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!

Pom Poko

平成狸合戦ぽんぽこ Isao Takahata, 1994

As I have touched on previously, the famous works of Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli seem to go hand in hand, to the point where they are almost synonymous. However, the lesser known director Isao Takahata is something of a best kept secret of Ghibli, quietly creating films that are often released without the kind of fanfare Miyazaki’s films recieve. Takahata’s most well known and acclaimed work, the harrowing war story Grave Of The Fireflies has drawn much praise from critics including Roger Ebert, however it is the film Pom Poko, which even know remains something of an oddity in the Ghibli catalogue, especially outside of Japan, which I think is his best work and perhaps even my favourite Ghibli film.

The Tanuki is a type of raccoon native to Japan, which according to Japanese folklore, are playful creatures that have the power to shape-shift. The film focuses on a forest of Tanuki who have long since abandoned their shape-shifting ways, as they never really had any use for them. But the bubble economy of the early 90s changes all that, and soon they find their woods being destroyed by human developers to create a Tokyo housing area of unprecedented scale, New Tama Town. And so begins the Tanukis’ re-learning of shape-shifting, as taught by their forest’s elders; Preparation for the imminent showdown between man and beast. The film’s simple storyline is established within about the first ten minutes of the film, Takahata wastes no time, employing a narrator and a host of colourful Tanuki personalities to propel the film along at a swift, at times dizzying pace. Some Tanuki want to attack the humans directly, while others want to hone their skills from legendary elders of other regions of Japan. Either way, we are soon presented with hilarious scenes of shape-shifting training, and an explanation of what will soon become a running gag throughout the film, the importance and many uses of the Tanuki’s testicles. 

Takahata uses this folkloric element to its absolute fullest potential, drawing on Japanese tradition and superstition to create a work that is very Japanese. Takahata is able to play by his own rules as he crafts this meeting of mythology and contemporary society, explaining away minor details such as the Tanukis’ use of energy drinks to keep up their human shape-shifting act. The Tanuki’s attacks on the humans are also a display of mind boggling creativity. In one scene, the Tanuki stand on each others shoulders and shape-shift into a tree that falls on the road, causing a truck to veer off a cliff. Over time, they begin to exploit the Japanese superstitions and catalogue of folkloric ghosts, which eventually culminates in their final attempt, “Operation Goblin” an otherworldly tour de force of apparitions, dragons and ghouls (Keep an eye out for the Totoro cameo) parading through the centre of town. Most people I know that have seen this film respond with a “That movie is so weird” or “I just didn’t get it”, most likely due to this huge amount of content that non-Japanese simply won’t understand. I can’t really comment objectively, as I never saw this film completely unaware of Japanese culture, and while I understood a lot of the references in the film, most of them are either explained or made obvious through characters responses in the film. Having some knowledge of Japanese culture may make it slightly more enjoyable or funny, but I really don’t think it’s necessary in order to enjoy this outrageous adventure. Think of it as The Animals of Farthing Wood, just with a smaller variety of animals, more shape-shifting and completely crazy humour.

Some of the more militant Tanuki bashing cops with their balls

Aside from the story, the film is a veritable free for all in terms of visual techniques. What quickly becomes apparent is Takahata’s visualisation of the Tanuki themselves, as he draws them in three distinct styles: A realistic on all fours style, an anthropomorphic cartoon style, and a super stylised comic strip style. Each visual is used in different situations to highlight different feelings, perceptions and interactions between characters. When the Tanuki borrow an old TV out of the trash, the cooking show they are watching appears briefly as live action, a short and jarring, but nonetheless brilliant inclusion. Takahata creates a perfect balance of realism and nature; the forest, the development site and the town, and the surreal; Buddha watching over the forest, construction diggers eating a leaf like insects and even a short 8-bit style section. Music also plays a major role in the film, with its opening moments greeting us with what I’m guessing is a traditional children’s song about Tanuki. Throughout the rest of the film, the Tanuki also sing a range of cute songs. Sometimes for rousing morale or in celebration, sometimes just to pass the time while bouncing a ball with a friend.

While the film is largely a comedy, Takahata’s environmental concerns really come to the fore towards the end. As the Tanuki realise they are no match for the humans, they make a reluctant appeal on a television program. This is one of the films most beaufitul scenes, as fireflies light up the night sky and the Tanuki’s sadness in the face of defeat is strangely human. Takahata succeeds with flying colours in making us side with the animals and seeing the humans as the antagonists. Of course, Miyazaki shares this same environmental yearning, but has yet to convey it in such a comical, off the wall way as Takahata does here. The film is just under two hours long, but it flies by perfectly paced, with its combination of humour and seriousness resulting in there never being a dull moment. This is the wild card of Studio Ghibli, the curveball, a uniquely Japanese breath of fresh air for animation and storytelling in general, and the perfect film to counter some of Ghibli’s more mature or heavy handed works.

The Castle of Cagliostro

ルパン三世 カリオストロの城 Hayao Miyazaki, (1979) 

The films of Studio Ghibli, particularly those of director Hayao Miyazaki are renowned throughout the world, and have a strong following in Australia. More recent Miyazaki films such as Spirited Away and Ponyo have many fans and it is quite rare to find someone who hasn’t at least heard of these modern masterpieces of animation. In my opinion, Miyazaki is the greatest living storyteller in the world today. For me, his films are a never-ending fountain of creativity and inspiration. For this entry, I decided to look at one of my favourite Miyazaki works (it seems all my favourites are linked by one major element: Castles) Lupin the Third: The Castle of Cagliostro, which also happens to be one of his earliest works and due to its being made prior to the founding of Studio Ghibli in 1985, is much lesser known in Australia, with more popular Ghibli films eclipsing it.

Miyazaki has proved himself as a master of not only creating his own filmic worlds, but also at adapting the stories of others, often of non-Japanese origin. The Castle of Calgiostro’s hero, Lupin, is based on a character originally created by French author Maurice LeBlanc as a sort of French Sherlock Holmes in 1905. In the late 60s, a descendant of Lupin (the 3^rd to be exact) was created by Kazuhiko Kato (pen name; Monkey Punch) as a Manga series, which was then followed by anime, video games and films. So, after all this convoluted history, we arrive with Miyazaki taking the helm of the Lupin the 3^rd franchise for its second filmic interpretation in 1979.

The film begins with Lupin and his long-time partner in crime Jigen making their getaway from a casino they have just robbed. From the get go, Miyazaki sets the tone of his film as a freewheeling adventure, with the film’s animated nature essential to its spectacle and escapism. Lupin and Jigen leap with superhuman ease across obstacles, cars are sliced in half and a sea of money cascades from their getaway car as they drive away. As they realise that the stolen money is counterfeit, Lupin decides to set out to crack the international conspiracy of this “Goat Money”. They travel to the independent nation of Cagliostro, where they discover a plot involving an Evil Count, a damsel in distress and a search for lost treasure. This simple adventure story is balanced with action and its tongue in cheek, slapstick humour perfectly, never taking itself too seriously. The characters, Lupin in particular, seem to know they are in an animation devised purely for entertainment, and have no problems defying gravity by driving cars up the side of cliffs or clearing impossible distances across castle turrets in a single jump. Even everyday actions like eating spaghetti or swimming are brilliantly stylised, with the colourful cast of characters an absolute treat to watch. Lone samurai Goemon and fellow burgular Fujiko make appearances, who along with Lupin’s long-time pursuer (and long suffering) Inspector Zenigata, complete the classic Lupin gang.

The film is not all rollicking action and fantasy plot though. Despite it being Miyazaki’s directorial debut, there are many instances in the film in which bear his own distinctive visual and thematic stamp. Frantic action sequences are countered with lingering shots of the beautiful surrounding landscape, and sequences in which the characters explore or more simply, are present within these spaces. The nation of Cagliostro itself is a beautiful, fictional place, drawing on Miyazaki’s European influences. We see small villages, farming lifestyles, moss covered ruins and of course the titular castle, complete with dungeons and aqueduct. This kind of European romanticism would return in later works such as Kiki’s Delivery Service, Porco Rosso and Howl’s Moving Caslte.

I love this film because it fully embraces its cartoon-ness. For me, it’s a bit of a cross between Inspector Gadget and Indiana Jones. Classic cartoon tropes abound, with hokey disguises being used on not one but three separate occasions and also the kind of self awareness that make cartoons so much fun. After a stealthy midnight attempt on their lives by a band of the Count’s armoured minions, Jigen observes what the audience is thinking; “Things are getting interesting!!” Miyazaki is in full adventure mode, and this film rates amongst his best work, even when compared with more successful Studio Ghibli works. The story is brilliantly simple, and even though they are not his own, the characters just exude cool, like a band of jazz musicians each playing their own unique part as they roll through this wonderfully entertaining riff of a film.

Akira

アキラ Katsuhiro Otomo, (1988)

In Japan, anime is a multi billion dollar industry. The amount of films and TV series being produced, and those already in existence is so overwhelming it’s hard to know where to start, let alone sort the good from the bad. In Australia we receive a reasonable sized portion of this huge industry, with more and more anime films being screened and released locally, but it seems the majority remains in Japan for their domestic audiences. But every now and then, an anime film comes along that becomes an event. That takes the world by storm. That forces the world to take another look at Japanese animation and in some cases, shifts the world’s conceptions of the possibilities of animation in general.

Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira is one such film. Based on his epic manga series, Akira is an incredible vision of the future, whose place among similarly themed live-action Sci-fi works such as Blade Runner, Star Wars and The Matrix is well and truly assured. I realised this last night, when after a gap of who knows how many years, I revisited Akira at a special screening at the Astor Theatre. The story concerns a biker gang of delinquent youths who, after a run in with the government discover a secret operation researching the nurturing of psychic powers in humans through scientific experimentation, and a mysterious, messianic power named Akira

Up until now, I had only experienced Akira by way of DVD. Seeing it on the big screen for the first time was nothing short of a revelation. It was like seeing it for the first time all over again; in fact, it was better. I enjoyed it more than I ever had before. Although, I still feel I appreciate the film’s cultural importance and subsequent influence more than the film itself, as I know that there are many more die-hard fans all over the world that helped Akira receive its title of ‘cult film’. It’s the kind of movie I can watch only every now and then, purely because it’s so damn intense. From the minute the movie starts, right up until the closing credits, we are hardly given a minute to breathe and take stock, as we are thrust into the sprawling metropolis of Neo-Tokyo. A bleak city seemingly plagued by perpetual night.

The film is overflowing with visceral energy. We are subject to a near constant barrage of violence, explosions, and screaming. In addition to this, many nightmarish scenes of hallucination and mutation, in particular, the film’s now famous climax, take the film into more unsettling psychological areas, enabled and conveyed visually through the boundary pushing animation and strong unwavering direction of Otomo. Even the motorbike chases are framed and conveyed in such a dynamic style and are imbued with such a sense of weight, that they become truly exhilarating. The film’s soundtrack, performed by Geinoh Yamashirogumi, perfectly incorporates primal, driving rhythms and even traditional Japanese instruments, while twisting them into an aural feast of a futuristic soundtrack, perfectly complementing Otomo’s stunning aesthetic.

I seem to have just barely touched on the plot of the film, focusing instead on its style and direction. I think the plot is the one place this film falls a bit short, as it progresses so quickly and frantically, I personally would have preferred a bit less screaming and a bit more story background. Then again, most of the context is conveyed visually or through interesting inclusions such as the “Old town” section of Tokyo or the upcoming Olympic Games. And considering it was adapted from a 2000+ page manga, it is quite an achievement. This film is an absolute must for anyone with an interest in animation, as it remains a touchstone of the medium and Japanese cinema in general, the influence of which is still felt today both in Japan and beyond. After seeing it on the big screen I have become convinced that this is the ultimate way to experience it in all its overwhelming glory, so if you are able, seeing it at a cinema is definitely worth it.