Cinema Talk

Pang Ho-Cheung follows up his 2006 masterpiece, Isabella, with another effort saturated with overwhelmingly beautiful visuals. The protagonist here is also a police officer, but the narrative similarities end there. Isabella is ultimately a “father-daughter” film and this is ultimately a “woman killing men” film. Yes, the film is about a cop investigating, based on his own suspicions,  the secret plans of women, which is to kill all men apparently. Thankfully, Pang is one of the most aesthetically evolved directors ever and in terms of visuals this is another step up for him, perhaps even topping Wong Kar-Wai’s 2046, the film which his new style seems to be modeled around.

Tsim Kin-Yip is a cop whose marriage with Ann seems to be going smoothly. One day he interrogates a man caught peeping in a woman’s bathroom. Indeed of admitting to anything, the man explains to Tsim that he was looking for more evidence to support his case that all women are teaming up to kill all men. Tsim assumes the man is insane, but later that very same day, the man confesses in a very mechanical fashion. This intrigues Tsim, who now begins investigating the conspiracy that the man had mentioned in the first interrogation. As he dives further into the investigation, his wife becomes more and more neglected. He feels guilty for this and attempts to spend time with her, but doing so leads him directly into another part of the investigation which then leads him to an affair with Pun Siu-Yuen, the ex-wife of the man Tsim interrogated.

It’s to Pang’s credit that the story is never confined to being just an investigation. All things considered, this is probably as great as a film can be given it’s obvious narrative restrictions. It might be a result of the distinct stylistic choices, but there are some very humane and poetic moments. Fans of plot-driven cinema will feel anxious at times with development taking such a backseat to much more graceful scenes like Ann laying in bed with a cat, or Tsim looking through a window.

Even though this didn’t resonate with me that deeply, it did reinforce just how great Pang Ho-Cheung is. This isn’t nearly as instantly lovable as Isabella but it is more instantly groundbreaking in a cinematic way. It’s a shame that something as evolved as this, will fall between the cracks. The blame can be shifted on Pang, in this case. He isn’t exploring anything truthful or ahem “deep” (not that I care for overly-ponderous films…) in a film like this, so that could be why many arty people like myself will neglect a film like this. The narrative may appeal to a certain mainstream audience, but Pang crafts his films in such a unconventional (to say the least) way that they’ll neglect it as well. Hopefully his second film from 2007, Trivial Matters, will get a bigger audience, Pang deserves one.

This is quintessential Naruse here. All of the themes/topics that have defined the rest of his oeuvre — money, abused women, heartbreak, disappointment, etc. — are pushed to the forefront in his gentle retelling of Fumiko Hayashi’s autobiography. At times, the film borders on feeling like a Naruse parody and even becomes simply too bleak. My general reaction after finishing this was “great, but I know Naruse has done better, this seems a little melodramatic” but my thoughts have shifted since then. Considering the harsh events that Mrs. Hayashi endured, Naruse crafts the film with care. This is understandable considering that Mrs. Hayashi was a bit of a hero to him and it’s well-known that he adapted many of her stories. This is not a cinematic love letter to the author, but indeed a cinematic thank you note and it couldn’t be better.

The film opens with a young Hayashi running down an alley, screaming for her mother, played by the great Kinuyo Tanaka in a much smaller role. She informs her mother that father has been arrested and before the titles even set in, we have our first look at humiliation. It’s much lighter compared to what will appear later in the film. Hayashi’s father is forced, by the policemen, to sing “his” song. Embarrassed, she runs away but it is never made clear if she is upset with the policemen, her father, or just men in general. The voice overs that follow imply the last option and the film lends it’s time detailing how Hayashi was commonly mistreated in her “rise” (if you actually want to call it that) in becoming a poet.

Immediately, the audience understands why Fumiko thinks so negatively of men but this generalization is a flaw on her part. It’s important to know that Naruse does not want to make her out to be a martyr. Yes, she did go through a lot (and this film conveys that beautifully) but her perspective was bias. All the handsome men were the ones mistreating her. Time after time, she falls back, both emotionally and financially, on Daisuke Kato’s character. She sees nothing of him, though, at least not until their final meeting at the end of the film. It would be an exaggeration to say he is her ticket out of depression but the life he lived was probably not as saturated with injustice.

Explaining the story isn’t of much interest to me because the film is more about the many relationships that are made. Simply stated, there are not enough words in any language to accurately describe the depths of every character. This shouldn’t come as any surprise, though, this has always been a hallmark of Naruse’s films. It’s just worth mentioning in this case because a plot arc does sort of develop here, but it’s far from being a priority to Naruse. This is not a criticism of him, if anything it’s a compliment.

If the film has any drawbacks, then it might be that it’s simply too bleak. This is not the best place for someone to start with Naruse. Despite it showcasing many of his most popular themes, it would probably be better for a Naruse novice to get acquainted with his pessimistic outlook and post-war style before diving in with this film. As great as it is, and it is great, this is 127 minutes of suffering and that’s likely to turn a lot of people of. Much like Tsai Ming-Liang’s The Wayward Cloud, Hourou-ki is the climax to the director’s previous work. Labels like “melodrama” and “self-indulgent” will be thrown around by those experiencing Naruse for the first time with this film. However, this will resonate deeply for those that are at least vaguely familiar with his work.

On the objective side of things, this couldn’t be much more perfect, either. Takamine (and everyone else) is perfect as always. Kinuyo Tanaka has a very small role as her mother, and it’s very likely that Tanaka’s personality rubbed off on Takamine. That influence helps culminate in one of Takamine’s best performances, which is completely necessary considering how often this walks the lines of being too bleak even for a person like myself. Mr. Naruse’s work with space is excellent as always and, being shot in TohoScope, it couldn’t look much better. TThis is one of the greatest treasures in the history of Japanese cinema and it’s essential for anyone remotely interested in the history of the subject matter.

Based on Misuzu Nakahara’s fictional autobiography, Hatsukoi is a story about a young girl coming of age and later, a heist. Aoi Miyazaki plays Misuzu, a high school girl who seeks out her long lost brother (played by Miyazaki’s real brother, Masaru Miyazaki) after a brief encounter with him in a movie theater. She visits the “B” bar where she finds him and many other intriguing personalities that form some sort of group whose motives are overthrowing the government and getting intoxicated. Misuzu starts forming a relationship with Kishi, the quiet one in the group. Since Misuzu is the only one in the group without a police record, Kishi offers his heist plan to her and she accepts.

Though far from being as aesthetically rigorous, this does bring to the mind the same loneliness/alienation mood brought on by the great Tsai Ming-Liang. A big part of this could be credited to the ever-captivating Aoi Miyazaki. I wouldn’t be surprised if first time director, Hanawa, just wanted to make a showcase for her beauty and thus, created a film with her in a lot of (relatively) long static shots. The previously mentioned Tsai vibe contrasts greatly with the distinctly 60s atmosphere that the characters live in. It definitely brings to mind a couple Japanese New Wave films (off the top of my head – The Man Who Left His Will on Film, Pale Flower, Sex Jack) but I suppose the comparisons are inevitable. The photography (from Junichi Fujisawa) is excellent in providing a new perspective on events that I’ve personally see hundreds of times via J-New Wave documentaries.

While all of this is great to me, the film is unfortunately building up towards a very unwelcome plot arc. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the main quote, unquote “purpose” of the film is introduced. The first hour, though not without it’s fault, was built upon truthfully awkward sequences that obtain an oddness akin to Paul Morrissey’s earlier films. While the second half of the film, while maintaining it’s visual beauty, couldn’t be more conventional in a narrative sense. Even with all the silly suspense cliches, there are a few truthful and affecting sequences. The film still falls short on the promise seen in the first forty minutes or so.

This is certainly worth watching, though, if only for Aoi Miyazaki and the equally beautiful cinematography from Junichi Fujisawa. First-time director Yukinari Hanawa shows great promise, especially considering the limitations he was working under. The budget, cast, and popularity of the novel imply that the producers may have wanted something a bit more marketable. Not a masterpiece, but instead, it is the work of an up and coming director who everyone should keep their eyes on.

Playing off a similar setup in Gion Bayashi, which came much later, Sisters of the Gion tells the story of two geisha sisters, Umekichi and Omocha. The more experienced Umekichi sees it as her responsibility to house her customer, Furusawa, who recently was abandoned by his wife. The younger Omocha is angered by this: she feels that Umekichi is being exploited by Furusawa. A quote early in the film explains her view of the men she “works” with: “Everyman that comes in here wants to take advantage of you.” Umekichi goes against her best judgment, and allows Furusawa into her life while Omocha schemes a way to get rid of him.

Another wonderful entry in Mizoguchi’s social drama category. Great in it’s observations but also oozing with technical wizardry. Shots indoors are filled very straightforward, occasionally featuring very, very long static compositions. When a character leads, we follow him/her through the chaotic and lively streets via tracking shots. The camera moves in such a fluid manner that the film not only obtains a documentary feel (the condition of the print helps) but also reminds one of Alan Clarke’s films of the 1980s. In other words, Mizoguchi is really breaking a lot of new ground here.

On the other end of the spectrum, this doesn’t really come close to the emotional height of Chikamatsu Monogatari. In that film, Mizoguchi took many narrative risks but it all ends up working. Even though the government may not have been in favor of a film exposing certain class conditions, it feels a bit too familiar at this point. This isn’t to say the story is not engaging but it’s more an objective, yet convincing look into the lives of two geisha sisters. There is nothing wrong with simple drama like this that on the surface “go nowhere”- in fact, many of my very favorite films fall into this category. However, a film like Humanity and Paper Balloons takes the time to allow us to understand the characters. At a running time of only 69 minutes, Sisters of the Gion does not.

In the film’s defense, IMDB says the original running time 95 minutes, which means my VHS copy probably left a lot out and not to mention, the quality does prevent you from seeing anyone’s face. Considering what Mizoguchi was intending to do aesthetically speaking and the time when he made it, this is pretty much a perfect film. I hate to go back to the camera work, but the way he shoots dialogue scenes is simply so great. It’s pretty much done in the same way as a Hou Hsiao-Hsien film, but maybe even further away from the character. Complimented by the perceptive writing and wonderful performances, the film gains an almost surveillance type of mood. Mizoguchi does hard towards the end to switch to a more conventional style: it almost turns into some film-noir melodrama. Thankfully, the rest of the film is perfectly suited to my taste. Score another masterpiece for Mizoguchi.

Otama has never had good relationships with men, and ironically enough, she must marry one in order to financially support her family. She is introduced to Suezo, who tells her that he is a widowed merchant. This a lie, though. He is actually an already married moneylender who thinks of Otama as a mistress.

Not a particularly noteworthy film, but still, fairly decent. The main appeal here has to be Hadeko Takamine, who is as captivating as ever. The script forces a few too many dramatic coincidences which does sort of downplay her subtle greatness. The dubbed VHS source doesn’t help either. Still, she feels right at home here. A feminist drama (of sorts) where money becomes the downfall of many – sound familiar? That aside, she is quite wonderful, but I don’t think I could recommend this to someone as their first exposure to her. The melodrama is most likely not her fault, but the script’s.

Yes, you could say this is sort of a wannabe-Naruse but it does have some unique merits. The most obvious case being the fairly liberal, but well-executed use of tracking shots and wide-angle lenses. This isn’t eye-opening innovation but considering the shape the print is in, it looks quite great. On the other end of the (technical) spectrum, the music is very, very bad. It may very well have been added in by the American distributors. Same goes for the random voice over that occasionally provides unneeded exposition.

Despite my seemingly indifferent attitude towards the film, I did enjoy it a great deal. There’s some universal film-making conventions of the 1950s that drag it down, but I’d say it’s miles above it’s melodramatic brethren to the West. As of now, Shiro Toyoda’s films are quite hard to find. Guess we’ll (or I’ll) just have to keep our fingers crossed that someone like MoC will release a few of his films. I definitely would like to see more.