Matsugane Potshot Affair (Matsugane ransha jiken).2006. Directed by Nobuhiro Yamashita. Written by Kosuke Mukai, Kumiko Sato, and Nobuhiro Yamashita. Produced by Mitsuru Oshima, Hiroki Owada, Yuji Sadai, and Tetsujiro Yamagami. Cinematography by Takahiro Tsutai. Edited by Ryuji Miyajima. Music by Pascals. Art direction by Etsuko Aikou. Sound by Takeshi Ogawa.
Nobuhiro Yamashita’s new film is a dark comedy following the decidedly odd events and inhabitants of the town of Matsugane ("town of the wild boar legend") and the happenings of a particular winter. Much like his previous film Linda Linda Linda, Yamashita excels in wickedly deadpan humor, beginning with the disclaimer at the beginning of the film. Describing dramatization as an “occupational hazard that cannot be avoided,” it assures us that what we are about to see is “based on events that we ourselves have witnessed.” That the “we” remains unidentified is par for the course in the world of this film.
The film wastes no time in establishing its vision of human nature. The first image is of a woman, Miyuki (Miwa Kawagoe), lying in the snow, the victim of a hit-and-run. A boy sees the body and approaches it, and takes the opportunity to feel her up underneath her clothes. In the next scene, the body lies naked in the morgue, about to undergo an autopsy when the doctors and the police discover she is actually alive. Miyuki recovers and exits the hospital in a daze, although it is unclear whether this is a result of the accident or is her normal condition. After refusing to cooperate with the police, she returns to Nishioka (Yuichi Kimura), her hulking, thuggish husband, at their squat in an abandoned building in town.
This couple forms the fulcrum of a number of intertwined plotlines followed throughout the film. The hit-and-run driver is Hikari (Takashi Yamanaka), the dim-witted twin brother of local policeman Kotaro (Hirofumi Arai). He works on the family farm and hit the woman with the truck he uses to make the daily rounds. The woman and his brother soon spot Hikari at a local diner, and they soon blackmail him into helping them find a place to live and retrieve a bag of gold bouillon submerged in a frozen lake. A human head just happens to have been buried along with the gold. We never find out whose head it is, or how the gold got there, just as we are unsure who it was who impregnated Haruko (Tamae Ando), a mentally slow teenage girl who gives out sexual favors to seemingly every adult male in town. Yamashita is clearly more interested in presenting these events from a wryly anthropological distance, making the tone of this film reminiscent of Shohei Imamura’s later films, such as The Eel.
What makes this film memorable are the peculiar incidents that occur, some hilarious, some dramatic, others surreal: the homeless couple’s attempts to cash in the gold at the bank; Kotaro’s obsession with rats living in the police station’s ceiling, which apparently only he can see; Hikari’s attempt to pass off the couple as friends from Tokyo, when Kotaro discovers them in their senile grandfather’s old farm shack. Yamashita’s detached, God’s-eye view of the proceedings precludes any emotional identification with these characters and gives one of the impression of looking at an ant farm. Nevertheless, Matsugane Potshot Affair confirms Yamashita’s talents as a unique and amused observer of human absurdities and foibles.
The Blossoming of Etsuko Kamiya (Kamiya Etsuko no seishun). 2006. Directed by Kazuo Kuroki. Written by Kazuo Kuroki and Hideki Yamada, based on the stage play by Masataka Matsuda. Produced by Shuichi Isoda, Satoshi Kono, Kazuya Naito, Takashi Ohashi, and Noburu Sugiyama. Cinematography by Koichi Kawakami. Edited by Yoshiyuki Okuhara. Art direction by Takeo Kimura. Sound by Yukio Kubota.
The Blossoming of Etsuko Kamiya, Kazuo Kuroki’s final film before his death last year, is a quiet, gently humorous, and poignant World War II-set story that evokes the home dramas that were a specialty of Ozu. Based on a stage play by Masataka Matsuda, the film makes little attempt to disguise its theatrical origins. Its structure consists of several lengthy scenes of dialogue between different combinations of its main characters in two locations: a hospital rooftop in the present day, and the family house during wartime. This is to the film’s strength, since the strictly limited settings bring the characters’ emotions and the subtle variations of tone into sharper relief, making the film’s emotional conclusion that much more powerful.
Like many of Ozu’s films, the plot revolves around a prospective marriage, that of Etsuko Kamiya (Tomoyo Harada), who lives with her brother and his wife, having recently lost both her parents in an air raid. They are very protective of her and are anxious for her to marry. They have found her a possible husband, Nagayo (Masatoshi Nagase), an army engineer. However, Etsuko is truly in love with Nagayo’s friend Akashi (Shunsuke Matsuoka). A relationship between them is impossible since Akashi has been conscripted to be a kamikaze pilot. Akashi, also in love with Etsuko, but choosing military duty over love, has arranged for Nagayo to take his place.
As tragic as the situation is, the scenario finds much room for comedy, for example in the scene in which the painfully shy Nagayo has his marriage meeting with Etsuko, with Akashi at his side. He struggles to find topics for conversation, and can only come up with half-remembered names from literature, and a recitation of his life and work resume. Akashi eventually slips away, leaving the two of them alone. The bickering between Etsuko’s brother and his wife is also another rich source of humor, such as an initial scene when he angers his wife by commenting on the sour potatoes.
The film’s use of mirroring and repetition of details also adds interesting dimensions to the story. There are bracketed scenes in which Etsuko and later her brother are late getting home, both for the same reason: being held up by the talkative stationmaster. Both Akashi and Nagoya’s actions of walking up and down the stairs to the family home punctuate the most emotional points of the story. The story is itself framed by Etsuko and Nagayo’s wartime reminiscences on the hospital rooftop.
The war itself happens far from the film’s action, but determines everything that occurs. The film refrains from explicitly condemning the war, except in Etsuko’s sister-in-law’s anguished cry about not caring if Japan wins, only wanting things to return to normal, without rations and fear of being bombed. The others admonish her for saying such a thing, and the war is treated as a situation that must be dealt with stoically. However, the film’s implicit regret over wartime sacrifices seeps in, especially when Etsuko finally releases her grief over the news of Akashi’s death.
The Blossoming of Etsuko Kamiya is a simply told tale, but no less enjoyable for that. The film’s style is as simple and unassuming as the wartime rations the family eats. Such a film is almost entirely dependent on the actors’ performances, and there isn’t a single false note here. Harada and Nagase are especially fine, excelling at registering the subtle emotional shifts that lie below their seemingly placid surfaces.
This film series currently screens at Japan Society through July 15. Below are some brief reviews.
Memories of Matsuko (Tetsuya Nakashima)
My personal favorite so far is this musical tragedy, an extravaganza of color and music graced by a spirited and moving performance by the stunning Miki Nakatani who commands the screen in nearly every scene. Based on a novel by Muneki Yamda, the film documents her passage from a respected schoolteacher, domestic goddess, prison inmate, prostitute, to an insane woman living in a decrepit, filthy apartment, who is eventually murdered. Matsuko’s life is seen through the eyes of her nephew Sho (Eita), a slacker wannabe musician who seems to do little more than watch porn tapes at home while his guitar gathers dust next to him. His father visits him, and informs him that this aunt he never knew was killed and asks him to clean out her apartment. As he does so, he begins to learn more about her life, and so do we. Nakashima’s film is a 21st century musical update of Mizoguchi’s The Life of Oharu, since in a similar way to the titular heroine played by Kinuyo Tanaka, Matsuko is consistently dragged down into degradation, despair, and finally madness. Her loyalty to the men in her life is rewarded with betrayal and abuse at their hands. But this is where the comparison ends. Nakashima’s approach couldn’t be more dissimilar to Mizoguchi’s; his film’s rousing and catchy musical sequences are the polar opposite of Mizoguchi’s somber tone and long takes.
Faces of a Fig Tree (Kaori Momoi)
Another visual stunner of this year’s festival is this exceedingly eccentric film from actress and first-time director Momoi. While it takes awhile for one to become accustomed to the film’s quirky rhythms, it becomes a remarkable experience. Extremely stylized and shot in odd, cantilevered angles, Kaori’s visual strategies heighten the strangeness of her tale. Momoi is aided considerably by art director Takeo Kimura, largely responsible for the stunning cinema landscapes of Seijun Suzuki.
The film focuses in on the Kadowaki clan: construction worker Oto (Saburo Ishikura); his wife Maasa (Momoi) a scatterbrained woman whose domestic drives are taken to a highly neurotic extent; writer daughter Yume (Hanako Yamada), who is seen in some scenes in her younger days with her father; and son Oto Jr. (Hiroyuki), who registers little in this story. The father works nights on a construction site to fix potentially deadly flaws on their latest construction project in order to save his boss from a lawsuit. He eventually rents an apartment near the site so he can finish the project more quickly. Maasa is convinced he is having an affair, despite Oto’s protestations otherwise.
Momoi creates a bizarre universe where anything can and does happen. One particularly startling instance occurs early in the film when Yume drops a peanut out a window, where it nearly hits a group of CGI ants who argue over the use of the F-word. Momoi’s own performance, while it often overwhelms the other actors, is still quite something to watch, as she registers each peculiar reaction to events and mirrors the eccentricity of her own scenario.
Sway (Miwa Nishikawa)
This former assistant to Hirokazu Kore-eda (Maborosi, After Life, Who Knows) is beautifully attuned in her own films to the conflicts and struggles of family life, subjecting this subject matter to compelling forensic analysis. Her writing is consistently sharp and her characterizations always feel natural and authentic. Her previous film Wild Berries featured a dysfunctional clan thrown into turmoil by the reappearance of an estranged prodigal son. Sway’s tragic events are set into motion by another prodigal character, Takeru (Joe Odagiri), a successful photographer in Tokyo who returns to his family home after the death of his mother. He is the self-described “black sheep” of the family who ran away from their small town and the family gas-station business to pursue his own dreams. What soon emerges is the central conflict between Takeru and his older brother Minoru (Teruyuki Kagawa), the one who stayed behind and worked in the family business. His resentment doesn’t show itself until later in the film. Takeru comes across an old girlfriend Chieko (Yoko Maki) he had left behind. This sets into motion the tragic events that drive the bulk of the film. Minoru gets the idea to return to Hasumi Gorge, where they often went with their parents as children. The night before going there, Takeru and Chieko had slept together, and they both suspect Minoru knows about it. At the gorge, Chieko reveals to Takeru her fear that she will be stuck in her small town, and regrets not leaving with him for Tokyo years before. Takeru crosses an old bridge that sways easily (hence the film’s title), and Chieko does the same. Minoru goes after her, and Chieko ends up falling off the bridge. Minoru is arrested for her murder, and the film keeps us guessing until the end about exactly what happened.
The resulting trial brings the conflict between the brothers and other family members to the surface. Memory plays a large role, represented by Takeru’s conflicted memories of the incident and his own childhood, and home movies made by his mother. Nishikawa is remarkably attuned to family relationships and the ways people can hurt each other intentionally or unintentionally, due to the unbreakable ties of family. Sway is a low-key yet profound family drama that is one of the best films of the festival.
Nightmare Detective (Shinya Tsukamoto)
This represents yet another entry in Tsukamoto's technically impressive films, beginning from Tetsuo: The Iron Man to Haze, which use the horror/thriller mode to illuminate the Tokyo cityscape and what lies beneath the surface. This latest film contains many familiar elements. Kagenuma (Ryuhei Matsuda), a man able to enter the dreams of others, is drafted by Keiko Kirishima (hitomi), a new detective to solve a number of suicides that may actually be murders. Tsukamoto himself appears as “0,” a suicidal man who controls these murder/suicides by cell phone. The premise is familiar from such films as Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Cure and many other similar films. Tsukamoto excels in visuals and sound design, and provides the requisite shocks. However, this genre to me seems to be approaching exhaustion and a mannerist phase, and as much as one admires Tsukamoto’s prodigious technical gifts, it seems a bit wasted in the service of something we’ve seen many times before.
Dear Pyongyang (Yonghi Yang)
One of two feature documentaries screening at the festival, this is a revealing and affecting portrait of Yang's father, a lifelong staunch pro-North Korean. Yang’s film illuminates the experiences of the zainichi, ethnic Koreans living and born in Japan. One of the largest zainichi communities exists in Yang’s hometown of Tsuruhashi, Ikuno-ku, Osaka, where a quarter of the population are Koreans. Besides facing discrimination from the larger Japanese society, they were divided amongst themselves, between supporters of North Korea and South Korea. Yang’s father was a founding member of the Chongryun organization, an activist group who fought for zainichi civil rights and who were fierce supporters of North Korea’s “Great Leader” Kim Il-sung. To this end, he participated in the “Great Return” program, a repatriation movement that started in the 1950’s to “return” Koreans in Japan to North Korea, which at that time had a robust economy, supported by the Soviet Union. Ironically, many of these “returnees” were going to North Korea for the first time, including Yang’s three brothers, who left when she was six years old, and who she was only able to see on very brief visits to Pyongyang. Dear Pyongyang, with great affection and humor, as well as considerable poignancy, documents Yang’s efforts to understand her father’s reasons for separating his family because of his unyielding political convictions. Yang builds up many telling details of her family life: the growing care packages her mother sends to her sons’ families in Pyongyang, as their lives become ever harsher over the years; her father’s reluctance to talk about himself; her parents’ refusal to ever speak ill of the “Great Leader”; Yang’s own video footage of her visits to Pyongyang. “Unveiled reality is painful,” Yang remarks upon a shot of a massive abandoned construction project looming just behind Kim Il-sung’s statue. The courageous mission of Yang’s film is to do just that: reveal the truths that are painful to face, both familial and political.
A brief, hearty congratulations to Korea's best actress, Jeon Do-yeon, for winning the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival, which wrapped yesterday. She won for her role in Secret Sunshine, the new film from Lee Chang-dong, himself one of Korea's best directors. This is one film I am eagerly awaiting, as it is Lee's first film since he stepped down from his stint as Korea's Minister of Culture. Jeon costars with Song Kang-ho (of The Host) as a single mother who moves to a small town and is tested, Job-like, by horrendous tragedies.
Jeon Do-yeon is the rare actress who can truly transform herself in each role she takes on, whether it be the faithless wife in Happy End, the prim Chosun-era maiden in Untold Scandal, the wily gangster's moll in No Blood No Tears, the love-stricken country girl in The Harmonium in My Memory, or the HIV-infected bargirl in You Are My Sunshine, she never fails to astonish with the sheer force of her emotion and talent. Each film she makes is a master class in acting. And now hopefully the rest of the world will discover the great riches she has given us, and no doubt will continue to give us in the future.
Once. I’ve said my piece on this beautiful film (see my earlier post). So go see it. Opens at the Landmark Sunshine.
Memories of Tomorrow. Ken Watanabe (The Last Samurai, Memoirs of a Geisha, Letters from Iwo Jima) executive produced and stars as a driven businessman who is stricken with early Alzheimer’s. Directed by Yukihiko Tsutsumi and based on the novel by Hiroshi Ogiwara, the material is quite familiar, from any number of TV dramas, and such recent films as the Korean film A Moment to Remember. Although weakened by such cliché moves as his doctor’s impassioned speech to prevent Watanabe from killing himself, and a few too many swirling camera shots to mirror his disorientation, the film benefits from Watanabe’s strong, impassioned performance, and subtle work from Kanako Higuchi as his wife. Also, it avoids wrapping it all up in a sentimental way, and the ending gains its poignancy by its retreat from hectic Tokyo to a more bucolic scene, which serves as a setting for the convergence of past and present. Opens at the Imaginasian.
Flanders. Bruno Dumont’s searing vision of war has also been reviewed here. Dumont returns to his usual rural setting, where a man is conscripted into a brutal, unnamed conflict, leading to a Bressonian epiphany. Opens at Cinema Village.
Herzog (Non) Fiction. This is where I’ll be spending most of my next three weeks. One of the masters of the 70’s German new wave, he alternated such masterpieces as The Mystery of Kaspar Hauser, Aguirre: Wrath of God, Fitzcarraldo and others with these incredible documentaries, following extreme individuals (including Herzog himself) in dangerous environments. Herzog appears in person for some screenings this weekend; check here for the schedule. Among this week’s highlights: Little Dieter Needs to Fly, about a downed pilot who returns to the Vietnamese POW camp from which he escaped, tracing his harrowing experience (Herzog fictionalized this story as Rescue Dawn, which opens next month); The White Diamond, in which an explorer of the Amazon strives to continue the dream of his best friend who perished during an earlier mission; Sans Soleil, Chris Marker’s classic cine-essay on Japan, cats, and Hitchcock’s Vertigo, among other things, one of Herzog’s personal favorites (Herzog will introduce the 7pm screening on May 21); The Great Ecstasy of Woodcarver Steiner, a short gem about the titular champion ski jumper/woodcarving artist. Herzog’s onscreen commentary is priceless. The series runs at Film Forum from May 18 – June 7.
Eve and the Firehorse. Asian Cinevision’s ongoing series continues with Julia Kwan’s gentle and charming film set in 1970’s Vancouver, about a little girl’s experiences with religion and spirituality. The period detail and child’s point of view is spot on, and features great performances from the entire cast, especially Phoebe Jojo Kut as Eve, and Vivian Wu as her mother. Kwan will be on hand to introduce and answer questions. The film screens at MOMA Friday and Saturday.
Lee Marvin: The Coolest Lethal Weapon. This essential series continues at the Walter Reade Theater with screenings of such classics as The Big Red One, Seven Men From Now, The Professionals, and The Killers.
Once.2006. Written and directed by John Carney.Produced by Martina Niland.Cinematography by Tim Fleming.Edited by Paul Mullen.Music by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova.. Sound mixing by Robert Flanagan. Production design by Tamara Conboy. Costume design by Tiziana Corvisieri. Released by Fox Searchlight Pictures.
A small film in the greatest sense of the word, Once is a musical of a different kind. In sharp contrast to certain current and upcoming summer blockbusters (which will remain nameless here; I won’t add to the publicity machine), this film is a model of subtlety and modulation. Appropriately, since the film’s songs are its core, Once is musical in its structure; it finds visual equivalents to riffs, counterpoints and chord changes in its story and characters. The third feature by Irish film and television director John Carney, Once is an intimate and moving portrait of music and musicians. The director and his two lead actors, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, are quite familiar with this milieu, all being musicians themselves. Hansard is the singer and chief songwriter for the Irish band the Frames, and Carney was the group’s original bass player. Irglova is a singer and musician who has collaborated with Hansard. The fact that they are both nonprofessionals lends Once its special charm. The easy and natural rapport they bring to their roles is a beautiful thing to behold.
The plot, such as it is, is simplicity itself. The Guy (Hansard), a busker performing on the streets of Dublin, has moved back in with his father after the death of his mother and the dissolution of his previous relationship. The pain he feels from this loss is still quite palpable, and he uses this as fodder for the sad, lovelorn songs he performs on the streets at night and in his room. He works during the day at his father’s vacuum repair shop, and performs on the street during his breaks. One day while performing, he meets the Girl (Irglova), a young Czech immigrant who lives with her mother and siblings in a small apartment and works as a house cleaner. Their initial scenes are fascinating to watch. The Guy, still quite a wary, raw wound, is initially dismissive, but soon warms to the Girl, giving her his CDs and inviting her for coffee. When she finds out he works for a vacuum repair shop, she asks him to repair hers. One day they visit a piano shop, where there is a piano that the Girl longs for but cannot afford. They sit at the piano to perform a song the Guy has just written. This is where the musical aspect of the film comes in. Instead of the normal movie musical grammar, where characters break out into fully orchestrated song as the story demands it, the songs in Once begin quite naturally, and it is as if the songs are being created before our eyes. The song they perform in the piano shop is “Falling Slowly,” and the lyrics of this song, as in the others to come, speak for the two characters:
I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won
The Guy and the Girl quite literally make beautiful music together, forming a group with other musicians and eventually recording a demo. I saw Hansard and Irglova perform at the Tribeca Film Festival, and can attest to the fact that these songs sound even better when performed live.
In the film, the Guy and The Girl become more intertwined. Refreshingly, however, much as this is not a typical movie musical, the Guy and the Girl do not have a typical movie romance. Layers to their life stories are slowly revealed, and it doesn’t end in the way one would expect. The final image, involving the store piano, ends the film on a literally joyful note. Carney and his musician collaborators have created an exquisite paean to the joy of music and artistic creation. So please ignore the summer Hollywood hucksters with their big, loud, shiny, computer-generated toys. Once is a film made by and for adults, and richly rewards your 88-minute investment.
Once opens in New York on May 18 at Landmark's Sunshine Theater.
Once trailer:
Added bonus: Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova performing "Falling Slowly":
I Don't Want to Sleep Alone (Hei Yan Quan). 2006. Written and directed by Tsai Ming-liang. Produced by Bruno Persery and Vincent Wang. Cinematography by Liao Pen-jung. Edited by Cheng Shang-chang. Art direction by Lee Tian-jue and Gan Siong-king. Sound design by Tu Duu-chih and Tang Shiang-chu. Lighting by Lee Long-yu. Costumes by Sun Hui-mey. Released by Strand Releasing.
Cast: Lee Kang-sheng (Homeless Guy/Paralyzed Guy), Chen Shiang-chyi (Coffee-shop Waitress), Norman Atun (Rawang), Pearlly Chua (Coffee-shop Lady Boss), Liew Lee-lin (Coffee-shop Tea Maker), Leonard Tee (Light Vendor), Samantha Toh Su-yee (Coffee-shop Lady Boss' Second Son), Chiew Kok-fai (Coffee-shop Lady Boss' Grandson), Chan Rong-sin (Real Estate Broker), Loh Kok-choy (Enterprise Representative), Shiva (Indian Laborer).
I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone, the title of the beautiful new film from Taiwanese master Tsai Ming-liang, could apply equally to any of his other features, since this film similarly explores the actions of near-mute, lonely souls searching for connection. After the mélange of hard-core imagery, musical sequences, and no-exit desolation that was his previous film, The Wayward Cloud, the film at first glance seems like a retreat into safer, familiar territory. Indeed, Tsai’s usual iconography is fully present: the water, the sparse dialog, the long takes, the taciturn, isolated characters. Although at first this seems like a step backward, as the film unfolds, it becomes apparent there are some intriguingly different things happening here.
For Tsai, this new film’s major departure is its setting. Instead of the familiar Taipei haunts we have been used to, the action here has been transplanted to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. This is the first film Tsai has shot in his birth country (he moved to Taiwan at the age of 20). This change of milieu injects new sounds and a sense of curious discovery to the film. The first dialogue we hear is the loud voice of a Malay numbers runner exhorting a crowd of people to buy number from him, guaranteeing them great riches. “I’ve prayed to the gods,” he insists. Tsai’s regular lead actor and cinematic alter-ego Lee Kang-sheng, looking scruffier than usual, plays a homeless drifter in the midst of this crowd. He foolishly gets his numbers without having the money to pay for them, and is promptly beaten, quite badly, by the numbers runner and his cohorts. He is found by Rawang (Norman Chua), an immigrant worker, who carries him to an abandoned building where he is squatting with his coworkers. Rawang carries “Homeless Guy” (as Lee is named in the credits) on a dirty mattress found on the street. This mattress plays a major role in the film, and it will be carried by various characters in a recurring image in the film.
To backtrack a bit, the film’s very first image is of a catatonic man (Lee Kang-sheng again, this time as “Paralyzed Guy”), on a hospital bed being fed through the nose as Mozart plays on the radio. This is a direct reference to the genesis of Tsai’s film, which is one of the “New Crowned Hope” series of films commissioned by producer Peter Sellars as part of the commemoration of Mozart’s 250th anniversary. His head is shaven, and he lies still in a long shot as the light coming through the window changes.
The film alternates between the paralyzed man and the homeless man, both being attended to by their respective caretakers. This aspect lends the film a sense of tenderness and poignancy, since the act of nurturing and caring for others is a major motif here. Both of Lee Kang-sheng’s characters are connected intimately to three others; besides the construction worker Rawang, he meets a melancholy coffee-shop waitress (Tsai regular Chen Shang-chyi) and her tyrannical female boss (Pearlly Chua). Tsai is teasingly oblique about the connection between these two narrative strands, and it isn’t until quite late in the film that the relation between them is revealed, and it is quite a startling moment when that happens.
Music plays a major role in the film. Besides the opening Mozart piece, which recurs throughout, Tsai uses Bollywood numbers and old Chinese tunes, as well as Malay folk songs. Much like the songs in The Hole and The Wayward Cloud, they serve as surrogate speech for these inarticulate characters, conveying the desire and longing that they can’t or won’t express for themselves. However, instead of being relegated to the realm of movie musical fantasy as in his previous films, the songs in I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone exist on the same physical plane as the characters, emanating from radios and televisions, and in the case of the Malay folk song, from a pair of street musicians.
The joy and surprise of Tsai’s film lies in discovering how all these elements fit together. The tone is much lighter than usual for Tsai, culminating in a hilarious attempted sexual encounter through a thick, toxic haze. I won’t spoil any more for you, other than to say that the film ends on what is perhaps the loveliest (and most hopeful) image in Tsai’s entire oeuvre. It brought tears to my eyes, and all by itself justifies this film’s existence. All that is left for me to say is, see this film. Right now. Immediately. No, I mean it. Stop whatever you’re doing and go see it. I swear you won’t regret it.
And to further whet your appetite, here's the film's trailer:
I Don't Want to Sleep Alone opened in New York on May 9 at the IFC Center.
Black Sheep (Jonathan King): Sure, there's a faint semblance of social commentary in this lurid tale of genetic engineering gone awry. Both rapacious capitalists and clueless animal-rights activists come in for equal helpings of scorn. But that's not why this film is a hilarious delight. It's all about the blood and guts, and this one delivers plenty. Peter Jackson's W.E.T.A. special effects house supplied them, and this film recalls the broad anarchic splendor of Jackson's own early films. This is the sort of film the term "midnight movie" was made for. Make sure to see it with as large and raucous a crowd as possible. The final sight gag is priceless, and you'll never look at a moving herd of sheep in quite the same way again. A cautionary tale, to be sure, this film illustrates the pitfalls of loving your farm animals a little too much.
Two in One (Kira Muratova): The Ukrainian auteur returns to the binary structure of her earlier film The Aesthenic Syndrome with two connected stories by separate screenwriters: the first concerns an actor's suicide during rehearsals for a play, and the second is the play that the actors perform. Muratova's stylistic hallmarks are in full force: the maddening repetition of dialogue and other elements, most notably the dead actor's ringing cell phone; the circus-like atmosphere of the actors' bizarre behaviors. Muratova is an acquired cinematic taste, to be sure, and her films often seem designed to test the viewer's patience. And judging from the walkouts at this morning's press screening, many will fail miserably. I was often mesmerized, although the first hour is admittedly sometimes a struggle to get through.
Still Life(Jia Zhang-ke): Jia once again proves himself to be one of the half-dozen best filmmakers on the planet. Against the backdrop of the Three Gorges Dam project, which has displaced many people, and stands as a potent metaphor for the massive steamroller of China's inexorable economic progress (if you want to call it that), two people separately search for their long-estranged spouses. Loss permeates this intensely sad and beautiful film. The first searcher goes back to his hometown and his guide points to a thin island on the water, telling him that's what's left of the street where he grew up. All the characters experience firsthand the impermanence of their existence, and many await the inevitable spray-painted sign on their home: "OK For Demolition." Jia's regular actress Zhao Tao delivers an expertly delicate and moving performance, as she looks for her husband. The film, however, is not without humor or a sense of hope. A Chow Yun-fat imitator and a young boy smoking cigarettes and singing loud, plaintive love songs add levity. Jia also adds some nice fantasy touches as well. A must see, and more than worth your $18 ticket.
2 Days in Paris (Julie Delpy): This would-be romantic comedy came off as even more insufferable than it would have if I hadn't seen it after Jia's masterful film. This film is the polar opposite, with a strained and often quite nasty sense of humor. Outside of a few chuckles from Delpy's costar Adam Goldberg (who apparently improvised much of his dialogue), this is an ineptly made and quite unattractive film that panders way too often to a film festival crowd that likes to consider itself sophisticated and superior. A scene with a bunch of Americans wearing Bush-Cheney T-shirts is a typical example of Delpy's propensity for cheap targets and easy laughs. Delpy only succeeds here in inviting unfavorable comparisons with Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. With films such as Jia's and others in the festival which grapple with, literally, life and death issues, the spectacle of privileged white people whining about their incredibly trivial problems seems almost obscene.
A quick note to say that I will be at the Tribeca Film Festival, and plan to do brief daily postings of the films and other events I will be attending. Some of the films will get longer reviews as time permits. There are too many films to list here, so I'll just refer you to the site.
I'm up bright and early for the first screening. Till tomorrow.
Red Road. 2006. Written and directed by Andrea Arnold, based on characters created by Lone Scherfig and Anders Thomas Jensen. Produced by Carrie Comerford. Cinematography by Robbie Ryan. Edited by Nicolas Chauderge. Production design by Helen Scott. Costume design by Helen Scott. Sound design by Nicolas Becker. Released by Tartan Films.
Cast: Kate Dickie (Jackie), Tony Curran (Clyde), Martin Compston (Stevie), Nathalie Press (April), Andrew Armour (Alfred), John Comerford (Man With Dog), Paul Higgins (Avery).
Andrea Arnold’s debut film Red Road is a fascinating cinematic mélange: equal parts Rear Window and Blow-Up, updated with evocations of post-9/11 surveillance and filmed using the techniques of Dogma-style direct cinema. Red Road is the first film of the “Advance Party Concept,” conceived by Lars von Trier’s Dogma cohorts Lone Sherfig and Anders Thomas Jensen, which consists of three films by three different directors set in Scotland using the same set of characters. Red Road, which won the Grand Prix du Jury (third place) Prize at the 2006 Cannes Film Festival, is a moody and often disturbing film that gets this endeavor off to a very strong start.
Jackie (Kate Dickie) is a uniformed operator at a closed-circuit surveillance firm hired to watch the Red Road housing projects, a litter-strewn and graffiti-covered residence which gives the film its name. She spends her workday seated in front of a bank of monitors, watching the citizens’ daily lives. This is the ultimate reality television, her professional voyeurism highlighting the drabness of her own life. She lives alone in a small, cheerless apartment. Her face is drawn and hardened, and she seems to experience little joy. She carries on a desultory affair with a married coworker, their sexual contact relegated to quickies inside the company van. We are given little backstory to her character, which has the effect of drawing us in. One day Jackie watches a man and a woman have sex on her cameras. Zooming in on the action, she treats this occurrence as a private porno movie, unzipping her pants. She is stopped short when she recognizes the man on the monitor.
The man is Clyde (Tony Curran), an ex-con who has a connection to Jackie’s past. The film gains its intensity from its teasing misdirection about the nature of this connection. Jackie frantically calls her lawyer, and finds out Clyde has been released early from prison for good behavior. The immediate conclusion one draws is that Clyde has raped her, and at first all indications seem to point to this explanation. However, we are forced to question this, and the film takes many twists and turns as we understand that all is not what it seems.
Jackie begins shadowing this mysterious (to us) person, watching his every move on the monitors and leaving work to follow him on the street. Her obsession grows to such an extent that she neglects her work, the most disturbing instance concerning a young girl stabbed without her noticing because she is so distracted by watching Clyde. Jackie insinuates herself into Clyde’s existence, slipping into his apartment building and crashing a party he is throwing for his friends. Clyde is immediately attracted to Jackie and begins slow dancing with her, until she breaks away from him and runs out of the apartment. Clyde suspects that he may have known her before, but can’t recall where. Jackie also gets close to Clyde’s roommates Stevie (Martin Compton) and April (Natalie Press). The relationship between these two adds another intriguing layer to the proceedings.
Arnold’s film is an intense modern revenge tragedy that, while somewhat overpraised, nevertheless is a very strong work that explores issues of modern-day surveillance and the complex interplay of rage and desire. The film features impressive camerawork from cinematographer Robbie Ryan which effectively conveys the paranoia and melancholy of the piece. Kate Dickie is especially fine in her first film role, beautifully registering the mysteries and transformations of her character. Although the Advance Party Concept, much like the Dogma 95 mini-movement which spawned it, has more than a whiff of gimmickry about it, if this first installment is any indication, we are in for two very good films to follow.
Red Road opens in New York on April 13 at Lincoln Plaza Cinemas and the Landmark Sunshine Cinema.
I am a writer on film based in NYC, whose work has appeared in Senses of Cinema, Offscreen, and other film journals. This blog is a forum for news and commentary on world cinema. Asian cinemas, especially Korean, Japanese, Chinese, and Hong Kong cinema, are a major focus. However, this site will also frequently cover other notable happenings and trends across the globe. Also, this site will serve as a chronicle of my personal exploration of cinema.
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