are pointed out in an unflinching way. While the film mostly runs at a relatively calm pace, there are outbursts of arrhythmic violence which work perfectly in order to deliver the message even to the most dim-witted viewers - yet surprisingly the film never seems to be heavy-handed. The narrative is quite straightforward: a linear story with a few flashbacks that are smoothly handled.

I found an interesting point of view in another review (specifically, the Finnish review on Elitisti) which pointed out how the young man is "unknowingly the representative of the past" because back then harakiri was a more personal and flexible act. Now it's just another way for higher-ups to control people.

Kobayashi's form in Harakiri reminds me of Yasujiro Ozu and Hsiao-hsien Hou. His camera is set almost on the ground most of the time like in Ozu's films. Kobayashi also likes to revisit a few compositions in order to establish a connection between two scenes - either for an emotional response or for juxtaposition. This is extremely notable during the first 30 minutes when the two ex-warriors enter the estate at different times. A few key compositions are used for both of these entrances. It's also interesting how a few compositions and patterns of camera movement are used again and again during the rest of the film.

Apart from a few awkward camera zooms and pans, the cinematography is brilliant. The precise and beautiful framing rivals even Ozu, which should say a lot. Kobayashi's use of Dutch angles is extremely masterful: I would even dare to say that Harakiri should be used as an example on how you should use them. The film is very silent most of the time - only the dialogue breaks the silence throughout the film. There are a few instances when music is used - and that makes the film even more haunting.

The second view confirmed my assumption: Masaki Kobayashi's Harakiri is one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces without a doubt. Sadly, it has remained quite unknown to this day.

Score: 10 out of 10

The Man Without a Past

Aki Kaurismäki is probably the most famous (and arguably the best) Finnish director. The Man Without a Past (2002) is probably his most popular film, partly due to the Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Language Film. A Finnish man (Markku Peltola) is violently mugged and when he's taken to the hospital, he's considered dead. Yet he wakes up and escapes the hospital with no idea who he is. He then proceeds to live with the poor people in Helsinki. The story certainly has the elements of strict social criticism. It goes to absurd extremes of poverty in Finland: people live in containers (which hilariously enough have their own landlord). The film also seems to take aim at bureoucracy, without a proper ID you can't get anything. Yet the film never becomes too preaching because it doesnt try to be too judgmental. Everything is handled with the deadpan humor - Kaurismäki is the master of that. He is known for his peculiar way to direct actors: acting is completely "wooden" and stiff. I guess he tries to reflect Finnish behaviour by that, although it is - of course - exaggerated. His camera rarely moves although his form seems to be quite clean and precise otherwise - especially the lighting is wonderful. That way the wooden acting becomes more distracting and obvious; maybe that's the point, but I find it a little weird to only put acting on a leash instead of the whole form. In overall, it is a fine film, but not necessarily brilliant in any aspect.

Score: 8 out of 10