Cinema Talk

It may have been a result of watching it right after the woefully melodramatic Immortal Love, but this ended up being one of the most enjoyable Naruse viewings I’ve had in a long time. For starters, it is one of his most outrightly comedic, but fortunately, never falls back into a level of zany screwball-esque hi jink as Sudden Rain sort of does. More importantly, the comedy comes from this very strictly-created nervous tension that is more often found in Ozu’s work than in Naruse’s. The story is also one of Naruse’s most immediately accessible, bearing more resemblance to Mike Leigh’s efforts from the 70s than to Naruse’s films from the 50s.

Taking the last two points into account, this isn’t exactly Naruse’s most personal film, at least in a formal sense. It’s made in his usual style, a calmer version of an Ozu film, but it seems the least Narusian of all his stuff from the 1950s. The story concerns a young couple, Isaku and Kikuko – played by Ken Uehara and Yoko Sugi respectively – adjusting to married life. There are some kinks within their situation, though. First, they have to live with one of Isaku’s longtime friends, Ryota, a widower who has become something of hermit since his wife’s death.

The tension between all three is clear from the start: when Isaku and Kikuko arrive at Ryota’s house after the wedding, he isn’t exactly ready. He seems to have a terrible cold for one, but he’s also caught completely off guard by the couple’s arrival. The idealistic romance of Isaku and Kikuko’s future is almost immediately demolished. Once the couple finally gets settled in, the “third wheel” complex doesn’t become any less complicated. Ryota, still in mourning, isn’t so much a burden to the couple as he is a neighbor. A lot of credit goes to Naruse and his usual evenly focused characterization. Ryota could have easily become comic relief, but the humor displayed through this character’s interactions does not ease the tension, it only makes it more obvious.

All of this is a bit on the emotionally analytical side of things, as opposed to the cinematic, but I guess that’s because I’m already aware of how well Naruse is in the technical aspect of his films. The acting here is, as any Naruse fan would expect, absolutely fantastic. Ken Uehara is essentially playing the same role as he did in Naruse’s Repast and Wife, which make something of a trilogy with this film. He’s a passive, perhaps neglectful husband, but he is not a villain. In fact, to characterize him as any character “type” would be failing to get Naruse at all. His wife, played by Yoko Sugi, is a wonderful and fascinating character as well. Sugi is probably the least well known performer to star in any of Naruse’s film, only making notable appearances in some of his other works, and as a “dancer” in Kurosawa’s Drunken Angel.

It is very tempting to compare Sugi to Setsuko Hara, who plays the wife of Ken Uehara’s character in Repast, which inevitabley makes Sugi look bad. Overall, I found the women in this film to be the least “strong” of any in a Naruse film. At one end, this makes them much more realistic than the border superhero resilence of Hideko Takamine in Untamed, but they also lack the edge, so to speak, of the women in a film such as Flowing. Of course, that film deals with aging geishas, while this one with strictly middle class housewives (and housewives to-be) so maybe I’m being a bit too critical. It’s not really a criticism, actually, as much as it is an observation. The “flaws” in Naruse’s characters are proof of his insight. The fact that I’m able to be so analytical about individual (fictional) characters is proof of Naruse’s mastery. If humanism in cinema was contest, he’d be the champion.

The fact that I was able to somewhat enjoy this, in spite of the very unpleasant dramatic tone, is a testament to my admiration for widescreen black and white cinematography. Especially when it’s Japanese film from the early 60s, also see When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (among other Naruse films from the 60s) and The Insect Woman. This film actually has a lot in common with the latter film, but unfortunately, Kinoshita’s cinematic sensibilities don’t align quite as well with my taste as Imamura’s do. Even with a great cast (Tatsuya Nakadai and Hideko Takamine together again!) there isn’t really much to appreciate beyond some wonderful visual moments.

A big problem I have with Kinoshita’s “drama” is how frank, straight-forward, but also simple-minded it all is. In the film’s opening chapter (Kinoshita divides the story into seven sections) we see Takamine’s character, Sadako, being forced into a marriage with Nakadai’s, Heibei. To make things worse, Sadako is raped by Heibei, which results in a child, Eiichi. The narrative jumps forward a couple of years to the still unhappy couple dealing with three children, one of them is Eiichi. Due to the context of his creation, some tension exists between Sadako and Eiichi. The setup between these two characters could have been great, but it only becomes another element to mention in Sadaoko and Heibei’s arguments.

This is where all potential seems to go out the window. The couple argues in the most frank and unrealistic manner, eloquently expressing their complicated feelings in a way that no human being could ever do. Their bizarre ability to accurately convey their feelings is pretty embarrassing on its own, but to add salt in the wound, it’s these interactions that make up the entire film. That’s not to say there isn’t some nice moments here and there, but it is a bit of problem when someone is either crying or yelling 95% of the time. To get a idea of how frustratingly perfect the dialogue is, it made me think of what is left unsaid in most of Ozu’s film. The conversations in Kinoshita’s film are the inverse of the one’s in Ozu. Some people will prefer Kinoshita’s approach but needless to say, I don’t.

Hideko Takamine, even though she has to work with a rather ridiclous script, does deliver another fantastic performance. There’s a few times where she steps into the melodramatic realm that Kinoshita seems to be desperately pushing for, but she maintains her trademark charm throughout the film. Tatsuya Nakadai, on the other hand, doesn’t fair too well. He’s a great actor when he’s given something solid to work with, but he isn’t in this case and unlike Takamine, his acting can’t transcend a pedestrian storyline. I hope Kinoshita’s other films will deliver on some of the potential present here, but I have a strong feeling that they won’t.

As unintentionally hilarious as it sounds, the physical experience of watching this was a little bit like watching Dreyer’s Vampyre, which I reviewed only a couple days ago. There’s no striking similarities, or obvious thematic connection, but ultimately, I couldn’t appreciate either film beyond just being formal studies. Both are fascinating to watch, but I would be lying if I said I’d like to see them again. Criticizing either film for being “all style, no substance” is a little too harsh, especially since I don’t think substance is tangible element of films, but I have to admit that they both could have been a lot more interesting.

Benedek Fliegauf’s film observes the final days of a drug dealer (hence the title) as he roams around the city, revisiting old friends and former flames, but also (of course) making drug deals. It starts out very fascinating, but rather quickly takes a turn to dullness. The fact that the film is “slow” has nothing to do with its torturous pace, but more because it doesn’t even seem to be slow for the right reason. People criticize Gus Van Sant’s death trilogy for trying to be slow for slow sake, and its easy to understand what they’re trying to say. After all, Van Sant had been working in mainstream Hollywood for many years prior. The thing is, his self-conscious “art” films are slow because the content calls for it. Two guys roaming around in a desert should be slow because it underscores the narrative.

Back on topic here, Fliegauf’s story does not (at least in my mind) call for such a meditative aesthetic. This film could have been great had it not limited the dramatic “chaos” (for lack of a better term) into Fliegauf’s formal appreciation of Miklos Jancso. His camera floats around the room, observing the protagonist’s life. As I said earlier, it is fascinating to watch, at least for awhile, but it doesn’t seem appropriate for what is happening on-screen. A rotating tracking shot of a woman shooting up heroin may have a deadpan comedic tinge to it, but a scene with the same woman yelling about her child doesn’t.

Comedy is obviously not the only reason for a director to choose the “minimalistic” route so I’m not exactly criticizing Fliegauf for not making his film funny enough, but instead, the form doesn’t seem to fit with the content. Tsai Ming-Liang, for example, makes wonderful “slow” movies. In my mind, he’s one of the best, but the thing is, all his stories are around loneliness and/or ennui (among many others thing, obviously) so they work perfectly with a slower pace. Maybe Fliegauf’s film is groundbreaking just because it doesn’t fit this mold, but it just ends up feeling too forced. Again, this isn’t a bad film by any means, it just a curious one that maybe will take on a greater importance in my cinematic “evolvement” but for now, it is a well-made piece but a bit too much on the ponderous side.

Another great film from the unjustly neglected Stefan Uher, though it has very little in common with his equally great Sun in a Net. (Slnko v sieti, 1962) That film is more of a Antonioni-esque relationship driven mood piece, while this is one that is built almost entirely on its energetic aesthetic. To give a good idea of the film’s overall feeling, I’d look at the sequence in Werckmeister Harmonies with the little kids jumping on a bed, refusing to go to sleep. It has the art of Tarr’s work, but it also has a sense of humor about itself and never becomes overly-ponderous.

Continuing with the comparisons to Hungarian filmmakers, Uher does remind me a little bit of Miklos Jancso here, but only in the sense of the camera’s freedom. Like Jancso’s work, this film feels extremely “open” if only for the fact that camera seems to become a character all on its own. Uher doesn’t use the floating, tracking shot, though, instead he goes the route of shaky and/or steadicam. Maybe it is a bit manipulative in the sense that it is obviously trying to come off as sponteanous, but it comes off as, well, sponteanous. It probably also helps that Uher’s content, following around teenage headcases is far more interesting, at least to me, than Jancso’s political examinations.

Even if the camera work wasn’t so wonderful, there would still be enough of that “kids being kids” material that I would probably love the film anyway. I probably use this description one times too many, but this is definitely a “glue-sniffing” story. To put things into perspective, the children here are crazy enough to even attempt to circumcise themselves, only to win a bet, in which the prize is a knife. I guess it could be argued that I shouldn’t be so easy on the whole transgressive teens genre, but its a personal thing, I suppose.

In my (and more importantly Uher’s) defense, all these crazy and sponteanous moments are absolutely beautiful to look at. One of the few things carried over from Uher’s Sun in a Net is the wonderful sensory-filled close-ups that, in this case, are composed among wide-angle lens shots that bring to mind Wong Kar-Wai’s work of the mid-90s. Taking how groundbreaking the two films I’ve seen from Uher are, it is a shame that more people don’t know about him. I know there’s plenty of people out there that would absolutely love this, but unfortunately, Uher has yet to get any substantal attention in the west.

Well, a film like this isn’t going to gain an audience from the “arty” crowd, which I’m sure most people reading this belong to, but I still have to say that it is absolutely great. It is rather bland, outside of some nice visual flourishes that are basically inherited from setting a film in a neon-lit modern city. I don’t mean any disrespect to Yibai Zhang, but he comes off as a rather “ordinary” guy, in the sense that his film feels very mainstream and pedestrian, but also shoots for something more profound. The difference between this and some Zach Braff vehicle is that Zhang succeeds. Even with his commercial aesthetic, he has created something of a masterpiece, or at least mighty close to one.

Of course, a lot of credit should go to the actors here. Even the usually wonderful “two lost souls” element of this film feels a bit on the normal side. The setup is very good and follows two people who are both reaching breaking points in their respective relationships. Masahiro Mutoki plays a Japanese stylist who visits Shanghai to attend some sort of convention (?) and in the process, he begins to drift further away from his wife and assistant. Meanwhile, a taxi driver (played by the always beautiful Vicki Zhao) learns that her long-time crush is getting married in only a couple of days. The main driving (no pun intended) point behind the film’s narrative lies not only in both characters dealing with their problematic relationships, but also trying to create a new with each other, in spite of the language barrier.

This is where the film comes dangerously close to falling into “cutesy” territory. The couple’s inability to communicate leads to some, ahem, “wacky” moments. In other words, there’s plenty of unneccessary and completely forced comic relief. On the other hand, the hijinx between the two potential lovers is nowhere near as cringe-worthy as the one involving the bald Japanese guy who follows around a Chinese police woman. I guess this gives a good impression of the film’s overall tone. There’s plenty of things that “ring true” but there’s just as many conventional filmmaking elements that threaten to destory Zhang’s insights. They don’t, however, and that’s exactly why this film is so great. If you’re looking for something formally impressive, look elsewhere. If you’re willing to tolerate some Hollywood-ish flourishes for a very warm and gentle film, then you could do a lot worse.