Pom Poko

Isao Takahata's Pom Poko (1994) is the most disastrous film Studio Ghibli has ever made. This film made me lose my hope in Takahata (at least for the moment) and instantly prefer Miyazaki of the two Ghibli veterans - because he has never made anything nearly as bad as this one. Pom Poko is about a group of tanuki who try to protect their forest with their magical power of transformation from humans who try to take advantage of it.

The biggest flaw of the film is its writing. The preachy environmental message is lost because the humans are never shown to be bad - instead the tanuki are really, really irritating. We are supposed to sympathize with them, but they are too selfish, irresponsible and absurd to be likable. The narrative's flow is clunky and its reliance on the narrator makes the film feel uneven. Takahata's use of absurdism just goes way over the top in the film and distracts the audience from the film very badly. I've got to give the film credit for its sheer amount of ambition and imagination, but both of them are wasted with such sloppy execution.

Even the form is not constantly up to Ghibli's high standards. While art design is not so bad, but its documentary-like approach makes the absurdism feel even weirder and more off-putting. The compositions, editing and music are still good and they are the only redeeming qualities of the film. And they help quite a lot.

Simply put: Pom Poko is a disaster even though it has a few good things.

Score: 4 out of 10

Battle Royale

Kinji Fukasaku's Battle Royale (2000) is a controversial film based on a controversial novel. The Japanese are afraid of their youth and bypass an act called "Battle Royale" which allows a class of ninth graders (per year) to take a brutal challenge: kill each other off until one stands or they all will be killed. The soldiers and teachers equip them with various weapons, control them with lethal necklaces and leave them alone on a huge island for 3 days.

Its premise sounds more fitting for a silly exploitation film - which it is not. Instead it is a clever social commentary on education and generational gap. It explores its premise thorougly and becomes a psychologically great examination as well - and even though most of the characters' screentime is around 2 or 3 minutes, all of them are fully developed and none of them are disposable. When this is done on an epic scale like in Battle Royale, it enables the film to explore the repressed emotions and beliefs of the youth.

Each death brings up a new perspective (or even an entirely new theme) to the film's vast content. That's how the film keeps the viewer's attention constantly occupied and the film's emotional impact is truly sad instead of being only shocking. There are a few darkly comic moments in the film, but mostly the tone is very dramatic and grim.

Trust, friendships and love are tested as friends kill each other and lovers commit suicide. The fragility of the separate groups is heartbreaking - especially in the brilliant lighthouse sequence which I consider one of the best scenes of the decade. The narrative is so meticulously constructed that it swept me in right away and almost made me completely forget about the form (which is good as well).

Fukasaku engages the rich and controversial screenplay with needed intensity and drama. He mixes classical compositions with instrumental music created for the movie to create a very dramatic musical score. It could easily lead to maudlin sentimentality, but Fukasaku employs them in the correct way to make the drama tangible. Occasional use of handheld camerawork and intensive yet precise editing patterns add to the film's strong impact on the viewer.

Kinji Fukasaku's Battle Royale is a hard-hitting and complex film which deals with themes I hold in high regard. It makes me even more interested in the director's earlier filmography which is quite hard to obtain from anywhere.

Score: 10 out of 10

Brazil

Terry Gilliam's Brazil (1985) is one of the most famous cinematic utopias - and for a good reason. Sam Lowry is a bureaucrat in a perversely bureaucratic society. His life goes out of control when he tries to find the girl of his dreams while his mother tries to push him to a "better" job. Even though the film begins with a bland "chasing the girl" conflict it turns gradually into a brilliantly nightmarish story which digs deep into the main character's mind. Although the climax justifies the relatively mild first half of the film, I wouldn't consider the screenplay perfect.

Gilliam's form is often forgotten because his sets and costumes are so bizarre and fabulous. However, his cinematography is nearly as intense and fascinating with compositions and camera movement that make the film even more nightmarish, which is a feat in itself. The use of the song called 'Brazil' is almost magnificent - it's not only escapism for the characters, but also a damn good way to create a great atmosphere for the film.

Brazil continues the peculiar traditions of the directors while being a very good film at the same time.

Score: 9 out of 10

Departures

Yôjirô Takita's Departures (2008) won the Oscar award for the Best Foreign Language Film. In the film, a cellist is forced to become an "encoffinist", the person who prepares the dead for funerals. The film is a lot of things at the same time: a social observation on social stigmas related to occupation, a story of finding solace and dignity in the most unlikely place, and it is also about dealing with death and troubled relationships.

The film succeeds in being all of these things at the same time - although I did have one problem with the screenplay: the film was emotionally uneven at first because the comedy and drama didn't really mix together well. However, the film's last 30 minutes don't have this problem at all.

Formally the film is solid - even a bit fascinating in a few scenes. It works really well all the way from music (loved the cello) to editing (the montage after the first hour was brilliant). The form isn't spectacular enough to make the film a masterpiece - which is a shame because it has all the ingredients for that.

Departures deserves its Oscar because it is a very good film - sadly it doesn't manage to go beyond that. 

Score: 8 out of 10

Café Lumière

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

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

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

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

Score: 8 out of 10

Only Yesterday

Isao Takahata is the lesser known director of the two masters at Studio Ghibli - the other being Hayao Miyazaki. His anti-war film, Grave of the Fireflies (1988), is considered his masterpiece, but I beg to differ. Only Yesterday (1991) - a film depicting Japan in the 60's and the 80's - is the one I consider his true masterpiece. Although Grave of the Fireflies and Only Yesterday are approximately on the same level when it comes to quality, I prefer the latter's complexity because it is drawn from simple yet subtle moments which linger in my mind long after the ending.

Essentially the film is about a 27-year-old office worker who takes a vacation to work in the fields - while reflecting upon the time when she came of age. The dense narrative manages to create tangible portrayals of Japan during the 60's and the 80's. The film goes to tiny details in order to show how things have changed and how each period has an effect on the characters.  But most of all this film is about nostalgia - and it is a superb take on the phenomenon.

The form is even more superb. The art direction is wonderfully striking and distinctive - especially the way nostalgia is portrayed is magnificent. The compositions are beautiful and colors are used in a fascinating way. The use of music varies from subtle (background music) to intrusive (song sequences) - both of which work very well. The character design is quite flawless throughout the film.

Ultimately, Only Yesterday might be my favourite Studio Ghibli film because for me it's the most poignant one - and that should say quite a lot.

Score: 10 out of 10

Twenty-four Eyes

Since last Christmas, I've been eager to see Keisuke Kinoshita's films. Why? I found out that he served as the "sensei" for Akira Kurosawa and Masaki Kobayashi - two of my favourite directors - so I guess his films should be at least interesting. Recently I bought Eureka's release of his Twenty-four Eyes (1954) - a film (based on Sakae Tsuboi's novel of the same name) about a young teacher as she begins to teach 12 six-year-olds. The film spans over the period of nearly two decades to tell the story in its entirety.

Initially the film seems to be quite lighthearted, but the further the film goes the more tragic it becomes. Yes, it is very sentimental, but like with Kurosawa's films, I enjoyed the extreme sentimentality. Kinoshita pulls it off perfectly even though the film is full of strong emotions for an hour straight. He expresses the individuality of each child and creates colorful characters. It is heart-wrenching to see how the society oppresses the women and then the war takes away the men. The film is not only about the characters, it's also about Japan in a period which forced the nation to change a lot.

The most notable aspect of the entire film is the cinematography. Kinoshita creates compositions that will never leave my mind. They are so hauntingly beautiful and striking - and it gets even better because there are certain compositions that are used many times during the film. For example, the interiors of the teacher's home is only shot through two compositions even though a lot of screentime is spent there. The film's pace is calm yet dense - the plot unfolds like life usually does.

Twenty-four Eyes moved me to tears. It's a powerful film, but sadly too unknown. It actually beat Kurosawa's Seven Samurai for Kinema Junpo's Best Film of the Year award in 1954. Even though I would not agree with the choice it still says a lot about the undeniable power of the film.

Score: 10 out of 10

Audition

On the 30th of July in 2009: I watched Takashi Miike's Audition (1999) for the first time. Even though I was somewhat aware of the film's reputation, it took me by surprise and made me flinch more than anything I had seen during the year. Initially it decreased my interest in Miike, but gradually I began to watch a few other films he had directed.

Today: I rewatched Audition - and this time I was ready for it.

Audition is the story of a widow who begins to search for a new, young wife by holding an audition. The one he falls in love with seems to be something completely different to what he initially expected. Even though Miike himself denies it, the film is focused on the social commentary. He attacks the values of modern Japanese men: the main character resorts to holding a fake audition in order to find a woman who matches his high (and exact) standards. Naturally, it is exaggerated, but it is a brilliant observation on what a lot of Japanese men have become.

The film's structure works like a proper horror film with a long build-up that explodes in a fantastic way. At the same time it manages to be satirical successfully: it's almost impossible to separate the suspense and the humor. The final third of the film is something one will not see coming even when you are aware of the film's reputation. It is such a provocative and brilliant way to explore the characters' psyches - and it manages to leave an unforgettable impression on the viewer. The only problem I have with the content is how it plays around with reality and illusion. Sometimes it works - and sometimes it does not. Although that made possible to create the film's best sequence - a dream-like (and even postmodern) exploration of the characters.

The film's form is fascinating as well. During the first half of the film, it manages to be distant while keeping the emotionally invested in the characters. The slight alienation is only for the better because in the final third, the form becomes so intimate and brutally honest that it has a huge effect on the viewer. The first half of the film is almost very foreboding when you look at the cinematography - especially the lighting.

In overall, Audition is a great film that could have become a masterpiece, but doesn't barely reach that status.

Score: 9 out of 10

Gion Festival Music

Kenji Mizoguchi's Gion bayashi (1953) - often translated as either Gion Festival Music or A Geisha - is the story of two geishas, a newcomer and an experienced one, struggling to survive when the geisha tradition begins to change after the World War II. In comparison to Sansho the Bailiff and Ugetsu, Mizoguchi's so-called feminism is most obvious in Gion Festival Music. The women are powerless against men and thus they are exploited - although Mizoguchi approaches the story in a refreshingly subtle way. But most of all, the film is about the relationship between the two geishas and how it evolves.

Mizoguchi's camerawork is similar to his other movies: (relatively) long takes, constantly moving and always very poignant. Even though the studio pressured him not to stick to his "one scene, one take" editing, there are a lot of takes that can be considered quite long. Even though his editing and cinematography are powerful, they are played down a little here for the sake of more subtlety - although the film can be considered more melodramatic than any of Yasujiro Ozu's films, for example.

Ultimately, Gion Festival Music is a good film which works well in general, but it is forgettable in the end.

Score: 8 out of 10

Scandal

Before Akira Kurosawa became famous outside Japan with his Rashômon (1950), he made Scandal (1950). It is his direct assault against Japanese media. A young painter (Toshiro Mifune) offers his help to a famous singer, but the eager paparazzi take a photo of the two and imply that they are secretly in love. The story is partly based on Akira Kurosawa's own experiences when it was implied by the press that he had an affair. However, the true main character of the film is the corrupt lawyer (Takashi Shimura) who decides to help the painter.

Scandal is heavy-handed and melodramatic even by Kurosawa's own standards. He points out a simple problem caused by Japan's rapid change during the 40's (and eventually in the 50's as well). Even though the film is over-sentimental Kurosawa manages to keep it together miraculously thanks to his strong characters and cast. Especially Takashi Shimura's towering performance dominates the entire film.

Although Kurosawa's form works well enough in the film, it seems he still hasn't completely refined it. There are a few truly brilliant moments - like the wonderful (if over-sentimental) bar scene. 

In overall, Scandal is an interesting film - especially for the fans of Kurosawa - despite being somewhat flawed and over-the-top.

Score: 7 out of 10

Love & Pop

Hideaki Anno is best known for his work as an anime director. Gunbuster, Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, Neon Genesis Evangelion and His and Her Circumstances are brilliant and popular TV shows. However, after finishing those TV shows he decided to direct a few live-action films with a tiny budget. His experimental form and interest in touchy subjects were taken even further in these small releases. Love & Pop (1998) was the first one of these live-action films. It is a story of four Japanese schoolgirls who engage in enjo kosai to earn money.

Anno observes the phenomenon in a negative but honest way. There are a few cases where nothing harmful happens and everyone involved gains profit. But in most cases there are problems. Thieves, rapists, perverts and other freaks abuse the the service. And what does it tell that the girls succumb to enjo kosai only to get money? The society has become awfully materialistic. Anno also addresses a few other social problems: the effects of competitive education, the social pressure on adolescents and what has become of (too) many adults in Japan. However, the truly relevant thematic aspect is more universal. The main character, Hiromi, begins to questions her own identity when she compares herself to her friends.

Anno's highly experimental form is initially baffling, but once you get used to it, it's intriguing and magnificent. The entire film was shot with miniature digital cameras so the film automatically has a distinctive look. His offbeat camera positions are even more extreme this time - sometimes the camera is even attached to different body aparts (the most absurd one is inside a girl's skirt). The pacing is marvellous because he can so effortlessly move between places and switch from ridiculously fast cuts to long takes. This time he even plays with the aspect ratios of different shots. The most notable example of this trick is pictured below. Anno's strong hand and leg motifs appear in Love & Pop as well. Not a single scene passes by without a shot of shoes or feet. The hand motif serves as a brilliantly creepy way to describe Hiromi's "downfall". Anno's usage of the fish eye lens is more than obvious in Love & Pop and it is only one of the dozens of devices he uses to create more anxiety.

In overall, Love & Pop is a challenging and rewarding film. I have to admit that I did not appreciate a lot until the third time I watched it. First of all, its content seemed lesser when put next to Anno's other films, but even that is not entirely true. Secondly, once you get over the confusion created by the form and controversial content, it is easier to find the film's true brilliance.

Score: 10 out of 10

Dust in the Wind

Dust in the Wind (1986) continues Hou Hsiao-hsien's tradition of using someone's memories of growing up as the inspiration for the story. This time it is Wu Nien-Jen's turn. He is the other screenwriter who has frequently worked with Hou. I would also like to mention that Wu Nien-Jen had one of the main roles in Edward Yang's Yi yi which belongs to my all-time favourite films. The film focuses on two young friends who move from their poor hometown to Taipei in search of a job to earn money for their families.

Hou delivers some social criticism this time, regarding the harsh conditions of surviving in an urban Taiwan - and it also raises negative points about military. The two main characters are observed in an interesting way and I grew to really like them during the film. Despite of that, the film never reaches an impact as huge as Hou's other films through subtlety.

Hou's form is solid yet again, but his trademarks dont show up as obviously as in his other films. Yet again, I have to mention his habit of using same compositions more than once during a film. In Dust in the Wind, his compositions of the train station are used in a brilliant way. Especially the last use of the long distance composition is haunting.

In the end, Dust in the Wind is a very good film, but not necessarily great. It works well enough on all aspects, but that's it.

Score: 8 out of 10

Suicide Club

(the picture is not mine, took it from lovehkfilm.com*)

Sion (or Shion, depending on how you romanize his first name) Sono's Suicide Club (2001) is known for causing two disliked things: confusion and controversy. The film opens with a scene involving a mass suicide of 54 schoolgirls, and concludes with a music video starring 12-year-old girls. What happens in between is bizarre and surprising - including a detective story, lots of satiric gore, a creepier version of Alex de Large and a "mass suicide fad".

Sono's social commentary is harsh, provocative but brilliant. Before he made the film, the suicide rates in Japan had risen drastically. Although it is not obvious at first, Sono tries to point out the problems causing the high suicide rate. The flick's social criticism works on a grand scale - it doesnt examine only a small detail or two. The scariest (and probably the most important) aspect of the content is how mass suicides become a trend among the Japanese.

Sono's approach to the subject is peculiar and fascinating. He performs a trick similar to the one Takashi Miike used in Ichi the Killer: making audience think by approaching controversial topics in a blunt and shocking way. The exaggerated, satiric use of blood gives the film a playful tone (if you arent too squeamish).

In the end, the film is Sono's uplifting message to the Japanese: even though it's "scary and hard" (as the last song suggests), you should keep on living and stay true to yourself. The film's surreal plot might be a bit cryptic at first - especially during the last half hour. What makes the film even weirder is that the preteen children of the film deliver the most important and wise statements about self-discovery and perseverance.

Sadly, the film's content is not perfect. Its narrative is clunky and unfocused. The film is frantic in switching between characters and storylines. Because its running time is short (99 mins), this explosive narrative leaves everything a bit underdeveloped - even though it manages to get its message clearly across.

Sono's form is brilliant as well. He proves he can handle camera panning and editing quite well. He doesnt go too wild with the form - I guess this is good because then you can focus on the content.Suicide Club would be a masterpiece if its narrative wasnt so badly structured. Although you should realise that Suicide Club is by no means an easy film to watch or understand because it is far from a straightforward film: you have to be willing to go beyond its superficial level to enjoy it.

Score: 8 out of 10

* = the link to image source: http://www.lovehkfilm.com/panasia/suicide_club.htm

Ikiru

Akira Kurosawa's Ikiru (1952) is the story of an old man (Takashi Shimura) who finds out he has only 6 months to live. The film is the portrayal of his struggle after learning about this horrible truth. At the same time, Kurosawa delivers sharp social criticism by taking aim at the horrible bureaucracy that takes place at the office the man works at.

Ikiru is a heartbreaking film which has a few glorious moments of comedy, but in the end it is a tragedy. The film's content works on a personal and a social level: while the old man has to accept his incoming death he goes through a complicated phase of development before the film finally moves onto the strong social criticism. The content's admirable complexity left me in awe. Kurosawa's form doesn't fail either. The powerful camera movement and delicious photography are brilliant as usual.

Score: 10 out of 10

Syndromes and a Century

Apichatpong Weerasethakul's Syndromes and a Century (2006) continues the director's "traditions": long shots, slow pace and the lack of conflict in the plot. The film is Weerasethakul's own take on how his parents (both of them doctors) met and it is partly based on his memories of growing up in a hospital. The story is divided into two segments which share similar scenes and the same actors (and characters to some degree as well). The "repeated" scenes are however set in different locations and they are viewed from a different point of view (or the result might even be completely changed sometimes). A scene is repeated only one at most, and even then in different segments - so it isnt exactly the modern Last Year at Marienbad. 

The director seems to long for the past because the first segment that takes place notably earlier than the second is treated with more care. The second segment feels more like a piece of sharp social criticism with people acting more like machines and all the characters seem to be so isolated from others. The repetition of similar moments heavily punctuate the narrative, and they also provide a refreshing way to approach the content. It is truthful to say that the film is about the power of memory, but that statement makes the film sound a lot more simple than it really is. The film's content shoots at a lot of direction and thus its content is a bit confusing and nigh impossible to describe perfectly.

The film's dreamlike and hypnotic form deserves a lot of praise. Weerasethakul shows he has the talent and confidence to masterfully use long shots. His use of sound should not be forgotten because it plays a subtle yet significant part in setting the mood for the whole film. The compositions are stunning and I would say the film is worth watching even if it was only for the awesome cinematography.

In overall, Syndromes and a Century is an impressive and experimental film which I would recommend watching if its "meditativeness" doesnt bother you.

Score: 9 out of 10

Tokyo!

Tokyo! (2008) is a triptych of stories that all take place in Tokyo. Each segment is directed by a different director: Michel Gondry, Leos Carax and Jong-ho Bong. I would say what all of these segments have in common (besides the location) is that they all somehow deal with our difficulties to communicate and find our place in the society. But it is a lot easier to focus on these segments separately. The film opens with an animated shot of Tokyo with an announcer speaking in the background, as if we - the viewers - would be boarding onto a flight. In my opinion, watching the film feels like one, even if the stories are wildly exaggerated and they dont necessarily try to portray Tokyo honestly.

The first segment is Michel Gondry's Interior Design. Akira (Ryo Kase), an amateur and experimental filmmaker, and her girlfriend Hiroko (Ayako Fujitani) come to Tokyo to release Akira's film and also to find a place to live in. Before finding their own apartment, they move in to live with Akemi (Ayumi Ito) for a few days. From there on, the story becomes a bit different: the main characters face difficulties and in the end it is about Hiroko and her problems to fit into the society. The story takes on a rather wild symbolical path by the end, which even on its own makes the segment worth watching. The story raises enough questions - and its own peculiar way answers them satisfyingly enough, but it is nothing revolutionary. Gondry's visual take on the story is impressive and very fitting. I went bonkers when I heard that both Fujitani and Ito are both in this movie - even more when I realised they are in the same segment. They both perform very well as expected, delightul performances by both of them - even though Ito's character is hardly deep or even good. On its own, I would probably give this segment a 7 as its rating.

The second segment is Leos Carax' Merde. Merde (Denis Lavant) is the main character (pictured above) of the film who is also known as the "Creature of the Sewers" who wreaks havoc in Tokyo once in a while and then disappears. Eventually the Japanese capture him and what happens then is even more bizarre than the beginning. I guess you could interpret the story to be a tale of how different people can be - and how we react to that difference. Yet the screenplay doesnt seem to pick a side - or even a point of view - on the subject and in the end it is quite disappointing. It explores its obvious message on a childish yet peculiar way which seems to be an insult towards weird people in general. Yet it seems to show how cruelly the society takes care of these weird persons. The result is a mess - to say the least. The biggest offender was the nonsensical ending. Carax' form for the story is a weird combination of gritty and clean cinematography. It certainly packs a punch here and there, and it uses some weird devices - like split screen for an entire scene. That's why it feels a bit gimmicky at times, but in general it works to some degree. This segment deserves only a 3!

The last segment is Joon-ho Bong's Shaking Tokyo. It is the story of a Japanese man (Teruyuki Kagawa) who has lived all alone in his apartment for over 10 years and has avoided eye contact with anyone during that time. The story is set into motion once he does make eye contact with pizza delivery girl (Yû Aoi) - with almost catastrophical results. I have to admit the story evolves into something extremely fascinating and thoughtful. This segment alone makes the film worth a watch - or even worth the purchase of the DVD release. In a way Bong shoves the middle finger at what the Japanese society has turned into yet he seems to care deeply for the characters. The story is - as you can guess - about loneliness and the difficulties in communication. Bong's form is nigh perfect with its great compositions and lovely editing. I dont want to reveal too much about the segment, but the content is awesome as well. This segment certainly deserves a 9 at least.

In overall, the film is certainly nice to watch because the segments are so refreshingly different from each other. Even though I disliked the second segment, I can see how it fits into the film and I will probably buy the DVD someday.

Score: 7 out of 10

The Sea Inside

Alejandro Amenábar's The Sea Inside (2004) is based on the true story of a paralyzed man (Javier Bardem) who fought 28 years for the right to end his own life. Amenábar tackles yet another iffy subject with sentimentality. Luckily Amenábar sentimentality is excellent so that he never does it over-the-top, but handles it carefully. The film's characters are thoroughly explored and examined, which makes it a deep insight on how this man lived and how that affected everyone around him. The film's ethical content is carefully touched upon and it is handled in a great way - to say the least. The dialogue appears as pretentious which it could easily be, and that is due to the good writing and Bardem's magnificent performance. His subdued performance is heartbreakingly spot-on. He really gets to flex his acting muscles here. The form is unsurprisingly as usual for Amenábar. He sticks to certain patterns that are both good and bad. He never takes risks, and it leaves the film a little cold in comparison to its brilliant content.

Score: 7 out of 10