1/1/15 (Part Two): Bleed For Your Art

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35mm film, action-comedies, assassins, auteur theory, child actors, father-daughter relationships, Film auteurs, filmmaking, foreign films, Fuck Bombers, Fumi Nikaidô, Gen Hoshino, gory films, guerrilla film crew, guerrilla filmmaking, Hideo Yamamoto, Hiroki Hasegawa, husband-wife relationship, independent film crew, Itsuji Itao, Japanese cinema, Jun Kunimura, Megumi Kagurazaka, nostalgia, set in Japan, Shin'ichi Tsutsumi, Shion Sono, street gangs, stylish films, Tak Sakaguchi, Tetsu Watanabe, Tomochika, vanity project, voice-over narration, Why Don't You Play in Hell?, writer-director-score, Yakuza, Yakuza gang members

Calling gonzo Japanese auteur Shion Sono’s latest film, Why Don’t You Play in Hell? (2014), a sweetly sentimental film might seem a little nuts, especially if you’ve seen the movie. After all, isn’t this the same film that features a young girl “surfing” on an ocean of blood, Yakuza gang members as pick-up film crew, a finale that makes Kill Bill’s (2003) restaurant massacre look like a Hallmark special and a guerrilla film crew who call themselves “The Fuck Bombers” and delight in filming people throwing raw eggs at each other? All true, although none of these are really the film’s raison d’être: at its heart, WDYPIH? is about growing older, losing your dreams and the by-gone glory days of filmmaking (aka: the ones that actually used film). It might come wrapped in a stylish, candy-colored and ultra-gory wrapper but Sono’s goofy epic is, at heart, a friendly little shaggy mutt of a film: eager to please but rather unfocused, WDYPIH? is far from a masterpiece but I’m willing to wager that anyone who’s had their heart touched by the movie-making bug will find plenty to like here.

We begin 10 years in the past, as a pair of Yakuza gangs wage bloody warfare against each other: the Kitagawa and Muto clans seem evenly matched, as both gangs battle for control of the streets, but it’s a precarious balancing act and no one ever seems to be on top for long. The tide appears to turn when the Kitagawas send a team of assassins after the head of the Muto clan (Jun Kunimura) but Muto’s wife, Shizue (Tomochika), single-handedly kills the wannabe-killers, all while her young daughter, Mitsuko (Nanoka Hara) looks on in wide-eyed wonder. Shizue is sent to prison for her hand in the massacre (one would think some leniency would be in order, since it was basically Shizue defending herself against a group of attackers, although the point where she chased an injured guy into the street and butchered him might have thrown a monkey-wrench into the “self-defense” defense), Muto takes a mistress to “help him get through the hard times” and the Kitagawas reorganize themselves around Ikegami (Shin’ichi Tsutsumi), the only survivor of the original attempt on Muto’s life.

At this same time, we meet The Fuck Bombers, a young trio of guerrilla filmmakers led by Hirata (Hiroki Hasegawa), their far-beyond-driven director/de facto leader. The group recruits Bruce Lee-enthusiast Sasaki (Tak Sakaguchi) into their ranks, in order to shoot the action epics that they so dearly love. While out filming, the Bombers run straight into Ikegami, who’s fleeing the Muto house in a state of very bloody disrepair: he lets them shoot some footage of him, because he’s “cool” and then makes his escape. As fate would have it, however, this isn’t the last time this little group will cross paths…not by a long shot.

10 years later, Shizue is ready to be released from prison and her husband wants to give her the best present possible: a movie starring their beloved daughter, Mitsuko (Fumi Nikaidô). Unfortunately, the surly Mitsuko hates acting and has run away, throwing the whole production into jeopardy. Muto dispatches his gang to track her down and return her to him: at the same time, Ikegami prepares his gang to take another shot at the Muto empire and the Fuck Bombers are experiencing a bit of crisis. It seems that Sasaki is sick and tired of talking about making movies: Hirata keeps promising that they’ll make the “film of a lifetime” but it’s always “tomorrow,” never today. After ten years of “tomorrows,” Sasaki throws in the towel and quits, in disgust, leaving the FBs without their “action star.”

All of these disparate groups come crashing together when the FBs end up getting recruited (in a very roundabout way) by Muto in order to finish his vanity project. With Mitsuko back on board (no matter how unwillingly) and Hirata and the others eager to begin their “ultimate movie,” the stage is now set for some filmmaking magic. But what to film? As someone cannily notes, the Mutos and Kitagawas are preparing for one more, epic, bloody battle: why not turn the camera inward and capture the carnage as it happens? From this point on, the dividing line between fantasy and reality is shattered: as Hirata and the Fuck Bombers “stage” the battle, real blood sprays, real limbs are hacked and real Yakuza members are serving as the crew. It’s the ultimate “snuff” movie, as Hirata and his crew gleefully film the chaos swirling around them, always one step ahead of the gun (and the blade). Who will survive, what will be left of them but, most importantly: will they get the shot they need?

As should be rather clear from the above description, there’s an awful lot of stuffing crammed into this particular sausage-skin, even for a film that comes out a little over the two-hour mark. Despite all of the disparate elements (there are actually even more subplots and strands running through this than I mentioned, including a love story for Mitsuko and Ikegami’s obsession with returning the Kitagawas to the feudal days of Japan’s distant past), however, the film never feels particularly jumbled, probably because the Fuck Bombers storyline serves as the glue that holds everything else together.

Despite the fact that it all fits, however, WDYPIH? never feels as cohesive as it could be: the various threads tend to connect on a visual/stylistic level but don’t cohere as well on a thematic level. Even worse, however, WDYPIH? never quite feels like it completely cuts loose: despite the rather phenomenal level of bloodshed, especially in the climax, the film is actually so good-natured and goofy as to be relatively low-stakes. This is an especially strange complaint when one considers how many people die in this: if the numbers are in the double digits, they might as well be in the triple digits. By the conclusion, however, it seems that everyone is alive and well, ready to begin the next adventure as if everyone had been reset, ala Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner. While this might have been some sort of commentary on the illusory aspect of film, it might also have stemmed from the desire to not “harsh our mellow,” so to speak. To be honest, I’m not really sure what the intention was: Sono sets up a pitch-black, nihilistic finale only to wrap it all up with a sunny, almost cartoonish bit and I was mildly confused, to say the least. Perhaps I missed something on the first go through but this particular quirk left me more than a little cold.

On a purely nuts-and-bolts level, WDYPIH? looks fantastic but the over-reliance on chintzy CGI effects, especially blood, really drags it all down a peg or two. When the effects work, such as in the blood surfing setpiece, it works fabulously. When the effects are poorly integrated and too obvious, ala much of the gore-drenched finale, it tended to pull me right out of the film. I can certainly understand the need to use CGI for many of the more outrageous effects (flying limbs, sword through the head, etc) but there are far too many points where an obviously CGI puddle of blood sticks out like a sore thumb. As someone who’s always been hot-and-cold on CGI effects, one of my all-time pet peeves is poorly done CGI blood: even ketchup would be more convincing, for Pete’s sake!

Ultimately, Why Don’t You Play in Hell? was a film that I really wanted to love but I could never quite clear the hurdles to get to that point. The film is never boring and when it’s good, it can be mind-rattlingly good: the blurring of real fighting and filmed choreography, in the climax, is pretty damn genius and there are plenty of genuinely funny cracks about independent filmmaking peppered throughout the script. Some of the fight sequences are also fairly jaw-dropping: the scene where Mitsuko spins around and decapitates an entire room full of assailants is exactly as cool as it sounds. Fumi Nikaidô is actually kind of great as the grown-up Mitsuko (the bit with her and the “broken glass kiss” is pretty amazing) and Tak Sakaguchi was a real hoot as Sasaki (he even kind of looked like Bruce Lee, at times, which was a neat trick) but too many of the other characters come and go without making much impact.

There’s definitely a lot to absorb here and I’ll admit to being a real sucker for the film’s discussion about the glory days of 35mm film: they’re preaching to the choir but I still appreciate the sentiment. At the end of the day, however, Why Don’t You Play in Hell?, despite a fairly unique angle and some outrageous ideas, never really seems like it comes into its own: neither as shocking as it probably means to be nor as emotionally resonate, Sono’s film kind of sits in a neutral zone, cooling its heels while much better (and much worse) films wage war around it. The middle-ground is always the safest place to be, but it’s not always the most interesting. While Shion Sono’s Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is a good enough film, I can’t help but wonder if it would have been more fun as a spectacular failure.

6/8/14 (Part One): Where is Mothra’s Power of Attorney?

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1960's films, Akira Kubo, Akira Takarada, alternate title, astronauts, auteur theory, cinema, Emi Ito, fighting monsters, Film auteurs, film franchise, film reviews, films, Ghidorah, giant monsters, giant moth, Godzilla, Godzilla film, Godzilla films, Godzilla vs Monster Zero, Godzilla vs Mothra, Godzilla vs The Thing, Hiroshi Koizumi, Invasion of Astro Monster, Ishiro Honda, Japan, Japanese cinema, Jun Tazaki, Kenji Sahara, Kumi Mizuno, Mario Bava, monster movies, Monster Zero, Mothra, Mothra Island, Movies, Nick Adams, nuclear radiation, Planet of the Vampires, Planet X, Rodan, sci-fi, science-fiction, taking over the world, tropical islands, Yoshifumi Tajima, Yoshio Tsuchiya, Yu Fujiki, Yumi Ito, Yuriko Hoshi

While I’ve never been as big a fan of him as I am of King Kong or the Kraken, I’ve always enjoyed Godzilla films over the years. While the Toho Godzilla films tended to range in quality and focus over the years (at least as far as I’m concerned), there are a few that have managed to stake out their individual claims on my movie-loving heart. In particular, I’ve always been fond of Godzilla vs Mothra (1964), which features a fairly nutso storyline that manages to ape King Kong (1933) in more ways than one and Godzilla vs Monster Zero (1965), an even battier film that welds Planet of the Vampires (1965)-era Mario Bava to more traditional American ’50s sci-fi. Even though neither film is what I would call amazing, I’ve spent countless rainy afternoons watching them, over the years, and never cease to be entertained.

Godzilla vs Mothra (alt title: Godzilla vs the Thing) bears the benefit of featuring one of Godzilla’s more infamous opponents: the enormous, titular moth. Mothra leaves the relative comforts of its island (Mothra Island) where it’s worshipped like a god (probably because it has an island named after it) and travels to mainland Japan in order to retrieve one of its missing eggs. A recent typhoon (featuring some genuinely cool storm effects) ripped the egg away from the island, depositing it onto the shore where reporter Ichiro Sakai (Akira Takarada) and photographer Yoka Nakanishi (Yuriko Hoshi) just happen to be covering some storm-related flooding. The greedy locals quickly sell the massive egg to a local entrepeneur, Kumayama (Yoshifumi Tajima), who conspires to build a large amusement park around the egg and charge exorbitant admission prices. Kumayama is working hand-in-hand with Banzo Torahata (Kenji Sahara), an even shadier land developer. The twin fairies Shobijin (Emi and Yumi Ito) show up to try to convince the developers to do the right thing and give Mothra Island back their egg but are nearly captured for their troubles. When Sakai, Nakanishi and their new ally, Professor Miura (Hiroshi Koizumi), try to help the fairies appeal to the villains, they are met with the classic request to “provide Mothra’s power of attorney for the egg.” Looks like this is about to go…to the People’s Court.

This wouldn’t be a Godzilla film without the big green guy, however, and it seems that the rampaging typhoon also disturbed his resting place. In short order, Godzilla is stomping about Tokyo, destroying things left and right and generally making a colossal pain in the ass out of himself. When all attempts to subdue/kill/get Godzilla’s attention, someone has the bright idea to see if Mothra might be able to help. As can be expected, however, the folks of Mothra Island are a little bit peeved at the mainlanders and don’t see much reason to lend them their all-powerful moth god. Will Sakai and the Professor be able to convince the people of Mothra Island to give them another chance, even though they’re selfish jerks? Will the aging Mothra be able to summon enough fury to kick the crap out of the big radioactive lizard one last time? Will Reporter Jiro Nakamura (Yu Fujiki) be able to stop eating eggs long enough to cover any of this unfolding chaos?

As previously mentioned, the basic plot and several additional elements of Godzilla vs Mothra definitely owe a debt to King Kong. Mothra Island is similar to the primitive Kong Island, complete with natives doing mysterious rituals, while the “captive egg” and surrounding media circus aspect are pretty easy to peg. Mothra Island is a pretty great location, to be honest, full of strange bleached bones, hypnotic chanting and tropical beauty. It makes a nice contrast to the mainland locations and provides for some nice contrast between the more primitive islanders and the modernized city folks, especially the brash young reporter. The scene where the fairies sing the song to Mothra is hauntingly beautiful, evoking a smoky, mysterious atmosphere that would seem to be at home in either a dark night club or a giant moth’s place of residence.

There are also plenty of genuinely funny moments sprinkled throughout the film, whether the ongoing joke of Jiro’s constant egg eating (this never got old for me) or the His Girl Friday (1940)-esque banter between Sakai and Nakanishi. I also like the surprisingly dark edge that Kenji Sahara brings to the proceedings as the genuinely dangerous Torahata: he doesn’t come across as goofy which provides a nice counterbalance to Tajima’s more bafoonish performance as Kumayama. The rest of the cast is pretty good, with Takarada proving a capable hero and director Ishiro Honda’s direction is typically assured throughout. If I had any complaints, really, it would have to be that the climatic battle between Godzilla and the larvae gets to be kind of tedious: it seems like we watch them spray silk on Godzilla for at least a few weeks, if not longer, and this gives the otherwise kinetic film a rather deflated ending.  Nonetheless, there’s a reason that Godzilla vs Mothra tends to be one of the most widely recognized and liked Godzilla films: it’s a fast, fun romp that’s light on big concepts but heavy on well-filmed destruction.

On the other end of the spectrum from Godzilla vs Mothra, we have Godzilla vs Monster Zero. Here, the P.T. Barnum influence from the first has been replaced by a more daffy, 1960’s swingin’-cocktail kind of sci-fi, the kind perfectly exemplified by Mario Bava’s pioneering Planet of the Vampires. The emphasis here is on strange alien worlds, as the Earth makes contact with a mysterious planet dubbed Planet X. Heroic astronauts Glenn (Nick Adams) and Fuji (Godzilla vs Mothra’s Akira Takarada) are the first earthlings to make contact with the Xers and they find the aliens to be cordial, technologically advanced and in need of a bit of help. It seems that the tyrannical, three-headed dragon Ghidorah (known as Monster Zero to the Xers) rules the surface of their planet, forcing the Xers to live underground. If the humans will be so kind as to lend the Xers Godzilla and Rodan, they’ll be able to use the monsters (known to them as Monsters One and Two) to chase Monster Zero away, allowing them to reclaim the surface. In exchange, the Xers will give Earth a formula for a medicine that will cure all know ailments. Too good to be true, eh?

The plot thickens as nerdy inventor Tetsuo Teri (Akira Kubo), who just happens to be dating astronaut Fuji’s sister, Haruno (Keiko Sawai), runs into some strangeness with the noise-emitting device that he just sold to an educational toy company. The company rep, Miss Namikawa (Kumi Mizuno), seems to be stonewalling Tetsuo: she’s also dating Glenn, which makes everyone’s private lives as intricately intertwined as an Escher drawing. When Glenn and Fuji see the supposedly benevolent Controller of Planet X (Yoshio Tsuchiya) on Earth, they begin to think things are a little fishy. And they are, of course, although no one realizes this until Godzilla and Rodan have already been sent to Planet X, where the Controller turns around and threatens Earth with the combined might of Monsters Zero, One and Two. If Earth doesn’t agree to become a colony of Planet X, the whole place will be destroyed by the radio-wave-controlled monsters. It’s up to Glenn, Fuji and Tetsuo to figure out a way to thwart the Xers and save the people of Earth from three very pissed-off monsters.

As a huge fan of Mario Bava (Planet of the Vampires is easily one of my favorite sci-fi films), I absolutely love the “Bava-lite” atmosphere that can be found all over Godzilla vs Monster Zero. From the coolly retro space-suits and electronics to the vivid glowing elevators that bring people to the surface of Planet X, the film is a marvel of set design and is pure eye-candy from beginning to end. Toss in some pretty great monster designs (in particular, Ghidorah looks absolutely terrifying during his initial appearance) and you have what definitely has to be one of the best-looking Godzilla films. As with Godzilla vs Mothra, the performances are universally solid, although they tend to be a bit pulpier and hammier than the previous film (in particular, Glenn is a real jewel, prone to plenty of great lines like “You rats! You dirty, stinking rats!”). Takarada turns in another self-assured lead performance, although his Fuji is an even bigger shithead than Sakai was.

The colonialism subplot is an interesting one, especially during the scene where the people of Earth begin to choose sides: pro-X or anti-X. Rather than being buried in the subtext, the colonialism aspect is pushed right to the forefront, making this a film that’s as much about overcoming an oppressive outside force as it is about subduing Godzilla. In fact, Godzilla and Rodan (incidental damages notwithstanding) definitely function more as anti-heroes than straight-up bad guys, with the denizens of Planet X taking the “black hat” role. It’s another interesting aspect of the film that seems to distance it from other Godzilla films a bit, making it seem a little more “mature” even as the sci-fi aspects become more outlandish and pronounced. As with Godzilla vs Mothra, Ishiro Honda’s direction is self-assured and there are several standout moments: in particular, the scene where Godzilla and Rodan are raised from their respective watery resting places is quite a sight to behold.

As with Godzilla vs Mothra, there are minor quibbles to be found throughout the film. Some of the stereotypical ’50s sci-fi stuff can get more than a little cheesy, for example, and Godzilla had an unfortunate tendency to do a “Super Bowl Shuffle”-type endzone dance whenever he was victorious that positively drove me up the wall. That being said, Godzilla vs Monster Zero is a fun, fairly unique and reasonably exciting entry in the Godzilla canon. For the hell of it, put this on a double-bill with Bava’s Planet of the Vampires sometime and tell me there’s not some kind of weird synergy going on there.

1/16/14: Hidden in Plain Sight

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action-comedies, Akira Kurosawa, character dramas, cinema, classic movies, epic films, Film, Film auteurs, George Lucas, historical dramas, Japanese cinema, John Ford, Movies, samurai films, Star Wars, The Hidden Fortress, Toshiro Mifune

As a rule, I like to watch as many films as possible, wherever possible. If there’s even a possibility of shoehorning yet another film into the day’s viewing, then in it goes. Sometimes, however, I like to take the time to slow down and really savor a film. It doesn’t mean that I watch it in slo-mo (although I have done this, from time to time): rather, it means that I like to allow for plenty of time before and after my screening, a buffer zone that allows me to really think about a film, if I’m so inclined. Last Thursday, I decided to devote the entire evening to a film that surely deserves no less: Akira Kurosawa’s The Hidden Fortress. While this isn’t my favorite Kurosawa film, I’d gladly watch it every day for a week, if the mood struck.

There are few directors, from any era of film, that I respect and admire as much as Kurosawa. Like many cinephiles (although you may be different), my first exposure to Kurosawa came with the peerless Seven Samurai, followed very closely by Rashomon, Yojimbo, Sanjuro, Throne of Blood and Kagemusha. Over the years, I’ve managed to see just about every film the master ever made, many multiple times. As a film fan, I like to keep moving forward yet must always have one foot firmly in the past. Kurosawa has been just such a bridge for the majority of my adult life.

What’s so special about Kurosawa? There’s a beauty and elegance to his films that’s virtually unmatched by anyone else in the business. He managed to bridge Japan’s past with its future, all the way up to his final film in 1993. He was the very definition of an auteur, a filmmaker whose vision was so powerful and singular as to practically define an entire generation of filmmaking. Any discussion of the greatest filmmakers in history would be worthless without featuring Kurosawa front and center. After all, what other foreign filmmaker has become so ensconced in the mind of the American viewer that he inspired not only The Magnificent Seven but Star Wars, as well?

Like most of Kurosawa’s samurai films, The Hidden Fortress is epic in scope but intimate in execution. In a nutshell, the film concerns the adventures/misadventures of Tahei and Matashichi, a pair of bickering, greedy, co-dependent peasants in feudal Japan. Due to a combination of bad luck, bad timing and bad attitudes, the two have found themselves on the run and penniless. They end up falling in with a mysterious, stoic swordsman and his young female charge, a couple that sound suspiciously similar to the princess and general that are currently on the run from the ruling Yamana clan. Despite their suspicions as to their true identities, the peasants agree to lead the two out of Yamana and into the (relative) safety of neighboring Hayakawa. They’ve been promised gold but they also have their eye on the reward being offered for the return of the princess. Will the princess and general make it to safety? Will the Akizuki clan ever be restored to their former glory? Will anything ever go right for Tahei and Matashichi?

As mentioned earlier, The Hidden Fortress is epic in scope (a huge, rollicking samurai adventure full of big fights, lush locations and glorious wide-shots), yet manages to hone in on a pretty specific, microscopic view of the action. At the beginning, we focus on the two peasants, despite the hustle and bustle around them. Shortly after, the swordsman (played by the always amazing Toshiro Mifune) is added and our duo becomes a trio. After that, we add Princess Yuki and our intimate trio has now become a quartet. Kurosawa paces his film in such a way that these additions are subtle: by the time we’ve become used to Tahei and Matashichi, Kurosawa has already introduced General Makabe, a pattern which will be repeated with Princess Yuki later on. This gradual introduction of characters is much more organic and natural than the usual “Ocean’s 11” approach to character building (introduce twelve characters at once and let ’em fight it out for supremacy, cage-match-style), an approach which necessitates a shotgun rather than a sniper rifle.

There’s also a truly wonderful and subversive sense of humor underlying the proceedings. Whether it’s the hang-dog bickering of the peasants or Makabe’s gleefully wry observations on life, The Hidden Fortress is no glum exercise in history-book actualization. Rather, this is a vibrant, alive and kinetic film, one that sees no danger in following up a spectacular sword-fight with a silly pratfall. In any other hands, this blending of styles would come across as a little ham-fisted (if you think you can name several good action-comedies, try naming all of the bad ones that come to mind: I bet I can tell which hand filled up faster.) Not only does Kurosawa make this work, however, he makes it work so invisibly as to be almost subliminal.

Like all Kurosawa films, there are lots of big themes running around in here: loyalty; honor; service vs personal gain; classism; the death knell of the feudal era; state vs self. More so than many of his films, The Hidden Fortress is very much indebted to the John Ford-era of the classic Hollywood Western: look at all of those wide-open vistas, check out how the hidden fortress of the title could almost be an abandoned cliff-dwelling and dig how Toshiro Mifune is just one upturned sneer away from being the perfect synthesis of Eastwood and van Cleef. Seven Samurai may be the one that always gets compared to the classic oaters but The Hidden Fortress definitely deserves to be part of that conversation.

As far as big, memorable set-pieces go, The Hidden Fortress has them and then some: General Makabe’s thrilling pursuit of Yamana soldiers right into the Yamana garrison; his spear fight with the enemy general; the prisoner revolt from the Yamana castle (one of my favorite scenes ever); Princess Yuki rebuffing the two peasants with every branch and tree limb in the forest; Tahei and Matashichi pantomiming bringing the horses to drink; Makabe’s wonderful ruse involving the Yamana and the Akizuki gold…they’re all here, along with another bakers’ dozen of equally memorable moments.

There are also some quieter, more evocative moments that are equally powerful. My two personal favorites would be the part where Princess Yuki decides to buy the Akizuki refugee and the conflict between Makabe and the enemy general. This conflict, in general, illustrates a very important aspect of Kurosawa’s filmmaking: the disparity between doing the honorable thing and doing what it is ordered. Despite being on opposite sides of the battle, the generals have nothing but respect for each other and their abilities: this marks a nice change of pace from the usual good guy/bad guy dynamic. I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention the Fire Festival segment, featuring one of the single most haunting songs I’ve ever heard. This part is beautiful, a bracing reminder that very few filmmakers could compose a shot and set the atmosphere in quite the way that Kurosawa could.

As an added bonus, the Criterion Edition of The Hidden Fortress features a short but worthwhile interview with George Lucas, wherein he explains the importance of Kurosawa, in general, and The Hidden Fortress, in specific, on his career. I’ve never been the biggest Lucas fan, to be honest, finding the gentleman to be somewhat of a pretentious twit. The interview is quite down-to-earth and informative, however, and I found myself warming to Lucas by the end. I still don’t really care for the guy but it’s hard to dislike someone who appears to enjoy Kurosawa films as much as I do.

And, yes, it’s true: when I squint my eyes, Tahei and Matashichi do kind of look like C-3PO and R2-D2.