Address Unknown

Kim Ki-duk's Address Unknown (2001) takes place in a small Korean village near an American army base. The film is very similar to Kim's earlier production which focuses on ultraviolent, aggressive and narcissistic characters who are raped, tortured, sent to jail or killed by the end of the film. This time Kim has such a promising cast of characters to be used and an actually clever plot in his hands because this time his writing isn't so blind and one-sided. The characters are well developed and colorful - at first.

The problem is that Kim so utterly fails to use them and the film's final third is an embarrassing climax that couldn't have possibly been worse. The outcomes of the different storylines are portrayed in a confusing and dragging way. Initially the film promises interesting points of view on the American occupation and how all the characters are related to it, but the touchy subject is handled poorly - apart from one exception.

This time Kim's form isn't as refined as it is in his other films. Sometimes the editing works well - sometimes NOT. The cinematography is unfocused and a bit too carefree - his compositions simply don't get to the level of quality of his other films. The music is a bit irritating as well - the most offending moments are when Erik Satie's Gymnopedie is used TERRIBLY. That is unacceptable.

Ultimately, the film's first half is promising and somewhat good, but eventually it veers into a catastrophical failure.

Score: 5 out of 10

The Isle

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I have a love-hate relationship with Kim Ki-duk's films. Some of his efforts rely too much on shock value and obscure characters, but his refined movies like 3-Iron can be very rewarding. The Isle (2000) belongs to the former category. It is a story of a mute woman who is the hostess of a fishing resort.

Kim's screenplay fails quite miserably. He writes like a naive cynic: each and every character is a dumb narcissist. Beyond that, there are only two clear distinctions: you are either whiny or violent and sadistic. The film stumbles because it tries to be alienating and involving at the same time. Relying on shock value - through abusing animals and using fish hooks in a painful way - is cheap and Kim never gets anything worthwhile out of them. There's also a wishy-washy take on obsessive and destructive love.

However, the form is intriguing. Kim creates a strong contrast by shooting the brutal scenes in a graceful, poetic way. His cinematography is haunting and delicate. His editing is also rather interesting, for example the pacing is so perfect. There's also the subtle musical score that was a bit underused but effective.

Kim Ki-duk's The Isle is an interesting film for the fans of the director, but it is far too manipulative and flimsy to be considered something more than mediocre.

Score: 5 out of 10

Kamikaze Girls

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Tetsuya Nakashima's Kamikaze Girls (2004) is even crazier than the vague title suggests: the story focuses on Momoko (played by Kyoko Fukada) is a girl obsessed with Lolita fashion and Rococo. She lives with her "useless" (as she describes him herself) father and totally bonkers grandmother. Eventually she meets and becomes friends with Anna Tsuchiya's Ichigo who is a true yanki girl: blunt, violent and rebellious.

Let's face it, the idea of putting a yanki and a lolita together is absurd - and the film makes the most of it while it maintains its farcical and metafictional phase. However, at some point the film begins to take itself seriously and simply falls flat because there is simply no way it could possibly work. Luckily the climax is funny, though. I appreciate the film's pure spontaneity and wild humor so greatly that I have to admit I enjoyed watching the film. It's a shame Nakashima changed the tone of the film in the later half because it makes the characters frustratingly pseudo-complex instead of being great comic relief.

The film's form is sadly messy: while its costume design and cinematography provide a lot to the silly atmosphere, the form becomes too formless in the end and it's only baffling. The editing is erratic in a way that doesn't really fit to the content. It is overstylized without a formal focus.

Kamikaze Girls is a funny but shamefully unbalanced and a bit flimsy film. It's worth watching if you're looking for the absurdities of contemporary Japanese cinema or if you simply want to laugh - a lot. Just be prepared for the change of tone.

Score: 5 out of 10

The Idiot

Before I get to my actual review I will attempt to clear up a few things. I'm a huge fan of Fyodor Dostoevsky and Akira Kurosawa is probably my favorite director of all time. It shouldn't come to you as a surprise that I appreciated Kurosawa's adaptation of Dostoevsky's The Idiot a lot. However, the film is possibly a bit hard to understand for those who have not read the original novel because the studio butchered the film by removing significant portions of the cut that is the only surviving cut to date. Originally Kurosawa spent a lot of time and effort on creating a perfect rhythm for the film and that cut was a bit over 4 hours long. The studio, Shochiku, told Kurosawa to cut it shorter. After a bunch of cuts and arguments, the studio itself simply butchered most of the first third of the film. The result is disastrous because the narrative is so messed up in the final version. However, more than a half of the film was left intact as it was and I can still savour those scenes even though a lot of needed development was cut from the beginning. Kurosawa had created a complex beginning for the film - which not only established a lot of side characters that were eventually cut from the film, but also set the mood for the film.

Akira Kurosawa's The Idiot (1951) is the story of a purely good man who becomes the target of ridicule in snowbound Hokkaido. Dostoevsky's original novel took place in Russia of the 1860's, but Kurosawa brilliantly changes the setting to the post-war Hokkaido. Due to the change of milieu there are a few details about the story that have been changed - such as the philosophical and religious ideas that were present throughout the novel. A lot of motifs and symbols from the novel are smoothly transferred to the film while Kurosawa adds his own touch on top of them. Even though the beginning of the film was butchered, Kurosawa still manages to explore the main characters properly enough and shows us just how conflicted, vulnerable and fascinating they are. 

Kurosawa's form is intimate, powerful and clever in The Idiot. His compositions are beautiful and poignant - lots of interesting visual motifs can be discovered. Like I've mentioned before, Kurosawa is masterful when it comes to placing characters in each composition. The camera movement is graceful and wonderful. After the initial shock the editing becomes decent too - especially after the first hour because that is where the film was left untouched by the studio.

The film's biggest strength is the cast - each and every one make a brilliant performance. Masayuki Mori's Kameda is probably the best Myshkin (the character's original name) we will ever witness in cinema. His body language and line delivery are pitch perfect. However, his performance doesn't dominate the film even though it could do that in a lot of other films. Toshiro Mifune's repressed yet aggressive performance is haunting. Setsuko Hara's noble and dramatic portrayal of Nasu Taeko caught me off-guard by its magnificence. Yoshiko Kuga's Ayako embodies exactly what I thought about the character in the original novel.

I have to admit that my appreciation for the film is quite personal and the film is quite open for attacks due to its narrational incoherence.

Score: 10 out of 10

Café Lumière

While Hou Hsiao-hsien's Café Lumière (2003) is clearly a tribute to the Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu, it is still distinctively Hou's film. The film's slice of life narrative follows a wandering Japanese woman who comes to terms with life and independence.

It is interesting to compare this film to Ozu's films because Café Lumière is the closest thing to a modern Ozu film. Japan has hugely changed in the past decades and the result is somewhat puzzling. Family and unity have become irrelevant to the individual - this point can be seen in the film's main character, Yoko. The biggest pro of the film is certainly its calm and observant attitude towards its main characters and life in general. Yoko is fascinating and Yo Hitoto's performance is prominent - she can even rival Tadanobu Asano's performance in the film, which should be worth something.

The form is clearly Hou-like: static shots, long takes and the habit of revisiting the same compositions can all be found in the film. There is a lot of great train (and train station) imagery in the film and it certainly satisfied my strong obsession towards trains (and train stations). As well as being beautifully shot, the pacing is nigh perfect.

In the end, Café Lumière is "only" a good film: it works well in every department, but it never plunges deep enough into its subject and its form is not that fascinating when compared to Hou's other films.

Score: 8 out of 10

REWATCH: Last Life in the Universe

This is the first time I have watched a film that I have already reviewed on this blog again. I already reviewed Pen-ek Ratanaruang's Last Life in the Universe (2003) back in November so you better read it first in case you haven't already.

Ratanaruang's surrealistic and melancholic meditation on death, loss and isolation still packs a punch for me - although this time the film was not as surprising. The occasional black humor is brilliant and reminded me a bit of the korean director Chan-wook Park. However, the humor doesn't have a presense as strong as it has in Park's films. Doyle's cinematography is still fascinating and the musical score (and sound design in general) is haunting.

The thing I love the most about this film is the main character Kenji - and Asano's portrayal of him. Even though the character is an exaggerated stereotype, it never becomes a problem for me.  He is well developed and Asano's performance is simply stunning. I can not emphasize his importance to the film's success enough in this review.

Score: 10 out of 10

Only Yesterday

Isao Takahata is the lesser known director of the two masters at Studio Ghibli - the other being Hayao Miyazaki. His anti-war film, Grave of the Fireflies (1988), is considered his masterpiece, but I beg to differ. Only Yesterday (1991) - a film depicting Japan in the 60's and the 80's - is the one I consider his true masterpiece. Although Grave of the Fireflies and Only Yesterday are approximately on the same level when it comes to quality, I prefer the latter's complexity because it is drawn from simple yet subtle moments which linger in my mind long after the ending.

Essentially the film is about a 27-year-old office worker who takes a vacation to work in the fields - while reflecting upon the time when she came of age. The dense narrative manages to create tangible portrayals of Japan during the 60's and the 80's. The film goes to tiny details in order to show how things have changed and how each period has an effect on the characters.  But most of all this film is about nostalgia - and it is a superb take on the phenomenon.

The form is even more superb. The art direction is wonderfully striking and distinctive - especially the way nostalgia is portrayed is magnificent. The compositions are beautiful and colors are used in a fascinating way. The use of music varies from subtle (background music) to intrusive (song sequences) - both of which work very well. The character design is quite flawless throughout the film.

Ultimately, Only Yesterday might be my favourite Studio Ghibli film because for me it's the most poignant one - and that should say quite a lot.

Score: 10 out of 10

Twenty-four Eyes

Since last Christmas, I've been eager to see Keisuke Kinoshita's films. Why? I found out that he served as the "sensei" for Akira Kurosawa and Masaki Kobayashi - two of my favourite directors - so I guess his films should be at least interesting. Recently I bought Eureka's release of his Twenty-four Eyes (1954) - a film (based on Sakae Tsuboi's novel of the same name) about a young teacher as she begins to teach 12 six-year-olds. The film spans over the period of nearly two decades to tell the story in its entirety.

Initially the film seems to be quite lighthearted, but the further the film goes the more tragic it becomes. Yes, it is very sentimental, but like with Kurosawa's films, I enjoyed the extreme sentimentality. Kinoshita pulls it off perfectly even though the film is full of strong emotions for an hour straight. He expresses the individuality of each child and creates colorful characters. It is heart-wrenching to see how the society oppresses the women and then the war takes away the men. The film is not only about the characters, it's also about Japan in a period which forced the nation to change a lot.

The most notable aspect of the entire film is the cinematography. Kinoshita creates compositions that will never leave my mind. They are so hauntingly beautiful and striking - and it gets even better because there are certain compositions that are used many times during the film. For example, the interiors of the teacher's home is only shot through two compositions even though a lot of screentime is spent there. The film's pace is calm yet dense - the plot unfolds like life usually does.

Twenty-four Eyes moved me to tears. It's a powerful film, but sadly too unknown. It actually beat Kurosawa's Seven Samurai for Kinema Junpo's Best Film of the Year award in 1954. Even though I would not agree with the choice it still says a lot about the undeniable power of the film.

Score: 10 out of 10

Woman in the Dunes

Watching Hiroshi Teshigahara's Woman in the Dunes (1964) was a stunning experience. In the movie, an etymologist is searching for insects in the desert only to be eventually trapped in a sandpit with a widow. He is forced to live down there and shovel sand. Even though the premise sounds simple, the film is utterly complex, engaging and, most of all, haunting. It is one of the most famous films of the Japanese New Wave - a cinematic movement I'm extremely interested in.

What I love the most about the film is its rich content. The story can be seen an allegory of a lot of things, but even the allegorical subtleties are a bit meaningless in the end because the film is a stunning portrayal of isolation and existential crisis. Sand's role changes in the film a few times, but its metaphorical power never fades away - it is also probably the finest cinematic depiction of sand in general. The characters are also extremely fascinating: intially they seem rather blank, but the hidden complexity is revealed bit by bit.

The film's claustrophobic and intimate form is haunting and unforgettable. Initially, the shots of the beautiful scenery left me in awe, but as the plot thickens the form becomes very close to the characters - even to the point of extreme close-ups of sand on their skin. The cinematography is simply perfect in its movement and framing. The use of sound is brilliant: after I had watched the film, I left the DVD menu on because I wanted to hear the wind blowing - the effect I had listened to for 140 minutes. The sound design has such a hypnotizing and gripping feeling to it. Toru Takemitsu's awesome musical score blends in with the sound effects brilliantly.

Hiroshi Teshigahara's Woman in the Dunes is one of the finest films I've ever seen and I believe it is even more rewarding on multiple views.

Score: 10 out of 10

A Letter to Uncle Boonmee

First of all, I have to thank The Auteurs for hosting the online premiere of Apichatpong Weerasethakul's latest short film, A Letter to Uncle Boonmee (2009), for FREE. I recommend everyone to check it out (see the link in the earlier sentence - you only need to sign up to the site and it is free as well). The short film is extremely lyrical and it's hard to grasp what it is exactly about. The letter mentioned in the title is focused upon at first, but then the film ventures elsewhere. Most of the film consists of beautiful panning shots of houses and jungle. The form is extremely hypnotic in its sound design as well - it reminds me of the director's earlier film, Tropical Malady. In short, the short film is an interesting production although the content is quite baffling.

Score: 6 out of 10

Shinjuku Triad Society

Before I watched Takashi Miike's Shinjuku Triad Society (1995), I thought the film was supposed to be subtle. It might be that when compared to the rest of his filmography, but it's a description that simply doesn't fit. The film's chaotic narrative follows struggles among the yakuza and police, focusing mostly on two brothers who are on opposite sides.

The film's story is bewildering because the narrative wanders around so much that you don't realise what the film is about until you are in the final third. Violence and sex dominate the film - even to the point of ridiculousity as filmcritic.com's Christopher Null wrote: "You got oral sex, you got straight sex, you got anal sex. You got men, you got women. You got violent sex. You got prostitute sex. You got yourself a ton of sex here." Sometimes sex (and violence as well) is used well as a narrative device, but Miike simply includes too much of it. The story is a thematical mess as well - because it's too unfocused.

Miike still handles the form rather masterfully. It is a lot rawer when compared to his later film - I would even dare to say it is Miike at his "purest". The opening sequence is a great example of his great editing and cinematography skills. He makes the controversial and harsh content flow smoothly and effortlessly. The violence is striking in the best way possible.

Shinjuku Triad Society is an uneven film, but Miike is able to redeem it to some point - luckily he has improved a lot after making this film.

Score: 5 out of 10

Audition

On the 30th of July in 2009: I watched Takashi Miike's Audition (1999) for the first time. Even though I was somewhat aware of the film's reputation, it took me by surprise and made me flinch more than anything I had seen during the year. Initially it decreased my interest in Miike, but gradually I began to watch a few other films he had directed.

Today: I rewatched Audition - and this time I was ready for it.

Audition is the story of a widow who begins to search for a new, young wife by holding an audition. The one he falls in love with seems to be something completely different to what he initially expected. Even though Miike himself denies it, the film is focused on the social commentary. He attacks the values of modern Japanese men: the main character resorts to holding a fake audition in order to find a woman who matches his high (and exact) standards. Naturally, it is exaggerated, but it is a brilliant observation on what a lot of Japanese men have become.

The film's structure works like a proper horror film with a long build-up that explodes in a fantastic way. At the same time it manages to be satirical successfully: it's almost impossible to separate the suspense and the humor. The final third of the film is something one will not see coming even when you are aware of the film's reputation. It is such a provocative and brilliant way to explore the characters' psyches - and it manages to leave an unforgettable impression on the viewer. The only problem I have with the content is how it plays around with reality and illusion. Sometimes it works - and sometimes it does not. Although that made possible to create the film's best sequence - a dream-like (and even postmodern) exploration of the characters.

The film's form is fascinating as well. During the first half of the film, it manages to be distant while keeping the emotionally invested in the characters. The slight alienation is only for the better because in the final third, the form becomes so intimate and brutally honest that it has a huge effect on the viewer. The first half of the film is almost very foreboding when you look at the cinematography - especially the lighting.

In overall, Audition is a great film that could have become a masterpiece, but doesn't barely reach that status.

Score: 9 out of 10

Wings of Honneamise

Hiroyuki Yamaga's Wings of Honneamise (1987) is a story of an ambitious space flight program set in a parallel universe. The premise might seem simple, but I assure you that the execution is very complicated. The film touches on dozens of things that it becomes rather hard to summarize it properly. Its dense narrative, fine characters and thoroughly explored themes guarantee a great experience for someone who is willing to dig deeper.

The pacing is peculiar in Wings of Honneamise: even though the narrative is dense, it seems as if the film crawls slowly towards the climax. This rough editing actually enhances the film's (especially the climax's) impact on the viewer. There are also great examples of how to use montages in the film - for example the launch sequence is one of the most gripping animated sequences ever. The art design is also rather fascinating. The musical score seemed offbeat initially, but once you got used to it, it actually worked quite well.

Ultimately, Wings of Honneamise is a perplexing film: everything works well, but it was so exhausting that I'm not sure if it's a masterpiece or not.

Score: 8 out of 10

Time

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The Korean director Kim Ki-duk seems to be quite inconsistent when it comes to the quality of his films: while there are masterpieces like Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter ... and Spring (2003) and 3-Iron (2004), he also has his fair share of disasters like Crocodile (1996). Even though I had once been warned about Time (2006), I did not expect the film to be even below decent. Essentially, the film is about a woman who undergoes extensive plastic surgery in order to "save her relationship".

Kim tries to blend the metaphorical/magical with the literal/realistic again, but the result is a failure. He attempts to raise social and philosophical issues regarding identity, but he makes nothing out of them. The first third of the film shows just how promising the premise is, but the rest of the film hides the lack of proper content under the puzzles and irritating melodrama. However, the biggest offender is the ending which is utterly frustrating and pretentious.

Luckily, the form is very adequate. Kim succeeds in creating an atmosphere which alternates between otherworldly and down-to-earth quite smoothly through careful cinematography and editing. Sadly, that is not enough to redeem this film.

Score: 4 out of 10

Täällä Pohjantähden alla

Väinö Linna's Täällä Pohjantähden alla (often translated as Here, Beneath the North Star) is one of the most famous and important Finnish novels ever written. Timo Koivusalo's cinematic adaptation of the novel in 2009 seemed like a disaster from the get-go. For those of you who don't know about Koivusalo, all I can say is that he has become a famous director in Finland even though his films' actual quality is on par with Uwe Boll's movies. The idea of Koivusalo directing the adaptation of a great classic is painful - and the result is even more painful than I could ever expect.

The story explores the time when Finland gained independence and the bloody civil war that followed it - through the perspective of a fictional family. Timo Koivusalo proves that even with great source material you can screw up horribly.

First of all, the narrative is utterly aimless throughout the film (what works in a novel might not work in a film) which makes most of the film's points lack the needed impact. Secondly, the characters are never introduced properly so the film is extremely confusing for someone who has not read the novel. Koivusalo doesn't seem to be even bothered by the characters at any point. Thirdly, the film's content is so awkwardly heavy-handed - especially during the later half - that the film becomes rather ridiculous.

What's even worse is the huge amount of both intentional and unintentional humor that is present even in the most dramatic moments. There's also a lot of content that should have been cut because there was no reason to include those moments in the first place!

If you think the content sounds bad enough, just wait until you witness the form: it is chaotic and arrhythmic for no purpose. The editing is random, distracting and ludicrous ALL THE TIME. Koivusalo likes to crosscut different scenes very often for no purpose and it only serves to make me loathe the film more. The cinematography is careless and nauseating in its anarchy: the viewer can't even understand where each scene is even taking place because we are never even given a chance to see where each shot takes place. The only decent thing about the form is the pleasant lighting that makes the rest of the shit look better than it really is.

The film is a disgrace. It is frustrating, dumb and incomprehensible. Even if you were Koivusalo, you can't completely destroy the magic of the original novel so there's the one extra point for the film. My suggestion is to AVOID THE FILM BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY.

Score: 2 out of 10

Lady Oyu

While Lady Oyu (1951) wasn't a personal project for the director Kenji Mizoguchi, he certainly makes it seem like one. His striking cinematography can be noticed in almost every scene. The intensity of the movement and the compositions is gripping.

The screenplay - which is based on a famous novel by Junichiro Tanizaki - focuses on the fascinating dynamics of the relationships between two sisters and a man looking for a wife. Yet again, Mizoguchi observes the position of women in a refreshing way. I won't go into too much detail because it would spoil the fun of watching the story unfold.

It is often said that Kinuyo Tanaka was miscast as the title character and I can see why someone would say so. Especially the ones who have read the book think so, but for me her strong performance brought an entire new layer to the content. Even though her performance is extremely captivating the other actors manage to keep up with her.

Lady Oyu might not be one of the best Mizoguchi films, but it is successful in its powerful drama.

Score: 9 out of 10

The Fifth List of Scores

Titles sharing the same rating are in alphabetical order. (82 films in total)

10/10

All About Lily Chou-Chou (2001)
City of Sadness (1989)
Goodbye, Dragon Inn (2003)
Harakiri (1962)
Ikiru (1952)
In the Mood for Love (2000)
Kwaidan (1964)
Last Life in the Universe (2003)
Love & Pop (1998)
Love Exposure (2009)
Maborosi (1995)
Ran (1985)
Seven Samurai (1954)
Spirited Away (2001)
The Wayward Cloud (2005)
Tokyo Story (1953)
Ugetsu (1952)
What Time Is It There? (2001)

9/10

3-Iron (2004)
A Time to Live and a Time to Die (1985)
Children of Men (2006)
Dodesukaden (1970)
Floating Weeds (1959)
Nobody Knows (2004)
Persepolis (2007)
Sansho the Bailiff (1954)
Stray Dog (1949)
Syndromes and a Century (2006)
The Godfather (1972)
The Godfather Part II (1972)
Thirst (2009)
Visitor Q (2001)

8/10

2046 (2004)
A Story of Floating Weeds (1934)
A Summer at Grandpa's (1984)
American Psycho (2000)
Amores perros (2000)
Antichrist (2009)
Cowboy Bebop: Knockin' on the Heaven's Door (2001)
Downfall (2004)
Dust in the Wind (1986)
Frost/Nixon (2008)
Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence (2004)
Gion Festival Music (1953)
Half Nelson (2006)
Hero (2002)
Ichi the Killer (2001)
Monrak Transistor (2001)
Suicide Club (2001)
The Man Without a Past (2002)
The Taste of Tea (2004)

7/10
 
Babel (2007)
Cutie Honey (2004)
Little Miss Sunshine (2006)
Rebels of the Neon God (1992)
Scandal (1950)
Take Care of My Cat (2001)
The Cat Piano (2009)
The Godfather Part III (1990)
The Hidden Fortress (1958)
The Sea Inside (2004)
Tokyo! (2008)

6/10

American Beauty (2000)
House of Flying Daggers (2004)
Little Children (2006)
My Winnipeg (2007)
Perfect Blue (1998)
The Boys from Fengkuei (1983)
The New World (2005)
The Skywalk Is Gone (2002)
Tropical Malady (2004)

5/10

Dreams (1990)
Sukiyaki Western Django (2007)
Tales from Earthsea (2006)
The Killer (1989)
Une catastrophe (2008)

4/10

Crazed Fruit (1956)
Dogville (2003)
Requiem for a Dream (2000)

3/10

21 Grams (2003)

2/10

A Conversation with God (2001)
The Boondock Saints (1999)

Gion Festival Music

Kenji Mizoguchi's Gion bayashi (1953) - often translated as either Gion Festival Music or A Geisha - is the story of two geishas, a newcomer and an experienced one, struggling to survive when the geisha tradition begins to change after the World War II. In comparison to Sansho the Bailiff and Ugetsu, Mizoguchi's so-called feminism is most obvious in Gion Festival Music. The women are powerless against men and thus they are exploited - although Mizoguchi approaches the story in a refreshingly subtle way. But most of all, the film is about the relationship between the two geishas and how it evolves.

Mizoguchi's camerawork is similar to his other movies: (relatively) long takes, constantly moving and always very poignant. Even though the studio pressured him not to stick to his "one scene, one take" editing, there are a lot of takes that can be considered quite long. Even though his editing and cinematography are powerful, they are played down a little here for the sake of more subtlety - although the film can be considered more melodramatic than any of Yasujiro Ozu's films, for example.

Ultimately, Gion Festival Music is a good film which works well in general, but it is forgettable in the end.

Score: 8 out of 10

The Killer

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I've never been a fan of action movies in particular. Recently it has become more and more rare for me to like one. When I decided to rewatch John Woo's The Killer (1989) I was unsure how I would react to it - even though I had seen it once about 2 years ago. At first I was ready to say that the film is quite good, but its climax showed how ridiculously masculine, dim-witted and ludicrous the entire film was.

The Killer uses a lot of clichéd action film tropes and uses them a lot better than most other films I have seen. However, the climax opened my eyes to the laughable concepts the film offers. Certainly it is the wet dream of an action fan, but its simple-minded take on honor and friendship is so frustrating. When you add a few moments of so-called tranquility, you pretty much have the complete image of the film in your head. I have to admit that I did admire some of the setpieces they came up with, but in the end they can not redeem the film.

But don't get me wrong: I can laud the film for its mostly fascinating form. Woo's moody cinematography and editing are quite spot-on although his use of slow motion is always extremely irritating. Slow motion can be found in almost every scene in the entire film and it becomes more of an eye sore whenever it is used. The music is not bad either although it is probably a bit too moody and over-the-top.

Score: 5 out of 10

Sansho the Bailiff

As much as I hate the nickname, Kenji Mizoguchi is considered one of "three masters of Japanese cinema" alongside Kurosawa and Ozu. I've read that his films are most diverse when compared to the other two and it becomes very apparent when I compare his Sansho the Bailiff (1954) to Ugetsu: while Ugetsu is extremely poetic and otherwordly, Sansho the Bailiff is rougher and more direct and gripping in its depiction of the world. The film concentrates on the tragedy of a family breaking apart: the wife and children of a former governor are captured by slave traders and we, the viewers, witness their struggle to reunite.

The most accomplished aspect of the film's content is certainly its narrative. It is incredibly dense - and it seems like there is no limit for the amount of plot development that takes place. The storytelling is not only dense, but also well structured: it's one of the best tragedies I've ever seen. There are a few moments of redemption here and there, but the slow descent into the tragic ending is as painful as it should be. At its core, the movie is about perseverance and integrity during hard times. Naturally, this includes Mizoguchi's observations on the position of women in Japan.

Mizoguchi's form works well as well - although I'm not sure if it is as great as in Ugetsu. His camerawork is very precise and striking, but there are moments when it is too simple when compared to the rest of the film. However, his cinematography and editing form unforgettable scenes in the film, like the moment the children are separated from the mother: it's a masterful scene even by Mizoguchi's own standards.

In the end, Sansho the Bailiff is a fascinating film that deserves its praise, but I do not appreciate it as much as his earlier film, Ugetsu.

Score: 9 out of 10

Scandal

Before Akira Kurosawa became famous outside Japan with his Rashômon (1950), he made Scandal (1950). It is his direct assault against Japanese media. A young painter (Toshiro Mifune) offers his help to a famous singer, but the eager paparazzi take a photo of the two and imply that they are secretly in love. The story is partly based on Akira Kurosawa's own experiences when it was implied by the press that he had an affair. However, the true main character of the film is the corrupt lawyer (Takashi Shimura) who decides to help the painter.

Scandal is heavy-handed and melodramatic even by Kurosawa's own standards. He points out a simple problem caused by Japan's rapid change during the 40's (and eventually in the 50's as well). Even though the film is over-sentimental Kurosawa manages to keep it together miraculously thanks to his strong characters and cast. Especially Takashi Shimura's towering performance dominates the entire film.

Although Kurosawa's form works well enough in the film, it seems he still hasn't completely refined it. There are a few truly brilliant moments - like the wonderful (if over-sentimental) bar scene. 

In overall, Scandal is an interesting film - especially for the fans of Kurosawa - despite being somewhat flawed and over-the-top.

Score: 7 out of 10

Kwaidan

Masaki Kobayashi's Kwaidan (1964) - or Kaidan, as it is spelled in modern Japanese - is based on a famous anthology of ghost stories written by Lafcadio Hearn. The title itself translates as "ghost story" into English. The only thing these four stories have in common is that they deal with ghosts in some way and all of them are genuinely scary.

The first story, Black Hair, is a fairly simple: man leaves his wife so that he can get a better position in the community only to regret his decision later. However, things are not as he had hoped anymore. The message is straightforward yet poignant. The use of sound is extremely otherwordly and brilliant in this segment. Sound effects are often muted or delayed - and that's what makes the story truly menacing. The sound effect of wood being torn apart is used in the musical score in a creepy way.

The second story, Woman of the Snow, also focuses on love, but it takes a totally different approach to the subject. What really sets this story apart is its haunting and bittersweet atmosphere, it is not as directly scary or creepy as the other stories. The way snow is portrayed (even though it was shot on interior sets) is unforgettable. I would even dare to say that this is the most iconic depiction of snow and coldness.

The third story, Hoichi the Earless, is the longest and most intriguing portion of the film. Essentially it is about a blind monk who is cheated by the spirits of the dead. The story takes its precious time to build up tension until it explodes into all directions in the end - before all of it is brought together in the end in an awesome way. This story is something that will never leave your mind at peace.

The final story, In a Cup of Tea, is the most mysterious and surprising segment. I won't go into too much detail because it is something you need to see yourself. The ending is even more ambiguos than the rest of the film put together. It is something you will not see coming, but it is the only logical way to end a film like this. All I can say is that it includes a story about a bodyguard who is haunted by a ghost.

The film's form is consistently brilliant and varies a bit in each story. The use of sound and music is crucial in each one: while the first one is most notable and obvious achievement in sound, the entire film is controlled by sound. The film was completely shot on interior sets and you won't even realise that until you read about it somewhere. All of the sets were hand painted and some of them are really expressionistic and atmospheric. The cinematography is beautiful as well - there is never a moment when Kobayashi's flawless camerawork fails. For example, his use of Dutch angles is perfected here.

Masaki Kobayashi's Kwaidan is a stunning cinematic achievement. I can not recall a film that would have such a brilliant combination of creative sets, stunning cinematography and innovative use of sound. The stories might be a bit simple, but they hold great wisdom that should not be forgotten.

Score: 10 out of 10

Dreams

Dreams (1990) was one of the last films Akira Kurosawa ever directed. It is a fragmented collection of dreams that aren't connected to each other in any way. They touch on many subjects and themes, but the final result is perplexing to say the least - because the film is hardly coherent at all. There's also a problem with the strong morals: they are handled in a ridiculously heavy-handed way. Although I have to admit that the dream involving Vincent Van Gogh was awesome.

While the content is challenging and confusing, the form is spot-on. Kurosawa never fails to create breathtaking imagery. The pacing is wonderfully dreamy and while that makes the film a bit harder to watch, it works well to enhance the unclear content. The musical score is delightful as well.

Dreams was certainly something new for Kurosawa, but this "experiment" doesn't work as well as it could have possibly worked.

Score: 5 out of 10

PS: I would be interested in reading a Jungian analysis of the dreams. Maybe that would make me understand the content better.

Love & Pop

Hideaki Anno is best known for his work as an anime director. Gunbuster, Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, Neon Genesis Evangelion and His and Her Circumstances are brilliant and popular TV shows. However, after finishing those TV shows he decided to direct a few live-action films with a tiny budget. His experimental form and interest in touchy subjects were taken even further in these small releases. Love & Pop (1998) was the first one of these live-action films. It is a story of four Japanese schoolgirls who engage in enjo kosai to earn money.

Anno observes the phenomenon in a negative but honest way. There are a few cases where nothing harmful happens and everyone involved gains profit. But in most cases there are problems. Thieves, rapists, perverts and other freaks abuse the the service. And what does it tell that the girls succumb to enjo kosai only to get money? The society has become awfully materialistic. Anno also addresses a few other social problems: the effects of competitive education, the social pressure on adolescents and what has become of (too) many adults in Japan. However, the truly relevant thematic aspect is more universal. The main character, Hiromi, begins to questions her own identity when she compares herself to her friends.

Anno's highly experimental form is initially baffling, but once you get used to it, it's intriguing and magnificent. The entire film was shot with miniature digital cameras so the film automatically has a distinctive look. His offbeat camera positions are even more extreme this time - sometimes the camera is even attached to different body aparts (the most absurd one is inside a girl's skirt). The pacing is marvellous because he can so effortlessly move between places and switch from ridiculously fast cuts to long takes. This time he even plays with the aspect ratios of different shots. The most notable example of this trick is pictured below. Anno's strong hand and leg motifs appear in Love & Pop as well. Not a single scene passes by without a shot of shoes or feet. The hand motif serves as a brilliantly creepy way to describe Hiromi's "downfall". Anno's usage of the fish eye lens is more than obvious in Love & Pop and it is only one of the dozens of devices he uses to create more anxiety.

In overall, Love & Pop is a challenging and rewarding film. I have to admit that I did not appreciate a lot until the third time I watched it. First of all, its content seemed lesser when put next to Anno's other films, but even that is not entirely true. Secondly, once you get over the confusion created by the form and controversial content, it is easier to find the film's true brilliance.

Score: 10 out of 10

Crazed Fruit

Kô Nakahira's Crazed Fruit (1956) is one of the most famous and important "Sun Tribe" films. The nickname, Sun Tribe, refers to the film's young characters who spend their days by sunbathing, swimming, drinking and having sex. Crazed Fruit concentrates on two brothers, Natsuhista and Haruji, who fall for the same woman. Gradually they discover that she is not what they believe her to be.

The story is baffling - in a bad way. A bunch of weak characters are caught in a wishy-washy tale of obsession and deception. The entire film is based on one conflict that is supposed to be resolved in a climax. However, the way the climax erupts is unexpected and ridiculous. To make things even worse, it seems we are supposed to care for the innocent brother (his innocence is emphasized throughout the film) yet I felt only indifference towards him. The film's storytelling is either heavy-handed or completely lost in its "stylish" form.

This film is a great example of style being more important than substance - at least that is the result. The first half of the film is spent with gloriously stylish cinematography and editing which certainly fits to the carefree lifestyle that is portrayed. The form becomes problematic when the story becomes more intense because it sticks to the same patterns. The shallow and joyful form takes out all the possible tension from the later half. Now that's problem because the film is built around the conflict and if it isn't tense at all, the film has failed at some point.

Ultimately, Crazed Fruit is a film with a decent first half and disastrous second half. I wouldn't advise against watching the film - especially if you're interested in Japanese cinema - but it certainly isn't a good film.

Score: 4 out of 10