Cinema Talk

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.

One of the few remaining films made by Sadao Yamanaka is a comedic approach to the “Tange Sazen” (one eyed, one-armed samurai) folklore. It’s a bit unsettling to find out that the genius behind the great humanistic drama, Humanity and Paper Balloons was the same guy who would do what sounds like a conventional comedy type film. Thankfully, Pot Worth a Million Ryo is anything but conventional, Yamanaka is able to filter film through his own viewpoint and the result is a masterpiece. Remarkable on every level, but even more remarkable considering how doomed it would be in anyone else’s hands.

A samurai lord gives away a very old pot as a wedding “present” for his younger brother, only to find out the pot actually contains information on the whereabouts of a golden treasure. Unaware of it’s value, the younger brother’s wife sells the pot to the junk collectors. The younger brother discovers the value of the pot and uses it as an excuse to escape from the house and/or pressures he is facing in his marriage. Through a series of far-fetched coincidences, the pot lands up in the hands of Tange Sazen who has adopted a orphan who uses the pot as a fishbowl.

Don’t let the plot synopsis fool you, while there is plenty of silly hijinks, there’s also a lot of subtle humor going on underneath. By this point, Yamanaka had already perfected his style (well, at least as he would in his life) and he could begin to focusing on meshing all “genre” conventions into something completely unique. Early on in the film, the pot is passed from person to person, in a sequence that predates a similar structure featured in more canonized classics like The Phantom of Liberty and L’Argent.

As mentioned before, the film is a bit more dark than it’s film noir-comedy vibe would have you believe. Once again Yamanaka is depicting the ahem, “lower class.” There’s actually a lot of very cynical deadpan humor interwoven into the more superficial comedy. The social content understandably dates the film somewhat but it never becomes particularly overbearing, a problem plaguing many modern film-makers. Just as equal important, is the relationship between Tange Sazen and his geisha (?) wife. Together they create moments that can range from tender to plain silly. It sounds corny, but their constant bickering eventually brings their makeshift family (complimented by the orphan boy) closer together.

Kim Kyung-soo is an out-of-work actor. One night, he recieves a phone call from an old friend, he remains unenthusiastic, but still takes him up on a reunion offer. Kyung-soo meets his old friend, and is introduced to a dancer named Myung-suk, who is not only familiar with his acting, but also madly in love with him. They waste no time becoming acquaintances and before the night is over, they’re in bed together. Kyung-soo cannot make a commitment, unfortunately, and he has to travel back home to Seoul. On the train ride home, he meets Sun-young and another romance begins. In this case, Kyung-soo is the one left alone and heartbroken.

With the possible exception of Woman on the Beach, this is Hong’s least complex narrative structure. It ultimately plays out like a slightly more-abridged retelling of The Brown Bunny but with a larger focus on the relationship, as usual with Hong. Kyung-soo certainly comes off as being pathetic but he may very well be the most sympathetic male character in any of Hong’s films. This is not much of an accomplishment, though, seeing as how Hong is well-known for depicting the confusion brought on by romantic relationships. This film is no different, of course, but it feels slightly more personal than the rest of the director’s filmography.

The more personal tone comes with a trade-off: this is the first time in any of Hong’s films that any one line of dialogue wasn’t completely convincing. There’s this slightly silly verbal motif throughout the film that actually brings to mind the fatherly advice in Mizoguchi’s Sansho the Bailiff. This problem is not overwhelming, thankfully, especially considering how great this is to my last Hong experience, The Day a Pig Fell Into the Well. If you like seeing drunk people argue and be awkward (which you should) then this film will impress you a great deal, as will the rest of Hong’s oeuvre.