Cinema Talk

Kenji Mizoguchi began his final and most successful decade with this sporadically reserved picture that has, oddly enough, remained neglected. It’s a film, though undeniably melodramatic, still occasionally showcases a certain type of perceptiveness. There’s small doses of truth sprinkled all over this picture, through all of the plot pieces and manipulative music, it does have something insightful about it. It’s far from Mizoguchi’s best, but it’s another more than admirable effort from him.

Hamako has just started working for her personal hero, Madame Yuki. Her romanticized view of the Madame is broken immediately, though, as she is introduced with a ever-growing list of the Madame’s personal problems. Her husband is neglectful and violent. Although she begs for divorce, he always refuses. In retaliation, she converts their home into inn. He responds by visiting the inn and brining his mistress, who plans to take ownership of the place. Despite all this, she still loves him as if forced by some evil inside of her, as she describes it. The film takes another (melodramatic) turn when it’s revealed that she is pregnant, after a suicide attempt none the less!

Silly in some parts, poignant in others, Madame Yuki might just be Mizoguchi’s most frustrating film if only for the fact that potential greatness is marred by stilted dialogue and soap opera-esque plot developments. As mentioned before, the film sometimes stumbles upon something much more truthful. It may not have been Mizoguchi’s intention but there’s something that seems to be happening underneath all the suicide attempts and tearful breakdowns. There’s nothing specific to point out, but it’s very likely that this “truth” is supported by Mizoguchi’s excellent cast, which includes Ken Uehara, Yoshiko Kuga, and Michiyo Kogure.

The film is climaxed by a sequence that’s purpose is purely visual, a testament to Mizoguchi’s unparalleled eye for visual composition. As Madame Yuki mechanically makes her way to the lake, the mist of the morning collides with the grass’ tall blades. A visual sequence, though theatrical in it’s description, is layered with poetic touches. It’s sequences like these that make Madame Yuki worth seeing. The film’s final, tragic turn is unseen but it predicts a similar event visualized later on in Mizoguchi’s Sansho the Bailiff. The sequence in question is just as gloomy, but handled by Mizoguchi with such tenderness, that a visual subtext (is this considered a pun?) is created and it’s very beautiful.

As eyebrow-raising as it’s announcement was, Wong Kar-Wai’s latest quickly faded into obscurity and it’s easy to understand why. No question, it’s a complete lapse of logic on his part. His technical graces still intact, everything else feels stilted and bordering on self-parody. Maybe he wants some extra money, or wants a larger fanbase, but still why these people? Why make a film so simplistic and built around the superficial? This isn’t really Wong selling his soul because he retains a lot of what makes him great, but maybe it’s just the work of someone pondering such a transaction – let’s hope he’s gotten it out of his system.

The film begins with a Norah Jones song that proclaims that the story has been told before, and it’s fitting since nearly every narrative plot point is derivative of Wong’s previous features. The most obvious case is Chungking Express: the Norah Jones / Jude Law relationship being a take on the Tony Leung / Faye Wong one. Jones’ character, Elizabeth, starts this relationship (in a rather forced way, I should add) with Jeremy and then leaves for some reason. She then begins working at a bar in Memphis and becomes friends with a drunkard named Arine, whose in the middle of a rough relationship with Sue Lynne. Elizabeth then leaves them behind and stumbles upon Leslie, who leads her into Las Vegas. Then, Elizabeth returns to Jeremy.

IMDB lists the film with a running time of 111 minutes, while the new HK disc has a running time of 90 minutes. Hopefully, this explains why the film feels so simple and undeveloped. Characters get tossed aside and thrown in with little regard. Everyone has bizarre, exaggerated personalities which compliments their exaggerated physical appearance. Calling the film inconsequential would a compliment. “Nonsensical” is a more accurate term and it specifically applies to Wong’s own cinematic mind.

I’ll basically stop talking about the characters; simply stated, they are of no interest. What is of interest (at least to me) is the aesthetic progressions from 2046 to this. Putting it up against Pang Ho-Cheung’s Exodus may have affected my view but it seems quite clear, that after making his most meticulous feature, Wong has retreated back to more energetic camera movement / editing. At times, Blueberry Nights feels like a Wong film that has been filtered through David Fincher’s editing sensibility. Harsh, no doubt, but one should eventually get use to to it and then, have no problem focusing on the very shallow character depictions.

There’s no denying that this a step back for Wong Kar-Wai, but on the bright side, maybe he got some overly-sentimental Hollywood crap out of his system. It’s hard for any director to continue making great films, so maybe Wong’s “golden years” are over but at least he’ll continue to progress his visual style. No matter how hallow it is inside, you got to attempt that it does look pretty fantastic on the outside. He certainly doesn’t have any problem establishing that “Doyle” look even working without Christopher Doyle. At this point, the voice-overs, speed-manipulation, repetition of music, saturated colors, and so on might just be getting a little bit old. Hopefully, he’ll prove this theory wrong.

Masaki Kobayashi’s debut marks the start of two careers. Obviously, his own, but perhaps more importantly, is the sight of Tatsuya Nakadai’s first big-time role. He’s complimented by plenty of familiar faces – Isuzu Yamada, Ineiko Arima, and Fumio Watanabe but nobody comes off too well in this case. This is not to say these are bad actors, they have proved otherwise many times before, but it’s a manifestation of my problem with Kobayashi: his characterization never really gets beyond a “good guy / bad guy” complex.

We’re introduced to a small, post-war makeshift Japanese town (think of an urbanized version of ghost towns in old westerns) that is the home of an American Air Force base. The owners of the town live in the suburbs and are oblivious to how the city is run. Then, Kobayashi shifts his attention towards a cast of characters all of whom are housed in the same apartment complex. Isuzu Yamada’s character is the lessor and she is interviewing a possible new lessee, Nishida, a quiet and lonely student. As he makes his way to his new place, we become aquianted with Jo. He’s the gangster who essentially owns the town but he can’t help but be helplessly infatuated with Shizuko, but she’s got her eyes on the “new guy” – Nishida who ends getting mixed up in a complicated situations.

Yeah, it’s dreadful as it sounds. It’s not even that this film is particularly bad to watch, but it’s just one those completely empty time-filling escapist films. Sort of entertaining during the actually experience, but quite silly when you begin to think logically about it. Stylistically, this is quite Ozu-esque and paves the way for the ultra-meticulously-framed cinematography in Kobayashi’s own Harakiri. I can also give this credit for anticipating a lot of the same thematic ground found in Nagisa Oshima’s The Sun’s Burial and other early Japanese New Wave films.

The only real reason to see this, though, is if you’re a really big of the cast and I am. Like I mentioned, they’ve all seen better days, in fact Ineko Arima made Tokyo Twilight with Ozu in the same year. Tatsuya Nakadai would appear in another “jazzy” film three years later in Naruse’s When a Woman Ascends the Stairs. I guess this is also a good way to make time pass, it’s just sort of mindless entertainment that occasionally stumbles upon it’s own clever writing. If you don’t like film-noir and you don’t know your Japanese actors from the late 50s then you’ll probably want to pass on this.

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.