MIFFburger #8 (Final): HIMIZU

 ヒミズ Sion Sono, 2011

And so my MIFF comes to a close for 2012 with the final film on my list, Himizu. As it is a Sion Sono film, a director who has been getting a bit of attention in previous posts, I really was looking forward to this one, especially since it has been a bit of a wait. The film has been available on DVD overseas for quite a while now, and info on it has been popping up in my facebook feed from UK's Third Window Films for what feels like ages. What is also interesting is that we have another Manga adaption on our hands. And even though I have never read, nor ever even heard of the original series (not a big manga fan here) the original work seems to have been reworked quite a bit, becoming very topical in its contemporary setting and themes.

The disastrous March 11 earthquake and tsunami prompted Sono to rewrite his script and change filming location to the destroyed Tohoku region, the result of which is a bleak atmosphere, in a film which is often very overwhelming. The opening scene is beautifully powerful; a female voice recites French poet François Villon's Ballade, while Mozart's familiar Requiem accompanies restrained shots surveying the devastated landscape of Ibaraki Prefecture. What struck me first of all was Sono's use of such a well known piece of classical music. Like many other famous pieces (Debussy's Clair De Lune or Grieg's Mountain King... ugh, every film trailer ever) Requiem's place in the global popular consciousness has resulted in it acquiring so much baggage, that I would have thought of it as a bit of a no go zone. How could you possibly use such a "Greatest Hits" piece that has been included in some form or another in everything from Amadeus to The Big Lebowski?? But somehow, Sono pulls it off. His tongue may be in cheek, but it is definitely less so than when Ravel's Bolero turned up in Love Exposure. Samuel Barber's Adagio For Strings is also included later on in the film, a piece that is arguably even more loaded given its cinematic history, yet Sono creates beautiful scenes that function as cinema and documentary at the same time, using repeated musical motifs that, particularly in this first scene, approach the kind of effects Spike Lee and composer Terence Blanchard achieved with When The Levees Broke, the amazing documentary about Hurricane Katrina.

But anyway, onto the story.

After his abusive and neglecting parents abandon him, fourteen year old Sumida (Shota Sumetani) finds himself having to fend for himself in this harsh and still very real environment. Filled with emotional turmoil in an environment that seems to only repress him, he assumes the role of manager of his family's lakeside boat rental shack and ends up dropping out of school. Over time, the mentally poisonous world around him has strong affects, and Sumida employs more drastic and violent methods in order to cope. Perhaps the most interesting role Sumida plays is that of caretaker. The area around Sumida's shack serves as a camping ground for some of the local inhabitants who lost everything, literally pitching tents in the backyard and looking up to him with great admiration and thanks. This also ensures that for the most part of the film, there is a supporting cast of weird and colourful characters, acting not unlike a chorus in a stage musical. The sense of community these people embody works on more than just a cinematic level too. A very large number of regular Sono collaborators make appearances, whether large or small, creating a sort of internal star system. Seeing Mitsuru Fukikoshi and Megumi Kagurazaka living together again after Cold Fish and also Denden in a variation on his terrifying gangster style is like a great big in-joke from Sono to his audience. A same-but-different or "What If?" kind of world, which I think is straight up genius.

Despite this large cast, we are always focused on the leading teenage couple. I have mentioned Sumida above, but the film really belongs to Fumi Nikaido, who plays Keiko, a young girl from Sumida's class, who has a manic and unashamed crush on him. A self confessed stalker, Keiko follows Sumida around, hanging off his every word so she can write it on her bedroom wall later. Nikaido’s smile just glows off the screen, a perfect counter to Sumida's simmering angst. All she wants to do is look after him, even if it means having to endure his mood swings and playground style beatings. These teenagers represent the kind of confusion and angst all fourteen year-olds go through, but of course, they convey it in the often-bordering-on, at-times-full-on caricature style melodrama to be expected of Sono. They are at the mercy of almost all the adults around them, parents can't be relied on and teachers don't understand. When the Yakuza turn up, things get even more complicated. Add to this the wasteland that is Tohoku, the most important element in the film in that it grounds it in reality, Sumida and Keiko are reflected perfectly in the Villon poem they recite:

I know the rosy-cheeked and the pale
I know death who devours all
I know everything but myself

As I said, the film is based on a manga. Knowing nothing about the original story, I'm wondering where the manga ends and where Sono begins. Is the change of setting the only difference? In any case, we just have to accept the film as a work in its own right, and this tale of disconnected youth battling with reality and their sicknesses fits the tsunami aftermath in an eerily perfect way. As I am discovering is typical of Sion Sono's films, Himizu is also very long and a bit repetitive. But its length is partly justified with some great subplots which allow for changes in scenery and exploration of other characters, creating a film that has moments of colourful escapism in contrast to its grim reality. A run in with a Neo-Nazi is bizarre, scary and exhilirating all at once.

Sono doesn’t shy away from the politics of the disaster either, including footage of TV interviews and directly referencing Japan’s post tsunami rebuilding campaign slogan “Ganbare Nihon!” throughout the whole film. I found it hard to decipher just what this was saying about Sono’s feelings though… Is he angry and bitter? Depressed? Hopeful? I think the answer may be all of the above, at times simultaneously. Hope seems to win out in the end however, with the film’s emotional climax arriving in its final scene, an astonishingly powerful cinematic moment that weighed down on me long after I left the cinema.

Tohoku doesn’t make the evening news anymore; too much time has passed for it to warrant international concern. And it is partly for that reason that I think this film is something that should be seen by many. It has definitely stayed with me, and I believe that its reputation and acclaim will grow in time, until one day it be considered quite an important work.

And so ended MIFF 2012!

MIFFburger #7: For Love's Sake

愛と誠 Takashi Miike, 2012

For Love’s Sake was the third and final Takashi Miike film that made the cut for MIFF 2012, and I can say that it was definitely the most outrageous. Something interesting about all three of his films selected for the festival this year is that they are all adaptations in some way. Ace Attorney was a video game adaptation, Hara Kiri was a remake, and For Love’s Sake is adapted from the 1970s manga series by Ikki Kajiwara, which has already seen a number of live action adaptations. Neither the manga nor the films have been released in the west, and had Miike not been attached to this most recent adaptation, I dare say we never would have seen this one either. And so, I went into this film not knowing anything other than what the program synopsis said, which was basically along the lines of violent, melodramatic musical. Sounds like fun to me.

Makoto (Satoshi Tsumabuki) is a delinquent youth, a lone wolf constantly getting into rumbles with street gangs for no apparent reason, until a young girl named Ai (Emi Takei) takes it upon herself to reform him, also for no apparent reason (except maybe a crush). They are two kids from opposite sides of the tracks; a street kid and a private school bourgeois, and so begins their bizarre, song, dance and violence filled relationship.

This is not your conventional musical. The closest cinematic point of reference would probably be Bollywood, but even then, the musical side is much more developed and integral to the genre. The songs in For Love's Sake are employed mainly for providing theme songs for individual characters, and pretty much everyone does receive one, with the songs also functioning as welcome breaks from the film’s almost constant barrage of violence. More often than not however, the musical numbers in Love’s Sake feel a bit tacked on. Their contrived and self aware style is used mostly (and effectively) for laughs, rather than character/story development, and any chances for extravagant West Side Story style gang confrontation set pieces aren’t seized, with dance numbers consisting mostly of mostly awkward and stilted choreography. Even though we are a long way from Broadway, Miike does seem to have his own style of command over the musical genre. He leaves gaps between songs just long enough for you to forget that you’re watching a musical and then drops one on your head, and also pokes fun at musical conventions by altering the surroundings of the singing characters to destroy their presumed utopian musical environment when they, and we, are least expecting it.

Just like in Ace Attorney, Miike has done a great job of transposing cartoon characters into a live action world. The characters in For Love’s Sake are delightfully one dimensional, consumed by their individual goals and bizarre hang ups that Miike never feels obligated to explain. Characters flip out, change their ways, lose hope and start fights all at the drop of an emotional hat, again taking the musical from its origins into twisted new locations. The story is set in the 70s, but I do wish a bit more was done with the costumes (granted, most of them are school uniforms) and I still think that the colour correction, giving everything slightly a more golden look is a bit of a cheat’s way out. But the sets are unbelievable, particularly the Hanazono Trade School, a post apocalyptic wasteland overrun by gangs that looks like something out of Akira. The film’s focus on youth gangs is also very 70s. The inclusion of girl gangs and female bosses is a staple of Japanese cinema, particularly the Sukeban and Terrifying Girls High School series of exploitation films of the 70s. Outrageous antics and violence are the order of the day, with a wide range of funny gang members, each with their own gimmick or trademark, yet all who have no qualms with beating the absolute shit out of anyone, or even each other.

The film’s excessive violence is completely cartoonish in nature. Makoto takes a beating no man could withstand, yet the film makes it clear that we are in a cartoon world, removing the violence of any real consequence or weight, enabling it to work on a purely comedic and un-PC level. There’s nothing quite as refreshing as a film with a bit of girl bashing is there? 70s exploitation fun (acid face burning, girls bound and hung from the ceiling) is referenced, but never fully delivered, and the fight scenes really do get a bit boring, as does the meandering of the largely directionless characters, who are of course reunited at the end in classical musical denouement. The film is a wild pastiche of genres and conventions, and while it may not be wholly satisfying, Miike has definitely created a new and interesting postmodern riff on the classic musical.

The best thing is that, like so much of Miike’s work, the film doesn’t take itself too seriously. The characters are silly, the story is silly and the songs are silly. In fact, there may be too much silliness for the average viewer. But this movie is still good (silly) fun.

Silly.

MIFFburgers #5&6: Momo and Mishima

Film festivals can be dangerous. There is so much on offer, you're bound to pick a few duds. So here they are, two in one day no less! (Note how the posters make the films look much more interesting than they are)

A Letter to Momo

 ももへの手紙 Hiroyuki Okiura, 2011

I mentioned in a previous post that this was the only Japanese Anime screening at MIFF 2012, at first I thought I would skip over this film, as it really didn't look all that appealing. I watched the trailer, which didn't help either, as it was very boring. Yet for some reason I booked a ticket. Bummer.

The film follows the main character Momo, a young girl, probably about twelve years old, who has recently lost her father. She has just moved to a small town near the sea with her mother, where they will be living in close proximity to their Aunty and Uncle. Momo and her mother both suppress their grief at their recent loss, and with her mother keeping herself busy, Momo finds herself often all alone in the new house, pondering an unfinished letter from her father that she found after his death that reads only "Dear Momo". The appearance of three magical goblins who only Momo can see triggers the start of a very unoriginal story about self discovery and dealing with grief.

As I was watching this film, all I could think of was, "This has all been done before, and immeasurably better". I know it might be unfair to compare this film to Ghibli Movies, but how can you not? Let's have a look at some of the film's major plot elements. A young girl moves to a new house with a single parent, magical creatures who only the girl can see, and older grandparent figures offer advice and clues to the mystical creatures are huge elements lifted straight out of My Neighbour Totoro. The seaside location, which is beautifully realised and animated, echoes Ponyo. The weird and wonderful cast of spirits with origins in Japanese mythology and folklore recalls Spirited Away. A Letter to Momo retreads all of these ideas, which have all been explored in more artistic and inspired films.

Little kids might enjoy this, but with so much better Anime on offer I'm not sure why you'd go out of your way to see this one. I only found a couple of moments funny and found it hard to believe that fart jokes were actually included. Films still do that? The animation is absolutely beautiful though. The colours are vibrant and the character designs are quite good, in particular the little goblin you can see on the poster above. In spite of this, the film is definitely a minor work and I would probably say don't bother with this one, even if you're a die hard anime fan.

11/25: The Day Mishima Chose his Own Fate

11・25自決の日 三島由紀夫と若者たち Koji Wakamatsu, 2012

Prior to seeing this film, I knew two things about Mishima. One, he was a famous Japanese novelist, and two, he ended up killing himself, hara kiri style. Also, the only thing I knew about the director Koji Wakamatsu was that he was quite prolific in the 70s with his erotic, or pink films. Given my love of trashy films, I would probably enjoy his earlier work much more than this "biopic" of Mishima, which was an absolute shambles.

Despite the inclusion of much archival footage, photos and newspaper headlines, I still had great difficulty fully grasping the political climate of 1960s Japan and just who this Mishima character was. References are made to his successful books and ideologies, yet little to no light at all was shed on his political motivations and reasoning behind his actions. Communists, student riots, the emperor and patriotism are all talked about, but I just couldn't make head or tail of what these angry young men were on about. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't just me and my general indifference to politics. Mishima just seemed to change tack from writer to militant political activist, recruiting young men who shared his views and patriotism for Japan. This resulted in huge homoerotic overtones throughout the whole film. The men sit and talk in saunas, gaze lovingly into each others eyes and profess their devotion to each other and their cause with some of the campiest acting and overdone facial expressions I've seen in a long time. The whole film just screamed "zero budget made for TV (perhaps NHK?) production". Particularly in the scene where Mishima delivers an impassioned speech to a crowd comprised solely of crowd sound effects and blurry archival photos, accompanied by a bizarre and just audible enough to be annoying soundtrack of someone noodling on an electric piano, in desperate search of a melody.

I'm a stickler for details. If you're setting your film in the 60s, set your film in the 60s. Slapping a few headbands on females' slightly coiffured hair and a few houndstooth jackets on males does not give a 60s atmosphere. The scene where Mishima and his mates drive to meet their fate in an automobile of clearly modern production, gaily singing a patriotic song would have been unbearable if it wasn't so (unintentionally?) hilarious. Cameras attached to the ceiling capture shots with a bird's eye view, resulting in some of the most bizarre camerawork this side of Tommy Wiseau's The Room, while a dinner party in what looks like an empty display home is filmed with handheld camerawork that makes it look like an episode of Cops. Indeed, many people in the cinema could not contain their laughter at the ludicrousness of this production. One bloke even got up and yelled "Good riddance!" as he stormed out of the cinema.

In the end, I left the cinema knowing not a whole lot more about Mishima than when I entered. I'm still trying to work out whether Wakamatsu set out to create a hammy pisstake of a historical Japanese icon, or earnestly tried to represent his one of his heroes, and just failed miserably. I had some huge laughs though!

MIFFburger #4: I Wish

奇跡 Hirokazu Koreeda, 2011

I was a bit concerned to be writing about another Hirokazu Koreeda film so soon after discovering his work on DVD, mostly because his style is reasonably similar across each one of the movies I have so far seen. I didn’t want to rehash talking about his trademark style, which I probably already did a bit of in the previous two posts about him. But luckily, Koreeda’s MIFF 2012 entry I Wish is a bit of a departure, in that I have yet to see anything of his with this much humour.

Koichi and Ryunosuke are brothers who have recently started living apart after their parents’ separation. Ryunosuke lives in Fukuoka with his slacker musician father, while Koichi lives in Tokyo with his mother and grandparents (Kirin Kiki returns, slipping effortlessly into the grandmother role yet again, see Still Walking). In this case, the large ensemble of adults act as the film’s supporting cast, either in parent or teacher roles, with the film focusing primarily on the distance between the brothers and how it affects their relationship.

The completion of a new bullet train railway line brings with it schoolyard rumours of trains passing each other at such speeds that the excess energy is enough to create miracles, granting wishes to whoever should happen to witness the exact moment the trains meet. With this promise of wishes granted, the brothers decide to meet in Kumamoto, the town where the trains should pass.

In addition to the two brothers, played by real life brothers Koki and Oshiro Maeda, Koreeda augments his child cast with a number of newcomers, and what a perfect bunch they are. Koreeda once again achieves performances that transcend notions of acting with their realism. Ryunosuke is overflowing with energy and bounces through the film with a non-stop exuberance bordering on ADHD, while Koichi is more reserved and serious. However, it is Ryunosuke’s two girl friends that absolutely stole the show for me. The standout scene sees each of the young children discussing their wishes or what they want to be in the future. The children face the camera in a talking heads interview style shot, and quietly pour their hearts out. It would not surprise me at all if this scene was completely unscripted, as it really seemed to cut through the limitations of the screen and convey a youthful innocence in an almost New Wave style. We can see a young generation, not yet influenced by the realities of modern life that so burden their parents, as they dream of being actresses, artists, baseball stars or even cartoon superheroes.

The children and their dialogue supply most of the comedy, conveying their youthful invincibility remarkably, and often drawing them as much more mature than their elders through their astute observations on life in a sort of “stuff kids say” way. It falls upon the adults to provide the film’s few moments of truly moving drama, and once again, Koreeda knows exactly how much is enough, never over-explaining or lingering unnecessarily upon strong emotions, always cutting to the next scene before it becomes to much, with his less is more approach fine tuned down to the second.

Unfortunately, the soundtrack contained a few missteps. Some of the country/western inspired pieces really grated on me, but luckily there aren’t enough of these inclusions to really damage the film. The cinematography is beautiful as usual, with Koreeda’s now familiar close ups of hands, scenes of food preparation and static shots of tiny details, which have been referred to by critics as “pillow shots” which Koreeda uses as a cinematic grammar; poetic full stops or closing cadences to scenes, which help to convey the world as seen from a child’s perspective.

All the classic childhood tropes are here, teacher crushes, faking illness to get out of class and parents with forgotten dreams struggling to cope with reality just as much as their children. Japanese popular culture references abound, and may be a bit confusing to viewers who don’t understand who Ichiro is, or other references to pop stars and comedians, but these are mostly only passing references. The film’s early scenes also proved to be a bit confusing, as it was unclear as to which city the action was taking place in as it jumps back and forth between Koichi and Ryunosuke. While titles are shown to identify Tokyo and Fukuoka, these were not translated into English subtitles, and I really only knew what was happening because I could read the Kanji. And even then, it was hard to keep track.

This film is a charming paean to youth and innocence, a brilliant variation on the traditional coming of age tale. Both magical and honest, favouring comedy over drama, a nice change of step for Koreeda, who continues to set new standards for unpretentious drama and whose child actors continue to set high benchmarks in acting. I don’t believe there is a director working today who can coax better performances out of children. This is the kind of film most people will have a hard time disliking. My mum loved it too.

MIFFburger #3: HARA KIRI - Death of a Samurai

一命Takashi Miike, 2011

Two Miike's down, one to go.

Hara Kiri: Death of a Samurai is a remake of Masaki Kobayashi's 1963 film, which I was unable to get my hands for viewing before seeing this new version, which I was pretty bummed about, as it is often talked about with the same awe and respect masterpieces from Kurosawa or Mizoguchi receive. But anyway, that will be high on the post MIFF to-do list.

At MIFF 2011 Miike well and truly proved that he could create a modern day Samurai film with an immense respect for the history of the genre as well as being wildly entertaining for contemporary audiences with 13 Assasins. It was one of my highlights of the entire festival and another feather in the cap of one of the most productive directors working today. Hara Kiri can definitely be seen as a sort of companion piece to 13 Assassins, both are remakes, both share a beautiful visual style, and both are period dramas. Yet their stories are quite different. Before I get into that, a very quick history lesson may be in order. The film is set in 1600s Japan, The Edo Period, a time when the houses of many feudal lords were being abolished by Tokugawa Ieyasu who had come into almost absolute power within Japan. Basically, if you were a Samurai and your master was killed, or his house fell, you became a Ronin; a masterless wanderer who would either commit Hara Kiri to save face/avoid shame or you wandered around looking for other work.

Hara Kiri is the story of Hanshiro Tsugumo, a disheveled ronin who has arrived at estate of the House if Ii. He has but one request: allow me to commit hara kiri within your courtyard in order to regain some measure of honour. But the master of the house, Kageyu Saito, is not convinced. The advent of the Edo Period has brought with it countless fallen Samurai, with many requesting the same thing at various estates across the land, either with genuine intent to commit suicide, or in an attempt to appeal to Lords' good nature, use their supposed death wish to veil their hope for employment, or at least some money to tide them over. Kageyu then goes on to warn Hanshiro by way of the tale of a young man named Motome, who arrived not long ago with the same request, only to meet his grisly end due to their clan's refusal to tolerate suicide bluffs. With their strict adherence to codes of Samurai honour, Kageyu sees to it that anyone who requests suicide, bluffing or not, will be accommodated.

The cautionary tale of Motome forms the first of the film’s two long flashback sequences, which alternate between this backstory and the present. Through these flashbacks, the mysterious Hanshiro character is developed and explored, with his true reasons for calling upon Kageyu slowly revealed. And I do mean slowly. I was quite surprised at how slow this slow burn is. Miike is in full-on classical mode here. The camera work is amazingly beautiful, the composition and framing feels like a stage production, and actors sit talking while glaring into each other's eyes with burning intensity. Visually, the film is flawless. Traditional Japanese estates and courtyards are recreated with a deep, rich colour palette, as are the countryside villages and costumes, which Miike uses to draw distinct differences between the different levels of the feudal hierarchy. On top of all this, the film is in 3D. Now, I usually make a point to not see 3D films, one, because I don't want to spend the extra few dollars and two, because it's pretty much always a headache inducing gimmick. Unfortunately, Hara Kiri falls into that ever growing category of "unnecessarily 3D movie that would be just as enjoyable in 2D". It does add an interesting, although slightly disorienting, layer of depth to the interiors of the film's beautiful sets, but ultimately it just reminded me of the kind of 3D virtual tours that you can find in Japanese castles or temples that recreate the former glory and beauty of the since destroyed/deteriorated site for tourists.

The film's restraint is not solely technical though. Fans of the exhilarating swordplay in 13 Assassins may be disappointed at Hara Kiri's contemplative nature. Miike opts to critique and question the notion of honour in a changing political landscape rather than no holds barred violence and spectacle, which really, is quite an unexpected move for him. Instead, we have a bleak, drawn out, emotional story of family and revenge that approaches Shakespeare or Greek Tragedy territory. If I had one problem, it was that this family story, told pretty much entirely through flashbacks, didn't fully engage me. I realise that it was absolutely essential to the presently unfolding events of the film, but it felt a bit out of balance for me. I also felt quite sorry for Hikari Mitsushima, who plays the film's token female Miho, who was not given much to do at all. She was quite underused, and must have felt a bit ripped off, especially since she has the impressive Love Exposure on her resume. Kabuki stage performer Ebizo Ichikawa carries the entire film as the unbelievably cool Hanshiro. His performance is a mesmerising quiet storm, sitting on the floor for the majority of the film, until duty calls and he dons his best pair of crazy eyez, gets his yojimbo swagger on and takes care of business in the film's sole fight scene.

The film's focus on dialogue and story serves to imbue the rare instances of bloodshed with a palpable intensity, the aforementioned fight scene served as something of an exhale of a breath I had been holding for the entire film without realising. The scenes of ritual suicide are particularly powerful. Miike's handling and orchestration of the disembowelling from which the film takes its name are masterful. The audience's horror is heightened and teased out through what is seen, unseen and what is heard. While the violence does allow Miike's penchant for blood to shine through, it does not bear his trademark excess. It is shockingly realistic and had many squirming, gasping and even laughing out of disbelief in Melbourne Central's XTREME screen.

While the film did feel a bit out of balance for me, it really is quite an achievement, a logical next step and new challenge for Miike after 13 Assassins. It was just the reliance on flashbacks that I had a bit of love/hate for. I would be interested to see how Kobayashi handled this in the original. I just think this just goes to show that Miike may be at his weakest while directing the more domestic/family oriented side of the film. Thank goodness for Ebizo Ichikawa, his performance is incredible and made the film's weaker moments much more bearable for me. One more shout-out is due for heavyweight composer Ryuichi Sakamoto, easily one of Japan's greatest composers, or even musicians full stop. Sakamoto also takes Miike's classical approach, contributing a brooding, elegiac score that perfectly matches the film.

I think that if you accept that this film isn't 13 Assassins (and doesn’t try to be) you will enjoy it more. Yes, it is very slow and the violence is in short supply, but by the time you reach the end you will have been treated to a few brilliant plot twists and badass moments. It continues to grow on me since I saw it, and really is quite thought provoking, with its concepts of honour and justice, as well as presenting a wealth of interesting Japanese history and culture.

MIFFburger #2: Like Someone in Love

Abbas Kiarostami, 2012  
 

  Fresh out of the Cannes Film Festival, Like Someone in Love is a truly international collaboration. Directed by an Iranian, made with French funding and filmed in Japan(ese). Abbas Kiarostami is a filmmaker I am pretty much completely unfamiliar with. I am also continually getting his name mixed up with Aki Kaurismäki. If we threw in an Akira Kurosawa, Alexander McKendrick or some other A.K. initials my brain would probably start melting out of my ears. Anyway, Kiarostami is quite well known for his dramas, what I do know is that Taste of Cherry won the Palme d’Or in 1997 and he has also made no secret of his Yasujiro Ozu love and influence, even dedicating a film to him. And so it seems that Kiarostami has set himself something of a challenge in journeying to Japan to make his latest feature; a slow moving, dialogue-driven, yet visually beautiful drama.

Rin Takanashi plays the film’s main character Akiko, a young student who works an escort. She has been instructed by her pimp/manager (a small role played by Denden, who was a bit jarring to see so soon after watching Cold Fish) to travel to a client’s house; very little information is given on him apart from him being described as an important man and old friend. But Akiko has her misgivings. In addition to her usual university studies and overbearing fiancé (Ryo Kase), her Grandmother has come to Tokyo for the day to visit her, a small but moving reference to Ozu’s Tokyo Story, that doesn’t feel like a forced inclusion. The film basically follows Akiko’s movements and interactions over a time frame of a little under twenty-four hours. She meets her client, an elderly man (Tadashi Okuno) who seems to want nothing more than some conversation and someone to have dinner with and also has an awkward run in with her fiancé.

The film has very little story line and is very much character driven. Kiarostami’s actors are all very good and serve as the heart of the film, Rin Takashi’s performance ranges from immature and annoying to confident professional, to helpless victim as film’s settings change and characters come and go. Through her wide range feels a bit scattershot at first, she succeeds in aptly conveying her youthful confusion and lack of direction along with her characters weaknesses and strengths. Throughout the film she really does seem to change before our eyes, quite an interesting performance.

What I found most interesting about the film was Kiarostami’s use of camerawork; what is seen, what is unseen, and how this is achieved. As the film opens we hear Akiko, but don’t see her. A completely static shot of a dimly lit restaurant interior captures the goings on as people enter and leave the frame. It soon becomes clear that Akiko is off camera, talking on the phone. Throughout the entire film, Kiarostami obscures or distances his characters, the camera refuses to move to accommodate them (another Ozu-ism). They are hidden in other rooms, sit just out of frame, peer through windows or remain within cars. Reflective surfaces are beautifully used, one of my favourite scenes featured Akiko’s blurry figure, seen only in the reflection of a switched off television screen, charged with a certain eroticism yet disconnection. Also, downtown Shinjuku as seen from a taxi hasn’t looked this good since Lost in Translation. Kiarostami’s artistic touches are not just visual either. Characters are often heard, but not seen. Quiet, distant voices are squeezed through telephones, chatter out of radios or echo from the streets outside. It is such a quiet film, no score is used, the only music heard exists entirely within the world of the film, the jazz standard from which the film takes its name is so subtly included it could easily be missed, and rare instances of raised voices or loud noises elicited startled jumps from the audience.

For me, all these artistic elements are what make this film worth watching. It is very slow moving, with no real climaxes or turning points, and is basically just a few characters talking to each other. While the dialogue ranges from gently comedic, to a short and interesting discourse on art, it is mostly centred around the nature of relationships, and I feel that without these aforementioned stylistic inclusions, the film would probably have been quite a dry drama. In fact, I think many people in the MIFF audience saw it as just that; a few people walked out, and it received a very half hearted applause at the end, which, it should be noted, comes quite suddenly. I won’t give away what happens, but it seems to end just as the film begins to enter into new territory. Relationships are beginning to develop; complications are arising, and then the film ends, changing everything that came before it. However I though this ending as a great conclusion. It serves to snap viewers out of a film that up until now has been perfectly content with drifting along at its own pace, a perfect note for Kiarostami to end his film upon. Many people will find it boring, but I quite enjoyed watching it. I can’t see myself revisiting it any time soon, but if you like a good drama with something a bit extra, or are a Kiarostami fan (again, I really can’t comment on his other work) chances are you’ll find something to enjoy here.

MIFFburger #1: ACE ATTORNEY

逆転裁判 Takashi Miike, 2012

 

We all have distinct memories of movie watching from our childhood. For me, going down to the Morwell Video Ezy and renting the Super Mario Brothers movie with my brother, seeing the CGI created Final Fantasy movie at the cinema and renting the Resident Evil movie in the early days of DVD are but a few of which there are probably enough to write a nostalgic book full of in-jokes that would never find an audience. But what do these aforementioned films all have in common and why am I mentioning them? If you answered, "They're all films adapted from video games" you'd be right. But if you answered "They're all SHIT films adapted from video games" you'd be double right. (except maybe the Mario Bros. movie which does have a certain "it's so bad it's good" element to it. DENNIS HOPPER AS BOWSER??)

Since the early 90s, film makers have tried, failed and failed again at the seemingly impossible task: Adapting a video game for the screen. It's almost like a curse. Video games just have a completely different, dare I say deeper? ability to immerse. While the film-goer simply watches a film, the gamer must participate, explore and interact. Sure, you can watch someone else play, but we all know how boring that is.

Takashi Miike is often described as a "prolific" director, which I guess stems from the fact that he has proven he can actually do anything. From Samurai period dramas to musicals, to some of the most sadistically violent stuff I've ever seen on a screen. So really it makes perfect sense that he would direct the film version of Capcom's Pheonix Wright: Ace Attorney, a court room video game series for Nintendo DS, of which there are now five games. Court room drama. That's been done right? You can hardly turn on the TV without seeing SVU or NCIS or CSI or some other stupid abbreviation full of people clutching their mochas and calling each other by their last names. Sure, it's been done to death, never like this though.

The premise is simple enough. Two lawyers go head to head in a fast-tracked trial system in which a verdict is reached in three days. Rookie attorney Phoenix Wright ends up having to defend his childhood friend/rival Miles Edgeworth who becomes involved in a murder case. It soon becomes clear that it goes much deeper than this, as an old case is re-opened and a conspiracy dating back fifteen years is uncovered.

Ace Attorney could easily have been done as an animated film, but that would have been the easy way out. Miike has managed to create a live action world that is completely cartoon at the same time. Remaining completely faithful to the source material was clearly the best approach to take, and in many ways, the video game has simply been transposed from pixels to film. The film more or less follows the case exactly as it unfolds in the game, elements of the original soundtrack have been given the orchestral treatment, and the costumes and art direction is an absolute triumph. It's like Warren Beatty's Dick Tracy crossed with Tim Burton put through an anime machine and then reversed back into real life. The art department would have had a field day working on this film. Outrageous hairstyles including but not limited to gravity defying quiffs, mohawks and afros, garish and opulent costumes that evoke both Victorian era excess AND Austin Powers. The cast seems to be divided between hip young models turned actors with impossibly perfect skin and older character actors, all of whom inhabit these cartoon characters with fine skill. From washed up rockstar to pet cockatoo, as these lawyers continue to call witnesses, it becomes quite exciting to see who the next outrageous character will be. The sets are also something to behold. You can really tell the film was given quite a budget, as everything has a certain sheen to it, whether it be the courtroom, prison cells or candy coloured lakeside, with the camerawork gliding elegantly throughout these hyperstylised locations and around its characters.

However this kind of restrained, classical cinematography is often interrupted with fast and furious editing techniques and visual effects that would give Edgar Wright a run for his money. The literal translation of the film's Japanese title Gyakuten Saiban is something along the lines of quick turnaround trial, this title more accurately reflects the absurd speed at which every aspect of the film is turned on its head. Edits and camera angles jump back and forth, characters fall off their chairs in disbelief, and crucial evidence is magically discovered just when its needed, and then proceeded to be thrown in each other's faces (via holographic screens of course). On top of all this, the film is absolutely hilarious. Between the slapstick comedy and absurdist Japanese humour there were moments when the sold out crowd were laughing so much the actors' lines couldn't even be heard.
 
Ace Attorney was the first Japanese film I saw at MIFF 2012, and already I can't imagine anything topping it. We are off to a roaring start, but time will tell of course. This was the most fun I've had at the movies in a long time. People will complain that it's too long, but I loved every minute of it. Even if you have never played the video games before (I hadn’t) it won’t matter. The film manages to transcend the label of video game adaptation and ends up being just a damn entertaining film. Takashi Miike just may have broken the curse of the video game adaptation film.­