Change Your Image
![](https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BNjU3NGVhY2UtNTU0MS00MjdjLWJmNGMtODg3MWRjOTM5M2VlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTk2NDQ5NQ@@._V1_SY100_SX100_.jpg)
I_Ailurophile
Reviews
Samurai marason (2019)
Hounded by distinct troubles, but still very good overall
I don't know what's more surprising: that this should be a co-production between Japan and the United Kingdom, or that it's co-written and directed by the same man who gave us the modern horror classic 'Candyman.' For good measure, add in recognizable American actor Danny Huston, and American composer Philip Glass. More concerning is how terribly heavy-handed the picture is from the outset, making a poor first impression, and the character writing, scene writing, and direction that - somewhat being both blunt and cheekily playful, and amplified or embellished for dramatic effect - readily intone modern U. S. or British cinema more than the sensibilities of modern Japanese period pieces, let alone classic jidaigeki that count among some of the very best films ever made. Furthermore, I can't help but wonder if the production values of 'Samurai marathon' aren't too pristine and flawless for its own good, as there can be a very thin line between perfection on the one hand, and sterility and contrivance on the other, especially where modern cinema is concerned. The very first instance of violence that we see rather accentuates all these points.
Now, maybe given Rose's career in the American and British film industries, there was never any chance that he could have echoed the supremacy of Kurosawa Akira, Kobayashi Masaki, Inagaki Hiroshi, or for a more recent example, Yamada Yoji. Maybe it should be fully acceptable that Rose brings modern western sensibilities of movies to this co-production. Maybe I lean too hard on my past experiences with movies of all stripes; maybe I'm nitpicking, and being too harsh. After all, even as these issues are foremost for me in the viewing experience, I do not doubt the earnestness of anyone's intent, it's certainly not as if the feature is poorly made, and none of these matters are so severe as to completely dampen the overall quality. So what if there are clashes to some degree between the period setting, the modern sensibilities, and the styles of East and West? Glass is a reliably great composer and his score here is lovely, scrutinize as we may how it fits in; just as one way or another the production values at large meet the highest standards of the twenty-first century, Ishizaka Takuro's cinematography is faithfully crisp, vivid, and smart. Imperfect and sometimes even gawky as the screenplay may be as Rose co-writes with Saito Hiroshi and Yamagishi Kikumi - adapting Dobashi Akihiro's novel - the story is compelling and absorbing, with many moving parts at a major turning point in Japan's history. I've no doubt that the prose is more rich, expansive, and fully fleshed out, as is routinely the case when such works are adapted to the screen, but in and of itself 'Samurai marathon' is engaging, enjoyable, and keeps us watching.
There are airs of drama and adventure (and light touches of humor) that are not sullied by any amount of hard-nosed assessment, and as the course of events progress with all these characters we're firmly invested to see just where it's all going to end up. There is a world of potential in the saga of a daimyo concerned by the arrival of Commodore Perry; an overzealous spy who misunderstands the daimyo's intentions as he tests the prowess of the samurai in his domain with a marathon; and the competing interests, motivations, and personalities of all figures herein. Him and haw as one may, that potential is met much more than it is not. There is much to admire in these hundred-odd minutes, and the feature really is well made. The filming locations are gorgeous, and so to is the production design and art direction; like care was poured into even the costume design, hair, and makeup. Just as some moments in the writing or direction are more questionable, some are kind of altogether brilliant, and Glass' music can also claim some shrewd finesse (even as another particular, repeated piece of music is downright ill-advised). While the first example is an unfortunate counterpoint, the stunts, choreography, and action sequences are broadly fantastic as the peril to all involved grows alongside the drama. The cast give strong, commendable performances, with no one necessarily standing out above the others save for the prominence of their roles. Even the editing and sound design are pretty sharp.
In fact, all told, I quite believe 'Samurai marathon' is excellent. It's just regrettable that some key choices pointedly diminish that excellence, representing a different variety of cinema that is at odds with too much else about the title. Such issues persist all the through to the end as the last ten to twenty minutes are plagued with curious tonal peculiarities amidst outright sloppy resolution, as if Rose didn't entirely know how it all should end. I don't specifically blame Rose, nor Glass, nor co-producer Jeremy Thomas, nor anyone else, but I do wonder if it's not the case that this Japanese story would have been better off left in the hands of a purely Japanese production to tell it. Where the sum total succeeds, it is inarguably superb; where it missteps, I feel outright dismayed at how wrong it went. I really do like the picture when all is said and done, and I'm pleased to give it my recommendation - and so long as one is aware that it's a recommendation paired with an asterisk and considerable caveats, then it's well worth checking out if one has the opportunity.
Nippon tanjô (1959)
Uneven, but grand nevertheless; more well made and enjoyable than not
It's almost daunting from the outset, even on paper, to observe the veritable who's who of names and faces who had been operating both behind the scenes and in front of the camera for Toho, for years. The considerable length of three hours is also nothing to sneeze at. It seems terribly ambitious by these measures alone, nevermind the notion of recounting the myths and legends of ancient Japan, and fashioning a tokusatsu epic to rival the most grandiose contemporary epics of Hollywood. With great aspirations come great risk, but great risk also promises great reward upon success. Broadly enjoyable as 'The birth of Japan' is,' and admirable in no few ways with its enormous production, in this instance its overall success is nevertheless somewhat mixed. There is much to appreciate, certainly, but the rough edges in the production are just as evident, and the result is simply not all that it could have been. Even so, the ultimate quality is undeniable, and more than not thsi remains very worthwhile.
Toho wanted a spectacle, and by Jove, they got one. The filming locations are gorgeous, and the sets just as beautiful if not more so, whether we're speaking those rooted in reality or those of a much more fantastical nature. Exquisite imagination and detail was poured into the production design and art direction, and much could be said of other tangible facets like the costume design, hair, and makeup. All this is even more resplendent given the Agfacolor processing from which the movie benefits; if marginally less vibrant here than what we've seen elsewhere, in my estimation mid-century Agfacolor stands right alongside the comparable techniques and technology of contemporary Technicolor, or Eastmancolor, in being more glorious and desirable than what more modern film or digital processing is able to provide. This is to say nothing of the excellent stunts and action sequences, entrancing choreography, or the outstanding effects supervised by Japanese icon Tsuburaya Eiji, as rich and tantalizing as any he had ever given us. The picture further benefits from another terrific, thunderous, dynamic score by esteemed composer Ifukube Akira, ably complementing every mood and scene, and lending tinges of whimsical atmosphere and ponderous gravity to the proceedings. And as if all this weren't enough, we definitely can't fault the cast with their spirited performances, least of all screen legend Mifune Toshiro who invariably walks as if a titan among men.
Be all that as it may, in other regards 'The birth of Japan' is not so sure-footed. We know very well what filmmaker Inagaki Hiroshi is capable of at his best, readily demonstrated in the essential "Samurai trilogy" of 1954-56. He is not infallible, however; in 1969's 'Samurai banners,' for example, the presentation was hindered by an undeniable brusqueness that shortchanged the intended impact off the saga. This 1959 feature is at times marked by that same brusqueness, and is perhaps a smidgen overcharged and uncareful. It's not true across the board, and some sequences are indeed altogether superb; as one example, against all odds, a battle against a kaiju really is one of the top highlights here, being characterized by discernible effort and discretion. Yet other instances are not so fortunate, and some moments kind of raise a skeptical eyebrow. Taira Kazuji's editing is similarly troubled, often bearing a forced, unnatural curtness that's off-putting and regrettable. And in all earnestness, Yasumi Toshio and Kikushima Ryuzo's screenplay also shares the burden of responsibility. The framing is particularly difficult as to some degree we get two stories told in bursts, one within the other, and the shifts to and fro are not always handled so smoothly, producing some disjointedness. But this isn't the only issue facing the writing. It struggles at times to find the right tone, a matter echoed in Inagaki's direction. The writing also struggles at times with basic cohesiveness, as if Yasumi and Kikushima had difficulty devising the best way to communicate some scenes, beats, or ideas, let alone portions of the dialogue. I'll grant the possibility that some such problems in the writing may appear more pronounced for those who are unfamiliar with Japan's tales of yore, but that doesn't make them go away outright.
Still, though I've spoken at length of the faults with this title, it's hardly as if the sum total is bad. On the contrary, more than not it's very commendably well made, and solidly enjoyable. Even with some rockiness in how it is written and realized, the story is compelling and entertaining. Action, adventure, and drama are swirled together with hearty doses of fantasy, and scenes are reliably flavorful despite their imperfections. Not least with Tsuburaya on hand the big action and effects sequences are rather superb - absolutely including the last stretch - reminding in their own way of the most celebrated kindred endeavors seen in Cecil B. DeMille's 'The ten commandments,' William Wyler's 'Ben-Hur,' and other equally fanciful pieces such as 'The 7th voyage of Sinbad,' if not also jidaigeki classics from the same period. It may never achieve the full desired potency, but it endeavored mightily to do so; I recognize what it tried to do, and it does quite well. Would that the writing, direction, and editing were as perfectly, faithfully mindful as Ifukube was with his music, as Tsuburaya with his effects, and all others behind the scenes were with their contributions, for I do think that even the acting is affected in turn - and all the same 'The birth of Japan' surely even gathers strength in the latter half, with those perceived flaws diminishing. It's not wholly impeccable, but in fairness, neither are the most commonly noted points of comparison. Warts and all, Toho's ambitions paid off handsomely more than they did not, and in general I had a good time watching. Unless you're a diehard fan of someone involved there's no need to go out of your way for this, but if you do have the chance to check it out and a big block of time to spare, it's a movie that firmly earns a warm recommendation.
Inochi bô ni furô (1971)
Dark, brooding, and brilliant, an underappreciated treasure from a master filmmaker
One surefire way for a film to grab my attention and keep me invested is to layer on heavy atmosphere. We see this predominantly in horror, and John Carpenter is a foremost example, but it's just as possible and admirable in any genre. To my great pleasure, 'Inn of evil' is positively dripping with it. A fierce current of dark, seedy tension cuts through this picture nearly right from the start, and as we've seen elsewhere and otherwise in the oeuvre of Kobayashi Masaki, the success isn't so much about steady infusion as judicious, patient application. The score of composer extraordinaire Takemitsu Toru definitely carries some of that weight with its carefully laid-in thundering percussion and somewhat discordant high strings and woodwinds, and I would expect no less from the man. Screenwriter Miyazaki Kyoko provides some foundation with his characters, scene writing, and dialogue, certainly, and Kobayashi's direction is as deliciously deliberate and painstaking as it ever has been at his best, to say nothing of some keen use of lighting. Yet in this instance I rather think it's the acting that arguably does so much to foster that atmosphere, not least star Nakadai Tatsuya. He's taken on no few other roles that were relatively straight, or even lighthearted, but he's also very capable of summoning a ferocious spirit and gravity - recognized even in just his facial expressions, or his eyes alone - that's almost frightening. At some points in Kobayashi's 'The human condition' Nakadai brought to mind Mifune Toshiro, and if that's not a high compliment then I don't know what is; here, too, there's an intensity to his acting that's particularly electrifying, and between that building charge and the contributions of all others, even within the first twenty minutes or so 'Inn of evil' feels like it's ready to explode.
By this alone the feature had me spellbound pretty much from the get-go, and I think it's safe to say that this easily counts among Kobayashi's more worthy works. In every capacity it's shaped with utmost skill, intelligence, care, and a mind for detail, and from top to bottom it's a real pleasure as a cinephile. From the use of light and shadow, to shrewd angles, framing, and blocking, the title further boasts a marvelous sense of artistry that's especially reflected in Kobayashi's direction, and in the crisp, vivid, smart cinematography of Okazaki Kozo. This is to say nothing of the pristine audio that allows every note, word, and sound to ring out; terrific filming locations, or sharp production design, art direction, costume design, and hair and makeup. Where stunts, choreography, and practical effects are employed they're impactful and exciting, even as they come up relatively infrequently, just as with the filmmaker's other jidaigeki like 'Harakiri' and 'Samurai rebellion.' And while Nakadai unmistakably stands out as cold, violent Sadahichi, his fellow cast members all have an opportunity to stand out at one time or another, and some more than others: Katsu Shintaro as the drunken but sage unnamed visitor; Yamamoto Kei as beleaguered yet passionate Tomijio; Kurihara Komaki as kindhearted, innocent Omitsu; and so on. In every regard the movie is splendidly well made, meeting all the high standards we anticipate of both the genre at large and contemporary fare.
Meanwhile, I claim no familiarity with Yamamoto Shugoro's novel, but Miyazaki's adapted screenplay is a minor treasure unto itself. As the tale predominantly takes place within a single location it quite comes across as something that could be adapted for the stage, and this notion is reinforced by the nature of the storytelling. It's a tad less focused than I anticipated, not by way of being deficient, but in the sense that the substance herein is a little less about a tight, discrete course of events and a little more of a broader character drama, a tableau in which we see that there is much more to these figures than first meets the eye. The characters are written with welcome complexity that shows more and more as time goes by, and if anything I actually wish 'Inn of evil' were longer so its characters could have received even more attention. With this well in mind the dialogue is gratifyingly thoughtful, and the scene writing unexpectedly varied and dynamic even as the overall tone is kind of harsh and dreary. And divested as it sort of is among its characters, the story is firmly compelling as we explore the complicated people that call the Easy Tavern home, and the sorry paths their lives took that led them to this station - condemned by society for the road they walk, a road that was forced in the first place by the circumstances of that unjust, unequal, uncaring society. For all their criminality there is yet a spark of virtue in these smugglers, a stark contrast to the monolith of the outward order and structure of the culture around them, and the conflicts that result are low-key fascinating.
Just as with Kobayashi's other films of a similarly strident, grandiose nature, all this culminates in an ugly, thrilling, bloody, captivating climax that pointedly reinforces all the ideas and themes on hand while allowing the supreme craftsmanship of all contributors to shine gloriously. It's altogether stunning, frankly, an exquisite finish and a capstone to a picture that's much more sophisticated than it may appear from the outside looking in. Though it's not as well known as Kobayashi's most esteemed productions, I'd have no qualms placing it side by side with them as one of his best, for it bears all the same qualities, and if anything in only a slightly different configuration - dark and brooding as that character drama is proliferate in a jidaigeki crime flick. With stellar writing, direction, and acting, alongside all the tremendous work of those behind the scenes, this is a feature that's both intellectually stimulating and easy on the eyes, invigorating and very measured in its pacing, and at length all the pieces come together perfectly for a viewing experience that's downright entrancing. I have high expectations of Kobayashi, and he has stunned once again; as far as I'm concerned this is a riveting tour de force, a masterpiece that rather demands viewership. It won't appeal to all comers, and it's not a movie for those seeking instant gratification, yet for anyone receptive to those works that unfold in their own time, the profit is a brilliant, highly satisfying, deeply rewarding title that deserves far more recognition. I adore 'Inn of evil,' and I'm pleased to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Sutorenjia: Mukô hadan (2007)
Outstanding and vibrant, an exhilarating animated samurai adventure
Some of the greatest films to come out of Japan, and indeed some of the greatest films ever made, have been jidaigeki classics from the likes of Kurosawa Akira and Kobayashi Masaki. That's to say nothing of action-oriented chanbara, or outright exploitation, as seen in the 'Lone wolf and cub' series and elsewhere. Meanwhile, though it's only recently that I've particularly begun to explore anime, I'm firmly of the mind that animation studios in Japan routinely and handily outpace their counterparts elsewhere around the world, and have for some time, with regards to both the visual experience and their storytelling. For all these aspects to be brought together in one feature, it's safe to say that I had very high expectations of 'Sword of the stranger' - and in no time once it begins, those expectations are proven to be quite correct. When all is said and done, I dare say that this all but demands viewership - it's a terrific credit to all involved, and I'm so grateful to everyone who brought this dazzling blend of genres and styles into being.
It's hard not to fall in love with this flick from the outset, and that admiration only grows as the minutes tick by. I treasure Sato Naoki's superb, sumptuous music, dynamic and varied as it deftly shifts between every mood and encompasses both traditional instrumentation and the horns and strings that are conventional in films scores. I'm reminded in turn of Takemitsu Toru, Sato Masaru, and their contemporaries on the one hand, and Howard Shore on the other as Sato ably complements hearty drama, thrilling action, and more lighthearted or ruminative sequences. I'm also all so pleased with the voice acting, for while no one performer necessarily stands out above the others, all the voice work is characterized by gratifying nuance, range, and personality to bring these figures and the story at large to vivid life. For that matter the audio is impeccably balanced, and I appreciate the sharp editing of Itabe Hiroaki that helped shape the picture as we see it. 'Sword of the stranger' is fabulously well made in every regard, really, and we've not yet broached the most substantive facets.
I am being most sincere when I say that Japanese animators regularly impress to an extent that other industries can mostly only dream of; of any animated titles I'd name to my personal "best of" short list, only a scant few aren't anime. Forget 3D altogether; only when sparingly and judiciously employed as flavor, augmenting predominant 2D sensibilities as it does here, can it broadly hope to achieve anything near the same excellence. And this title absolutely bears all the highest quality that I've come to anticipate in the specific medium, in every capacity. You name it, studio Bones has it locked down: attentive consideration for lighting, shading, vibrant color, perspective, effects, and those sparing 3D sensibilities; exquisite fine detail, and welcome texture in every fashion; absolutely gorgeous backgrounds, whether interiors or exteriors, or landscapes or man-made structures; stupendous, grabbing, realistic designs for characters, animals, weapons, and other active elements; fluid, fast-paced, exciting action; and so on. Simply put, the visuals are stunning, and were one so inclined, they alone would make 'Sword of the stranger' worth watching.
And between the phenomenal screenplay of Takayama Fumihiko and director Ando Masahiro's interpretation, the saga we're given in these 102 minutes is frankly just as magnificent as Bones' animation. Being animated instead of a live-action feature, a level of violence, flair, and stylized presentation is possible here beyond the norm for most kindred fare, and I might argue that the same is kind of true for Sato's compositions. Yet in imparting the tale of a ronin coming to the aid of a young boy in need, we unquestionably get everything we want and expect; jidaigeki is alive and well in 2007, and so is chanbara. There's adventure, there's action, there's major drama, there's light touches of humor, and there are even tinges of fantasy as mysticism is woven in. Moreover, all these notions and feelings are granted such extraordinary vitality in this picture, right alongside the blood and gore, the animation in general, and the music, that 'Sword of the stranger' becomes downright exhilarating and rousing to an extent that relatively few pieces can claim. The story is compelling in and of itself, and the scene writing momentously rich and flavorful, and even the relationship between the boy and his protector is written remarkably well. As all component parts come together to maximize the potential of every odd and end and visualize them for as as strongly as was possible, the result is really just staggering.
I assumed I'd enjoy it, and still I'm so incredibly pleased with just how good 'Sword of the stranger' is. It seems to be a pattern of late that even as I sit for movies with high expectations, they blow me away again and again. For any number of reasons, not least the significant violence, this certainly won't appeal to everyone, but for those who are receptive to anime and to the genres at play, it would be a terrible mistake to pass up any opportunity to watch. In every way it's pretty much just perfect, and if to any degree it stops short of being a must-see, for the level on which this operates it's really just a matter of semantics. Stellar all around, 'Sword of the strange' is plainly tremendous, and I'm all too happy to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Seijûki Cyguard (1989)
Terrific ideas, far too little substance. Tasty, perhaps, but not at all filling.
It seems only fair to have high expectations of anime. No, not all animation is equal, no matter what country's industry is being discussed, but from essential classics like Otomo Katsuhiro's 'Akira' to modern exemplars like Hosoda Mamoru's 'Wolf children,' momentous things have been achieved in anime, in terms of both the visual experience and storytelling, that put the studios of other regions to shame. In the very least we routinely and rightly anticipate gorgeous backgrounds and environments, whether interior or exterior, landscape or cityscape; fluid, exciting action and effects, detailed character designs, imaginative and gnarly creature designs where applicable, and superb effects and other active elements, to say nothing of shrewd consideration for all manner of minutiae like lighting, shading, texture, perspective, and more.
And, well, where this 1989 VA is concerned... Don't get me wrong, it is enjoyable. There is a great deal to appreciate even in a diminutive runtime of a little over forty minutes. Writer Sanjo Riku conjured some terrific ideas with dark fantasy, science fiction, horror, and action all blending together, and though some aspects are most certainly tried and true and maybe even tired, there was outstanding potential in this flick. The violent action sequences are a firestorm waiting to explode; Yamanaka Norimasa's original score is splendid complement, and I even like the vocal themes contributed by the Trash Gang. And though we might nitpick some odds and ends, by and large the artists at AIC really did turn in excellent work with all the visions to greet us, most of them decidedly nasty as the plot kicks up. A tale of a dystopian future, government and corporate corruption, competing interests and philosophies, cults and ancient rites intermingling with advanced technology - and, of course, love - is brought to vivid life, a credit to all involved.
However, whether the responsibility lies with Sanjo, director Ohata Koichi, or someone else involved, the simple fact of the matter is that 'Cybernetics Guardian' is very far from everything it could have been. Far from everything it should have been. The Trash Gang's contributions are deployed with a very heavy hand and frankly feel out of place as they are used here, a stylistic flair that just doesn't fit in. The dialogue is often less than great, and the narrative really seems to have been drastically shortchanged. This piece does not feel overfull, in my opinion, but particularly once the action kicks in we're just taken on a non-stop ride, and all the best ideas that Sanjo summoned are abridged, abbreviated, miniaturized, and otherwise diminished. I don't know if it was specifically a creative choice to make a feature that was this short, or a reflection of limited resources, or something else, but what this needed above all was to have been expanded upon and more heartily fleshed out. A length of at least eighty to ninety minutes would have been a tremendous benefit.
As it stands, the picture bursts with striking, fantastical, horrific, brutal flavor, a panoply of genre visuals - but that's all. There is all too drastically little substance here. If all you want out of this is the violence, then you're in luck, but if you want anything more lastingly fulfilling, not so much. It IS entertaining, and I had a good time; it's more or less worthwhile on its own merits. Being thusly deficient in critical departments, however, I'm not likely to spend any time thinking about it even two hours from now. Provided that nothing I've described has turned you off this earns a soft recommendation as something light on a lazy day, the snack food of anime, but don't go out of your way for it. Recognize that 'Cybernetics Guardian' is at best a small appetizer rather than the entree it could have been, and so long as you can live with that, this is enough fun to check out.
Toki o kakeru shôjo (2006)
Smart and highly enjoyable, a modern anime gem
So far as I'm concerned, with each and every one of his subsequent features Hosoda Mamoru has shown himself to be one of the greatest filmmakers and storytellers working in animation today. But then, this 2006 piece came earlier in his career, before he truly set off and came into his own; even as it carries a high reputation itself, how might it hold up compared to the likes of 'Summer wars,' 'Wolf children,' or 'Belle?' Notably, 'The girl who leapt through time' is an adaptation, and this also comes before Hosoda founded Studio Chizu. Then again, screenwriter Okudera Satoko had begun to make a name for herself even before she began collaborating with the director here, and Madhouse is an animation house with plenty of their own renown. These are all worthwhile considerations, but we need not concern ourselves too much: in short order once it begins this reveals itself to be a terrific joy right in line with all else the man has given us. If to any extent we might nitpick exactly where it fits in Hosoda's oeuvre, by and large it's just as fun and thoughtful as anything he's given us.
Strictly speaking I wouldn't put this picture on entirely the same level as the filmmaker's endeavors to come. Trusted as Madhouse is, I genuinely favor Studio Chizu's style more. Speaking of style, it somewhat comes across that Hosoda hadn't fully developed and refined his own just yet, and between his oversight as director and Okudera's screenplay - and, possibly, Tsutsui Yasutaka's novel - there are some imperfections here in my opinion. Occasionally the pacing seems a tad lax; heading into the third act, I wonder if the writing doesn't become a smidgen heavy-handed in one regard or another. More broadly I feel that there's a struggle to achieve the right tone as the narrative progresses, and the more deeply dramatic it becomes, the story gets bogged down in those harder emotions, like a shoe caught in thick mud. I might even argue that the title has a hard time communicating its admirable themes in the manner it wanted to. In all his future works Hosoda would have no difficulty in meaningfully plumbing such depths while remaining light on his feet, and if not for that then perhaps the discrepancy wouldn't even be discerned at all, but it did catch my attention all the same.
Perhaps this is overthinking things, though. When all is said and done 'The girl who leapt through time' is a real pleasure in its swirl of comedy, drama, and science fiction; we get everything we want out of Japanese animation - the standard bearers of the industry, if you ask me - and we also get to see a filmmaker growing right before our eyes. Madhouse has a long history in anime and they did a fantastic job here with marvelous detail and texture in every capacity. The backgrounds and environments are fetching if not downright beautiful; character designs and even more so other active elements are rendered with careful consideration; and where we see sparing use of 3D sensibilities, they are used only very judiciously in a fashion that rather foreshadows Hosoda's projects to come. Lighting, shading, fluid action sequences, effects: you name it, the animators nailed it. Yoshida Kiyoshi's original score is a superb complement to the proceedings, deftly shifting between very playful themes and more somber, ponderous chords as the tale requires. Much the same goes for the cast; while no one performer necessarily stands out save for how prominent their role is, the voice acting is splendidly expressive and brings it all to vivid life.
Both as written and realized some odds and ends may be stronger or less sure-footed than others, but not to so severe a degree as to particularly quash our investment in the saga. Quibble as we might, the characters are engaging and full of personality, brought out in the smart dialogue; scenes are generally excellent, bringing most all due flavor and impact to bear, and the plot at large is compelling and satisfying. Say what one will about Hosoda, he knows how to stick a landing in the third act, and even though the doing here doesn't meet the same lofty echelon as 'Mirai' or even 'The boy and the beast,' the movie comes together very nicely when all is said and done. Some aspects are tighter than others, yes, but if the worst one can say is that we're not yet seeing a filmmaker at their full potential, then I'd say 'The girl who leapt through time' has done very well for itself. I'd stop short of saying it demands viewership, yet whether one is an especial fan of Hosoda or someone else involved, has some other special impetus to watch, or is just looking for something good, I'd be hard-pressed not to suggest this. I had a fabulous time with it just as I anticipated, and I'm pleased to give 'The girl who leapt through time' my warm recommendation!
Tenki no ko (2019)
Absolutely stellar - an(other) incredibly beautiful and well-rounded masterpiece from Shinkai
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: for all the high praise that is given to the likes of Disney, Pixar, and Dreamworks for their modern 3D animation, as far as I'm concerned they're nothing compared to the real masters of the medium. With very rare exception no animation studio elsewhere in the world can compare to the magnificence that Japanese animators routinely give us - and predominantly in a 2D style, at that, with no more than relatively sparing augmentation with digital rendering. This has been true for a long time, frankly, seen in the works of Oshii Mamoru or Otomo Katsuhiro, and more recently Hosoda Mamoru, or Shinkai Makoto. I've utterly adored some of Shinkai's other pictures, especially 2016's 'Your name,' and it's safe to say that I had high expectations of this when I learned of it. Considering the visual experience alone 'Weathering with you' most certainly does not disappoint. Everything we've come to anticipate of contemporary anime is alive and well in these two hours, stellar if not altogether peerless: extraordinary detail, and texture, not to mention consideration for lighting and shading, color, perspective, and more. All backgrounds and environments, character designs, effects (particularly rain, of course), and other active elements were conjured with utmost attention to the slightest minutiae, and a mind for realism, and by Jove, with regards to the animation alone this is surely one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen. How Miyazaki Hayao alone among his countrymen is regularly honored abroad when his contemporaries and successors are churning out efforts like this, I will truly never know.
Yes, for the animation alone this feature is pretty much a must-see. But as I had rather hoped, it is just as exceptional in every other capacity. Shinkai again enlists J-rock band Radwimps to provide the score and soundtrack, and their music is an incredible joy that is essential to the viewing experience. The themes are richer, more varied, and more marvelously dynamic than one may supposed when the term "rock" is invoked, ranging from soft, thoughtful, contemplative, and/or atmospheric, sometimes with lovely acoustic instrumentation (e.g., stringed instruments or piano); to sweeping, inspiring phrases well in line with the average score in cinema; to lively, upbeat, and fabulously invigorating chords with the sharp percussion and electric guitar we assume. It can't be overstated how critical Radwimps was to the totality of the success of 'Your name,' and truthfully, that's the case here, too. And while we're at it, in a more general sense the audio in 'Weathering with you' is plainly stupendous. The mix is pristine and crystal clear, allowing every note, sound, word, and emotion ring out with sterling vibrancy, no matter how loud or quiet. And for that matter, while no one cast member stands out above the others, the voice actors are an outright blessing with the heartfelt, nuanced expression and feeling that they pour into their performances. Daigo Kotaro (Hodaka), Mori Nana (Hina), Oguri Shun (Kei), and Honda Tsubasa (Natsumi) are most prominent given their foremost roles, and they're terrific, but everyone else on hand really is just as great in helping to bring the movie to life.
And as if all this weren't resplendence enough, Shinkai again delivers an exquisite screenplay that he realizes with impeccable fidelity as director. 'Weathering with you' runs the gamut, and only ever in the most natural, balanced, and meaningful of ways, from funny and charming, to majorly dramatic with notions pulled from real life, to searing and deeply impactful with the wholehearted emotional depths that it plumbs. There's comedy, romance, fantasy, boatloads of drama, tinges of barely fictional science fiction, and even traces of action - and, more slyly, the crime flick - and just when it seems as if the more somber beats threaten to burden the plot, the mood shrewdly and fluidly shifts to a vibe much more rousing and downright cheer-worthy. The premise seems outwardly simple as young runaway Hodaka meets a girl with a special connection to the weather, but from that foundation is built a saga that deftly, organically weaves in young love; humans' relationship with our planet and our helplessness in the face of nature; guilt and responsibility, grief and desperation; both the jurisdiction and the violence of the state; the liminal space in which minors exist in society as they both have no meaningful rights, but are also almost arbitrarily treated as adults; the small things and the major anchors in life that can both have profound effect on our outlook; and still more. The title covers an enormous spectrum in every capacity, yet does so flawlessly. The result, to my absolute pleasure, is that just as the animation alone is so exemplary, in all sincerity the narrative is just as tremendous. 'Weathering with you' at large is very honestly one of the most beautiful films I've ever seen. That's really all there is to it.
What more is there to say? We all have our personal preferences when it comes to movies, but some movies exist beyond such questions of our tastes. As far as I'm concerned, this is one such example. 'Your name' was a momentous illustration of how superb a film-maker and storyteller Shinkai is; fast forward three years, and he's done it again. The animation, the music, the sound, the voice acting, and Shinkai's writing and direction are all perfect. This is surely one of the best animated pictures ever made, and likely deserves to be somewhere reasonably high on a kindred list for cinema as a whole, too. I expected I'd enjoy this, and still I'm completely blown away by how wonderful it is. For my money 'Weathering with you' fully demands viewership from one and all, bar none, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation. Bravo!
Digimon: The Movie (2000)
What should simply be fun struggles heavily with the unusual conditions under which it was made
I even worked in a local video store for a time after this had made its way to home media, and still I've never been more than only nominally aware of Digimon for all my life. To finally take some time and read about this picture, whose clamshell VHS case and cover I vividly recall - well, this had quite the mired history, didn't it? On a purely objective level, before we even sit to watch, one has to have some level of admiration for writers Jeff Nimoy and Bob Buchholz, and editors Douglas Purgason and Gary A. Friedman. Given the task of re-editing and rearranging into a new form three separate Japanese Digimon titles, all included by contractual obligation, then concocting a new story and dubbing script to accompany that newly assembled footage, and making it all reasonably cohesive? Not for one moment do I envy them. Then there's the fact that 2000's 'Digimon: The movie' is unique enough from its pre-existing constituent parts to be considered an entirely new feature; technically Hosoda Mamoru and Yamauchi Shigeyasu did direct this, in its scattered bits and pieces, but at the same time they had nothing to do with it beyond their completion of the three prior works of which it is comprised. The retrospective context is a lot to take in before we ever press "play"; could the actual viewing experience ever hope to compare?
I was definitely not prepared for the theme song that we hear regularly, and first over the opening credits, or really, for any part of the soundtrack; it tries way too hard to be "cool" and appeal in the most simplistic way to the young kids who are the primary audience. Also, how much of the reported $5 million budget went to securing rights to songs from artists like Barenaked Ladies and The Mighty Mighty Bosstones? The score is unremarkable, but an able and enjoyable complement nonetheless. The voice acting begins to wear on one's patience rather quickly - not because the actors don't give adept performances (they undeniably do), but because the cutesy timbre given to all characters, and children in particular, grows tiresome when it is the chief audio, without any major contrast. Much the same goes for the growling vocals assigned to large Digimon. Speaking of voice acting, this is one of the most dialogue-heavy films I've ever watched; there are scant few comparisons that come to mind as the words are almost continuous and unending. This makes the choices of voices all the more grating; seems to further accelerate already overly swift and unwieldy pacing; means that all exposition, plot development, character development, and other information is thrown at us in a gawky and overwhelming manner; and otherwise makes the viewing experience overbearing.
When I say "overbearing," I do very pointedly mean that what entertainment there is to be had in 'Digimon: The movie' is noticeably diminished. Some of the little jokes that Nimoy and Buchholz tossed into the new script are genuinely funny, and some little gags are delightful. There are actually some superb plot ideas in here; the story is engaging in general, and some specific scenes are pretty terrific. Then again, some of the would-be humor is hopelessly childish. And it's too bad that the narrative is practically shoved down our throats, forced and unnatural in its almost heedless progression all on its own, even before we take into account the effusive dialogue. It's hard to get a grasp on some of the notions about Digimon, or the interactions of the digital and physical worlds, that seem to be crucial to the lore as the flick either blows past them or just doesn't care to at all elucidate the point. Individual beats and story ideas are all but entirely lost as the words fly by, both in our perception and in their import, and by the time we're only halfway through one has to pause and wonder: "wait, how did we get here?" This also holds true for the remainder. I'll grant that in part this is a unique difficulty with how this project came about; given three specific existing titles that had to represent the entirety of the visuals, Nimoy and Buchholz, and producer Terri-Lei O'Malley, had no choice but to rely so much on the dialogue to move things along. It was a special challenge, and maybe we should commend those involved for managing to put together anything even halfway cogent - but I think this is also proof-positive that 'Digimon: The movie' is firm illustration of how films should NOT be made.
One unmistakable result of all this is that a mere eighty-eight minutes feel far longer than they are; so much is thrown at us over the course of the runtime that it just seems overfull. This is unfortunate - not just because there are swell thoughts that went into this, and not just because it's surely not an ideal introduction to the Digimon property in the first place, but also because overlal, the artists at Toei Animation did a fantastic job with their contribution. As this 2000 feature picks and chooses among its three constituent properties there is some discrepancy in the visuals at different times; some scenes bear notably less detail and sophistication than others. Yet by and large the backgrounds and environments are lush and fetching, whether interiors or exteriors, landscapes or cityscapes; character designs are quite nice, and creature designs are excellent and imaginative. Many other active animation elements arguably bear more detail than we commonly see in a fair amount of kindred fare, and this is to say nothing of consideration for texture, color, lighting or shading, perspective, or the application of digital 3D renderings to supplement the prevalent 2D style as the tale demands. Why, even as computer-generated imagery ages rapidly, I dare say that the inclusion here holds up better twenty-four years later than I'd have ever anticipated. Truthfully, there's much to appreciate in this picture, and I really just wish that it weren't so ungainly with regards to its dialogue, pacing, and plot development.
I don't dislike 'Digimon: The movie.' But I also almost wonder if it's a step too far to say that I like it; for all the hard work, skill, and intelligence that went into it, the very nature of how the production was cobbled together works against it. I respect Nimoy and Buchholz especially for what they were able to achieve under these conditions. Be that as it may, somewhere between the contractual obligations, the circumstances and fundamental construction, and the writers' screenplay, the whole is so overburdened with dialogue that the story gets hamstrung in the process - and everything else along with it, including the introduction of different Digimon (at the climax not least), action sequences, and the broad quality of the animation. There is lasting value here, and it nevertheless threatens to be subsumed by the onerous, cumbersome kluge that the film is. To the same extent that the sum total is enjoyable, it's also sort of actively frustrating. This doesn't mean that one shouldn't watch, and I'm indeed glad for those who get more out of it than I do. It does mean that one should be keenly aware of what they're getting into, and it may be recommended to read of the production history before ever sitting for it; "knowledge is power," as the saying goes. Don't go out of your way for it, but this is a bit fun and worthwhile on its own merits; 'Digimon: The movie' is also a strange cinematic curiosity, however, and perhaps that's the ultimate takeaway.
Makai toshi: Shinjuku (1988)
Imaginative and darkly entertaining in its blend of fantasy, horror, and action
I feel like I should seek out Kikuchi Hideyuki's novel to see how it differs from this OVA. By the time fifteen minutes have passed we're given two scenes back to back of major exposition that feel direct, forced, gawky, and unnatural in laying out essential information for the rest of the story to come. No few other scenes are much the same, honestly, whether it's a matter of exposition, plot development, or just introducing characters; though I do not fault screenwriter Okamura Kaori for the task of adapting prose to a different medium, surely Kikuchi's written word is more fleshed out and organic. But then, this is the nature of adaptation, isn't it? Few are those works that aren't noticeably altered when picked up for film or television. And despite such discernible, less favorable qualities, Okamura's screenplay is still pretty swell and ably serves its purpose. While plentiful tried and true tropes are on hand, the story is interesting and engaging as young Kyoya finds himself fated to battle the evil Levi Ra in the corrupted titular locale, to be a bad enough dude to rescue the president, and naturally, to save the world. The scene writing is flavorful and fun despite noted weaknesses. The script and storyboards need not be perfect for 'Demon City Shinjuku' to be a good time. Anyway, as is the case in many instances, the narrative is kind of just the foundation for the real meat of the film.
Countless anime features have been produced with hearty, spellbinding, impactful storytelling; countless others have been produced where the storytelling is quite suitable - but it mostly just fuel for the animation studio to let their imagination run wild. This is an example of the latter. Under the direction of Kawajiri Yoshiaki, he who has also given us such gems as 'Wicked City' or 'Ninja scroll,' Madhouse uses the guiderails of Kikuchi and Okamura to provide the primary core of the picture. Dark, sinister vibes rule the day as a city is claimed for demonic forces, and figures good and evil - granted powers through mystical training and/or hellish pacts - face off. Blood and gore, violent action, and gnarly, nightmarish monsters greet our vision, and this is what the movie was truly meant for. As one routinely anticipates of Japanese animation the visual experience is utterly fantastic, a creative wonderland of otherworldly bedazzlement. Substantial detail, texture, and utmost care went into every background, whether interior or exterior; realistic and expressive human character designs, and delightfully wicked creature designs; lighting and shading, color, and perspective; fluid action sequences, effects, other active elements, and so on. Thanks to the artists behind the scenes 'Demon City Shinjuku' gives us a world that we can practically taste, smell, and touch, and it is a fabulously rich, low-key thrilling ride.
The title is admirably well made in other regards, certainly, including Shinoda Motokazu's music that deftly complements the proceedings, smart sound effects, and commendable voice acting. I definitely appreciate Ogata Harutoshi's editing. But let's not kid ourselves: we're here for the story of fiendish entities and the hero who will combat them, and the terrific animation that realizes that saga and all the nastiness therein. In writing and in conjuration 'Demon City Shinjuku' is full of outstanding, deliciously ominous and foreboding ideas befitting the blend of fantasy, horror, and action that the flick entails. Yes, when one breaks down the plot - the hero's journey - it's nothing wholly remarkable, and the screenplay has its faults. But this is built above all on the magnificent grim vibes and fancifulness that we get through every thought that rounds out the tale of earth-shattering power, ghastly infernal beings, a city swallowed by incomprehensible malevolence, and the people who will save the day. Imperfect as the sum total may be, it's a highly entertaining ride, and it rather meets the standards we suppose of anime. What more could we ask for? All told it's not something one needs to go out of their way to see, but if you do have the opportunity to watch then it's very enjoyable and well worth checking out. I got just what I hoped for with 'Demon City Shinjuku,' and that's good enough for me.
Amon debiruman mokushiroku (2000)
If all you want out of animation are gnarly creatures and strong violence, you'll get your fill.
While I gather from outside sources that the OVA diverges from the manga, I can otherwise claim no knowledge of the source material. If nothing else, this puts me in a prime position to judge this anime on its own merits. The core foci here are readily apparent from the get-go: gnarly, even grotesque, and imaginative creature designs, accordingly credited to Nirasawa Yasushi; extremely strong, graphic violence, some of it very sexual in nature, and substantial blood and gore; and foremost themes of chaos in a broken society, amidst a war against otherworldly monsters, as desperate, mistrusting humans turn against each other and seem just as awful as the demons whose loyalties are similarly flimsy. These facets so heavily represent the intended and perceived value of 'Amon: Apocalypse of Devilman' that it's not unreasonable to say that they are the primary reasons one might have to watch in the first place. That's not to say that this isn't also worthwhile in other capacities, but the strengths here - the aspects that received the most attention - are plainly evident.
Now, as to what else the feature may have to offer: first of all, Hayasaka Ritsuko's loose adaptation of (part of) Nagai Go's manga does give us a story - sort of, kind of, more or less - but it's frankly nothing more than a vehicle for the creature designs and the violence. If you're looking for something of substance, move along and keep looking; the plot is baseline adequate, but very small and very thin, and doesn't really illuminate any of the ideas that presumably fill the manga. Someone like me who watches with no knowledge of the manga has no idea what is supposed to be going on beyond a few pointlessly broad plot points. (Demons, Humans, and Other? Check. Some seeming act of betrayal? Check.) Some of the dialogue is just plain bad; slight and single-minded as the plot is, much the same could be said of the scene writing, with part of a fight near the end pointedly raising a skeptical eyebrow. On a like note, the voice acting ably serves its purpose, but it's a means to an end more than anything else; the original music of Mangahead and Kobayashi Takeshi is suitable moody complement for the proceedings, but doesn't particularly stand out.
And, well, that just leaves the animation, doesn't it? As someone who has only very recently begun to remotely dip their toes into anime, I earnestly believe that far more than not artists of the Japanese industry handily outpace their counterparts elsewhere around the world. We routinely see detail, texture, and shrewd considerations in 2D Japanese animation that we don't from other regions; forget 3D animation altogether, except where sparsely and intently employed. I don't know if I'd necessarily say that the doing here is the top of the line - there are distinct weak spots, like short scenes of characters running - but even at that it's safe to say that 'Amon: Apocalypse of Devilman' easily fits well within that same general category. Detail, texture, lighting and shading, color, backgrounds and environments, interiors and exteriors, humans and creatures, almost nauseatingly violent but fluid action sequences, effects and other active elements: in most every regard the visual experience is simply fantastic. If all one wants out of this OVA is the animation, one should be quite satisfied. And with the underlying thrust simply being those creatures, that violence, and the depiction of Societal Chaos, after all, the animation is the most important part.
The question is: Is this enough? The flick had very simple goals, and it achieved them, so I suppose that's a job well done. I can't say it isn't darkly entertaining, such as it is. However, I could have done with more effort - any effort - to actually tell a story, because that just doesn't happen here. 'Amon' keeps a couple uselessly non-specific notions in mind, then just charges full-steam ahead with its visuals. All told I guess the sum total is enjoyable, but it's not at all fulfilling; this is a small appetizer, not a full portion, let alone an entree. That's all it wanted to be, and maybe that's all it needed to be, so 'Apocalypse of Devilman' IS "good," in one measure or another. But unless you're a huge, diehard fan, or have some very special impetus to watch, there is no need at all to seek this out. If you happen to come across it, save it for a quick watch on a lazy night, and that may be the best way to appreciate this OVA.
Subarashiki nichiyôbi (1947)
Satisfying and worthwhile despite struggling heavily with imbalance
I can't help but feel that this is imbalanced. It may well be a matter of my perspective coloring my experience, but just as the picture is all about Yuzo and Masako enjoying themselves and each other's company despite societal conditions and their poverty, the latter seem to be represented far, far more prominently here than the former. Nevermind that Yuzo is a total Debbie Downer stick in the mud (understandably haunted by his experiences in war, and cold, hard reality) contrasted with the hopeful dreams and optimistic fancifulness of Masako: everywhere they turn their efforts to spend time together are stymied by pretensions of class, their poor dress, their lack of money, the lack of public spaces, the judgments and biases of society if not also the corruption (by capitalism, invariably), and even just the state of the world around them. 'One wonderful Sunday' is in part entertaining, and in part simply dispiriting, and I'm inclined to think that one of these descriptors is far more readily applicable - and not the one that would suggest the movie to be "a good time." Could this be the single most depressing picture in the filmmaker's career?
It's well made, certainly. It's very smartly shot, a credit to both esteemed director Kurosawa Akira and cinematographer Nakai Asakazu. Despite the more dour aspects of the presentation there's a certain lightness and gaiety in Kurosawa's direction that we really don't see elsewhere in his highly celebrated oeuvre, a sense bolstered by Hattori Tadashi's original music and the inflections of recognizable, lighthearted themes. Numasaki Isao and Nakakita Chieko give earnest, capable, deeply heartfelt performances, among others. And still most every step that our protagonists take turns sour to one degree or another. As much as Masako earnestly wishes to look forward to the future, Nakakita's acting reflects the truly desperate pleading in the woman's heart; whenever events do allow Numasaki to portray Yuzo with a glimmer of positivity, that faint spark is inevitably crushed in the next moment, and all the more achingly so because of it. Why, the most pure and unvarnished scene in the title comes around the one-hour mark when, during a heavy rainstorm, the couple quietly ruminate on their misfortunes in the squalor of a leaking flat.
Everyone involved turned in excellent work, including the production design, art direction, costume design, and sound. The screenplay, co-written between Kurosawa and Uekusa Keinosuke, is rock solid despite its pervasively downbeat nature: Yuzo and Masako are all too real as characters, trying to get by in a Japan that struggles in an immediate post-war period of rebuilding and Allied occupation. Dreary and genuinely vexing as the narrative is, it's nevertheless compelling and engrossing; the scene writing may vary a little in its strength, but where the feature shines (however darkly) it is plainly outstanding. And still, from the beginning to the end, the imbalance in 'One wonderful Sunday' is also apparent. All told it is an absorbing, satisfying viewing experience of meaningful substance, with terrific contributions from all on hand; the trouble just seems to be that Kurosawa had a hard time reconciling the intended illustration of resilience with the predominant woe. Nowhere is this more evident than at the climax, where good intentions crash hard against the shore of reality - and very awkwardly and unconvincingly as the film breaks the fourth wall.
It perhaps speaks very well to the filmmaker that despite this undeniable quandary, the sum total remains very, very good overall, and when all is said and done actually stands taller than his few significant missteps. The very name is arguably misleading to some extent, and one should be well ware of what they're really getting into if one sits to watch. It's worthwhile on its own merits, though, and if not wholly demanding viewership, 'One wonderful Sunday' holds up quite and earns a fair recommendation.
Kono hiroi sora no dokoka ni (1954)
Very soft and light, but still duly worthwhile
Kobayashi Masaki has made some absolutely essential, must-see classics, but not all his works are equally well-known, and not all are equal in terms of quality, either. This 1954 picture is definitely not one of the man's most celebrated endeavors; how might it hold up compared to its brethren? There is perhaps a reason 'Somewhere under the broad sky' is less renowned - it's a fine film, truly, but not necessarily particularly striking. Even as drama persists the overall tone is very light to the point of diminishing it, observed in the dialogue, the course of events such as it is, Kobayashi's direction, and at length the acting. There's much to appreciate here, and it's worthwhile on its own merits, but maybe not anything special that especially demands to be seen.
There's one scene in the third act that's so dippy it wouldn't be out of place coming from P. G. Wodehouse writing Madeline Bassett. Elsewhere, as the narrative leans on mundane, common ideas like "life is hard" and "the relationship between a woman and the family she has married into," the feature is maudlin and almost kind of questionable as it feels like a contemporary U. S. TV sitcom, or at most a TV family drama of the sort that seemingly proliferated in the 80s and early 90s (one of the many curses of Reaganism). While I don't actually doubt the intent, the sum total nevertheless arguably comes across as less than fully earnest, and it's rather as if Kobayashi and writer Kusuda Yoshiko actively forsook heartier, solemn drama lest they run afoul of cultural norms or some censor's board. (It's not an unreasonable conjecture, seeing as the Allied occupation of Japan following World War II had only ended a couple years before this was released.) There's "lighthearted," and then there's "so light that it may float away on a mild breeze."
Still, it's not as if the title isn't duly well made just as it is. Exceedingly gentle as it may be as written and realized, there are still worthwhile ideas herein: the owner of a local liquor store that just gets by, the young woman struggling to find her place in her husband's family, the sister who is ashamed of her disability, the empathetic young brother who has his head in the clouds, the terse mother-in-law, the values of a society in flux, and so on. The plot rather exists on a plateau, but it's not undeserving, and there is just enough sense of story in the characters and their relationships, and each scene in turn, to keep us interested. In much the same vein the cast do give admirable performances befitting the material, not least Sada Keiji and Kuga Yoshiko, and certainly others including Ishihama Akira and Urabe Kumeko. With splendid cinematography, lovely filming locations, and excellent production design and art direction - not to mention fetching costume design, hair, and makeup - the movie is easy on the eyes, and everyone who contributed behind the scenes did a fine job.
It's debatable at best if all this is enough to earn a specific recommendation; adequately satisfying as 'Somewhere under the broad sky' is,' it does not leave a lasting impression of the type that will have one speak enthusiastically of it to their fellows. Yet not every film needs to be a revelation, or a spellbinding tour de force; sometimes it really is enough to simply Be, and operate on a smaller and less momentous scale. We can discuss the finer points of this flick, but it really is good all told; "less than riveting" does not mean "bad." There's hardly any need to go out of one's way for it, but provided one is receptive to softer fare of this variety, it's still worth checking out on a quiet day if one has the opportunity. And that's perfectly okay.
Aruitemo aruitemo (2008)
Lovely and thoughtful, a softly absorbing treasure
Hiring acoustic guitar duo Gontiti to score this film was frankly a genius move, and in all seriousness they should be hired for many, many more productions. It can't be overstated how lovely and cozy their themes are even from the first time they tickle our ears, and I dare say the music is an essential component of this picture even as it's employed relatively sparingly. One way or another, Gontiti provide a swell complement for the proceedings as the mood gently shifts in accordance with the dynamics of the Yokoyama family. As both writer and director (and editor) Kore-eda Hirokazu keeps 'Still walk' low-key, with a soft tone, allowing the story to speak entirely for itself; though outwardly simple, it's certainly all that is necessary for it to be engrossing and satisfying. As the family gathers to to remember late favorite son Junpei, father Kyohei proves to be decidedly surly, stubborn, and prideful, overlooked younger son Ryota takes after Kyohei more than either of them want to admit, and the women of the family and the young kids navigate all this awkwardness in their own ways while otherwise enjoying the visit. With very strong, smart characterizations fueling the plot alongside shrewd scene writing and dialogue, the result is richer than one might assume based on the tenor it adopts.
The vibe sways from light and warm to notably more somber and uncomfortable as the portrait of the Yokoyamas unfolds, but at all times the picture is gratifyingly earnest and heartfelt. One might say that there are also reflections in the screenplay of Japanese society, though in fairness, the relationships herein could just as readily be observed in any family in any locale - let alone the other themes and ideas that emerge, like how elders Kyohei and Toshika continue to respond to Junpei's death, and to the respective situations of surviving adult children Ryota and Chinami and their families, and more. Regardless, the cast is a minor treasure, as from one to the next every actor lends a certain vitality to the title with the nuanced range, personality, and emotional depth with which they bring their complicated characters to life. Everyone has an opportunity to shine in turn, and between Harada Yoshio, Kiki Kirin, Abe Hiroshi, Natsukawa Yui, You, and even young Tanaka Shohei, all are so terrific that one doesn't stand out any more than the others. Other elements here mirror that tack in their own fashion as the production design and art direction reinforce the verisimilitude, and even Kore-eda's editing is rather keen as it helps to speak to the underhanded tension in the household.
Even at its most "severe" the feature remains muted, and overall quite pleasant. Being so soft-spoken in its examination of the family, I can understand how this won't appeal to all viewers, yet two hours went by surprisingly quickly as far as I'm concerned, and 'Still walking' offers a little food for thought all along the way. The substance is slight but meaningful, and there's even a measure of artistry in how it is put together, not least with Yamasaki Yutaka's cinematography that is often notably static but nevertheless crisp, vivid, and enticing; I'm reminded to some degree of the works of Ozu Yasujiro, like 'Tokyo story' and 'I was born, but...' Filled with nice small details in various regards, all told this movie is just splendid, a charming and somewhat contemplative piece, if also a tad rueful, that doesn't specifically go much of anywhere, but also doesn't need to as the characters and the family serve up all the compelling drama we would want. Kore-eda shaped this with marvelous intelligence and heart that shines through from beginning to end, and I'm all so pleased with just how absorbing and even rewarding it is when all is said and done. It isn't necessarily something one needs to go out of their way to see, but if you're open to the quieter side of cinema, 'Still walking' is an excellent, thoughtful gem that deserves more visibility, and I'm happy to give it my high and hearty recommendation.
Ankokugai no bijo (1958)
Tense, striking, electric, vibrant - a stunning, brilliant, underappreciated treasure
Not all of Suzuki Seijun's works are equal, but he made some terrific classics - and for the vibrant, charged airs this carries right from the start, readily reminding of essential film-noir and crime flicks out of Hollywood or Britain, I dare say this is one of them. In fact, putting aside any sort of direct comparisons, 'Underworld beauty' is so stunningly flavorful that it quite stands out just on that basis, before taking into account the substance, at least as much as its most cherished kin from abroad do at large. Yamamoto Naozumi's music is rich, dynamic, and all but intoxicating; bearing a similar underhanded playfulness, Nakao Wataro's cinematography is also as smart as it is crisp and vivid, with no few shots being particularly shrewd and fetching as it captures every detail. Count the cast among those details, for from one to the next everyone gives outstanding performances, ably befitting the nature of the material: splitting the difference as scenes require between cool, steely poise and fabulously vivacious but nuanced acting full of personality and stark emotions, not to mention dexterous physicality. Only for their relative prominence do some stars necessarily make more of an impression than others, but with that said, among others, Mizushima Michitaro, Kondo Hiroshi, and especially Shiraki Mari are all minor joys in and of themselves, and they unquestionably excel as their roles make considerable demands of them.
And so it is on down the line, in most every capacity, as the feature bursts with zest and liveliness that put countless others to shame. Pretty much everything here is as joyfully fetching as the music, cinematography, and acting, if just in different ways: the filming locations, the production design and art direction, the costume design, hair, and makeup, the props and weapons, and so on. The audio is as clear as we could want, splendidly robust as every word, note, and sound rings out. Even Suzuki Akira's editing is notably choice in putting the picture together, in its own fashion maintaining the tremendous energy that this so capably manifests in and out. This is to say nothing of (Seijun) Suzuki's direction, deftly weaving every odd and end together with an impeccably keen eye and wonderful finesse - while pointedly sustaining that stupendous, buzzing electricity at all times. 'Underworld beauty' is a treasure, really, as through violence and camaraderie, cat-and-mouse and plain speech, and moods dark and light, the movie manages to be ferocious and biting, coy and winking, and bright and artistic all at once. From Suzuki's guidance of the cast, to the orchestration of shots and scenes, to even exceptional, delicious use of light and shadow, I wonder if this isn't actually the man's best title, in the very least among those that I've seen if not overall. From top to bottom, it's dazzlingly striking.
Why, I haven't even mentioned the stunts, practical effects, or action sequences. Sharp and invigorating as they are - including a phenomenal climax - they almost feel like an afterthought, a mere bonus, given how stellar and grabbing the film is in truly every other regard. And of course none of this would be possible without the superb screenplay of Saji Susumu. In the most general sense this broaches familiar territory as a disparate assemblage of seedy figures, most of them very distinctly criminal, pursue a handful of diamonds that are worth a bountiful sum. Within that space, though, the screenwriter fleshes out the saga with some of the most grandly savory minutiae I've seen in flicks of this variety. The characters are low-key fascinating, above all Miyamoto, Arita, and certainly Akiko. The dialogue is brusque and cutting, right in line with the tenor of the production, the characters, and the course of events. The narrative is flush with plentiful turns that keep us invested, ramping up the tension and suspense as all these figures and their interests invariably head toward some deadly culmination. And to be frank the scene writing is altogether exquisite, rounding out the story with some ingenious specifics that really capture the imagination. In every last element the picture overflows with sparks of brilliance, and each by itself is enough to light a fire; taken together, the result is spellbinding.
It may not immediately appeal to all comers, but as far as I'm concerned some works exist beyond any questions of personal preference. This is surely one of those, and for anyone who appreciates the genres this toys with - noir, crime drama, thrillers - this rather demands viewership. I said it recalls brethren of Hollywood or Britain, and I mean it, but all told this handily outshines vast swaths of them. I sat with no foreknowledge and expectations that were mixed to high based on my prior experience with Suzuki, and I'm ultimately aghast that I've not watched it until now. This is probably one of the best movies I've watched in recent months. With the writing, direction, acting, and craftsmanship all marked by incredible skill, intelligence, and care, in my mind 'Underworld beauty' is downright perfect. Seek it out to watch however you must, this is an underappreciated gem that deserves far more attention, and I'm all too pleased to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Suzaki Paradaisu: Akashingô (1956)
I'm not impressed.
Even the most highly regarded films won't meet with equal favor among all comers. I think this is quite fine, but it doesn't make any particular impression. 'Suzaki Paradise: Red light district' is easy on the eyes, with lovely, fetching filming locations, production design and art direction, costume design, hair, and makeup. Takamura Kurataro's cinematography is crisp and vivid, and possibly the top highlight for how vibrant the presentation is in turn; this is beautifully shot. The cast give strong performances, including Aratama Michiyo, Mihashi Tatsuya, Ashikawa Izumi, and so on. And there are strong themes at play in the storytelling of obsession between men and women - or really, possessiveness and jealousy, and demanding selfishness - and how it can get in the way of earnest living. Only, it seems to me that that storytelling and those themes are applied unevenly. And there's the rub.
In the first place, there is constant back and forth in the narrative as Yoshiji and Tsutae have near misses as they look for each other, and even as the movie plays with solid notions, it comes across less as a meaningful drama and more as a middling melodrama. Manabe Riichiro's milquetoast elevator music only reinforces that vibe. Secondly, for the majority of the length the plot centers the unfocused anger of Yoshiji as he flounders and seems to harbor ill feelings toward Tsutae's mobility. Amidst illustrations of other couples or individuals who share traits similar to the core pair, we eventually see that Tsutae harbors similar feelings - and despite the entirety of the preceding length, this is instead what becomes the linchpin for the writers and the filmmaker as dialogue zeroes in more on the virtue or vices of women than of men. Maybe I'm giving them too little credit; after all, they do show one side of the coin while speaking to the other, and maybe it was their underhanded intent through that duality to lay out the regrettable behavior of both men and women. Or maybe this really is simply sexist, and those involved were too ignorant to see it.
It doesn't matter, anyway. In the last moments Manabe's bland music endures as we see how nothing has changed after all between Yoshiji and Tsutae, nevermind everything that we've witnessed for the last eighty minutes. Well, I guess that's a wrap. What was it that I was supposed to be taking away from this?
I don't specifically blame 'Suzaki Paradise' for the fact that it took multiple attempts for me to get through it as I passed out for a good few hours in the middle. But in my experience a high quality picture can shake me from my drowsiness, while bad or so-so pictures can make me sleepy even if I'm wide awake. Whatever else is true here, it didn't keep me awake, and when all is said and done, considered as a whole I'm not surprised how my night turned out for me. Coming from the same filmmaker who would a few years later give us the exquisite 'The graceful brute' (or 'The elegant beast'), I admit to some measure of disappointment. Others will watch this and find it to be greatly meaningful; I'm glad for them. I see the potential that it had, but for my part I don't think it goes anywhere or does anything special. Such is life. On to the next feature.
Oneechanbara: The Movie - Vortex (2009)
It sort of tries harder - much too hard - and therefore somehow manages to be even worse.
I did this to myself. I knew it was going to be awful. There was never more than a real possibility otherwise, seeing as it's the direct-to-video sequel to a videogame adaptation that was one of the worst movies I've ever seen, and almost certainly the most boring. No one involved the first time around seemed to care about the film they were in, so why should this instance be any different? It surely couldn't be even worse, could it?
Well, there is a difference, and 'Chanbara beauty: Vortex' is distinctly worse than 'Onechanbara,' and here's why. In the 2008 picture no one in the cast or crew was remotely trying, and the result was flailing and floundering, as weak and pointless as a picture could possibly be. If you wanted action, it was treated poorly; if you wanted horror, it was treated poorly; if you wanted a cinematic interpretation of the videogames, you didn't even get the interactivity of gameplay; if you wanted an enjoyable full-length feature, you absolutely did not get one; if all you wanted was skin, as suggested by promotional materials and the infamous costume design of the videogame protagonist, even this was lacking. No, 'Onechanbara' didn't try at all, in any capacity. 'Chanbara beauty,' however, takes the opposite tack and tries way, way too hard, and in totally failing on every account, it arguably becomes more actively aggravating than its predecessor.
Dear reader, the actors are acting SO HARD. Just look at their faces! Ooh, the concentrated effort they're pouring into their acting! Grr! Arg! Rather than be bland and flavorless, this time the composers do try to put some pep in the step of the music, but the result is as hollow and spiritless as ever; imagine an enthusiastic musical artist performing to a concert venue that's almost completely empty, and you'll have a good sense of what's going on here. Instead of abysmal, bottom-dollar production values, this time folks try to make empty warehouses, bare streets, and open fields seem fancy by adding soft focus into the mix, making the fundamental image easy on the eyes but as false as false could be. The computer-generated imagery isn't always as painfully obvious as it was last time - only mostly - but I do wonder if it isn't even more gauchely proliferate; the action remains wildly stylized, and therefore dull and unexciting (remember Zack Snyder's '300?'), and is generally poorly visualized anyway, if not also poorly choreographed. We get tropes galore, questionably employed instances of blood and gore for their own sake, and definitely a lot more focus on women's bodies, not least as the "costume design" includes a bikini, a short miniskirt, a nightgown, and a skintight suit with an open midline. That should make the prepubescent boys in the audience happy (and the grown men who have the maturity of prepubescents).
Rotten cinematography, Rotten editing. Shoji Tsuyoshi's direction can be described in much the same terms of the acting, and if anything is generally more limp and contrived. Yoshiki Fukushima - well, he wrote a screenplay. There is a screenplay. It's a thing. There is a plot, but it's just as poorly written as before, and only an excuse for (a) zombies and (b) dressing grown women like little girls and playthings. It's also very poorly communicated through the trashy, hackneyed, halfhearted scene writing and dialogue. There's something to do with the special blood of sisters Aya and Saki, which had been brought up in the prior flick, too, but this sequel is just as laughably terrible about elucidating any such plot points or story ideas. Likewise, the character writing is appalling, and doubly so since the dynamics between Aya and Saki are supposed to be important in some manner; Saki just comes across as blisteringly, childishly senseless, and Aya mostly an empty shell, so whatever. Incredibly, the result of all these elements is that even as the cast and crew desperately attempted to infuse more vitality into the proceedings, and do some actual work this time around, these 85-90 minutes somehow feel even more vacant. More artificial. More meaningless. One side effect is that instead of being wholly indifferent to the flick I instead really can say that I despise it, and true dislike is in my opinion better than sheer boredom. Yet if splitting hairs in this fashion is how we distinguish between the respective level of quality of two kindred pieces, call me a cynic, but I don't think that reflects well on either.
As was the case with the 2008 antecedent, I fully admit that I'm clearly not in the target audience. Be that as it may, I cannot fathom how anyone could possibly find this remotely entertaining. There is no value here. Whatever one might theoretically want out of this film, you can get it elsewhere, and invariably more well done. We technically do get everything that was promised, but the price is far too steep to pay. Rarely has something that clocked in at under ninety minutes felt so interminably long. This has been a block of time that I'll never be able to get back; I have wasted a portion of my life watching this. I urge you, with all due sincerity, to give 'Chanbara beauty: Vortex,' and its predecessor, as very, very, very wide a berth as you conceivably can. This is utter rubbish, and there is no reason any other person should ever have to suffer through it.
Onechanbara: The Movie (2008)
Abysmal. As floundering, weak, & pointless as movies get. One of the most boring things you could ever watch.
For the avid cinephile who will watch anything, curiosity can be dangerous. I had no expectations that this would be any good. Marketing materials that show the protagonist's costume design speak volumes. Just to be sure I had the "full" experience, I checked out a video of gameplay from the videogame series, and stopped after only a few minutes after I confirmed that (a) yes, I've seen games of a broad similar style before, and (b) this franchise in particular was very emphatically made for prepubescent twelve-year old boys (and grown men who are 25 going on 12) who giggle uncontrollably at the very sight of a nude magazine, and who women reasonably spurn for their immaturity. But in all sincerity, just how little value might we anticipate of a "film adaptation" (using the phrase loosely and generously)?
I've beat around the bush enough: This is awful. Totally rotten. Unforgivably bad, and bereft of meaningful value. Whatever it is you might theoretically want out of 'Onechanbara,' sometimes also referred to as 'Bikini samurai squad' (gag me with a spoon), you can get it elsewhere without the senselessness to which we're subjected in these eighty-five minutes.
I wonder if there was one person who earned a paycheck from this who actually cared about what they were making. It certainly can't be Fukuda Yohei, neither as director, as cinematographer, or as co-writer alongside Murakawa Yasutoshi. The direction would be laughable if it weren't so sorry, and the cinematography is at best uninspired. The dialogue is complete trash, the characters are pointless, and the scene writing is abhorrently crude, being the bare minimum to provide foundation for all else and to propel the plot, and more than anything else just emptily mimics like notions from other flicks. The scene writing, by the way, is never worse than when it tries to slow down for a relatively quiet moment between characters. The plot is lousy too, though - halfhearted, unconvincing, and heedlessly considered in the first place, nothing more than a pathetically meager excuse for (i) zombies and (ii) pretty women in very tight and/or very revealing clothing. Almost purely nonsensical, truth be told. Fujino Chika and Ikari Hideki's music bears rudimentary thoughts of "dramatic and moody," "electric guitar and driving beats," or "indifferently lighthearted," and was clearly slapped together with no more passion or earnestness than anything else here.
Tropes galore greet our eyes alongside bottom-dollar production values and heavily stylized and therefore deeply uninteresting action sequences. It's right and fair to lambaste countless modern action pictures for substituting overzealous camerawork and editing for the actual choreography, strikes, blows, and blocks that we should be seeing; here such recklessness is actually welcome just because it means we don't have to put up with the tiresome direction of Fukuda, or of action director Ohara Go, who prioritize not the physical impact of violence but the "wow gee golly, look how slick and cool this is" Awesome Factor. I'm unable to care at all about the choreography, practical effects, stunts, or special makeup that we do see; the computer-generated post-production visuals were outdated by at least 10-15 years even when this was released in 2008, not to mention being excessive and outright gauche. To wit: think of the most obviously artificial muzzle flashes you've seen in SyFy TV movies or works of The Asylum, and you'll swiftly come to understand how gunfire and sword slashes look here. Even the lighting and editing is appalling.
Gratuitous sex and nudity, check. Boorish and/or unfunny humor, check. Juvenile sensibilities generally, check. Garishly over the top action adjoined with slothful, dragging direction, check. Acting that is never more than dull, unremarkable, and baseline serviceable from stars who sure are present, yes they are, yes indeedily doddily doo - check. Yes, much of the acting really is just plain crappy, too. Is there anything here that is done well, or that is remotely deserving of praise? Frankly: no. No, there is not. True, I'm not the target audience anyway, but be that as it may I have a very hard time imagining that anyone at all could find this entertaining. If you like "hack and slash" action videogames, you don't even get the instant gratification of pushing buttons to make things happen. If you like the primary composite genres of action and horror, both the action and the horror are rancid and wanting for how poorly they are treated. If you are a fan of cinema at large, receptive to whatever might come your way, you will surely find this just as loathsomely sloppy, weak, dubious, unsatisfying, unfulfilling, and downright terrible as I did. Why, even if it's nothing more than scantily clad women that you want, to be honest there's a bizarre paucity even of skin!
I don't know if I can even bring myself to hate 'Onechanbara.' It's just painfully, absolutely, perfectly boring. And that's even worse. This is a STRONG contender for the category of "worst films ever made," and it somehow only ever becomes more egregious as the minutes tick by, all the way through to the end. Rarely has something that clocks in at under ninety minutes seemed so achingly endless. Please do yourself a favor and give this dreck a very, very, very wide berth. You'll be extremely sorry if you don't.
Shônen Jakku to Mahô-tsukai (1967)
Distinctly flawed, but still enjoyable as strengths outshine weaknesses
Wonderful things are possible through animation that are not with live-action fare, and of late it seems to me that Japanese animators can claim an especial mastery. Every medium grows in uneven spurts, however; the U. S. Saturday morning cartoons of the 60s and 70s are a far cry from those of the twenty-first century, and it seems fair to ponder how an anime flick from 1967 might hold up nearly sixty years later with regards to both its visuals and its storytelling. And, well - no sooner does 'Jack and the witch' begin and I find myself bewildered and deeply skeptical. It's hardly that this film totally flounders, yet from the outset there were choices made here that are very dated, and which are plainly outmoded after so many years. There actually is a lot to like in these eighty minutes, which only makes it more confounding that some facets very obviously received less care.
On the one hand, the backgrounds and environments, whether interiors or exteriors, are incredibly imaginative, and illustrated with rich, stupendous detail and texture. I could stand for this to be much longer just so we could spend more time in the shadowy land of the witch's castle. On the other hand, active animated elements are simplistic to the point of childishness, wholly lacking anything resembling that detail or texture, and this applies above all to the character designs - or really, to movement, action scenes, or anything else in which characters are specifically involved. Yes, this is pretty well the norm for animation, and 2D animation above all, but the disparity in this picture is extra severe. Why did Toei Animation give so much consideration to one aspect of the visuals, while giving a "okay, good enough" pass to others?
In fairness, some instances of the animation are better than others, and more fetching in their whimsy, and we may not pay so much heed as the plot develops. To my pleasure, Sekizawa Shin'ichi and Takaku Susumu penned an interesting, compelling story of fantasy in which young protagonist Jack is abducted by an agent of the wicked sorceress queen Auriana, and the courage, kindness, and friendship he shows will lead to a bigger fight and significant changes. Individual scenes, too, bear terrific and flavorful ideas to propel that narrative, treating us to measures of action, adventure, and drama amidst the predominant fantasy. Nothing herein is revelatory, but like the best of the visuals it's creative and enticing, and at its core the storytelling is so delightful that I wouldn't mind seeing an updated rendition of what this feature offered in 1967.
Then again, just as active elements and characters in particular received less attention by the artists, Sekizawa and Takaku kind of lazed about when it came to writing them, too. The broad notions of scenes and characters are excellent; the details are often questionable or outright lacking, reflecting the sort of unsophisticated lowliness that supposes children to be so infantile and unthinking that any one degree of complexity or nuance - traits which might help the whole to also appeal to older viewers, and to have lasting value generally - is one degree too much. In turn, the dialogue is pretty much just a lost cause. We know such condescension toward youths is unnecessary; animated fare of more recent years is emphatically smarter and more well-rounded in its writing, and treats its audiences as such, and it's not as if there was a marked generational shift in intelligence. Animation of past decades just carried very different sensibilities than that which we see from the likes of modern Pixar or Disney, let alone their Japanese counterparts.
This is duly well made in other regards, with some nice original music, sound effects, and editing, and even suitable voice acting. I really do like 'Jack and the witch,' and I think it's better than not. Why, it's possible that I'm altogether being too harsh in my criticism; surely the strengths in the animation and writing are sufficient to well outweigh the weaknesses. I just really wish that those weaknesses weren't so stark in the first place, undeniably indicating a major discrepancy in how the material was approached as the most fabulously far-out fancifulness is juxtaposed with other components that are merely adequate, or even subpar. Still, troubled as the movie is, I enjoyed it, and I'm glad I took the time to watch. Provided one is open to titles that face such difficulties I believe this remains worth checking out. Don't go out of your way for it, and be well aware of its foibles, but 'Jack and the witch' is still good enough to earn a soft recommendation.
Cuckoo (2024)
Splendidly creepy, sharply made all around - Singer's highly anticipated sophomore effort is a blast!
I'm a huge fan of Tilman Singer's 2018 debut, 'Luz.' Low budget, low-key, and kind of minimalist, it's nevertheless deliciously sinister, and brilliant for how it makes use of its space and "theater of the mind" sensibilities to communicate its story. I've been looking forward to seeing what Singer would do next, and this 2024 sophomore effort has been in my sights since I first caught wind of it. There are some very recognizable names and faces on hand in addition to Singer's involvement, and I dare say that Neon has a fairly strong track record in recent years, in relation to horror no less, so I freely admit that I've had high hopes for 'Cuckoo.' What would Singer do with an actual budget? I'm happy to say that that what he has done has been to crank out another ingenious slice of genre cinema: for my part I love this, and I think it's even better than I had hoped. It's been a long six years since 'Luz,' but the wait has been worth it, and I once again quiver with anticipation of what Singer does next.
I'm not going to say it's perfect. There are occasional tidbits that are too on the nose (a clock), forthright (jump scares), or common (weapons in the last act). Scenes that take place at night sometimes suffer from the somewhat muted color; as has been noted to be the case with too much of modern cinema, the audio mix is sometimes muddled, with dialogue especially suffering amidst the bassy rumble of modern sound sensibilities. There are times throughout the screenplay when it seems to me that the picture is being too direct, showing the audience too much too soon; the third act seems to have some rough edges, and the cynical viewer might say that it risks the same gawky foibles that plague M. Night Shyamalan's works. And I don't necessarily believe that every choice in Singer's direction was the ideal one; as one notable example, I find some reactions of Henry (Jan Bluthardt) in the third act to be curious. This isn't without its faults.
Yet to whatever extent the end result is less than sterling, far, far more than not I am so very pleased with just how good this is. It's marvelously creepy, but fun, and warts and all I couldn't wipe the smile from my face as ideas came together in the back end. Nitpick as we may, 'Cuckoo' is wonderfully smart, twisting a unique and well-known idiosyncrasy of our natural world into something unnatural and unnerving as teen Gretchen, dragged to Germany to join her father and his family, finds the Alpine resort where they stay to be something very different than what it outwardly seems. The story is delightfully shrewd and compelling, and ultimately very satisfying, while providing ample foundation for the gnarly horror vibes we want; the third act does ride a line, but just avoids crossing it in my opinion. Much the same goes for the flavorful scene writing, in turn impactful, haunting, or thrilling, that moreover sometimes recalls but sidesteps, or organically weaves in, tropes that have been a stumbling block elsewhere. A new friend for our protagonist does not bog down the narrative, for example, and additional notes of complexity in the third act are mindfully restrained such that the whole avoids bloat or overreach. I'm also very pleased with how carefully considered Gretchen is as a character, and well-rounded, and other characterizations were clearly given more attention than is too often the case in movies. Further factor in the meaningful thought poured into Gretchen's relationship with sister Alma, and Gretchen's other relationships, and I'm plainly chuffed with just how sharp Singer's screenplay is.
And all hims and haws aside, this is splendidly well made in all other regards. Simon Waskow's score lends fantastic, biting atmosphere to the proceedings; the songs rounding out the soundtrack are catchy, not least original "Gretchen's song" that is regularly spotlighted. To much the same end I love how sound is used here - music and effects alike - with a special shout-out to Elisa Kühnl and the technicians who worked with her voice. Those stunts and practical effects that are employed are superb, and the special makeup; while I'm generally wary of post-production visual embellishments, employed judiciously they can be effective, seamless, and all-around excellent, and so it is here. The production design and art direction at large are great, not to mention the filming locations, and just as broadly I appreciate the costume design, hair, and makeup, not least as our protagonist navigates through extreme circumstances. Paul Faltz's cinematography is swell in capturing every detail - and given the particulars of the tale, Terel Gibson and Philipp Thomas also distinctly stand out as their keen editing is instrumental in shaping the feature.
Not to be outdone, I adore the cast, and from one to the next I think all give terrific performances. Jessica Henwick and Martin Csokas are severe but nuanced in realizing the complications of Beth and Luis; Dan Stevens ably portrays the smarmy, confident, off-putting menace of Herr König. It would have been all too easy for Henry to displace Gretchen in terms of how significant she is in the course of events, but Singer avoids that pitfall, and Bluthardt's intense, spirited depiction adds its own measure of tension to the telling. Mila Lieu capably brings Alma's troubled innocence to the fore; Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey shines in her smaller part, Kalin Morrow is undeniably imposing, and those in still smaller roles are just as solid. Above all else, though, while I've not been familiar with Hunter Schafer up to this point, I'm so very happy with how vibrant her acting is as Gretchen, and I hope there are big things for her on the horizon. The lead role makes a lot of demands on Schafer, but she manages it all with impeccable ease and grace, welcome range, earnest emotional depth, and hardened physicality and personality - all while being underhandedly charming all the while. On the basis of this title alone, I expect much from Schafer in the future.
I'm positively thrumming with excitement at how darkly enjoyable 'Cuckoo' is. There are moments where it falters, yes, but only ever very slightly; accentuating the point, I wasn't so sure about the opening scene at first, but Singer knew exactly what he was doing and it is no real misstep. Much more than not this flick is very well made, proving that one doesn't need big studio backing and hundreds of millions of dollars to tell a good story and connect with an audience. The horror is palpable here, but so is the heart and intelligence underlying the plot, and the skill and care that went into the it all is unmistakable. I assumed much of Singer as he followed up 'Luz,' and in my opinion he has handily succeeded. I'm so very glad with how vivid, grabbing, absorbing, and entertaining 'Cuckoo' is, and I'm overjoyed to give it my very high and enthusiastic recommendation!
Hoshi o Ou Kodomo (2011)
Both entertaining and meaningful, another terrific gem from Shinkai
It's only very recently that I've particularly begun to explore Japanese animation, and as I have, I'm aghast that I've been missing out for so long. With rare exception I don't think the animation industries of other countries can even begin to compare with what the Japanese have long mastered. Forget Disney and Pixar, and shun the modern 3D of the 'Toy Story' franchise or 'Moana'; if at all, 3D is best employed only as flavoring to be infused into the luscious 2D visuals of anime, whether we're speaking of series or, my preference, films. And it's not just about the sights to greet us, for there is depth and heart in the storytelling that far surpasses the preponderance of kindred fare from elsewhere around the world. With this well in mind, I loved Shinkai Makoto's 2016 masterpiece 'Your name' and have been eager to explore more of his works - and to my pleasure, this 2011 movie is all but on par. I assumed I would like it, but I could hardly be more pleased with just how good 'Children who chase lost voices' is, and my fascination with Japanese animation continues apace.
It takes a little while for the narrative to especially begin to pick up, and until it does I admit I wasn't fully on board at first. There is an aspect here that is extremely common in fiction of outsiders exploiting a precious land, or in some other fashion being an inherent threat to it; most prominently rearing its head relatively early on, it is brought back to a lesser extent later, and while it's worth exploring I anticipated something more imaginative and fulfilling from Shinkai. Thankfully, my anticipation was not misplaced, and as the plot picks up the picture is wonderfully absorbing. Missing the kind stranger she recently met who subsequently disappeared, young Asuna embarks on in incredible journey to another world, intending to visit the land of the dead itself, and along the way Shinkai dives into meaty themes of grief, loss, and the intangible divide between the living and the dead. When all is said and done there is welcome emotional depth to the feature - but it's not necessarily foremost as this is, above all, a spellbinding fantasy-adventure thrill ride, rounded out with strong touches of horror. It feels like it's been awhile since I watched something that was pure whimsy, with drama and bigger ideas less prevalent in the mix, and on that basis alone 'Children who chase lost voices' is a joy; that it does broach substantive drama is just a bonus.
To my utter delight, hand in hand with all we expect of contemporary Japanese animation, that saga of often dark fancy allows CoMix Wave Films to let their imaginations run wild. From top to bottom the title overflows with terrific visions that are honestly pretty hard to tear our eyes away from. Everything we love about the medium is alive and well here: rich, vibrant, gorgeous environments and backgrounds, be they exteriors or interiors; careful character designs, entrancing (and horrifying) creature designs, and otherwise lovingly crafted active elements; superb detail and texture in every capacity, fine attention to lighting and shading, splendid use of perspective, and fetching effects; fluid, genuinely exciting action, and more. Mind you, all this is true in Shinkai's representation of Earth as we know it, and in that significant portion of the story that takes us to Agartha, the visuals are even more stunningly captivating. Facets as big as the sky and as small as a cat benefit from the utmost skill of the artists, and with a narrative this compelling and scenes this flavorful, the result is a tremendous viewing experience. If we're not locked in from the start, we are in short order.
This is to say nothing of the excellent, expressive voice acting - or the stupendous original music of Tenmon. Time and again we've seen how music enriches the storytelling in cinema, and countless exemplars in animation alone, and this is no exception. In fact, it was Tenmon's score that first spoke to me here, right from the start and well before the plot did. Whether gentle and stirring or stark, dynamic, and fast-paced, Tenmon's themes are a marvelous complement to every scene and mood, and I can scarcely fathom the movie without it. And as Shinkai operates here as writer, and director, and cinematographer, and co-editor, we are assured that every trace of these two hours is realized with all the fabulous creativity and meaning that it could be. Once again, I definitely assumed I'd enjoy this, but all told I'm very happier that 'Children who chase lost voices' rather exceeded my expectations. It won't appeal to all as a matter of personal preference, but whether one is specifically a fan of anime, or has some other special impetus to watch, or is just looking for something good, I'd have no qualms in suggesting this to just about anyone. It's a great film all around, and I'm glad to give it my high and hearty recommendation.
Fainaru fantajî sebun adobento chirudoren (2005)
Enjoyable, but a mixed bag: for gamers and cinephiles alike, there's much to admire and much to criticize
It would be very easy for me to serve up a paragraph or three of patter just about my love of the 1997 game, the involvement in the production of people who had instrumental roles in that game or the series overall, and the questions that are necessarily raised regarding this film before we ever sit to watch. How would it satisfy both Final Fantasy fans and general audiences; how would it treat familiar characters, places, and concepts; how would the 3D computer-generated imagery hold up over time; how would the storytelling in one medium compare to the storytelling in another? How well would it stand on its own merits, and how much would nostalgia play into it all? Yes, it would be very easy to frankly write an entire book assessing all the ins and outs of this picture, but let's try to keep things simple: 'Advent children' is, to my pleasure, a very well made and enjoyable movie. It's also a mixed bag in no small part, and for all that is meaningfully commendable, there are other aspects throughout that are terribly forced.
I'm firmly of the opinion that 3D animation and CGI will almost never, ever compare to practical effects and tangible creations, and will age poorly in a matter of time; in turn, I also favor 2D animation, for it seems to me that rich detail is possible in that format that has rarely been achieved with 3D. Be that as it may, I think the visuals here hold up surprisingly well. Some texture is lacking, perhaps, and not every single odd and end looks so good as others, but it's readily apparent to me how much immense care went into realizing these characters and this world in a fashion that would make them as real and believable as possible. Some elements did notably receive tremendous attention to the tiniest minutiae, including updated character designs, monster designs, familiar settings (primarily Midgar), and most effects, and I appreciate all the hard work that Square Enix and Visual Works put into the animation. There are many ways in which this new entry in the 'Final Fantasy VII' saga could have gone very wrong; nitpick as we may, we need not worry about the visuals.
There is more to talk about with regards to the audio. I don't mean the voice acting, which is quite solid, nor the sound effects, which are terrific. Indeed, the sound at large is robust, and I can only imagine what it must have been like seeing this in theaters. Rather, it's the music of esteemed videogame composer Uematsu Nobuo that deserves more words in this regard, for both good and ill. I love Uematsu's score for the game; though relatively simplistic in its instrumentation, and restricted by the technology of Sony's first PlayStation, every single theme that Uematsu composed is striking and highly memorable, lending more to the gameplay experience than I can easily describe. It's gratifying that this maestro of the game franchise should also participate in this cinematic successor, and by and large, his work here is just as excellent. Yes, many recognizable themes are reprised, and many smartly rearranged, but from one to the next they all catch our ears - and where new themes were composed for this feature, overall I like them just as well as they round out a scene. With that said, some of those new themes are maybe a tad over the top; even more to the point, some instances of reprising the game's music are more gauche and heavy-handed than they are welcome and organic, to a distinct disadvantage. Still, I place considerable trust in Uematsu, and even if not every choice was flawless, he did a fine job.
I don't envy the task that everyone involved had set before them, really, including Uematsu. And no one had a more difficult task than writer Nojima Kazushige with his need to balance nostalgia and singular value, casual viewers and Final Fantasy fans, story and action, and so on. Truthfully, the screenplay is where 'Advent children' faces its biggest problems, which is not to say that it's plainly bad - far from it! - but there is a LOT to try to take in here. First and foremost: more than not, I must say that I think Nojima did pretty well in devising the plot here. He endeavored mightily to fashion his screenplay into something that everyone could enjoy no matter their level of familiarity with the game and its lore, and to one degree or another I think he achieved that goal. Early exposition roughly summarizes core events from the game, just enough so that I think someone who hadn't played it could still piece together the plot in these 101 minutes as it progresses. By the same token, the story does lean ponderously on past events; this is indeed a sequel in a very meaningful sense as the prior saga is continued, with beats and ideas here flowing directly from those that came before. Especially as parts of the narrative are communicated in a non-linear manner, general audiences may have to work extra hard to connect the dots between all the bits and pieces, while game fans will easily discern every last iota the moment it's obliquely suggested in dialogue. Case in point, the significance of the Forgotten City is not specifically touched upon here even as it is revisited, and anyone unfamiliar with the game may not understand why Aerith has such a presence in the story.
Speaking of Aerith, apart from the plot - broadly capable and compelling, but with caveats - the characters are a major sticking point for me. Early on it very much seems as if Nojima wanted to develop Tifa into a more full-fledged person beyond what could feasibly be worked into a 1997 videogame, and she receives a lot of focus from the outset. It doesn't take long, however, before she is sidelined in the title, and becomes just another pretty face: this is, after all, The Cloud Show, Starring Cloud, And Co-Starring Other Characters Who Aren't Cloud, And With A Special Guest Appearance By Cloud's Archnemesis. Now, I get it, this is the nature of most fiction, videogames above all; one protagonist is centered. All the same, one sees the very moment that Tifa goes from "burgeoning character" to "afterthought," and other recognizable faces are treated even more poorly. There is no reason at all for Cait Sith to be here, and other playable characters from 'Final Fantasy VII' basically show up for a single fight sequence, just to toy with our nostalgia. As suggested, I don't think Aerith was woven into the tale all that convincingly, nor the anticipated archvillain. Yes, I know, "we can't have FFVII without Sephiroth." We can, though, is the thing. As with some of the themes in Uematsu's score, this flick tries way too hard to shove some old faces into a new installment (including still more I've not mentioned), and the results are highly variable.
And then there's the action. I'd be lying if I said the action sequences weren't fun, exciting, and even thrilling. They are also, to be blunt, patently absurd. Between Nojima's script and the vision of director Nomura Tetsuya, physics all but go out the window as characters soar through the air, run up buildings, and accomplish impossible feats of strength. Some of the "stunts and effects" seen here would be outrageously out of place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe or 'Dragonball Z.' For the twist of science fiction and fantasy that 'Final Fantasy VII' is, it is still grounded with a semblance of realism that gives physical limitations to characters. This film heedlessly dispenses with those limitations, like the difference between Mr. Anderson at the beginning of 'The matrix' and the fully-realized savior Neo that we see in 'The matrix revolutions.' 'Advent children' also faces an unfortunate flaw with regards to how the action is sometimes visualized, for as happens in too many modern Hollywood action flicks, overzealous editing and camerawork chop up the sequences such that we don't necessarily see the strikes, blows, and blocks, only a poor imitation of them. Animation should be the last place that this ever occurs, but here we are.
It remains true that this is well made more than not, and entertaining. As both a movie buff and a fan of the game that spawned this 2005 sequel, there is much to admire herein. There is also much to criticize, however, and whatever one's personal tastes and experiences in cinema or gaming, it's also true that I'm kind of just scraping the surface of everything there is to discuss. I really do like 'Advent children,' and both as a continuation of the plot fans love and as its own creation, I think it's well worth checking out. Yet I can't deny that there is more worth here for the former than for the latter, and I could go on at still greater length. One way or another there's no specific need to go out of your way for this, and if you do sit for it, be well aware that it is filled with both advantages and weaknesses. Nevertheless, 'Final Fantasy VII: Advent children' is a good time, and warts and all, maybe that's all it needed to be.
Bakemono no ko (2015)
Highly entertaining, meaningful and heartfelt - another treasure from Hosoda
I've yet to see a single feature from filmmaker Hosoda Mamoru that I didn't absolutely love, to the point that I would unreservedly name him as the premier filmmaker working in animation today. On that basis alone I've been looking forward to 'The boy and the beast,' and it's safe to say that I had very high expectations. Quell surprise - those expectations have absolutely been met once again. I might not fully put this 2015 picture on the same level as 'Summer wars,' 'Mirai,' or 'Wolf children,' but it also adopts a different tack than Hosoda's other works. Hearty, meaningful themes and impactful storytelling have commonly been foremost in the man's oeuvre, and the fact that all happen to be wonderfully entertaining is practically just a bonus. It seems to me that this flick somewhat takes the opposite approach: rest assured that there are lovely, earnest thoughts herein that truly warm the heart, but in this case they are perhaps less pronounced as storytelling of fantasy, drama, and action is arguably thrilling and fun before it is weightily substantive. With this in mind, there are perhaps also points where the writing is marginally uneven as the tone or intent switches gears, an apt metaphor as there is a detectable shift not unlike a momentary stutter in a vehicle's momentum. Yet to whatever extent that may be true, or to whatever extent this possibly exists on an echelon separate from even 2021's 'Belle,' as far as I'm concerned, when all is said and done the difference is functionally meaningless. 'The boy and the beast' is another tremendous, sparkling gem in Hosoda's crown, and I could hardly be happier with just how good it is.
Among others, themes emerge of inner strength, of wisdom gleaned from unlikely places, of the darkness within our hearts, and of the strength to be found through community and friendship in a tale that leans to an unexpected degree on Herman Melville's 'Moby Dick' in rounding itself out. Young, grieving runaway Ren, angry and lost, accidentally stumbles into the kingdom of beasts, where humans are somewhat mistrusted for their potential for wickedness. Encountering Kumatetsu, a temperamental warrior seeking a pupil, a journey begins that will see both human and beast challenging each other and finding their own hidden depths. I will readily admit that this movie didn't catch my eye at a glance in the same way as was true of the filmmaker's others, but in no time once it begins Hosoda once again proves his supreme skill and intelligence as a director and a storyteller. The narrative is marvelously compelling and enjoyable in its imaginative blend of ideas and moods, and while I'd suggest that entertainment precedes import in this instance, ultimately 'The boy and the beast' once again plucks the heartstrings with the places it goes. Delightful and shrewd characterizations, smart dialogue, and flavorful scene writing deftly flesh out the screenplay, and every thought and feeling is very capably brought to bear in Hosoda's direction. From lighthearted vibes to distinctly gloomier ideations, and from genuine humor to significant drama to invigorating scenes of action, Hosoda takes us on a trip with this film, and in all honesty, there are precious few filmmakers I'd trust to do so this brilliantly.
As ever, the voice actors give excellent performances that are marvelously expressive of all the same range, nuance, personality, and emotional depth that otherwise comes across in these two hours. Music has consistently held an integral place in Hosoda's body of work, and this is no exception as composer Takagi Masakatsu provides a dynamic, stirring score that is stupendous complement for any given scene, no matter the mood. The sound is robust and pristine, Nishiyama Shigeru's editing is tight - and once again, Studio Chizu's animation is top-notch. For all the splendor that animation can offer, very, very few are those productions from elsewhere around the world that can match the supremacy of Japanese animation. - and I say that as someone who until recently has barely ever set foot in anime. This title proves the point once more as the artists turned in stellar visuals that stuns again and again. The foremost 2D style, the mix of 3D sensibilities, the effects; the luscious detail, color, and texture, and lighting and shading; the character designs, incredibly fluid and pulse-raising action sequences, and other active elements; the varied and creative environments and backgrounds, from the realistic to the inspired to the purely fanciful: every vision to greet our eyes is a treasure. This has been true with all of Hosoda's full-length features, his and those of many of his countrymen in the medium, and still I'm taken aback every time by just how rich and immersive the visual experience is. No matter how much I've come to anticipate exactly this, it feels newly fresh and awe-inspiring with each additional example.
I altogether love 'The boy and the beast.' Despite everything I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, and some part of me wondered if it could really be up to the same standard as everything else Hosoda has given us. Nevermind the nitpicking; the simple truth of the matter is that it IS up to that same standard. Providing the escapist good time viewers want out of cinema, dazzling with the sensory array of the experience, but also bearing sincere, heartfelt fruit in its storytelling, this is everything I could have hoped for. Frankly, at this point I'd be remiss not to name Hosoda as one of the best directors in cinema, period. How could I not, for as wholly exemplary as his pictures are one after another after another? I assumed I'd like this in one measure or another, and I am so very happy with just how great it is. Personal preferences may vary, but I'd be hard-pressed not to suggest this to one and all; in my opinion 'The boy and the beast' is utterly fantastic, and I'm glad to give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Rôjin Z (1991)
Tremendously smart and fun, an anime film that remains vibrant and low-key intoxicating
I have to hand it to Otomo Katsuhiro - even right from the beginning this is incredibly smart and thoughtful with the ideas that it weaves together. No, this is hardly the first or only film to speak to notions of healthcare and geriatric medicine, caring for the elderly and issues of an aging population, elder abuse, artificial intelligence and advanced computers in our modern era, corporate or government corruption, and still much more. Smashing all them together is another matter, however, let alone doing so in a futuristic sci-fi thriller that nevertheless remains grounded in a recognizable world. Otomo's screenplay is tremendous even just for the themes that it explores, nevermind the marvelously compelling narrative at large, wonderfully flavorful scene writing, shrewd dialogue, and even characterizations that are more carefully considered than we commonly see in many movies. The story is earnestly exciting and engrossing, the humor is genuinely clever, and even supporting characters have a real moment to shine; how many other titles can make the same claim? Given some other works in Otomo's oeuvre maybe this shouldn't be so surprising, but one way or another it's deeply gratifying that the writing in 'Roujin Z' so thoroughly impresses.
But then, that's what we tend to expect of anime, isn't it? No, it's not as if all works are equal in animation, but even as I've gone most of my life without particularly examining the medium, it sure seems to me that studios in Japan are far ahead of their counterparts elsewhere, and have been for a long time, in terms of both the complexity of animated storytelling and the splendor of the visual experience. And with the superb work that A. P. P. P. turned in here to bring Otomo's vision to fruition, this picture is no exception. Every facet of the sights to greet us was shaped with utmost skill, care, and intelligence, and the very appearance here is a real treat. Interiors, exteriors, landscapes, and cityscapes boast as much fantastic detail as the character designs, machinery, and other active elements; action sequences and effects, no matter how large or small, are fluid and invigorating; and there is even welcome consideration for perspective, lighting, shading, texture, and so on. Champion advances in techniques and technology all you want, 2D animation is routinely richer than 3D animation, and even examples that are decades old might astound in a manner that more recent ones simply do not. To my pleasure, that's just what we get in 1991's 'Roujin Z.'
This is to say nothing of Itakura Bun's outstanding original music, zesty and enticing with its dynamics and industrial inclinations, or the excellent, robust sound effects that invariably bolster the viewing experience. The voice acting is as reliably expressive as the animation in bringing characters to life. Under Kitakubo Hiroyuki's impeccable direction, all these aspects result in a feature that is truly, unexpectedly thrilling, yet also funny, yet also meaningful with intent in the concepts it broaches; generally lighthearted, but with a withering darkness just under the surface. All this, while relating the tale of a hard-working student nurse, her bed-ridden patient, and a super hi-tech, all-purpose medical bed. Why, there's even sly messaging here about supporting government bureaucracy that seeks to improve lives over the halls of malfeasant power that are only out for their own interests, and above all, putting people first. By all means, I anticipated enjoying this when I sat to watch, but I entered with no especial foreknowledge. Frankly I'm altogether stunned by how terrific the sum total is, and downright brilliant. Otomo's screenplay is a blast, and between A. P. P. P.'s animation, the direction, the music, and all other minutiae, 'Roujin Z' is better than I could have ever hoped.
Given the more far-flung ideations I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, but for as stupendously sharp as the writing is I think most anyone should be able to get on board with it in some measure, let alone all other component parts. For my part I'm overjoyed with how entertaining, absorbing, and satisfying the film is, and I'd have no qualms in suggesting it to pretty much anyone. More than thirty years later 'Roujin Z' remains a great anime movie, and I can only give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Uma no uta (1970)
A pleasant diversion
Just how much of a difference is there for an artist between a project in which they have personal interest, and one they find artistically fulfilling? Maybe a painter enjoys the culinary arts but finds food and dining tedious as a subject for their craft; maybe a filmmaker has an especial love of some animal, but can't manage to express it through their chosen medium. The latter instance is the relevant one in this instance, as this picture represents the only foray of legendary Kurosawa Akira into television, and documentary film-making. There is also the matter of how the man was found circa 1970, as this is well established to have been a low point in both his career and his personal life; would that impact his output around this time? I do think the divide is apparent in 'Song of the horse' between the personal and the artistic, and at a time when Kurosawa perhaps needed a break creatively, this is surely something light that allowed him to recuperate. None of this is any inherent mark against the end result per se, but as a viewer, too, the endeavor isn't exactly the same rich and rewarding experience one commonly anticipates of the icon. Be that as it may, there is more value here than one may be inclined to think from the outside looking in.
Kurosawa's fascination with equines plainly shows through, and really, who could blame him? They are majestic creatures, and there is much to potentially explore with regards to their biology and their long, varied relationship with humans. This is certainly reflected in the movie as we're treated to plentiful footage of horses in and of themselves, in many scenarios and contexts, and sometimes with no greater intent than "Look at this beast. Admire him." As an animal lover myself, I can't argue. Elsewhere the film zeroes in a tad more concretely on the domestication of horses, and how they fit in among human civilization with labor, recreation, festivals - and above all, racing. Even in these examples, though, there remains a light touch and frivolity to the proceedings; this is not concerned so much with any particular substance as with the earnest purity of appreciating the life with whom we share our planet. Is this enough to satisfy audiences? The answer likely depends on how much you like horses, and nature at large. I will say that if nothing else is true, 'Song of the horse' is pleasant and relaxing, the type of gentle diversion we all need every now and again.
Cinematographer Kanau Mitsuji does a fine job of capturing all the material to greet us, and his camerawork echoes the soft, thoughtful tenor of the production at large while focusing on some splendid details. Much the same could be said of Sato Masaru's music; though occasionally kind of repetitive in how it is employed, and not specifically remarkable, it fits neatly alongside and ably lends to the tranquility of the presentation. There is also, of course, the narration we get from Mitani Noboru and Kawase Hiroyuki, the same man and child who appeared in Kurosawa's 'Dodes'ka-den' in notable roles. It might be Mitani and Kawase's participation here that most determines one's favor of the feature, actually, for their script has them interacting as a father and son commentating on the footage we are also see. One might reasonably recall the type of fare we'd see on PBS, or "local interest" specials, as there is an evident informational and educational slant to the project; e.g., the father may pose questions for the son to ponder and answer. In other cases, it's more that the boy is exuberant in his observations, with no additional verbiage from the father, and we can imagine him just patting his son on the head or back. All this, too, is no inherent indication of the title's quality, though again the question of raised of what it is one wants out of a given viewing experience.
In all honesty, this film is more enjoyable than I assumed it would be. Simply in light of the stark contrast with Kurosawa's highly celebrated works of narrative fiction (e.g., 'Seven samurai,' 'The hidden fortress') I freely admit that my expectations were very mixed. Again, though, this benefits from an uncomplicated sincerity that shows the filmmaker's fondness for horses. No, it's not a grabbing, compelling drama, or a thrilling, exciting action-adventure, but nor does it have any aim to be. There's something wholesome and refreshing about just regarding and treasuring our world as it is, whether that means other lifeforms or the diversity of human culture, and I kind of have to commend Kurosawa for breaking from routine in his oeuvre to shape something so endearing. To the same point, I'm rather reminded of the documentaries of Werner Herzog, where his absolute studious enchantment with People consistently shines through. Sometimes it really is enough to simply see, and to cherish from afar, and this wants nothing more than to provide some illumination of equines and hopefully to foster some like appreciation. Well, it's a job well done as far as I'm concerned. It's hardly something one needs to go out of their way to see, but if you're looking for something low-key and easygoing with which to decompress, the sum total really is quite lovely. 'Song of the horse' is a good time just as it is, and is worth a look if you have a chance to check it out.
Uruwashiki saigetsu (1955)
Slight unevenness can't dampen what is, overall, a lovely, compelling, relatively light drama
For a filmmaker best known for ponderous dramas, and at that surely some of the best pictures ever made, it's so interesting to go back and watch pieces that Kobayashi Masaki made earlier in his career. 'Youth of the son' feels much more like a TV sitcom of the 50s, while 'Fountainhead' quite comes across as a melodrama fit for daytime television; this feature of 1955 is arguably even more divided in its blend of comedy and drama. There are ruminations ranging from very light to notably more weighty concerning the differences between generations, and generational perspectives on contemporary Japan, and more serious reflection on how society and people have changed in the ten years since World War II ended. Various strains of drama and strong threads of romance also weave through the narrative, likewise splitting the difference between comedy and drama, and in turn the vibes herein cover a spectrum from unbearably kitschy, to earnestly cheerful or solemn, to, yes, melodramatic; the references I made above were not without reason.
All of it - all this, and more - is quite well written, actually, a fine credit to screenwriter Matsuyama Zenzo. A few years before he would collaborate with Kobayashi on his monumental trilogy 'The human condition,' Matsuyama penned a compelling story of life, love, and changing times and hardship in contemporary Japan. Firm scene writing and interesting characters make for an enjoyable viewing experience, and at that also one that gives viewers much to honestly think about. This isn't to say that the result is flawless, because somewhere between Matsuyama's screenplay and Kobayashi's direction what somewhat comes across in 'Beautiful days' is a sense of lacking focus, and unevenness. This is no specific indication of quality, for each facet is very suitably well done, and everything is adeptly tied together for an absorbing, satisfying movie; rather, it's just that as the storytelling touches upon so many ideas and moods, there will invariably be a measure of whiplash. I don't know what the solution to this may have been, for there is no superfluous element in the plot; I just know that as the tale necessarily swings to and fro, rough edges manifest as the disparities wear on us as viewers.
And still, the writing is completely solid with understated vitality as the film traces the interwoven lives of these characters. Though the mood swings, Kobayashi's direction is superb in capturing the spirit of each scene in turn, and in shaping the whole into as cogent and cohesive a form as it could have taken. In fairness, too, in the latter half the discrepancies become less troublesome as the threads converge; storytelling that may have initially seemed a little scattered is decidedly tighter as the length draws on. Truthfully, for as much as I've harped on the wide spread in 'Beautiful days,' it's very well made overall, and any subjective issues are minor in the grand scheme of things. In every other capacity this is lovely, with fantastic filming locations, and production design and art direction, and sharp costume design, hair, and makeup. Editor Sugihara Yoshi is to be commended for the keen eye with which he molded the title; though not so outwardly noteworthy, I appreciate Morita Toshiyasu's cinematography. And not least as the course of events builds to its confluence in the back end, and its conclusion, the actors give wonderfully heartfelt performances commensurate with the pleasant warmth that the saga ultimately evokes. Only for their prominence do some cast members stand out above others, and all around the acting is characterized by welcome, nuanced range and emotional depth while never getting fully bogged down in any one beat or feeling.
It may not strike the same chords as 'The inheritance' or 'Black River,' let alone 'Harakiri,' but even if it bears some imperfections, it's nice to see Kobayashi exploring a different side of himself as a storyteller and filmmaker. Even as it hits on some downbeat notes this picture is kind of refreshing for what is, all told, a softer variety of drama. I tend to have very high expectations of the filmmaker, and while not all his works are equal, I'm pleased that when all is said and done I think 'Beautiful days' surely counts among his successes. It's nothing that totally demands viewership per se, but if one has the opportunity to watch then this is pretty great, and I'm happy to give it my hearty recommendation.