Nobody Knows

誰も知らない Hirokazu Koreeda, 2004

The breakdown of the modern family unit is a recurring theme for many Japanese dramas, from the world renowned films of Yasujiro Ozu to the novels of Haruki Murakami. Director Hirokazu Koreeda takes on similar subject matter in his quietly moving 2004 film Nobody Knows.

Inspired by actual events that took place in Tokyo in the 1980s, yet mostly fictionalised, the film begins with twelve year old Akira moving into a new apartment with his mother Keiko. Unbeknownst to their landlord, Akira is not Keiko’s only child. After carrying their luggage upstairs, we are introduced to two more children, Yuki and Shigeru, who have quite literally been smuggled in secretly within large suitcases. They are later joined by the slightly older Kyoko who waits until nightfall to sneak in. We soon learn these four children each have different fathers, and of the unconventional environment in which these children will be living. Quick lines of dialogue over a cup noodle dinner subtly reveal the family’s history, their mother reminds them of the rules of the house: no yelling, no school, and finally, so as not to be seen by others: no going outside. 

Their mother casually rebuffs her children’s curiosities and questions, with pacifying responses like “You don’t need to go to school”, succeeding at keeping them from the outside world. I felt quite conflicted towards the character of Keiko, at first she seems quite loving, and the family does seem genuinely happy. Perhaps Keiko is just a single mother doing her best in a difficult situation. However, her selfishness and immaturity is soon revealed. It is not long before she begins going away for extended periods of time, leaving the children with no more than a goodbye note and some money to fend for themselves. Eventually she runs away for good, abandoning her children and marrying another man. As the oldest, Akira defaults into the role of head of the family and comes to learn that there are very few adults on which he can rely for help, particularly his mother.

The heart and soul of this film is its actors, the then fourteen year old Yuya Yagira won the Best Actor Award for his portrayal of Akira at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival, the first Japanese actor ever to do so. His performance is assured, with small gestures and smiles revealing the depth of this difficult character, a boy thrust with so much responsibility so suddenly. The other children are similarly glowing. They are all so different, coming together to create a perfectly believable fractured family. Ayu Kitaura plays Kyoko, the second oldest, who quietly longs for her mother and to be a musician as she plays the tiny toy piano that so represents her dream. Hiei Kimura shines as Shigeru, the wild child, whose tantrums and hyperactive personality are revealed as the reason the family had to move house. These kids don’t even seem to be acting half the time, with the film approaching a documentary realism as we watch the everyday goings on. This children’s perspective is further accentuated through Yutaka Yamasaki’s cinematography. The camera becomes our eye, searching, discovering and following just as a child would, as we explore this cramped but rarely claustrophobic apartment. 

It soon becomes apparent that the apartment was never going to hold these kids forever, and as they escape and run free throughout the streets and parks of their cherry blossom filled neighbourhood, their excitement is palpable. Quiet details that could otherwise be mundane become beautiful, symbols of the passage of time. How many chocolates are left in the box, how much nail polish has worn off a fingernail, which unpaid utility bill has been used as drawing paper. The plight of the children is conveyed in the subtlest of details, making extensive use of close ups and repetition to create a completely engrossing atmosphere based on an exacting “Show, don’t tell” approach.

Koreeda treats this emotional and moving story with such delicate direction; it flows seamlessly from start to finish, the performances of the children are truly captivating and we are never bashed over the head with blatant melodrama. Koreeda knows that it is within the smallest details that we the viewers will recognise truth, and maybe even ourselves. Yes, the film is sad, but it is so quiet and gentle you may not even notice how affecting it is until it’s over.

Sex and Fury

不良姐御伝 猪の鹿お蝶 Norifumi Suzuki, 1973

Last time I went to Japan I had the good fortune to meet a very interesting man who was a director of the Kanazawa film festival. After talking at length about our favourite films, we ended up on the topic of 1970s grindhouse/exploitation films, which it quickly became apparent he was a die hard fan/expert. His immediate response to my request for recommendations of that era was Norifumi Suzuki’s Sex and Fury. At that time I had already seen his 1974 School of the Holy Beast, which was undoubtedly the most outrageous movie I had seen to date, and after watching the equally subversive and delirious Sex and Fury, I realised Suzuki’s importance as an auteur of Japanese cinema of the 70s, not just for his ludicrous stories or cult influence (Tarantino is a fan) but also for his flat out gorgeous visual style.

Set during the Meiji era, Japan’s period of rapid economic growth and Westernisation due to the acceptance of European influence, Sex and Fury follows the exploits (quite literally) of a female gambler/pickpocket Ocho, played by Japanese erotic film/sexploitation superstar Reiko Ike. A wanderer whose father was killed when she was a child, she is embroiled into a plot of international political intrigue when she witnesses an assassination at a gambling house. It seems that those darn Americans are planning to get on Japan’s good side in order to set the scene for a profitable drug war. If that wasn’t enough, they have Christina Lindberg on their side, a Scandinavian porn actress playing a world class gambler/dancer who has gone undercover (quite literally) as a spy to curry favour with important Japanese politicians. However, her heart is not entirely in the right place, as she has a long lost Japanese lover, Shunosuke, fighting against the corrupt individuals she has shacked up with (quite literally). Still she hopes to reunite with him, all the while speaking hilariously broken Japanese AND English. But I’m forgetting about our heroine Ocho. After realising the people who killed her father are also in cahoots with this whole political operation, Ocho sets out for revenge, her only information on who she is after being their tattoos: Boar, Deer and Butterly.

Sex? Check. Fury? Check.

The film certainly lives up to its name, with Ike and Lindberg using everything their mammas gave ‘em and then some in order to get exactly what they want. Seriously though, this film has a ridiculous number of gratuitous sex scenes, including a cross-cultural lesbian interlude and the rape of a young virgin. On the other hand, we have generous doses of bloody violence. The award for best scene in the entire film goes to the much written about bath scene, in which a completely starkers Reiko Ike dispatches a gang of assassins in the snow with a sword, after being ambushed in the bath. The scene is in slow motion, with a soundtrack of a distinct Wild West/Flamenco guitar flavour; in other words, a pulpy, artistic triumph. Bright red blood is sprayed by the bucketful, and an obligatory woman chained and tortured scene is included. I think I’ve seen one in every Norifumi Suzuki movie so far.

The film was made in 1973, and as such, is a sensory feast. Even the opening credits, making great use of colourful Japanese Hanafuda cards (something of a plot device throughout the film) and kaleidoscope effect are dizzyingly enjoyable. Expect in no particular order: plenty of extreme back and forth close ups of people staring intently at each other, pop art visuals, garish coloured lighting, funky music, a hilariously overblown death scene set to supermarket muzak and seemingly shot in a wind tunnel, and YES even a gang of Nuns armed with knives. Whatever stars that preside over the production of completely bonkers cult films were well and truly aligned for this wild ride.

I like to watch films in order to see things I wouldn’t normally. To be challenged. This is why I particularly enjoy horror and exploitation films. Every one of Suzuki’s movies that I have seen succeeds in delivering this kind of challenge, in that I often find myself laughing in disbelief, mouth hanging open and just generally not believing what I’m seeing. This is the thrill of cinema that so many people can’t bear! Sure, there might be a little too much sex and not quite enough fury and the acting is pretty woeful throughout, but this movie is fun, fun, fun. Imbued with the energy and spirit of the 70s, Sex and Fury is, like all of Suzuki’s best work, wonderfully subversive, attacking notions of good taste and high art by creating unashamed TRASH. It is this trash however, that continues to grow in reputation, influence and popularity, and armed with Suzuki’s powerful, almost hallucinatory visual style, Sex and Fury takes the term “cult film” to a whole new freaky level.

Note: This film is NOT a porno. It is a legitimate subgenre of Japanese cinema known as the Pink Film (Erotic film), however this one contains much more violence, “Pinky Violence” as it is now known. Yes there is nudity and plenty of sex, but it is strictly softcore, with no actors’ junk on display at any time, as dictated by Japanese censorship laws of the time (pubic hair wasn’t even allowed). Just thought I’d make it clear that I’m not COMPLETELY perverted.