Cinema Talk

So as it turns out, Kenji Mizoguchi had already perfected his tragic cinematic vision quite early in his career. Here we already see motifs and themes that would dominate some of his best and worst work. Of course, the general tone is melodrama, as it is in almost all of Mizoguchi’s films, but the key component in assessing all of Mizoguchi’s films lie in how he handles such melodrama and here he does so beautifully. The bruised and beaten state of the film’s source print perfectly compliments its unorthodox sensibility. At times, one gets the feeling that this film is actually intended to be some sort of “highlight reel” for what was initially a production with a much wider in scope.

Taki no Shiraito is a strong-willed and independent young women who makes a living as a water magician, that is, she puts on a water “juggling” act with a traveling carnival troupe. One day, she encounters a young rickshaw-driver named Kinya, who turns out to be her masculine equivalent. When she gets Kinya fired from his job, she feels obligated to provide alternative options for his future. She lends him money to pay off for school finances in Tokyo and Kinya begins working hard, determined to make the most of such an opportunity.

From there, the narrative shifts its focus from the young lovers to Taki and the rest of the traveling carnival troupe, depicting the several roadblocks they hit during a long winter. It is through these events that leads the film to its final punch-in-the-gut with an ironic and sad twist. In other hands, such shrill content would seem melodramatic, but in Mizoguchi’s care, the absurd situation contributes to the feeling of complete heartbreak shared between the two protagonists.

What separates this from Mizoguchi’s later tragedies, like Chikamatsu Monogatari, is how quickly so much time is covered. With the addition of the benshi narration taken into account, the film does play out a bit like some sort of highlight reel for a longer, more conventionally paced movie. Perhaps this imply a negative reaction on my part, but I have to admit that the abandonment of usual dramatic film pacing was more than welcomed and certainly enjoyable to watch unfold. It’s not one of Mizoguchi’s greatest cinematic achievements, like say Life of Oharu, but it was one of his few films that succeeds under the category of melodrama.

Considering that this is most likely Hiroshi Shimizu’s most famous and popular film, it is a bit disappointing to discover that it only hints at his overall greatness. Don’t get me wrong, this is a wonderful film, but it feels slightly less important, for lack of a better word, than his best work. It is perhaps too easy-going and carefree, both of which are terms I’ve grown accustomed to with Shimizu. However, in this case, his cinematic sensibility might just get the best of him and reaches the point that the film ultimately comes off as somewhat of a parody. These problems are pretty small and easy to disregard, though. Mostly just disappointing in the scope of Shimizu’s masterful career, but still a great film.

Zenta and his younger and less mature brother, Sampei, find their lives changing in a big way when their father is fired and then arrested due to charges of embezzlement. Their mother can’t take care of both of them so she decides to send the younger Sampei to live with his uncle. Sampei fails to adjust to his new home, though, and he rebels by climbing dangerous trees and floating in a tub down a river. His behavior at his uncle’s does not differ greatly from his behavior at home but his uncle responds differently than his mother, and sends him back home.

While this isn’t the best Shimizu film I’ve seen so far (not the weakest, either) it is probably the best starting point for one unfamiliar with his work. It does layout and present many of the thematic materials that would play a large part not only in Shimizu’s career, but the careers of his peers as well. Basing a film around two young trouble-making boys who have been deprived of a parental figure is something relevant in Ozu’s work during the 30s as well. This doesn’t subtract from the overall experience as Shimizu captures plenty of fantastic moments that are great on their own. One of the most memorable sequences being the one in which the two boys decide to “play Olympics” which involves re-enacting a swimming event inside their home.

Such moments help reinforce the very playful nature of Shimizu’s cinematic world, but it is perhaps almost too playful in this particular case. Again, this is not Shimizu’s worst film by any stretch. In fact, I’d say it is one of his greatest, but the aforementioned “playful” tone is constantly altering between being plotless and being inconsequential. The former is intended to be the positive description, the later is the slightly negative. I admire, hell even love, Shimizu’s disregard for drama but some sort of emotional thrust would have helped in this case.

A fine example would be relationship between Chishu Ryu and Kinuyo Tanaka in Kanzashi. It can be argued that the two boys have plenty of “internal drama” losing their father, but most of the time, we only see them being little boys. In retrospect, this was probably the right route on Shimizu’s part, but still the two boys seem a little flat and I mean this only in an ultra-critical and intangible way. It would be a little easier to say that there seems to be something missing here that keeps me from putting it alongside Kanzashi and Arigato-san but I’m not sure what that thing is. Whatever the case, I’d still say this is a masterpiece from one of the greatest directors ever.

As far as I’m concerned, this is absolutely one of the very best films of the 1930s, if not the very best. It probably helps a great deal that King Vidor seems to have been a big influence on many of my favorite Japanese directors of the same time period. However, what is even greater is how the narrative goes a predictable route for so long only to spit in the face of every sports film cliché at the very end. It is probably also worth mentioning that this came before sports films clichés were even established, which makes the downbeat ending all the more remarkable.

Andy, or “The Champ” as he is often called, is a long retired boxer living alone with his son, Dink. He hopes his boxing career can make a comeback but booze and gambling seem to be his highest priorities. He is able to maintain a life for him and his son with a string of good luck, which goes so far that he ends up buying his son a horse. Dink is eager to enter his new horse, who he affectionately names “Little Champ”, into a race. At the racetrack, Dink bumps into Linda, who simply seems like a friendly lady, but as it turns out, is actually Dink’s mother. Now aware of her son’s existence, she tries to buy him from Andy, but Dink is too attached to his father.

By only watching one of his films, I can already tell that Vidor deserves to be mentioned alongside Shimizu and Renoir, who both seem to have been greatly influenced by him. He definitely hasthe same sort of visual resourcefulness, not to mention an equally poetic overall tone. Perhaps all of this is slightly abstract to explain, especially when a plot description of the film in question sounds melodramatic on paper, but needless to say, Vidor’s visual style is pretty fantastic. Just as bland shots of two people talking were beginning to become the norm in Hollywood, Vidor was busy filling his films with painterly compositions. It might sound a little extreme, but I don’t think a single shot in the film is a waste; every frame is essential.

Now, the much more difficult part to assess, the melodramatic “tearjerker” aspect of which the film has been categorized as. While I admit, Vidor provides obvious indications of when the tone is shifting, he doesn’t play to the audience’ expectations in the least. Well, at least modern audiences. Today, the ideal ending would be for Andy to win his fight and then triumphantly carry his son on his soldiers. Honestly, there are plenty of signs that it will end in such a way, which makes the ultimately “melodramatic” conclusion all the more abrupt and thus, all the more believable. It is a bit hard to explain in words, but it will make sense when one views the film. Perhaps this saying is used too much to describe films, but it is does indicate that Vidor’s accomplishment is exactly that, an accomplishment.

A wonderful, Tati-tinged comedy that hopefully announces one of the future greats of cinematic minimalism in director Eran Kolirin. If the film has any downfaults on the technical side of things, than it’s that the first time director feels slightly uncomfortable holding his shots for a certain amount of time as he often retreats to conventional shot/reverse-shot conversation compositions. One could complain that the story itself is far too inconsequential since very little drama actually occurs, but it perfectly compliments the overall tone. It’s not the sort of film to make a striking impact on someone, but it is wonderful none the less.

A police brass band from Egypt arrives in Israel for a performance, but due to miscommunication, they take the wrong bus. They wind up in a town far from where they intended to be. The lost group wanders around the desert before stumbling upon a small diner. The diner’s owner, Dina, invites the entire group to stay at the her home. The night proceeds awkwardly, as expected, but connections are made and all of the band’s members begin to settle in to their respective temporary shelters.

The deadpan tone is sometimes at risk, here, with slight intrusions coming from the sometimes sappy scores and juxtaposition of far-away static shots with extreme close-ups. I have to admit, I didn’t expect this to be remotely unique. I figured it would have been mostly long static shots of nothing happening, which are indeed present, but with plenty of shot/reverse shot sequences of conversation that go against the restrained approach. On the other hand, most of the talking is handled quite well with a pitch-perfect sense of tension that is always present, regardless of who is speaking. Even if the conversations go on for too long, there’s always a very subtle yet bold saturated visual style for the film to fall back on. A nice little slice-of-life sort of movie, but it seems destined to be forgotten.

A vast improvement for Peter Watkins from The Gladiators, but still not some amazing masterpiece, or anything. It does take many of the same stylistic techniques from that film, which is a positive, and transplants them into a rather uneven narrative spanning topics from dystopia to commercialism to the religious right. The cynical humor with which Watkins handles all these topics is brilliant, sharp, and thankfully, never too obvious. For as charming and quirky as the film is, it never seems to maintain a focus on its protagonist, Steven Shorter. He is moved around somewhat like a chess piece by Watkins, which is fairly ironic considering that is also what Steven’s advisers do.

In the not too distant future, Britain has become overrun by the popularity of Steven Shorter. As the film’s narrator mentions, he is not a politician but rather, a pop musician. The whole country listens to him, and because of such popularity, his “staff” encourages (and forces) him to participate in projects that deal with key issues gripping society. He appears in an apple commercial, which is meant to inform the public that they need to eat six apples a day for the apple industry to stay afloat. He also becomes a promotional tool for the church, which results in a rock version of “Onward Christian Soldiers” as well as Nazi-esque stadium performance. This all begins to get under his skin, though as artist and love interest, Vanessa Ritchie begins to make him more aware of how much people are manipulating him.

Many of the stylistic devices from The Gladiators are carried over, of course to correspond with Watkin’s faux-documentary aesthetic. The employment of freeze-frame, voiceover, and interviews creates a unique “scrap-book” sensibility. Easily, the single most astonishing aspect of the film is the confidence Watkins displays in his cinematic craftsmanship. The same can be said about The Gladiators as well, but the actual content here is much more accessible. The most obvious reason being the fact that there is plenty of witty satire. For all its possible downfalls, I certainly have to give Watkins credit for making one of more outrightly comedic films I’ve seen in quite some time.

With the comedy comes plenty of problems, unfortunately. For as personal and insightful as Watkins’ cinematic technique is meant to be, the film itself is rather impersonal and remains cold and distant in the most captivating moments of Mr. Shorter’s life. Perhaps this was the intention, to merely observe the mental and emotional crumbling of a major public figure, but the way in which Watkins does so is not like Tati, Tsai, Ozu, or whoever else you want to throw in. While the distant portraits that those artists offer actually enhance the emotional resonance, it is lessened here. Maybe the problem is the greater interest in being wacky and funny, than in the subject matter. There seems to be something profound going through Steven Shorter, but such stuff takes a back seat to the satire. Sure, it is funny and relevant, especially in modern times, but the manner seems too cynical, or maybe not cynical enough.