Cinema Talk

Ozu’s second and final film during the war as well as Chishu Ryu’s first major role. Shuhei Horikawa is a one time teacher who quits his job after one of his students drowns under his supervision. This noble gesture only leads to financial trouble, which results in Shuhei taking up a job in Tokyo to provide financial support to his son who is living at home alone. Shuhei is very dedicated though and he is not swayed by his son’s attempts to reunite the family.

In other words, this is the cinematic version of “Cats in the Cradle” but thankfully, not as sentimental. Both of Ozu’s wartime dramas are superficially government-approved propaganda. In retrospect, it’s obvious that he was mocking the conventions that the government was enforcing on all filmmakers. This is suppose to show the ideal parent: someone who surrenders to a corporate lifestyle, even to the point that he will leave his son behind. Ryu is so robotic and over the top (not a criticism, it’s how the character is) as the father that it’s hard to take seriously as a propaganda material.

If anyone sees this as butt-kissing the corporate life and the government than they must have missed the last sequence. Shuhei’s death isn’t heartbreaking because he’s dying. It’s heartbreaking because while we have seen him go through mindless tasks, we haven’t seen his son grow up and neither has he. This sounds a little corny, I suppose, but it works for me. It probably helps to know that Ozu wanted to make it as much like his own father’s death as possible.

Probably some of the best black and white cinematography I’ve seen in an Ozu film. Well, I actually like the visuals in all of his films but this one has a much more open feeling. The story spans a long time period and more of it takes place outside. At the same time, Ozu paints his characters with broader strokes, at least by his standards. Definitely the better of the two wartime dramas that he made.

This is a bit more along the lines of what I’ve come to expect from the earlier Japanese New Wave films. Needless to say, Masahiro Shinoda is no Yoshida. This is a perfect representation of the ATG gang’s fascination with Rebel Without a Cause type narratives during their “early” years. The two people fall in love and go crazy and whatnot isn’t completely original but I like it well enough. The cinematography isn’t earth-shattering but it definitely creates that smoky jazz-club noir feel vibe and I like that…well enough. That’s basically a pretty good way to represent my overall thoughts on this: pretty good, but nothing special.

Muraki gets out of prison after three years and has nothing to do but gamble. While visiting his usual gambling join, he spots Saeko. In a series of long gambling sessions not unlike those in Demy’s Bay of Angels, Muraki and Saeko gets closer together. Despite being the one who went to jail for murder, Muraki is getting considered. He worries that Saeko is going too far searching for more dangerous thrills. Muraki starts to notice Yoh, a dope addict from Hong Kong. Saeko interest begins to drift towards Yoh.

I don’t have much more to say about this. Despite being very enjoyable, it’s also sort of unremarkable. I couldn’t say it’s inconsequential because well, it wasn’t but I had a similarly empty feeling at the end of this. There’s nothing particularly flawed about it, except that it’s a little bit corny. There’s a scene with Muraki and Saeko evil laughing with silly “horror” music all while they are driving a car with a blue screen behind them. That’s about as goofy as it gets, thankfully. Perhaps there isn’t enough depth to characters. Nobody is particularly likable here nor are they particularly detestable. Really nothing more than a good way to spend an hour and a half.

Hong Sang-soo is one of the best contemporary Asian directors. In all of his films he displays a great understanding of human relationships and the psychology around them. His debut film, The Day a Pig Fell into the Well, is no exception but the film doesn’t hold up much on it’s own. It’s interesting to see the themes and motifs that Hong would later explore in their original and flawed form. Sort of acting like a preview for the rest of his filmography.

The film revolves around four characters. The first one we are introduced to is Hyo-sub, a struggling writer who gets in fights a lot. He’s sexually involved with Min-jae and Po-kyong. He seems irritated by the former and only a bit more appreciative of the latter. Po-kyong is married to Dong-woo who reminds me a little of Vive L’Amour-era Hsiao-kong. His marriage with Po-kyong breeds no sex.

At least up to this point, I think you can divide Hong’s career into two sections: his first two films (this and the excellent Power of Kangwon Providence) and everything else. Visually, his first features seem a bit more stylized where his more recent films try to strip down saturated street lights and such. This stuff is present in Day a Pig… but it doesn’t quite work as well. It’s as Hong has the right idea, the right composition, the right “vision” so to speak but the film just looks ugly. This is the same sort of problem that Jon Jost ran into with All the Vermeers in New York.

The subtitles muddy the waters up more than they needed to. I’ve seen a lot of fanmade auto-translated subs that read better. This is a very good film indeed, but the condition of the copy I watched is just as apparent as the cinematic strengths. It’s quite possible that Hong wanted his film to look this way but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Until a better copy is available I’ll just say that visually, Hong can do much better and thematically, this is a suitable introduction.

My personal relationship with the Japanese New Wave has always been a bit unpredictable. Perhaps it’s fitting considering the fact that the movement’s key figure, Nagisa Oshima has similar ups (The Sun’s Burial, Shonen) and downs (Death By Hanging, The Man Who Left His Will on Film) as well as no particular stylistic choice. Many of the films that make up the new wave can be considered immature in just how earnest they are to revolutionize Japanese cinema. Judging from this film alone, Yoshishige Yoshida is quite bit different. Where his peers focused on making their films as spontaneous and documentary-like, Yoshida is closer to the contemplative side of cinema and go beyond superficiality. Again, I’m judging this only on The Affair (Joen) but that’s just my way of saying it’s that good.

Oriko (Mariko Okada) is married and unhappy. Her husband is having an affair and seldom comes home. At a poetry party (?) Oriko sees Mitsuharu, a sculptor and one-time lover of Oriko’s now deceased mother. At some other point in time, Oriko witnesses her sister being raped, well sort of. Soon after, she makes love to this man in a fashion similar to her own sister’s rape.

A meticulously composed elliptical love story, The Affair sits better along side Michelangelo Antonioni’s filmography instead of any Japanese New Wave film. The fragmented style will throw-off many but it’s a testament to Yoshida’s mastery that the film is so easy to comprehend. It’s also worth noting that this predates the start of Nicolas Roeg’s directing career by four years. Roeg’s most complex (and in my opinion, best) film, Bad Timing, wouldn’t come out for another thirteen years after this was made and yet, Yoshida seems to be on the same page.

The fragmented narrative is supported by some of the best black and white scope cinematography I’ve ever seen. The sequence where Oriko makes love to her sister’s rapist is an amazing achievement. Aesthetically, this is more on the detached and rigorous side of things but it also has a Woman in the Dunes-esque sensory visual style. These two approaches tend to be separated from each other. Both have their own merits but Yoshida is able to find the perfect mix. Never does the film feel like a director trying out multiple styles. The visual style that Yoshida created is his very own and cannot be described accurately.

There are some problems, though. The score is a very out-of-place Twilight Zone piece. Sometimes it works simply because it is so out of place that it creates a jarring effect. Most of the time, it’s just annoying and intrusive. I can’t say that Yoshida had a good ear for dialogue, either. It seems like he tried to make every line as poetic as possible. There’s even a few instances when characters just stare at one another while their voice overs chat. This isn’t close to being a talkative film so the tiny problems don’t really taint this beautiful picture. It’s a masterpiece, with sound or without.

In an earlier post I mentioned Mikio Naruse recently being tagged as an “underrated” director. Considering how underrepresented he is on R1 DVD, I agree with this claim. Even more upsetting is how overlooked Naruse is as humorist, even among his own fan base. Certainly humor isn’t completely separated from the rest of Japan’s humanist directors, but none are able to blend comedy with drama as effortlessly as Naruse. Lightning (Inazuma) is a perfect example.

Kiyoki is 23 and living with her mother. She has four older siblings and all of them have a different father. Despite her modernity, Kiyoki is being pressured into marriage. Her sister, Mitsuko is miserable and much of it has to do with her marriage. Kiyoki’s relationship with Mitsuko grows and both drift apart from the third other sister, Nuiko, who is looking forward to marriage. Kiyoki decides to be independent and moves out. She rents a flat and meets Tsubomi and Shozu. Romantic feelings are implied towards to Shozu, but are never acted upon. A truthful and painful touch reminiscent of Il Posto.

Two years prior, in Ginza Cosmetics, Naruse laid out a lot of the themes he would dive deeper into with his later films. The narrative of Ginza is quintessential Naruse: An aging geisha (played by Kinuyo Tanaka) tries to juggle her personal life, emotional trauma and her job. Lightning similarly lays out a lot of the humor he would later use. There is also a couple small visual motifs that Naruse would repeat throughout his career: a pesky cat, kids lighting fireworks, Takamine leaning on a wall and so on. The visual style actually feels closer to Yamanaka’s Humanity and Paper Balloons with fairly long static shots and compellingly detached.

The only familiar face here is Hadeko Takamine and she’s amazing as always. Outside of Daughters, Wives, and a Mother, this is her most downplayed (in terms of actual screen time) performance. Even though I love familiarity it’s nice to see so many new faces delivering such excellent performances.  The final sequence between Kiyoki and her mother cannot be described accurately. It’s something that you just have to witness for yourself.