JFF16 - AKB48: The Show Must Go On

少女たちは傷つきながら、夢を見る Eiki Takahashi, 2012

I’ll be honest. This was the film I was looking forward to the most; the documentary of the unbelievably popular J-pop girl group AKB48. But let’s get one thing straight first; I am most definitely not a fan of this music. The idea of 48 young girls dancing around in skimpy schoolgirl outfits squeaking like Anime characters isn’t really something that appeals to me. But it’s undeniable, the group is a stroke of marketing genius, and has become a worldwide phenomenon. I was hoping this documentary would shed some light on the inner workings of the group, to see beyond the “let’s dance around in our underwear” music videos and to maybe better understand the appeal of this musical monstrosity.

(Please note, while the film does contain many talking heads and insights into individual members of the group, I will be referring to very few, if any at all, by name. Purely for the fact that there are just too many of them and I can’t keep up.)

The film opens with a recounting of the March 2011 Earthquake and Tsunami disaster. Concerts were cancelled as a result, and trips out to affected areas to perform for locals were scheduled. Various members of the group speak about their feelings at the time and how they wanted to do something to help, while footage of the girls on buses captures their shocked expressions at the destruction around them. At first I was worried that the whole film would be centred around these young idols meeting affected locals, weeping and marvelling at their unshakeable perseverance in the face of adversity, but these visits and small charity concerts are only one part of the documentary, and I was quite glad it avoided descending into what could have easily become a skewed perspective of a national tragedy. Although I did scoff at the some of the girls’ sentiments, there is no denying the faces of their fans, many of them little kids, singing along in the rain in front of the makeshift concert stages.

I found the inclusion of these charity drive scenes to be a bit problematic. Sure, such a popular group is obviously going to be a huge morale boost, but to me it just seemed a bit exploitative, like it was more for their own publicity… But anyway, let’s not get into politics. After the first charity scene, we started getting to the good stuff.

Ok. So from what I understand (which is very little), there are actually way more than 48 members. All the girls are split into different groups, and each group has its own team captain. When the time comes around to record a new single and music video, the 48 girls are decided on by the fans, who vote for their favourites. The girls attempt to increase their popularity with fans by appearing in magazines, landing roles in TV series, and appearing on talk shows, among other things. Ultimately, one girl will become the “centre girl”, achieving the ultimate popularity, while other rises and falls in rank throughout are commonplace. If this all sounds like some sick hierarchical meat market thinly veiled with musical pretence, that’s because it is. The “election” is held in a massive stadium, with a booming crowd carrying on like spectators in a Roman coliseum awaiting first blood. As the results are announced, the girls take to the stage to accept their trophies. This bizarre atmosphere quickly got even freakier when one girl, so overwhelmed at having been chosen, began hyperventilating on stage. I could only laugh in shock/disbelief. It was just all so serious that it became scary. I quickly realised that this was but the tip of the iceberg. Nearly every girl who was announced broke down and began crying their eyes out, while acceptance speeches with sentiments like “Even though I was selected I’m sure there are many people who hate me. But please don’t ever stop loving AKB” kicked the scene into another level of terrifying. Another brilliant election scene is included later in the film, again taking the form of a ridiculously overblown spectacle: A stadium game of “Rock, paper, scissors”. Sure, I mean, let’s face it, apart from maybe an Iron Chef cook off, this has got to be the fairest way to decide such important matters.

But we were just getting started. A large middle section of the documentary is devoted to the group’s sold out concerts at Saitama’s Seibu Dome. After the first concert is described as one that “Totally sucked” both by team captains and the group’s illustrious director/producer Yasushi Akimoto (a figure who is interestingly, largely absent from the film), the girls take it upon themselves to work harder and put on the best show they can for their fans.

However, they nearly kill themselves in the process.

One girl describes backstage as “war… pandemonium”. She’s not kidding. Hyperventilation is back with a vengeance, crew members console and apply ice packs, girls start dropping like flies, collapsing from exhaustion or heat, wander around backstage, delirious and speaking incoherently, clutching their oxygen cans for fear of ceasing to breathe altogether. Centre girl Atsuko Maeda is carried away on a stretcher, putting the show’s final number in jeopardy. With 20 seconds til stage time, she makes it out, but her exhaustion is obvious. It was like being unable to look away from a car crash. The hard work these girls put in is astonishing to the point of being ridiculous, and you must keep reminding yourself that the average age is only 17.

The film covers a lot of ground, probably too much even. Less engaging side stories I haven’t mentioned include the formation of a new, smaller team, and the subsequent suspension of its captain (she broke the “No dating rule” tsk tsk.) and the arrival of a new member from the earthquake stricken area. The film is driven by interviews with many individual girls, which is great, as it helps to make such a massive group seem a lot less faceless. Their thoughts on a wide range of issues including popularity and success range from hilariously naïve to surprisingly insightful. I really enjoyed seeing a certain couple of girls who admitted that they would never become the most popular, but were perfectly content to be extras in video clips, observing the higher ranked girls from afar, while hanging out together just having fun on the set.

There were many moments in this film where I thought, this can’t be real. It was both fascinating and terrifying at the same time, with many freaky “only in Japan” moments. Focusing on the girls as individuals was the best choice for director Takahashi, and I was glad there were no songs performed in their entirety (go buy a CD if you want that). In the end, the film is a fascinatingly compelling documentary, equal parts fairy-tale, musical, comedy and horror, with an almost non stop flow of tears. Everything I had hoped for and more.

Can’t wait for the hilariously titled 2013 follow up: “No Flower without Rain”

 

"Show Must Go On" Trailer. No subtitles, but you hardly need them.

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!

Tokyo-Ga

Wim Wenders, 1985 

I have just watched german filmmaker Wim Wenders’ documentary Tokyo-Ga and I am angry. I found the film self indulgent, disrespectful and even offensive. From what I understood, it was a documentary celebrating Wenders’ love for famed Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu, in which Wenders travels to Tokyo in search of the city he came to know and love through exposure to Ozu’s films, which he describes as “a sacred treasure of the cinema”. This quickly gives way to a meandering culture shock video diary of a foreigner in a big city.

Wenders manages to open his film reasonably well. He eloquently describes not only his feelings toward Ozu’s films, but succinctly sums up their message, influence and importance, setting up a filmic contention that promises what could be a very interesting documentary based around a filmmaker’s personal journey. However, his inclusion of an overly long clip from Ozu’s Tokyo Story, complete with puzzling French subtitles, seems an odd one. Wenders explains his hope to discover Ozu’s Tokyo, or at least what is left of it, even in images or feelings.

Unfortunately, the vast majority of images Wenders offers fall into the category of a “Look how weird and backwards Tokyo is!” travelogue, with Wenders largely abandoning his Ozu documentary in favour of hanging out ALL DAY at Tokyo’s golf driving ranges, and ALL NIGHT  at pachinko parlours obsessively documenting the people and their activities within them. Wenders must have told his Tokyo location manager to tell whoever walked into the frame not to talk to him or interact with the camera in any way, resulting in Wenders successfully distancing himself from every citizen in Tokyo, and “Othering” them at the same time as they are condescendingly depicted as socially disconnected drones wasting their lives in the shallow modern life in the metropolis of Tokyo. Wenders seems to make it clear that he is much more interested in the technology and machinery of Tokyo than its citizens. One particularly awful scene includes Wenders’ delivering via voice over a tirade against the nature of television and its false depiction of the world in his hotel. It is completely unnecessary and is very off putting, serving only to familiarise us with what will become Wenders' constant and intrusive voice over throughout the film. 

This voice over is perhaps the films biggest downfall, Wenders has no qualms with vocalising every one of his inane thoughts and philosophies, none of which are even remotely interesting, which is made sure of through his forced, deadpan delivery. The only time Wenders has anything interesting to say is when he is talking about Ozu, which, it becomes quickly clear, he didn’t really plan on doing much of at all, which is a shame, as this is the one topic he was able to convince me he knew about, as his respect and admiration for the director was so apparent. I can only imagine how vastly the film would be improved if the narration voice over was removed completely.

When Wenders manages to pull himself away from his Tokyo oddities tour (a trip to where the fake plastic food for display in restaurants is made recieved considerable screen time, with Wenders again somehow able to drain it of most of its possible appeal) he interviews two important Ozu collaborators, actor Chishu Ryu and cameraman Yuharu Atsuta. These interviews are far and away the most interesting scenes of the film. I found myself wishing that the film only went for half an hour and consisted solely of these scenes. Yet Wenders handles them with unbridled clumsiness. The main problem is that instead of the interviewees’ answers being subtitled; we are left to rely on Wenders’ emotionless voice over paraphrasing what they have said. This downright rude treatment of his subjects becomes strikingly apparent in the interview with Ozu’s good friend and longtime cameraman Yuharu Atsuta. After a very interesting segment in which he explains Ozu’s camera techniques, a humble Atsuta reminisces about his career in film, explaining how after his mentor Ozu’s death, he never really worked to the best of his ability ever again. This scene carries a huge emotional weight, with Atsuta, overwhelmed, breaking into tears upon recalling such fond memories. But of course, Wenders’ disgusting voice over succeeds in belittling the most interesting and powerful scene in his silly “Documentary”. (Fortunately these highlights are available for viewing on youtube as stand alone scenes.)

If that wasn’t enough, Wenders’ old pal Werner Herzog turns up to add his two cents in, delivering a rant on some subject or another at the top of Tokyo Tower. This scene is not translated, and Wenders is quick to sum Herzog’s German language monologue up as something about “Pure images”. French filmmaker Chris Marker also makes a three second cameo, with Wenders mentioning his then recent film Sans Soleil, much of which was also filmed in Tokyo and is by far a much more interesting, beautiful, heartfelt and respectful documentary tackling the same city. These superficial inclusions of backslapping among directors should have been left out, as they only serve to highlight Wenders’ self indulgence and lack of filmic direction, and disconnection with his subject..

If anything, Wenders’ documentary sheds light on the illusion of cinema. Wenders went to Japan in search of the Tokyo he came to know through the films of Ozu, not surprisingly, he didn’t find it. I am of the opinion that he just didn’t look hard enough. Indeed, there are instances where redemption does seem possible for the film, including a scene in which Chishu Ryu accompanies Wenders to Ozu’s grave, yet Wenders prefers to dwell in nostalgia, clinging to his unnatainable cinematic illusion and focus on the neon metropolis, the footage of which, serving as a veritable time capsule for the look and colours of the 1980s are often quite amazing, perhaps the films strongest asset, if one can overlook the negative attitude they seem to be conveyed with. 

Wenders comments, “In spite of everything, I was impressed by Tokyo.” This can hardly be believed, as he has portrayed the city as a vapid and faceless, distorting it into something unsettling, particularly for those familiar with Japan and its culture. Wenders further achieves this through a bizarre choice of soundtrack, an incongruous mix of avant garde 80s Jazz, which, when juxtaposed with the films visuals, many of which are quite beautiful, is very jarring. The final twenty minutes or so are the strongest in the film, for the sole reason that it is actually about Ozu. The music is finally appropriate, and archival photographs and testimonies from collaborators give us a glimpse into what this film could have been, but instead Wenders has created a self indulgent diary of a film where his hero is pushed aside to make room for himself.

Upon realising Ozu’s Tokyo is nothing more than a memory, preserved forever on celluloid alone, Wenders creates his own. Thus is Tokyo-Ga. I have been to Tokyo four times to date, and while I also may not have found Ozu’s brink-of-modernism postwar Tokyo, I certainly didn’t encounter anything as bleak or lifeless as Wenders’ Tokyo.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi

This post marks a new step, the first time I will be looking at a Japanese movie that is currently screening in cinemas, rather than just watching a DVD like I usually do. Hopefully there will be many, many more of these in the future, but it all comes down to what receives a local release. The film is a documentary, Jiro Dreams of Sushi directed by David Gelb, and is currently screening at Cinema Nova in Carlton.

Jiro is an eighty-five year old sushi chef who has dedicated his entire life to his career, making sushi. Operating a tiny ten seater sushi restaurant in a subway underpass, the sushi he creates is world renowned and has earned his restaurant three Michelin stars; the only sushi restaurant in the world to achieve this. The film features extensive interviews with Jiro and his sons as they explain their craft and personal philosophies toward life and most importantly, work. We learn of Jiro’s largely fatherless childhood and how it influenced his work ethic and subsequent upbringing of his own sons, seeing many bittersweet similarities in this decidedly old school and very Japanese approach to life and work. Upon opening his own branch of sushi restaurant, Takashi, Jiro’s youngest son, was told the words his own father had heard many years before, “Should you fail, you have no home to come back to” a harsh yet somewhat rousing push into the real world, Jiro speaks of his own thoughts of the Japanese youth, (most likely the current wave of ambivalent part timers) who want fewer work hours and more free time. Yet the workers we see in the film remain so firmly committed to their work that it is almost scary, apprentices are subjected to rigorous training the likes of which many of us may never experience. One of Jiro’s employees recalls crying the day he finally mastered making egg sushi, after several months of failure. While Jiro’s eldest son Yoshikazu recalls an apprentice who hardly lasted a day.

Even Jiro’s suppliers are on a higher level, acquiring and providing the finest fish and rice with a great loyalty and respect to their friend and his incredibly high standards. The film’s excursions to the Tsukiji fish market work very well in terms of breaking up the film and getting us out of Jiro’s tiny restaurant, showing us yet another microcosmic community’s characters and inner workings. In one such scene, Yoshikazu, buying fish on behalf of his father, casually asks a fishmonger how he has been. The small, elderly man replies “Not good. I want to retire.” Yoshikazu does well to hide his possible surprise at such an honest response, quickly making his exit, yet it really fascinated with me. Like a Yasujiro Ozu film come to life, this man’s simply stated response becomes a quiet confession filled with layers of truth and emotion, only to be flippantly brushed off. A similar moment takes place in a scene where Jiro and Yoshikzu visit the grave of Jiro’s parents. After observing the dead flowers near the headstone, Jiro remarks, painfully casually “I don’t know why I come here. My parents didn’t look after me”. Is this what created such a consuming work ethic in this man? In contrast to the aforementioned fishmonger, Jiro speaks of not being ready to retire and, despite his often cold disposition of absolute professionalism, explains that everyday, making sushi, he feels ecstatic and is completely in love with his job. Jiro admits were he to retire he would be driven insane with boredom. The film makes it clear that his work really is his reason for living.

Towards the beginning of the film, one of the employees explains that the techniques that the chefs are using are “no big secret”, and we hear about many of these in fascinating detail, including the differences of depth in flavour in tuna and also the forty-five minute massage an octopus receives before being served. All of this is wrapped up neatly in a film that runs under an hour and a half and never feels long-winded. Many sections of interviews and conversations are juxtaposed with beautfiul slow motion sequences of the sushi’s creation, likened metaphorically to a musical symphony with its different movements. It is often said that the mark of a good documentary is one that can be entertaining and accessible to people who may have no interest in the actual subject. Jiro Dreams of Sushi is one such documentary. Even though I am not the world’s biggest sushi fan and will probably never eat in Jiro’s restaurant (bookings a month in advance are essential and prices start at $300) the film provides not only a fascinating insight into Jiro and his restaurant, but the network around it and a uniquely Japanese approach to one’s career. 

Noroi: The Curse

ノロイ Kōji Shiraishi, (2005)

Over the years, Japanese made horror films, or J-Horror, have gained international notoriety as being some of the scariest and most cutting edge horror films ever made. The truth is, I have only seen a handful of truly great ones, and it seems to me that much like the horror genre anywhere else in the world, the bad ones outnumber the good by a ridiculous number. Films such as Pulse and One Missed Call didn’t really do anything for me; in fact, they almost put me to sleep. Upon a friend’s recommendation, I recently watched Kōji Shiraishi’s The Curse, a found footage style documentary which has drawn inevitable comparisons to The Blair Witch Project. Which I am a bit embarrassed to say, I still haven’t seen. I am happy to report though, The Curse had moments that genuinely spooked me.

The Curse is presented as the final work of Masafumi Kobayashi, an expert paranormal investigator who travels Japan in search of unexplained phenomenon, writing books and producing documentaries. This chubby, slightly bumbling character’s exploits form the body of the film, with Kobayashi conducting interviews and piecing together clues in a sort of tabloid private detective way. We follow Kobayashi on a house call to visit a woman who has heard strange noises emanating from her strange next-door neighbour’s house. It is here that the curse begins… Sharing the cameraman’s point of view, we are positioned as an onlooker, a part of Kobayashi’s production crew. This sets up a parameter of distance yet involves us at the same time, drawing us into the atmosphere of the film quite effectively, with the camera as our eye dictating what we see; the film’s terror comes from careful inclusion and omission and is divided into clear, often short sections. For example, the aforementioned house call is followed by footage of a television variety program, the relevance of which is not apparent at first, yet provides information which later falls into place. The film seems full of these red-herring type clues, but this wide range of media, such as newspaper headlines and archival footage, was for me, the films greatest strength, retaining my interest throughout the bit-too-long two hour running time.

These various sources succeed in creating a kind of trashy TV exposé style, accurately recreating the loud enthusiasm of Japanese variety TV shows and also the kind of true crime investigation shows that exploit eerie music and inter-titles to create clichéd late night TV trash. Director Hiraishi has recreated this kind of TV show style so well that I actually forgot I was watching a movie and felt a bit queasy watching what seemed like such a lowbrow show. In that respect, his film is a resounding success. Another of the film’s strong points is its cast. There are so many characters in the film that it would be hard to keep track, and it is the film’s convoluted nature that has attracted much criticism. But the film focuses closely on Kobayashi and a select few who remain present throughout the investigation, the majority of the actors are really quite amazing. Kobayashi at first seems like a pitiful little man with a bogus occupation, but becomes quite endearing over time. The character of Hori-san is pretty over the top and annoying, but particular attention should be paid to actress Marika Matsumoto, who gives a great performance (and scream) as a TV personality with some psychic ability.

For me, the large cast of characters coupled with the abundance of clues added to, rather than detracted from the overall mood and style of the film and its perplexing happenings. The slow burn unravelling of the curse and its increasing creepiness helps to convey Kobayashi’s role as investigator in a believable and engrossing way. We learn of the relevance of certain information as he does, following him through this maze of fear.

The film contains many textbook examples of the found footage style, including its low budget aesthetic, and is by no means a masterpiece, but it is a horror film that is definitely worth a look, and as I mentioned, does contain some scary scenes and truly terrifying imagery, much of which stems from the ancient demon ritual that the film explores. The last scene of the film was one of the scariest things I’ve seen in a while, the perfect payoff to a slow moving and yes, at times complex, but overall entertaining horror film.