My goal: to see 100 movies in 2004
Return
to Michael K. Bourdaghs homepage
Final
Statistics for 2004:
Movies
seen: 115 (15 over goal, which was
enough to bring my two-year total for 2003 and 2004 to 201 titles)
Movies
seen in theatrical venues: 26 (Goal was
24)
Japanese
movies seen: 45 (Goal was 30)
Other
Asian movies seen: 16 (Goal was10)
European
movies seen: 4 (Goal was10)
“Other”
movies seen: 1 (Goal was 10)
The
list of movies I have seen so far in 2005 is available here. The list of movies
I saw in 2003 is available here.
115). Shaolin Soccer (Siulam Chukkau; Hong Kong, 2001; dir. Stephen Chiau [Chow]). Absolutely brilliant—a mindboggling kung fu comedy. One of the best films I’ve seen in years, and a great way to bring my movie-viewing for 2004 to a close. (12/30/04 on rental DVD).
114). On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969; dir. Peter Hunt). This entry in the 007 series is a bit off-putting. It’s not just that an actor you’ve never seen anywhere else suddenly becomes Bond—and Moneypenny, Q, and everyone else acts as if nothing has changed. There are also the odd 1960s’ avant garde visual touches—jump cuts and strikingly arranged shots. The ski sequences are quite spectacular, however, and the ending is affecting in a manner quite unusual for a Bond film. (12/30/04 on rental DVD).
113). A Beautiful Mind (2001; dir. Ron Howard). Very well done story of the life of an intellectual, with just the right balance between thought and emotion. The performances by the actors portraying the delusional fantasy characters are especially strong, so that the fantasy side of John Nash’s schizophrenic world seems more real than the real world. Ron Howard’s best film, by far. (12/19/04 on rental DVD).
112). A Goofy Movie (1995; dir. Kevin Lima). It’s kinda interesting to see the way Disney has tried to update this character, who was never all that well defined to begin with. Well, kinda interesting. (12/19/04 on rental DVD).
111). Tenshi no kôkotsu (Ecstasy of the Angels, 1972; dir. Wakamatsu Kôji). Avant garde exploitation film from the early 1970s, a good deal of sex and violence (though the violence seems quite tame in comparison to the Miike Takashi film I just watched) in a murky story about underground leftwing revolutionary movements in Japan and their internecine struggles. Some fairly typical experimentation with visual style (switching back and forth, for example, between color and black-and-white), and some dark music—including shots of a nightclub singer and a free jazz band in performance—that match the funereal tone of the story. (12/18/04 on rental DVD).
110). Koroshiya Ichi (Ichi the Killer, 2001; dir. Miike Takashi). Who but Miike could put together this intensely intelligent splatter film? Carrying on the yakuza film lineage, this one contains allusions to Kurosawa’s Nora Inu (Stray Dog), Wong Kar-Wai’s Chungking Express, and who knows what else. It takes sadistic violence to such an extreme that it is often hysterically funny (e.g., when one of the main characters cuts out his own tongue in atonement, and then immediately takes a phone call, which of course he has to mumble his way through) even as it is extremely discomfiting. Remarkable visual sense, editing, and use of music. (12/13/04 on rental DVD).
109). Hijôsen no onna (Dragnet Girl; 1933; dir. Ozu Yasujirô). I saw the first half of this a couple of weeks back and was too tired to stick it out then—but I also knew that I had to see it in its entirety. An amazing silent gangster film that is about, among other things, music: will the hero-gangster end up with the good girl, go straight and learn to listen to classical music, or will he stay with the bad “modern girl” (played by an impossibly young and quite sexy Tanaka Kinuyo), keep on hanging out at dancehalls and listening to evil jazz? The climax, in which the bad girl turns out to have a heart of gold and shoots the hero in order to save him, is quite striking. Tremendous visuals throughout the film, not surprisingly. (12/1/04 on rental VHS).
108). Zatôichi (2003; dir. Kitano Takeshi). Quite good, this—as good or better than the strongest films in the original Zatôichi series from the mid-1960s. The use of music and dance throughout to suggest the rhythms of commoner life was a brilliant touch, and in the blind masseuse/swordsman hero, Beat Takeshi at last finds the perfect role for his style of tongue-in-cheek underacting. The fighting sequences are a bit disappointing—lots of blood but little choreography. But I guess the choreography was applied elsewhere in the film. (11/27/04 on rental DVD).
107). Thunderball (1965; dir. Terence Young). Here’s where the series starts to become a formula, I think—a very pleasing one, yes, but all formulae come with costs. This is also the one where the shark tank, a prime James Bond fetish, makes its first appearance. (11/27/04 on Spike network broadcast).
106). The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie (2004; dir. Stephen Hillenburg). Sweet and silly, and visually pleasing. If they paid as much attention to the nasty characters (Squidworth, Plankton, etc.) as they did to the nice characters (SpongeBob, Patrick), they might even approach the Marx Brothers’ level of inspired lunacy. (11/26/04 at North Hollywood Century 8 Theater).
105). Goldfinger (1964; dir. Guy Hamilton). No. 3 in the Bond series, and all the set pieces for the series are in place here—including the big shoot-‘em-up finale with James trying to defuse a bomb before the timer counts down to zero. Ethnic stereotypes come forward more prominently here, as well. And the gadgets step forward, as well. (11/23/04 on rental DVD).
104). Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004; dir. Michel Gondry). More weird Nietzschean threads in my film viewing these days (see #102 below); this is just terrific. And another fine Jon Brion soundtrack. (11/21/04 on rental DVD).
103). From Russia With Love (1963; dir. Terence Young). The second Bond film, and quite entertaining of course. More of the elements one expects in a Bond film are in place now—the theme music, Q, etc. But while there is action galore, it’s interesting to see that the film is not centered on it; rather than building itself around violent spectacle, this one seems built mainly around its interesting human characters. (11/20/04 on rental DVD).
102). The Incredibles (2004; dir. Brad Bird). I was expecting a comedy; what I got was an action film. It’s good, though not quite as good as the last several Pixar Studio films. The animation is generally superb, though there are sequences when suddenly it looks like you are trapped inside a computer game. And there is this weird Nietzschean thread about the fate of the Superman in modern day society running through the thing that I still haven’t figured out. (11/19/04 at the Sherman Oaks 5 Theater).
101). Punch Drunk Love (2002; dir. Paul Thomas Anderson). A lovely, quirky film, set up here in the wilds of the San Fernando Valley. Adam Sandler plays his first serious role—okay, it’s a comic role, but it actually has philosophical complexity—an exploration of the violence that lurks just below the surface in so much of modern society (not least in our comedy). Visually wonderful, with splashes of color intervening at key intervals in the otherwise sun-bleached landscape. A terrific soundtrack, too, by Jon Brion—who also did the soundtrack for Magnolia, Anderson’s last film. (11/16/04 on rental DVD).
100). Hogaraka ni ayume (Walk Cheerfully, 1930; dir. Ozu Yasujirô). Fine gangster film—I’m still trying to get my mind around the idea that Ozu directed gangster films in the prewar silent era. Some remarkable and often playful shots in this story of a gangster who falls in love with an honest girl and tries to go straight. I also watched the first half of Hijôsen no onna (Dragnet Girl, 1933), an even more striking Ozu gangster film—a silent film that in many ways is, improbably, built around music. Too bad I got too sleepy to watch the last half. (11/14/04 at UCLA Bridges Theater).
99). Dekigokoro (Passing Fancy; 1933; dir. Ozu Yasujirô). Comic melodrama about a boy and his ne’er-do-well widower father in the gritty working class realm of Tokyo in the 1930s. Another fine Ozu silent film, with some really striking images: the scene where the father slaps the son repeatedly, whereupon the son slaps the father back—only to break down into tears—is remarkable. #1 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1933. (11/6/04 at UCLA Bridges Theater).
98). Umarete wa mita keredo (I was Born But….; 1932; dir. Ozu Yasujirô). Amazingly good silent film. Ozu captures what it must have been like to grow up in the newly expanding suburbs of Tokyo in the 1920s and 30s, with streetcars and trains the defining feature of the landscape. Two brothers move into the neighborhood and spend the first half of the film in often hilarious attempts to find their place in the neighborhood pack of kids; in the second half, their newly constructed understanding of the world collapses when they catch a glimpse of their father’s true social position. (11/6/04 at UCLA Bridges Theater).
97). Sennen Joyu (Millenium Actress ; 2001; dir. Kon Satoshi). An amazing anime, a sophisticated and entertaining film. The history of Japan (and of the Japanese film industry) laid out as a series of repetitions, all driven by a curse and an obsession. Wonderful visual sense throughout—look, for instance, at how pieces of wood in the background are drawn in, with full texture. Astonishingly good. (10/31/04 on rental DVD).
96). Dr. No (1963; dir. Terence Young). The first step in a joint project with my son to see all the James Bond movies in order. It’s fun to see this one, the first in the series, when all of the patterns and clichés that would come to define 007 are not yet firmly in place. Ursula Andress makes a fine first Bond Girl, too. Good proto-ska and calypso music on the soundtrack, as well. (10/30/04 on rental DVD).
95). Mr. Moto’s Last Warning (1939; dir. Norman Foster). The first of the “Mr. Moto” series I’ve ever seen. Kind of ho-hum, but interesting to see how Hollywood handled the idea of an intelligent and trustworthy Japanese detective in 1939. Some nifty underwater photography, too, as evil secret agents plot to mine the entrance to the Suez Canal to sink French ships while blaming Britain—thereby setting off a war between those two allies. It’s is never revealed what third government these agents work for; the secret is revealed to Mr. Moto in the last frame of the film. His eyebrows rise in surprise, but the audience never learns the secret. Hmmmm. (10/29/04 on television).
94). Jisatsu Sâkuru (Suicide Club; 2002; dir. Sono Shion). I loved this film. It is at times almost unbearably gruesome, at other times side-splittingly funny (and sometimes both at the same time). It takes the nihilism and banal self-hatred that is always implicit in commodity culture (if things really go better with Coke, what does that tell us about ourselves as human beings?) and transforms it into an explicit plotline, where hundreds of teenagers in Japan “get” the message of self-destruction that is embedded in mindless pop songs, tv shows, etc. (10/28/04 on rental DVD).
93). Charlotte’s Web (1973; dir. Charles A. Nichols and Iwao Takamoto). Almost sacreligious, this. Hanna-Barbara takes one of the most imaginative modern novels for children and hacks away at it until it looks as undistinguished as any of their television animation series from the 1960s and 70s. A careless waste that lacks any creativity down to the smallest details—the quick fades between scenes that look more like transitions to commercial breaks than anything else, the witless drawing of characters, etc. (10/19/04 on rental DVD).
92). Super Size Me (2003; dir. Morgan Spurlock). An effective documentary that retroactively makes me rethink my reaction to Fahrenheit 9/11—because this one works, even though it clearly has almost all of the answers in hand from the start. It works because it’s the product of a personal obsession on the part of the director, I think. Not much in the way of visual or audio interest, but a workable piece of agitprop. (10/15/04 on rental DVD)
91). Only the Strong Survive (2002; dir. Chris Hegedus and D.A. Pennebaker). A documentary about 1960s and 70s’ soul music, especially the Memphis variety thereof, it’s kind of a mess, without much structure or logic to its selection of artists. But it captures some lovely moments—Rufus Thomas’ radio show and his duets with his daughter Carla, Isaac Hayes in all of his coolness, and—best of all—Sam Moore (of Sam and Dave fame) delivering a drop-dead-gorgeous rendering of “When Something Is Wrong With My Baby.” (10/14/05 on rental DVD).
90). Ice Age (2002; dir. Chris Wedge and Carlos Saldanha). An appealing animated film, nothing too surprising, but competent and a nice positive message. (10/10/04 on rental DVD).
89). Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004; dir. Michael Moore). Quite good, but I don’t think it’s as good as Roger & Me or Bowling for Columbine. In those earlier films, part of the fascination was that you felt you were delving into the issues at hand together with Moore—that he didn’t have the answers from the start and that you were accompanying him on a journey of discovery. In this one, though, you feel like he comes into the film with all of the answers in hand already. It’s still a striking piece of work with much horrifying footage and Moore’s usual sharp editing. (10/9/04 on rental DVD).
88). Good Bye Lenin! (German; 2002; dir. Wolfgang Becker). A lovely film about a young man who labors to hide the collapse of East Germany from his dying mother—one of the last true believers in the old socialist regime. It’s one of the best meditations I’ve seen about historical memory and about how our personal lives get bound up with massive political events, all done with a deft hand, a sometimes wicked sense of humor, and genuine affection for all of the characters. (10/8/04 on rental DVD).
87). Ashes of Time (Dongxie Xidu; 1994; dir. Wong Kar-Wai). A stunning, sophisticated and ultimately heartbreaking film—a martial arts film with philosophical complexity, if that’s not a contradiction in terms. I had to watch it twice to put all of the scattered pieces together (I think you have to watch all of Wong Kar-Wai’s films at least twice to get anything out of them), and now I can’t wait to see it a third time. Visually stunning, and with a message that kicks you in the heart. (10/2/04 on rental DVD).
86). Our Hospitality (1923; dir. Buster Keaton and John G. Blystone). Watching this again now, I was struck by a similarity it bears with a number of recent anime films I’ve seen—for example, Castle in the Sky and Steamboy. To wit: a remarkable fondness for archaic technologies (here, the fantastic steam-engine train that seems lighter than foam) and especially for the dreams that they evoked. The final stunt sequence in which Buster leaps out to catch a girl going over a waterfall is still astonishing (and becomes even more so when you learn that Keaton was nearly killed filming it). (10/2/04 on rental DVD).
85). Kill Bill, Vol. 2 (2004, dir. Quentin Tarantino). A terrific script, full of wonderful lines and unexpected lines of development, and genuine tender loving care applied to all of the gestures and devices of Asian action cinema. I think I liked Vol. 1 a tad better, but this is first rate. (9/25/04 on rental DVD).
84). Home on the Range (2004; dir. Will Finn and John Sandford). A Disney animation where somehow the appealing parts add up to less than you’d expect. Maybe the characters weren’t engaging enough? I dunno. Our 8-year-old liked it quite a bit, but I was less impressed. (9/24/04 on rental DVD).
83). What About Bob? (1991; dir. Frank Oz). Amusing comedy in the familiar the-psychiatrist-is-crazier-than-his-patient genre. Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss play their usual characters to good effect, and Frank Oz directs with his usual efficiency. (9/19/04 on rental DVD)
82). Tenkuû no Shiro Rapyuta (Castle in the Sky; 1986; dir. Miyazaki Hayao). Miyazaki’s first feature-length anime, and one of his best. Wonderful characters (pirates, orphans, power-hungry functionaries, etc.), inspired images of various kinds of flying airships, and a complex message that never overwhelms the exciting story. Thomas LaMarre has a terrific article on this, “From Animation To Anime: Drawing Movements And Moving Drawings,” published in the September, 2002 issue of Japan Forum, in which he connects the form of visual imagery constructed in anime (and in this film in particular) to the themes that provide the storyline here: floating, technology, ecology. (9/18/04 on rental DVD)
81). Onmyôji (Onmyoji: The Yin-Yang Master; 2001; dir. Takita Yôjirô). Pure hokum, Power Rangers for grown-ups. The tale of a battle between two practitioners of yin-yang occult arts back in Heian Japan, with all sorts of cheesy special effects. Luckily, it doesn’t take itself too seriously; otherwise, it would be just unbearable. (9/14/04 on rental DVD)
80). Garden State (2004; dir. Zach Braff). A fine little coming-of-age romantic comedy. Like all films in the genre, it shows not the way we really stumble into adulthood, but rather the way we wish we had achieved that step. Lovely characters, good soundtrack (which reminded me repeatedly of The Graduate—and then a real Simon and Garfunkle song shows up!), nice cinematography throughout (effective use of both a crane shot and its opposite, a shot from a camera placed in an abyss), terrific sight gags, etc. (9/14/04 at the Mann Westwood Village Theater, one of my favorite places to watch films: a huge screen, terrific staff, and a perfectly maintained “movie palace” lobby).
79). Wattstax (1972; dir. Mel Stuart). I’d never seen this before—wonder what took me so long? It’s really quite striking, full of remarkable interviews, images, performances. The highlight for me was watching the great Rufus Thomas control the crowd solely through his wit and rhetoric. And of course it’s wonderful to see Isaac Hayes in his prime—introduced by an impossibly young Jesse Jackson. The Staples Singers are terrific, as well. And the fashions brought me right back to my own junior high school years—wow, did we really wear things like that? (9/11/04 on television)
78). Brother Bear (2003; dir. Aaron Blaise and Bob Walker). Run-of-the-mill Disney animated feature. Some nice bits and a wholesome message (I mean that without any irony: much popular culture these days makes it quite difficult to be the parent of an eight-year-old). The songs are forgettable, but not offensive, and the overall message is clear: we are all the same. (9/10/04 on rental DVD)
77). Napoleon Dynamite (2004; dir. Jared Hess). The film reminds me of David Letterman (who I actually like) at his worst: when he gets us laughing at oddballs in order to make us feel secure that we are not oddballs. The film gets its character types down fairly well, and there are some funny bits, but you never really get to like the characters, even though you very much want to. Their minor triumphs at the end are charming, but don’t make up for all of the cruelties they have endured along the way—cruelties that made many in the audience where I watched the film laugh. I guess I don’t see the humor in watching a nerd get slammed into his locker; maybe I’m just an oddball…. (9/6/04 at the Pacific Sherman Oaks 5 Theater)
76). Akai hashi no shita no nurui mizu (Warm Water Under a Red Bridge; 2001; dir. Imamura Shōhei). A fun, naughty little film by Imamura, in which all of his usual themes (the social underclass, the grotesque body, indestructible women, etc.) are present, but with tongue firmly in cheek, as he explores the ‘mysteries’ of female ejaculation. A remarkable cast gives strong performances, beautiful camerawork and shot construction throughout, and a bouncy little soundtrack that keeps things moving along. The film sort of falls apart in the last half hour or so, as a creaky plot starts to take over, but then hits a genuine laugh-out-loud final shot. A minor film, but would that all films could be as lively. (9/5/04 on rental DVD)
75). Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002; dir. Kelly Asbury and Lorna Cook). Surprisingly good animated film—some spectacular visuals, a sly sense of humor, and a strong narrative about a wild horse who refuses to be broken in the days of the Wild West. Even the soundtrack works. There’s a definite political subtext at work about the destruction of nature with the arrival of the white settlers and their ideas about private property and mastery over nature. (9/5/04 on rental DVD)
74). At The Circus (1939; dir. Edward Buzzell). I saw this a few decades ago and had fond memories of it: people said it was one of the Marx Brothers’ weaker films, but I found much to enjoy. Watching it again now, I agree with the people. It has some terrific bits in it: Groucho singing “Lydia the Tattooed Lady,” Harpo riding an ostrich, etc. But overall it’s a bit of a dud. The plot and supporting players are weaker than usual, though at least Margaret Dumont makes a brief appearance. (9/4/04 on rental DVD)
73). Garfield: The Movie (2004; dir. Peter Hewitt). The animation is terrific—and if, like our eight-year-old, you think animated sequences of a cat pretending to be James Brown are pretty funny, then maybe that’s enough. Everything else is pretty unimaginative, though. This would have been a disappointing movie if I had gone in with any sort of expectation of being entertained. (8/26/04 at the Roseville Theater in Saint Paul, Minnesota).
72). Tokyo Godfathers (2003; dir. Kon Satoshi). This anime gets the look and feel of contemporary Tokyo just right—the subdued colors, the cluttered landscape, the surging energy (some of it distinctly negative). The story of three homeless people who discover an abandoned baby in Shinjuku on Christmas Eve, it is an anime with social conscience—unlike the vast majority of films in the genre, who find in social contradictions only another excuse for blowing everything up. (8/13/04 on rental DVD)
71). Chaos (1999; dir. Nakata Hideo). A fascinating whodunit, with more plot twists and turns than the viewer can keep up with. It starts to fall apart at the end, but up until then very well done—suspenseful, sexy, intelligent. A wealthy businessman’s wife is kidnapped—or is she? Did she arrange the kidnapping herself? Or was her husband behind it all? The film respects the viewer’s intelligence, which is to say, it isn’t afraid to use flashbacks, delayed-reaction clues, etc., without trumpeting them in advance: you are forced constantly to think about what is happening now, how it relates to what happened earlier, etc. Nice visual sense throughout, and a tidy soundtrack too. (8/11/04 on rental DVD)
70). E.T. (1982; dir. Steven Spielberg). Watched it with Sonia—her first time to see it; we both ended up sniffling away near the end. What struck me this time about it is how much it resembles A.I., Spielberg’s 2001 fable that is definitely NOT for children (unless you want to implant horrific fears about abandonment in your children’s psyches). I’m one of the rare defenders of the latter, which I think is a masterpiece—flawed, but nonetheless a masterpiece. (8/11/04 on a VHS we bought used at a garage sale a few years ago)
69). Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003; dir. Peter Jackson). Sheer entertainment, it carries you effortlessly through its three-plus hours. (8/7/04 on rental DVD)
68). Umi wa mite ita (The Sea is Watching; 2002; dir. Kumai Kei). The script Kurosawa Akira was working on when he died, filmed posthumously. It’s a story of women of the pleasure quarters in the 1700s or so: their pluck, their tragic loves, their spats, etc. You find yourself wishing Kurosawa had the chance to direct this, or at least edit it. As director, he would almost certainly have gotten better performances out of the actors. As editor, he would certainly have brought more energy and verve to it. The last half hour or so is pretty good, though—recognizably Kurosawa. There is even a knife fight that takes place in a field of tall pampas grass during a bluster storm: reworking the climax from Sugata Sanshirô, Kurosawa’s first great film. (8/5/04 on rental DVD)
67). Peppermint Candy (Bakhra Satang; South Korea, 1999; dir. Lee Chang-dong). Terrific, intelligent film about how we carry the wounds of history in our bodies. The story of one young Korean man who moves from being an idealistic young factory-worker who wants to be a photographer in 1979 to a soldier at the Kwangju massacre in 1980, then to a secret police thug in the mid 1980s, then to a flamboyant winner in the economic bubble of the early 1990s—and finally, to a suicidal train-wreck of a human being after the bubble collapsed. Except that the story is told backwards, every flashback adding more layers of meaning and understanding to what we’ve seen before, as if to illustrate that aphorism that we must understand life backward, but live it forward. (8/3/04 on DVD borrowed from a friend)
66). 69 (sixty nine) (2004; dir. Lee Sang-il). A terrific adaptation of Murakami Ryû’s novel of the same name about coming of age in Sasebo, Japan in 1969. What, you thought maybe the title referred to something else? High school boys who know the world is in turmoil—they hear about student demonstrations, avant-garde film, underground rock—but who are stuck in rural Sasebo, a million miles from the action, and who really want nothing more than to get some girls. So they barricade their school, organize an underground “happening” festival, etc., encountering comic misadventures and tough lessons along the way. Terrific performances throughout (I’m beginning to develop a crush on Tsuchiya Anna, who also plays a major role in Shimotsuma Monogatari). Generally faithful to the novel, though the role of the American military base in Sasebo seems to play a more prominent role here than in the novel (e.g., the opening scene in the film), while the novel’s constant stress on the remnants of wartime fascism is somewhat muted. (7/24/04 at Shinjuku Toa Theater, Tokyo).
65). Steamboy (2004; dir. Ôtomo Katsuhiro). The new animated feature by the director of Akira (1987), a fantasy tale set in the Age of Steam in Britain, in which a “steam ball” technology of unimaginable power falls into what are apparently the wrong hands, and only a young boy can save the world. Many references to the Star Wars series throughout, I thought. A very strong film, especially visually: stunning paranoid visions of massive gears and sprockets driving superweapons—all of it steam powered, of course. Moral ambiguity rules: the “Is scientific progress intrinsically good?” question is never given a clear answer. Frequently, instead, you get the rug pulled out from under you just when you think you’ve figure out the movie’s take on the issue. (7/23/04 at Shinjuku Scala Theater, Tokyo).
64). Shimotsuma Monogatari (Kamikaze Girls: Shimotsuma Story; 2004; dir. Nakashima Tetsuya). A terrific, energetic youth comedy, Thelma and Louise meets Clueless. A Lolita-style fashion-struck girl trapped in the sticks (Shimotsuma village) befriends a bôsôzoku gang biker girl: two social outcastes who find common ground despite belonging to completely opposed subcultures. The ending is (perhaps inevitably) too pat, but the ride that gets you there is silly, joyful, and often simply wonderful. (7/22/04 at Cine Quint in Shibuya, Tokyo).
63). Cha no aji (The Taste of Tea; 2004; dir. Ishii Katsuhito). A fine comedy/drama, something like an Ozu film (see title), but with special visual effects, if you can imagine. Ishii has an absurdist, surreal visual sense that sometimes doesn’t work in his films (e.g., his 2000 film, Party 7, that never quite got off the ground), but here the startling images make sense and enhance the film. A rural family of eccentrics take on the various challenges of day-to-day life: doppelgangers, shit, superhero animations, etc. Charming. (7/22/05 at Cinema Rise in Shibuya, Tokyo).
62). Umi no shinpei (Holy Warriors of the Sea; 1945, dir. Seo Mitsuyo). The first Japanese full-length animated feature film, which was playing at theaters on August 15, 1945 as the war ended. A teddy bear parachute brigade wins the war, saving the natives of a South Sea Island from the evil Western imperialists (who are portrayed in silhouette in one sequence: very striking). One memorable scene: the local natives are taught the Japanese language in school; at first, the unruly pupils learn nothing from their lessons, but then it turns into a sing-along and suddenly they all manage to memorize the Japanese syllabary. The Americans are portrayed as shiftless, untrustworthy, and foolish—and the resemblance to Popeye and Brutus hinted at in the earlier film (see below) is confirmed here: Popeye grabs his spinach can, only to find it empty. Part of the “History of Japanese Animation” series at the National Film Center in Tokyo. (7/13/04).
61). Momotarô no umiwashi [?] (Momotarô’s Seahawks; 1942; dir. Seo Mitsuyo). A 33-minute animated version of the attack on Pearl Harbor as staged by Momotarô, the legendary Peach Boy, with Hawaii as Onigashima (Ogre Isalnd), and his allies—monkeys, bears, and pheasants—manning an aircraft carrier. The Americans depicted look suspiciously like Popeye and Brutus, while the animation overall resembles Disney—albeit with some striking touches, including ocean waves that look like they’ve come out of Hokusai prints, and gloomy, overcast skies throughout the film. Part of the “History of Japanese Animation” series at the National Film Center in Tokyo. I haven’t been able to verify the Japanese reading of the title yet. (7/13/04).
60). Peter Pan (2003; dir. P.J. Hogan).
Better than it has any right to be.
Tinkerbell portrayed here as a jealous trickster. And the flying sequences here have a real
magical feel to them (unlike, for example, those in Spiderman 2—see comments below). Maybe it’s because I went in with very low
expectations, but I enjoyed this quite a bit.
(7/8/04 as in-flight movie).
59). Welcome to Mooseport (2004; dir. Donald Petrie). An amiable comedy. Preston Sturges would have made it into a gem. Ray Romano takes on the Gary Cooper/Jimmy Stewart role, Gene Hackman the Lionel Barrymore role, etc. (7/8/04 as in-flight movie).
58). The Lion King 1½ (2004; dir. Bradley Raymond). It is what it is, nothing more, nothing less. (7/3/04 on rental DVD)
57). Spiderman 2 (2004; dir. Sam Raimie). I dunno, maybe I’m old and cynical, but I didn’t like this nearly as much as the first. They are so determined to keep the franchise going that they dole out plot developments by the thimbleful, making sure than nothing too big happens anywhere. And the flying sequences are so obviously computer graphics that you lose the “gee whiz” quality of watching great stuntwork. There are some lovely touches thrown in here and there, and it isn’t terrible, but it’s not very good, either. (7/2/04 at the Sherman Oaks Galleria Cinemaplex)
56). Ladyhawke (1985; dir. Richard Donner). Once you get past the American accents and the Alan Parsons soundtrack (apparently, the Project was on holiday that week, so he had bad music to spare), this is a mildly amusing piece of knights-in-shining-armor fluff. Matthew Broderick is quite good as a young, wisecracking thief. (7/1/04 on rental DVD)
55). Aa! megami-sama! (Ah! My Goddess: The Movie, 2001, dir. Bessho Makoto and Gôda Hiroaki). Popular anime film, yer basic commercial fodder. Visually quite lovely—and it’s obvious that that is where they put all of their marbles in making the film, because the story is fairly mediocre, the characters largely uninteresting, and the soundtrack trite. Maybe if I’d seen the tv series to which this was a sequel it would have been more compelling. (6/30/04 on borrowed DVD).
54). Ringu (The Ring; 1998, dir. Nakata Hideo). A great horror film that was an enormous smash hit in Japan when first released—causing Hollywood to make its remake version. It works by generating suspense rather than special effects, and as one of the characters in the film explains, these sorts of creepy stories get started as a way of coping with contemporary anxieties: the film pushes nearly all of Japan’s social hot buttons, including the culture of high school girls, single mothers and latchkey kids, the encroachment of visual media on our sense of reality, etc., etc. Lovely shots of rain throughout the film. (6/29/04 on rental DVD)
53). Shunpuden (Story of a Prostitute; 1965, dir. Suzuki Seijun). I continue with my streak of early 1960s’ Japanese films—another Nikkatsu marvel. The story of an indomitable ‘comfort woman’ sent to the front in Manchuria, with a strong anti-fascist and anti-militarism undercurrent throughout. Very stylish in the opening ten minutes or so, and again in the last few minutes: Suzuki pulls out all the stops. (6/27/04 on library VHS).
52). Buta to gunkan (Pigs and
Battleships; 1961, dir. Imamura Shôhei).
The Nikkatsu studio was quite the hotspot in the early 1960s: young directors were given a free hand to
make low-budget genre films, and many of them simply went wild. Here Imamura creates a yakuza film
that provides a biting commentary on U.S./Japan relations, whereby the yakuza live, quite literally, off the scraps handed down to them from the
U.S. military. The final sequences,
with herds of pigs running through the streets of the red light district in
Yokosuka, are mind-blowing. When I saw
this several years ago at a UCLA Imamura retrospective, I missed the opening
few minutes—which are quite good.
According to news reports, the Pentagon was having high officials watch The Battle of Algiers in preparation for the Iraq War last
year. This is the film they really
should have watched: it tells you all
you need to know about the mutually corrupting relations between Occupier and
Occupied. (6/26/04 on VHS).
51). Ohayô (Good Morning; 1959, dir. Ozu Yasujirô). A very pleasant surprise, this—it’s one of the few postwar Ozu films I hadn’t seen, and I’d always heard it was mediocre. Turns out, it’s great fun. Who knew Ozu could pull off fart jokes so well? And, unlike some critics, I love the pastel color scheme of the sets. Terrific performances by all the cast: I think the film is really one of the triumphs of the classic Japanese studio system. (6/25/04 on rental DVD).
50). Kokyô (Hometown; 1937, dir. Itami Mansaku). A domestic drama/comedy about the sacrifices a rural family makes to send the oldest daughter off to college, and the tensions that erupt when she returns to her rural home as a city girl. Proletarian culture tendencies are in evidence: the film comments on class differences, as well as the city/country divide. A beautifully photographed and edited film—lots of breathtaking exterior shots against the Japanese Alps. In one remarkable sequence, a tense dialogue between the heroine and her mother, we are given a series of cuts between close-up shots of the two faces as the tension rises—until the final shot, when the daughter’s face is missing from the frame, and we realize that she has dropped her head and burst into sobs. Skillful use of sound throughout, as well. A very nice film. (6/24/04 on library VHS)
49). Fallen Angels (Duoluo Tianshi; Hong Kong; 1995, dir. Wong Kar-Wai). I finally watch this, the dark companion film to Chungking Express. The same visual dazzle, the same brilliant soundtrack, here attached to a darker narrative (if that is the right word here) about a hitman and a mute conman and their various romantic partners. Kaneshiro Takeshi plays the mute conman in a style reminiscent of Harpo Marx: he’s constantly forcing people into odd behavior (and strangely enough he acts as voiceover narrator for much of the film). It’s set wholly at night in Hong Kong, and nighttime is the time for romance, no? (6/19/04 on rental DVD).
48). The Big Store (1941; dir. Charles Riesner). I’d forgotten how high the production values were on this and Go West: they get the full, glossy MGM treatment, especially on the musical numbers. Harpo’s harp playing sequence and the scene where Harpo joins Chico at the piano are joys to watch, and it’s great to have Margaret Dumont back—and here she’s even allowed to “get” many of Groucho’s jokes. It’s one of the weakest Marx Brothers’ films, but still quite enjoyable. (6/17/04 on rental DVD).
47). Go West (1940, dir. Edward Buzzell). I hadn’t seen this since I was about twelve, when it disappointed me. Watching it now with my son, I was pleasantly surprised: it’s funnier than I remembered, though of course not up to the standard of the Marx Brothers’ earlier films. And yes, as everyone points out, the climax is stolen from Buster Keaton’s The General, but if you’re going to steal, you might as well steal from the best. Chico’s piano playing and Harpo’s harp playing sequences here are as good as in any of the films (if you can forgive the stereotyping of the American Indians in the latter—and at least the movie admits tongue-in-cheek that it is engaging in ridiculous stereotyping). (6/13/4 on rental DVD).
46). Cyclo (Vietnam/France; 1995, dir. Tran Anh Hung). A cynical, hard-bitten gangster film, a displacement of The Bicycle Thief onto 1980s Vietnam, where all morality seems bound to fail in the face of the increasingly desperate struggle to survive. A genuinely haunting film. (6/1/04 on library VHS).
45). YMCA Yagudan (YMCA Baseball Team;
South Korea; 2002, dir. Kim Hyun-seok).
A baseball comedy with a twist:
here the bad guys are the Japanese imperialists, and the good guys are
the Korean resistance. In the final
victory, all of the divisions in Korean society—collaborator vs. resistance
fighter, yangban aristocrat vs. peasant, male vs. female—are
overcome. A playful film (the baseball
sequences are filmed as if for live television, with a baseball diamond graphic
showing the position of baserunners, etc.), with a clear message, one that
riffs off of Field of Dreams:
past injustices can be righted in the present. (6/8/04 on library DVD).
44). Tôkyô nagaremono (Tokyo Drifter; 1966, dir. Suzuki Seijun). Saw this in preparation for teaching it for the first time. The film always blows me away: Suzuki gives up all pretense of realism and produces a parody of the yakuza gangster film centered on stunning visuals. (6/7/04 on library VHS)
43). About Schmidt (2002; dir. Alexander Payne). I finally get to see this—my sister worked on it, after all. A melancholy story about an aging father whose daughter is getting married, a gentle sense of humor, and frequent use of static establishing shots showing buildings in the vicinity of the action: this, my friends, is an Ozu film par excellence, except that the camera is located at the normal height and the editing follows Hollywood continuity rules. A terrific film; Payne is clearly one of the best directors working in Hollywood today. (6/4/04 on rental DVD).
42). Peking Opera Blues (Dao Ma Dan; Hong Kong; 1986, dir. Tsui Hark). A great roller-coaster ride of a movie, all of the different Hong Kong genres chopped up and stir fried together in a single film. The three heroines are all terrific, the shots of Peking Opera work remarkably well, and there is an energy that surges all the way from the first shot to the last—I don’t think there’s a single shot in the movie that lasts more than six seconds. (6/2/04 on library VHS).
41). JSA (Also known as Joint Security Area; South Korea; 2000, dir. Park Chan-wook). A taut Cold War thriller/whodunit that leads up to a terrific final image: a photograph taken during a minor incident in the film that we see now with new eyes. Like Swiri, a powerful indictment of the North/South conflict in Korea; a group of soldiers from both sides of the DMZ are involved in a shooting incident that upon investigation grows more and more tangled. And again as in Swiri, both sides are ultimately portrayed as tragic victims of circumstances beyond their control. When it was initially released in South Korea, it became temporarily the biggest box office hit in the country’s history. (5/30/04 on library DVD)
40). Shrek 2 (2004; dir. Andrew Adamson, Conrad Vernon, Kelly Asbury and Rachel Falk). Lots of fun, perhaps even more fun than the original. Even my cynical 12-year-old liked it. (5/30/04 at North Hollywood Century 8 Theater)
39). Ni Neibian Jidian (What Time is it There?; Taiwan/France; 2001, dir. Tsai Ming-Liang). Ozu’s fingerprints are all over this, as (more obviously) are Truffaut’s. A slow, delicate meditation on life, death, time, simultaneity and—above all—on the movies. No music is used throughout until a brief clip played over the final credits—music from the soundtrack of The 400 Blows, apparently. The ending provides a wonderful, unexpected, and absurdly logical twist, the triumph of the movies over death. (05/29/04 of library DVD).
38). Swiri (Also known as Shiri; South Korea; 1999, dir. Kang Je Gyu). A tidy little thriller, a huge hit in both Korea and Japan when it was first released. It’s a typical Cold War spy film, with a twist: here the opposing agents are from North and South Korea, so that the film becomes an exploration of intense love-hate relationships, both between nations and between romantic couples. The two sides want so much to be unified, and yet they end up repeatedly in a standoff, pointing guns at one another. The ending lifts the North Koreans into a new light, making their defeat at the hands of the South Korean agents into a matter of tragedy rather than heroic celebration. (05/26/04 on library DVD)
37). Yeobgijeogin Geunyeo (My Sassy Girl; South Korea; 2001; dir. Kwak Jae-yang). A charming romantic comedy, an enormous hit when it was first released in Korea. A complex sub-theme running throughout the film is how much the world of cinema is preferable to real life because in it, you can manipulate time—you can edit in flashbacks, alter the speed at which events unfold, or even build narratives around time travel. It also celebrates cinema as a place where gender roles can be subverted—even as the film as a whole does its damnedest to make sure everyone ends up in their preassigned conventional place. In other words, this is a film that comments extensively on film as a medium, so that it can pretend not to be a film—which it most certainly is, a melodrama at that. And because of that, lots of fun along the way. (05/21/04 on library DVD)
36). Ju Dou (China; 1990; dir. Zhang Yimou). I hadn’t seen this one since it was first released. It was as good as I remembered it to be, a steamy tale of love and hate that serves up a biting allegory on modern Chinese history, the point of which is that revolutions don’t change anything—the new boss is exactly the same as the old boss. Which is probably what got the film banned in China. Gong Li gives a terrific performance, and the cinematography is spectacular. The film also presents a dense meditation on the power relationships that inhere in visuality—so that the film becomes in part a meta-commentary on the politics of spectatorship. (05/18/04 on library VHS)
35). Banshun (Late Spring, 1949, dir. Ozu Yasujirô). Watched this again in preparation to teach it in my seminar this quarter. Two remarkable performances drive this film, as Hara Setsuko and Ryû Chishu portray a daughter and father who feel powerful emotional bonds—love, jealousy, joy, rage, impatience, and more—and yet cannot express any of them directly. A meditation, too, on change, at both the personal and societal levels. As usual, Ozu builds to his emotional climax slowly and methodically, and it packs a wallop. (05/11/04 on library VHS).
34). Gojitmal (Lies; South Korea, 1999, dir. Jang Sun-woo). Highly controversial and banned in Korea for its explicit portrayals of sexuality, this has the problem of all films that center on portrayals of obsession: once the characters (and, implicitly, the viewer) get what they have desired, the whole thing gets quite boring. But some interesting ideas here—it follows the path of Oshima Nagisa’s In the Realm of the Senses, for example, in linking sexuality to fascism, as it demonstrates how the desire to dominate usually includes a desire to be dominated. (05/11/04 on rental DVD)
33). Chuyen Tu Te (The Story of Kindness; also known as How to Behave; Vietnam, 1987, dir. Tran Van Thuy). An interesting quasi-documentary (much of it is clearly staged) about the search for the true meaning of kindness, a journey that wanders through other questions as well: the purpose of filmmaking, the ethics of the state, and the proper way to mourn the dead—and the proper way to die. I also watched The Sound of a Violin in My Lai, a 1998 documentary by the same director, on attempts to commemorate and mourn the My Lai massacre. (05/03/04 on library VHS).
32). The Triplets of Belleville (France/Canada/Belgium; 2003, dir. Sylvain Chomet). A case of my having read to many superlative reviews and therefore going into the theater with unrealistically high expectations which the film couldn’t live up to. Some quite lovely and stunning visuals in the animation, many of them inspired by Maurice Sendak, methinks, and an understated sense of humor throughout. The film is also clearly a tribute to Jacques Tati; a poster for M. Hulot’s Holiday is even prominently featured. But not as engaging or funny as I had expected or hoped—and far too predictable, even the gags. (05/03/04 at the Westside Pavillion Cinemas).
31). Ella Enchanted (2004; dir. Tommy O’Haver). Fairly competent fairy tale movie; sometimes the humor is a bit forced—and not all that funny, to boot. But it is carried along by a peppy energy, all the way through the now obligatory final big musical number. (04/25/04 at the North Hollywood United Artists Theater)
30). Where the Spies Are (1965; dir. Val Guest). A glossy 1960s’ MGM spy flick, set in Swinging Beirut, that somehow falls flat. Even David Niven in the lead role seems bored. Clumsy direction, and an utterly incompetent soundtrack score. (04/24/04 on television)
29). The Way Home (Jibeuro; South Korea, 2002; dir. Lee Jung-hyang). Low-key film, an enormous hit in South Korea when it was first released, it effectively recycles the timeworn tale of a spoiled city kid who is forced to live with his aged grandmother in the rustic countryside. The kid, of course, gradually comes to an understanding of and affection for his grandmother’s world. Think Studio Ghibli animation films, but this one is live action. It proves how far a movie can go on an extraordinary face: the weather-beaten visage of the grandmother, played by Kim Eul-bun, (who supposedly had not only never acted in a film before, but had never actually seen one) steals the whole show. The director’s favorite trick is to have the two central characters stand in the shot, one in the foreground, the other in the background; the shot begins with one character in focus, the other blurry, and then the focalization shifts, so that the character who was blurry is now in focus and vice versa—as though the two characters cannot share the same visual field, even as they are forced to share the same space. (04/24/04 on rental DVD).
28) A Hard Day’s Night (Britain, 1964; dir. Richard Lester). I’ve seen this a zillion times, too, but this was the first time in many years, as well as the first time to show it to the kids—who liked it very much. I paid attention to the editing this time through. The final concert sequence, for example, works quite well: it starts out fairly static and conventional through the first few songs, with standard shots of the band performing and of the television crew at work; then, as it nears the climax, the editor increasingly intercuts shots of the audience’s hysterical reactions to the performance, which by the last song or two seem to dominate the visual field—building the viewer’s level of excitement. Terrific. (04/22/04 on rental DVD).
27). Chungking Express (Hong Kong, 1994; dir. Wong Kar-Wai). Every time I see this, I am just blown away. What an amazing piece of work—incredible cinematography and editing, great acting (Faye Wong, I love you), a wonderful soundtrack, &c. A film about two men who just wish things would always remain the same, each of whom falls for a woman who thrives in the messiness of fluidity and movement. The men want safety and comfort; what they get is challenge and disorientation—just like the viewers of this wild piece of fancy-pants moviemaking. (04/18/04 on rental video)
26). Rashômon (Japan; 1950; dir. Kurosawa Akira). Watched this for the umpteenth time in preparation for teaching it in my “Cinema in East Asia” class. This time through, I tried to pay special attention to the little details—the makeup on the medium’s face, the gradual addition of planes of depth to the magistrate’s courtyard with each new witness, the lighting in the forest sequences, etc., etc. The thing is put together so damn well….. (04/13/04 on library video).
25). Seiki no gasshô (Aikoku kôshinkyoku) (Chorus of the Century [Patriotic March]; 1938, dir. Fushimizu Osamu). A striking propaganda film, with skilled use of both sound and visual images throughout. It presents the biography of the king of march songs in Japan, Setoguchi Tôkichi (1868-1941), played by Tokizawa Osamu. Setoguchi devotes his life to propagating military march bands and their music throughout Japan. The film’s story ends in the late 1930s; one of Setoguchi’s pupils has triumphantly marched with his band through the streets of Berlin to great applause, but laments that though the Germans have Nazi songs and the Italians have fascist songs, Japan lacks its own unique patriotic songs. A dying Setouchi throws himself into the composition of “Aikoku kôshinkyoku” (Patriotic March), and the movie ends with the song sweeping across the nation in all media, stirring up patriotic sentiment among the masses and even uplifting the spirits of the troops at the front in China. (4/09/04 on library video)
24). Kangaroo Jack (2002; dir. David McKnally). Somehow, I managed to miss this when it was in theaters, despite great clamoring on the part of the children. The reviews were awful, so my expectations were quite low—and it managed to slightly exceed them. A stoopid movie, but sometimes you need stoopid movies. (3/27/04 on television).
23). Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003; dir. Peter Weir). Yer basic nostalgia-for-the-good-ole-days-of-empire film. It manages to convey a sense of realism for the period—and yet, amazingly, we don’t feel repelled by what we see. (3/20/04 as in-flight movie).
22). Love Actually (U.K., 2003; dir. Richard Curtis). I was absolutely charmed by this; it brought me back to the Anglophilia of my childhood. I’m just a sucker for romantic comedy, I guess. And the sequence involving the U.S. president’s visit, which was obviously meant as a parody of Bill Clinton, ends up being an eerily prescient foretelling of G.W. Bush’s visit to London late last year…. (3/20/03 as in-flight movie).
21). House of Sand and Fog (2003; dir. Vadim Perelman). This reminded me how good straightforward narrative cinema can be, when it’s done right. Ben Kingsley is just awesome, and though Jennifer Connelly looks too much the movie star to be believable as the depressed, recovering addict she starts out as, by the end of the film she nearly matches him in intensity. It has a mediocre film score—until the final credits, when you hear all of the themes played together as a coherent whole, and it actually is quite listenable. (3/17/04 at Village Sky Cinema in Auckland, New Zealand).
20). In the Cut (2003; dir. Jane Campion). Some brilliant supporting performances here, including Kevin Bacon and Jennifer Jason Leigh, and an often brilliant visual sense, but the film just didn’t grab me. I could spot the intelligence behind the film, but not the emotions, and I had a hard time buying Meg Ryan in this new “serious actress” version, in which she seemed to be deliberately avoiding charisma. The ending of the narrative is disappointing in a Hollywood sell-out manner, though the final shot of the film is brilliant—even if you figure out what it must be about halfway through: a door closing to cut off our gaze on intimacy, once it is finally achieved, because intimacy—unlike sexuality and violence—cannot be rendered into spectacle. And maybe it’s just me and my current preoccupations, but the film seemed to be quoting liberally from Kurosawa’s Stray Dog. (3/16/04 at Village Sky Cinema in Auckland, New Zealand).
19). Something’s Gotta Give (2003; dir. Nancy Meyers). I guess I was expecting more chemistry from this one, but the Diane Keaton/Jack Nicholson duo largely left me cold. Perhaps it was due to the circumstances under which I viewed it (an in-flight movie that started at about 11:00 p.m.), but I kept falling asleep. How does the film end, I wonder? (No, actually, I don’t). (3/13/04 as in-flight movie). P.S.: Saw it again on another flight a few weeks later, and liked it a bit more—I wasn’t so sleepy the second time through.
18). Road to Perdition (2002; dir. Sam Mendes). Beautifully filmed and edited—Mendes really pulls it off here, much better than American Beauty, in part because he has a better script to work with. But all the way through, I kept wishing the lead role was played by a real actor, rather than Tom Hanks. What would, say, Sean Penn or John Malkovich have done with it? (3/6/04 on HBO).
17). Scandal (1950; dir. Kurosawa Akira). I’d forgotten how much fun this one was. Clearly it is Kurosawa’s homage to Frank Capra, and once again the Shimura Takashi/Mifune Toshirô combination comes through. Mifune plays a painter who sues a tabloid publisher for fabricating a scandal involving him; Shimura is the crooked lawyer who at first betrays him—only to come through in the final courtroom scene. The score is musically one of the most interesting in all of the Kurosawa films, all over the place in terms of themes and orchestration. (2/25/04 on video taped from television)
16). Hakuchi (The idiot; 1951; dir. Kurosawa Akira). A deliberately paced (nearly three hours) version of the Dostoevsky novel, set in postwar Hokkaido. In its rather plodding earnestness, it reminds me of all the strengths and weaknesses of late 1940s’ and early 1950s’ American liberal high culture—Tennessee Williams’s or Arthur Miller’s plays, John Steinbeck’s novels, etc. It is interesting to see, however, how quickly Kurosawa moved away from the demands of commercialism once his work started achieving acclaim in the West. And once again, as in so many of his films from the period, we are presented with a meditation on the ambiguities of war responsibility. (2/22/04 on rental video)
15). Yojimbô (1961; dir. Kurosawa Akira). We used clips from this film as one of the prime examples of 1960s’ style soundtracks in the “Film and Music” class I took last summer, and watching the whole thing now with that in mind, I find that Satô Masaru put together a genuinely remarkable modernist soundtrack, full of atmospheric percussion, harpsichord flourishes, etc. (Only one off-putting bit: the pathetic theme that is associated with the farmer’s wife who has been sold off to pay her gambling debts; suddenly a snippet of Max Steiner shows up in the middle of what is otherwise a Jerry Goldsmith style soundtrack). Mifune is, as always, great as the devil-may-care samurai who manipulates two rival gangs to slaughter each other off, while each side competes to provide Mifune with more favors. (2/21/04 on video taped from television)
14). Subarishiki Nichiyôbi (One wonderful Sunday; 1947; dir. Kurosawa Akira). This is always treated as one of Kurosawa’s minor films, but it’s one of my favorites. The story of a down-on-their-luck young couple in the hard times of immediate postwar Japan, trying somehow to eke out a pleasant Sunday afternoon on a very meager budget. Many lovely set pieces scattered throughout the film (the baseball sequence, the encounter with the tough street kid, the last shot on the train station platform, etc., etc.) and a really delightful blurring of the boundary between diegetic and nondiegetic music that all comes together in the climax. Sentimental as hell, but also hard-nosed, just terrific. (2/17/04 on video taped from television)
13). Lost in Translation (2003; dir. Sofia Coppola). I finally get to see this—and find myself liking it quite a bit. The R/L mispronunciation jokes are, as many have pointed out, overdone, but other than that I thought the film was quite nice, a lovely meditation on the various (and sometimes mutually conflicting) forms of intimacy that we live out. And they even used a song (“Kaze o atsumete”) by my favorite Japanese rock band, Happy End. It appears briefly during the film in one of the karaoke scenes (the thought of a karaoke bar with Happy End songs on the playlist is worth a smile), and then the last song played over the end credits is the original Happy End version. Somebody knew what they were doing! (2/16/04 at North Hollywood Century Theater)
12). Oatsurae Jirôkichi Kôshi (1931 silent; dir. Itô Daisuke). Interesting jidaigeki (historical epic) from one of the early masters of Japanese film, one of countless silent films dealing with the Edo-period master criminal Jirôkichi the Rat. Some remarkable editing and images—a fight sequence, for example, in which rapid, blurry cuts of action between people are intercut with brief shots of a monkey’s screaming face, or the final sequence in which hundreds of lit-up police lanterns drift across the surface of the screen like fireflies. (2/11/04 on rental video)
11). Ghost in the Shell (Kôkaku kidôtai; 1995; dir. Oshii Mamoru). I watched this anime again to prepare for class, where we’ll be discussing it as an example of Japanese postmodern, information-theory-run-amok culture. A brainy SF story about information networks that begin to develop self-consciousness and desires to reproduce—and to die. Stunning visuals; I’d really like to see this on a big screen someday. (2/7/04 on rental video)
10) Ikiru (To Live; 1952; dir. Kurosawa Akira). One of my favorite films of all time, with one of the great performances by an actor (Shimura Takashi) in cinema history. I used to think the second half of the film, the funeral sequence, was too long, but watching it this time I changed my mind: what could you possibly cut? The way Kurosawa captures the delicate flow in the tide of shifting opinions and emotions (and intoxication) is simply brilliant. Great use of music here, too: “The Gondola Song,” a wonderful sad song from the early 1920s, cuts through the crap of postwar pop. #1 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1952. (1/31/04 on video taped from television)
9). Nora inu (Stray Dog; 1949; dir. Kurosawa Akira). The steam and sweat and ugly egotism of life on the streets of lowertown Tokyo, 1949, just rises off the screen on this one. The desperation is carried along by the soundtrack of distorted postwar dancehall tunes. Once again, Shimura Takashi plays father-figure to Mifune Toshirô: this time, they are police detectives, trying to track down Mifune’s stolen pistol. (1/25/04 on rental video)
8). Rock ‘n’ Roll High School (1979, dir.
Allan Arkush). Just about my favorite
rock movie of all time (ignore comments
in #5 below). I sure wish there was a
feature film of similar quality available on the Kinks. (1/16/04 on television).
7). Yoidore tenshi (Drunken angel; 1948; dir. Kurosawa Akira). Another terrific film that really captures early postwar Japan (not that I was there….). Mifune Toshirô steals the show in his first starring role as a gangster with TB; his hairstyle, fashion, and style of movement remind me throughout of Cab Calloway for some reason. And it’s great to see Shimura Takashi play a tough guy, the drunken doctor who becomes a sort of father-figure to Mifune. Kurosawa works with diegetic music in many interesting ways; it becomes a symbol of the evil in the city, seeping through walls to infect even interior spaces. (1/14/04 on video taped from television)
6). Waga seishun ni kui nashi (No regrets for our youth; 1946; dir. Kurosawa Akira). An amazing film about tenkô, that is, the forced suppression of leftist thought in Japan in the 1930s and 40s. Hara Setsuko as the heroine is at her most nerve-jangling effective, and the climactic sequences set in the rural hometown of her late husband feature some of my favorite camerawork and editing of all time. The film radiates with the wave of hope that swept through Japanese intellectuals and artists in the first months after Japan’s surrender in 1945; even Kurosawa was optimistic for a few months there. (1/12/04 on video taped from television)
5). The Kids Are Alright (1979; dir. Jeff Stein). Just about my favorite rock movie of all time. I sure wish there was a documentary of similar quality available on the Kinks. (1/6/04 on video taped from television)
4). Kumanosujô (Throne of Blood; 1957; dir. Kurosawa Akira). Kurosawa’s version of Macbeth, with one of the really great death scenes ever filmed! I hate to keep finding allegories lurking behind every tree, but isn’t the film in part commenting on World War Two and Hiroshima—the message being, if you are going to do evil, then do evil to that absolute degree or you will lose out in the end. In other words, what Japan did during the war may be wrong, but it is not nearly as wrong—or ultimately as fortunate—as what the U.S. did. On the other hand, according to Donald Richie, U.S. Marines helped build the set for the film. Maybe Kurosawa had a sense of humor after all…. (1/5/04 on video taped from television)
3). Shichinin no samurai (The seven samurai; 1954; dir. Kurosawa Akira). The first time I’d watched this in probably 15 years. What a great film! You can’t help but try to read it allegorically against its early postwar historical moment: but the allegory is quite tangled and contradictory. In the end, Kurosawa seems to be saying that you can only defend the community through nationalism—all the classes bonding together—but also that in the end, nationalism will always fall apart once the crisis has passed. A great, effective soundtrack (by Hayasaka Fumio), including Western-style orchestra, male choir (including one segment that sounded awfully close to Noh chanting), Brazilian-sounding rhythms in the theme for the Mifune Toshirô character, etc. (1/2/04 on video taped from television)
2). Akarui mirai (Bright future; 2003; dir. Kurosawa Kiyoshi). A bit of a dissapointment, this. The oddball story sounded quite promising: two young male friends trapped in a typical Kurosawa urban wasteland, except that one of them keeps a deadly poisonous red jellyfish for a pet, deliberately nurturing the monster that will eventually take the city down. In its settings and underlying themes—the tangled mess of postmodern relations between fathers and sons (and father-figures and son-figures) —it closely resembles my favorite Kurosawa film, Ningen gôkaku (License to live, 1999), but the acting and script are not nearly as compelling. This one is shot low-tech on video, with colors often faded to the brink of black-and-white, but clearly there was some money behind the production: a few spectacular special effects (Tokyo rivers overrun with red jellyfish, etc.), apparent crane shots, professional soundtrack, etc. But whereas Ningen gôkaku was fairly bursting with hope and affirmation, this is a much darker, almost misanthropic film. Not that we humans don’t deserve to be scorned every once in a while, but it makes for tricky film making, and Kurosawa doesn’t get it right here. (1/2/04 on rental video).
1). Waterboys (2001; dir. Yaguchi Shinobu). Engaging comedy about high school boys who decide to form a synchronized swimming team to perform at their school festival. Nice visual sense throughout: use of slow motion, visual gags, etc. Good use of music throughout, as well. And the first footage I’ve ever seen of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation being performed on a dolphin. I’m a bit conflicted about the use of transvestites here: on the one hand, they are stereotyped and ridiculed; on the other hand, they come off rather sympathetically as the first true believers in the boys’ project. #8 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 2001. (1/1/04 on rental video).
****
The list of movies I saw in
2003 is available here.