Cinema Talk

While I’d definitely place this on Shimizu’s lower-tier of works, I have to also give it a lot of credit for being so unique. To my knowledge, there really was no film like this in Japan at the time, or anywhere for that matter. Of course, being so different doesn’t give necessarily give it a free critical pass but the film is “interesting” enough to be inherently entertaining for almost two hours. Rather than being built upon a cohesive story as Shimizu usually does, the film features many loosely connected vignettes. There’s plenty of great moments that make the viewing worthwhile, if not downright mandatory. It’s great to see Shimizu doing some experimentation, even if the results aren’t completely successful.

The film opens to Chishu Ryu giving a tour of a boarding school to a group of parents. The camera quietly observes the daily routine of both the school’s teacher and students. On the surface, things seem perfectly fine, even if the institution is for delinquents. Then, we are introduced to Tami, who has just recently been enrolled. She is okay at first, and seems to be the most mature of the children there, but she quickly gets fed up with the school’s treatment. She befriends Masue, who along with Yoshio, makes up a problematic group of wannabe-runaways. The teachers are also frustrated, but by the children’s resistance to co-operation.

There’s many other things going on in Intospection Tower that ultimately doesn’t amount to a substantial part of the plot, but that is because Shimizu’s interests seem to lie in capturing little grains of truth from as many characters as possible, rather than focusing on any clear protagonist. One can argue that Tami is the main character as she is somewhat of a launching pad for the film’s drama, but then, it can also be argued that the teachers are the main characters because their logic is (obviously) much more rational than the children’s. The ongoing plots greatly underscore Shimizu’s occasional playful and even though this film itself isn’t a masterpiece, I do wish Shimizu would have done more “vignette” driven films.

It is probably a bit repetitive to mention that, once again, Shimizu has an amazing sense of confidence handling the camera. With the exception of the inevitable fades, this about as perfect as any film could be on a technical level. Considering the wide and open landscapes he was working with, it is great to see Shimizu avoid many close-ups. When we do see character’s faces, we really see their faces. Perhaps some see the long static shots from far away awkwardly clashing with the ridiculous close-ups, but the transition between the two is handled so gracefully under Shimizu’s direction. In other words, this is another pitch-perfect example of his filmmaking talents, but the narrative isn’t quite up to Shimizu’s usual amount of observation, heartbreak, and poignancy.

I wasn’t prepared for what is essentially, an outright “gangster” movie. This plays out more like a Seijun Suzuki film than anything else I’ve seen from Yoshida or any other J-new wave director. Then again, even Suzuki was a bit more emotionally reserved of a director than Yoshida was here. What starts out like an update of Good-for-Nothing turns into an extremely woeful action film that then proceeds to indulge in some “runaway lovers” elements. Needless to say, the whole thing is a bit of a mess and not very reflective of Yoshida’s potential. It is still enjoyable to watch, if only as a technical exercise, but even then it is fairly unremarkable.

A group of crime-ridden young adults devise a plan to rob the Turkish bath that one of their friends works at. The plan, as one can predict, does not go as the group plans it and they begin to sort through all the problems. Eventually, two of the people involved in the heist, Yasue and Tatsuo form a romantic bond. The lovers on the run then set forth their plan to “escape from Japan” to the freedom of America, which they’ve greatly idealized.

There are a few positive traits here, aside from Yoshida’s expected technical excellence. Perhaps the single most interesting aspect of the narrative is the fact that the protagonist turns out to be the slightly annoying and extremely stupid (seemingly) comic-relief guy. A clever and daring choice on Yoshida’s part, but probably the only remotely subversive aspect of an otherwise pulpy narrative. The whole post-heist sequence in the gang’s “hideout” has a lot of potential, despite unavoidable shades of Reservoir Dogs, but eventually comes out as being far too dramatic.

There’s literally, a sequence here in which every character seems to screaming, which is not only extremely annoying, it also doesn’t make any sense. Yasue is being rapped, her screams are understandable, but everybody else? Did they forget that they’re hiding from the police? Wouldn’t yelling be the single most unwise thing to do? It’s a bad enough that the film never really amounts to anything more than just a well-executed action movie, but it is even worse when there’s MST3K-worthy gaps in logic like the one I mentioned above. Not a terrible movie, I guess, but it is bizarre and upsetting to think that this the same guy who was capable of making a film as great as The Affair.

Not an overwhelming masterpiece here, but definitely a great sign of things to come from not only a young Ozu, but an extremely young Hideko Takamine. Mikio Naruse’s muse is only seven or eight years old here, and she seems to be missing all her front teeth, but none the less, she is as captivating as ever. The film itself isn’t as remarkable as its historical context, but still a lot of fun none the less. Ozu hasn’t quite gotten his preferred aesthetic down at this point, but on the positive side, this leads to plenty of interesting formal experimentation. Saying it is for Ozu fans only might imply that it isn’t that good, but it is very good and still, generally for big-time Ozu fans.

Shinji Okajima is a young father of three (already!) and despite his steady job at an insurance firm, he continues to receive pressure at home from his children. Expecting a yearly bonus, he promises his son that he will buy him a bicycle, but on payday, things don’t go as planned. Shinji discovers that an older employee is unjustly getting fired and goes to his boss to protest. His good intentions lead to his termination, which he seems fine with, until he remembers that he promised his son a bicycle.

While Hideko Takamine’s small role as Shinji’s daughter is a very welcome cast choice, I can’t help but feel slightly disappointed that the great Tomio Aoki wasn’t cast as Shinji’s son. It’s not an overwhelming loss, but one’s enjoyment of the film seems based much around the novelty of the context. In this case, Aoki, would have been a helpful addition. Like Ozu’s later An Inn in Tokyo, this one is at its best when it proceeds to indulge in moments of a proto-glue sniffing aesthetic, which is essentially my own term for gritty and surreal (think Herzog) moments of humor. In general, one of the most appealing elements of Ozu’s earliest work is that it tends to take place within the “lower class” which adds a sense of dirt (for lack of a better word) to Ozu’s technical trademarks. Anyway, this is a wonderfully entertaining experience with shades of Ozu’s future brilliance.

Probably the only “epic” I’ve seen from Shimizu thus far, but just as much of as a masterpiece as Arigato-san or Kanzashi. I have to admit, I was bit cautious approaching this seeing as how most of the other Shimizu films I’ve seen are about half as long and even then, they feel quite complete. Despite the unusual length, (by Shimizu’s standards, that is) Kodomo no shiki glides along as naturally as the director’s shorter works. Never does the film give off any sense of dragging, which may be in part due to the four sections in which it is divided. It is also a bit on the plot-driven side of things, but of course, under Shimizu’s impeccable direction, it doesn’t have a single step in the wrong direction.

Brothers Zenta and Sapei have always been told that they’ve never had grandparents. However, Sapei thinks that the old man that rides the horse by his friends is a perfect substitute. It turns out that said man is his real grandfather and that their parents have always kept their existence a secret after their grandfather had disowned their mother. Meanwhile, the boys friendship with long-time pal Kentaro is thrown into question when Kentaro’s father, Rohkai, buys the property where the boys’ usual hangout spot is located and thus, making it impossible to play on. As a result, the gang takes to the forest which leads to Kentaro breaking both his arm and leg. As the kids put aside their tensions and decide to remain friends, their parents continue to complicate the situation by holding on to long standing grudges.

It is extremely difficult to recount all the minute details that Shimizu jams into this sprawling masterpiece. The film is actually a companion piece to an earlier and much shorter film, Children in the Wind, which I did not know beforehand. Thankfully, this didn’t ruin my viewing in the least and in fact, the lack of normal “introductions” (so to speak) on Shimizu’s part only deepened my appreciation. The opening is oddly random and the two endings, one for part one and the other for part two, are abrupt in the most beautiful of ways. Based on these two conclusions, it can be argued that the story is inconsequential but such a notion seems almost laughable to anyone who has read the synopsis. Needless to say, the film is extremely consequential, but not in an overtly-dramatic sense. Shimizu has many minor things going on at once, which perfectly compliments the chaos of childhood and gives the film plenty of energy.

As expected, Shimizu’s is at his technical best here. Though the film is indeed “minimalistic” it actually opens with a shot of the grandfather on his horse that almost appears to be filmed on a modern steadicam, a device that unfortunately came after Shimizu’s life. The rest of the film is the usual (but equally mesmerizing) Shimizu tracking shot stuff. The scenes taking place outside provide the perfect balance between Shimizu’s visual poetry and pure naturalism. Such sequences reinforce the importance of shooting on location. While every other Japanese director of the time (at least so it seems) was busy on a studio set, Shimizu was busy finding images that are/were both undeniable and real.

Meanwhile, the indoor sequences have an unquestionable Ozu-like quality to them, which isn’t entirely surprising considering that long-time Ozu collaborator, Yuharu Atsuta is credited as one of the cinematographers. Not to downplay Ozu’s importance, but Shimizu essentially takes the same style and tries plenty of formal experimentation. Those through-the-wall tracking shots that both Shimizu and Mizoguchi perfected in the 30s takes on a whole new life when they are thrown in with 180 reverse-shots. To make things a lot less complicated, I’ll just say Shimizu has a great sense of space, perhaps the best of any classical Japanese director. Considering who Shimizu’s competition is in this category, that is a pretty big claim.

Overall, a pretty impressive start for Bertolucci, but he would go on to much, much better things. In fact his next film, Before the Revolution, is definitely the highest point in his career, at least so in my eyes. A lot of the things he does in this film would eventually lead him to some of the greatest moments in his greatest film, but for the most part, his debut represents a technically intriguing area in his career. The Conformist could also be said to be merely an extremely well-accomplished genre film, which is what La Commare secca ultimately is, but the former is a bit emotionally mature. On the other hand, this does have that certain vibe present in all Italian films of the early sixties that puts it about on the same level as The Conformist.

A Roman prostitute is found dead in a park located near the Tiber river. The police rounds-up a collection of characters who were all present at the scene of the crime and asks them to explain why they were there. Each character’s story is presented as a vignette, all of which lead up to a burst of rain and a cut to the prostitute getting ready for her final day on earth. One of these characters really is the killer, but all of them are ready to place a blame on someone else.

A la Rashomon, each character represents a different point of view of life leading up to the crime. Unlike Kurosawa’s film, though, Bertolucci gives all of his characters, of which there are many, plenty of opportunities to be given some depths. This isn’t the same story told in a different manner with minor differences, but instead, a few slices of life that all conclude in a protagonist being in the location of the crime. Thus, all the stories represent different dramatic focuses as well as different moods. There’s a half-decent “complicated relationship” story with the guy whose girlfriend’s mother wants to kill him. There’s a neat and extremely well photographed segment about a sleazy soldier wandering around the city.

The bit with the four teenagers is probably the best of the bunch and sort of anticipates the first twenty minutes of Bertolucci’s own La Luna. All the segments are quite fine, in and of themselves, but when stitched together to make a complete film, they feel slightly less fascinating. Perhaps it is indeed because the film ultimately becomes just a well-constructed murder mystery, but more because the sequences seem to lack any particularly substantial emotional weight. In other words, this is a great vision of things to come, but not a fully realized film in its own right.