My goal: to see 100 movies in 2005

Including at least 25 films in theatres, at least 30 Japanese films, at least 10 other Asian films, at least 10 European films, and at least 10 “others” (African, Australian, South American, etc.). Stay tuned to see whether I can meet my goal this year. (Last year, I saw 115 films; the list of movies I saw in 2004 is available here. The list of the 86 movies I saw in 2003 is available here.)

Return to Michael K. Bourdaghs homepage

97). Seishun zankoku monogatari (Cruel Story of Youth; 1960; dir. Ôshima Nagisa). First time I’d seen this in many years, I am getting prepared to teach it early next year. This teen rebel film is always compared to either Rebel Without A Cause or the French New Wave, and both comparisons are apt, and yet it’s also nothing like either. You have Ôshima’s earnest clumsiness as a director, for starters. On top of that, the film has a sort of science fiction quality to it: filmed in 1960, it tries to project itself onto the next generation of youth in Japan, who will have rejected the politics of the protest movement against the U.S.-Japan Security Pact renewal and instead thrown themselves into a nihilistic fascination with sex and politics. In other words, like so many Hollywood sci-fi films, it attempts to predict the future and gets things remarkably wrong. It knows the 1960s are coming, and that they will be remarkably different from whatever has preceded them, but it doesn’t have a clue what they will look, sound, or feel like. (12/21/05 on VHS)

96). Syriana (2005; dir. Stephen Gaghan). A genuinely intelligent thriller with a marvelous cast. The film is about globalization—about how a turf war between bureaucrats in Washington, D.C., a merger between oil companies in Houston, the laying off of Pakistani guest workers in the Middle East, a swimming pool accident in Spain and the recruiting of fundamentalist Islamic terrorists are all intricately interwoven into a single spider web. About halfway through, the movie delivers a slap-in-the-face moment: George Clooney, playing a CIA veteran who realizes he is being set up to take a fall by his superiors, arranges a secret rendezvous with a friendly insider. The meeting takes place in a movie theater, and there is a shot of Clooney walking through the lobby, past the snack bar, to the screening room—a lobby and snack bar that look exactly like the ones that you just walked through to get to your screening room. You are forced to realize, in other words, that you too are situated in the same spider web as the characters in the film. A fine soundtrack that mixes Western classical styling with Arabic genres. Visually, the film uses tons of handheld camera shots, and the editing is, uhm, energetic. (12/13/05 at Mann Bruin Theater in Los Angeles).

95). X2: X-Men United (2005; dir. Bryan Singer). I never saw the first X-Men movie, don’t know the original comic books, and I saw this as a distracted in-flight movie while jet-lagged out of my mind. There did seem to be some sort of plot, but mostly I was content to just sit there in my dazed condition and watch the special effects visuals unfold, one after another. Except for when some idiot from the rows in front of me decided to stand up and stretch his legs. (12/11/05).

94). Must Love Dogs (2005; dir. Gary David Goldberg). Pleasant enough romantic comedy, a perfect in-flight movie. The Cusack family are just about the best thing Hollywood has going for it right now, and John turns in a fine performance here. There is something disturbing, however, about how the film pushes us to see Internet dating services and the basic porno-fication of everyday life as desirable developments. (12/11/05 as in-flight movie).

93). Barber Yoshino (Yoshino’s Barber Shop; 2003; dir. Ogigami Naoko). A charming little indie film about a town with a dubious tradition: all the boys must wear the same nerdy bowl-cut hairstyle, the specialty of the town’s sole barbershop. Adults claim it is a tradition that goes back generations, and yet the fact that part of the tradition involves dressing the boys up in Western-style choir gowns and having them recite Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorale” makes us wonder how far back the roots of the practice really go. Then a new kid from the city shows up with a stylish haircut and refuses to conform—setting off all sorts of repercussions. A lushly gorgeous film, funny as well—yet with a troubling misogynistic streak, too, a bit surprising for a film directed by a woman. The harshest defender of the town’s tradition is Mrs. Yoshino, the barber, an inflexible, humorless middle-aged woman that reminds me for all the world of the middle-aged woman that keeps recurring as a nightmare figure in the recent Takeshis’. We are supposed to cheer on her humiliation in the film’s climax, as the male characters are finally liberated from their oppressive female overlord. (12/9/05 on VHS taped from Neco Channel)

92). Kojima no haru (Spring on a small island; 1940; dir. Toyoda Shirô). This is today a very problematic film because of the way it deals with Hansen’s Disease (better known as leprosy): broadcasters now preface the film with a series of disclaimers regarding the discriminatory language and ideas in the movie. And yet it is also lovely and quite powerful, one of Toyoda’s very best works. Based on the 1938 non-fiction bestseller of the same title, it follows a dedicated female doctor as she cajoles patients to leave their homes on a small island to move to the leprosarium where she works: the movie presents the hospital as heaven on earth, one of the reasons it is so problematic today (we know now that patients were often sent there by force, and that conditions were not ideal). But the film treats its characters with warmth and sympathy, allowing them remarkable complexity in their reactions to their situation. The movie is also a joy to look at: visually, it seems to float—there are many shots of open water, often with the camera placed on a boat so that it bobs up and down slowly. Other shots of cherry blossoms, barley spears, and of tanka poems floating across the screen reinforce this sense of weightlessness. The soundtrack is quite elegant in the style of Western classical music, and Toyoda gets terrific performances out of the numerous children in his cast. #1 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1940. (12/7/07 on Nihon Eiga Senmon Channel)

91). Jûninin yasashii Nihonjin (Twelve Gentle Japanese; 1991; dir. Nakahara Shun). A small comedy, a parody of the 1957 film Twelve Angry Men—but here the jurors are all kind-hearted Japanese who are too gentle to condemn the clearly guilty accused. Except, of course, for one brave man who stands up and declares his certainty of that the accused murdered is in fact guilty. What follows is a silly ensemble comedy that sticks almost entirely to the jury room, unfolding in real time. All sorts of recognizable types are present: the kindly obaasan who can’t bring herself to pass judgment on anyone, the stressed-out salaryman who will go along with any verdict if he can just get back to his office, etc. A very young looking Toyokawa Etsushi has a nice featured part. #7 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1991. (12/5/05 on VHS taped from Neco Channel)

90). Sayonara (1957; dir. Joshua Logan). It had been many years since I watched this—in fact, I think it was before I ever came to Japan. It is, of course, another big, glossy wide-screen spectacle from the 1950s, this one with a fine liberal message about tolerance—though as is usual for Hollywood, they find it much easier to slay a dragon when it’s already been dead for several years (the big target here is the law that forbid U.S. servicemen from bringing Japanese war brides home with them—a law that was changed before this was filmed). What struck me watching it now, other than the bizarre title song composed by Irving Berlin (of all people!), is the mannerism of the early Brando. This is hardly a novel observation, but what I recalled in watching it was the electrifying confrontation in late nineteenth century Norway, when Knut Hamsun faced down Henrik Ibsen by denouncing the practice of choosing as protagonist someone less intelligent and less articulate than the author. Brando made a career out of that kind of slumming, as evidenced by this film, even with its thematics of sentimental education and enlightenment. Of course, then Hamsun went and became a raving fascist in the 1940s, so what do I know? (12/4/05 on DVD).

89). Arashi wo yobu otoko (The man who causes a storm; 1957; dir. Inoue Umeji). A big, glossy wide-screen film from the Nikkatsu studio, filled as usual with bars, nightclubs, yakuza, and slinky dancing girls (one of whom appears, naturally, in a leopard-skin bikini). An early starring vehicles for Ishihara Yûjirô, who gives a typically charismatic performance as a violent young man who just wants to pound away at the world—and who finds his place in life as a Gene Krupa-style jazz drummer. Then a rival drummer has gangsters smash Yûjirô’s hands to ensure that he will lose their face-off to determine who the better percussionist is. This leads to the climactic showdown scene, where Yûjirô grimaces in pain and finally can no longer hold his drumsticks—whereupon he grabs a microphone and wows the crowd as a singer. Not much as a film, though there is one striking sequence when Yûjirô is being led down a long stairwell by a group of gangsters. At each floor, as he turns the corner to the next flight of stairs, he is met there by yet another waiting henchman, who joins the ever-growing lynch mob—and with each turn, the sense of Yûjirô’s impending doom grows stronger. The opening sequence includes what must be one of the earliest uses of rockabilly in a Japanese film, as Hirao Masaaki performs a tidy little number about Ginza and the rhythm of the city. (12/3/05 on VHS).

88). Dolls (2002; dir. Kitano Takeshi). The obvious allusion in this allusive and illusive film is Shinoda Masahiro’s 1969 Shinjûten no Amijima (Double Suicide), which also moves back and forth between bunraku puppet theater and live actors. But watching this, I kept discovering links to Natsume Sôseki—beginning with the famous story about how Sôseki, in the wake of a suicide attempt by his wife, slept tied by a sash, so he would know if she crept outside at night (the main characters in the film are lovers who stumble across contemporary Japan, bound to one another by a red cord). The film’s three narrative lines are strikingly Sôseki-esque, too, all turning around the ways that betrayal in love leads to a lifetime of guilt—just as do most of the major novels. The dream-like atmosphere of the whole film, too, recalls Sôseki’s early short stories. And of course the blending together of Edo-period culture (for Kitano, bunraku; for Sôseki haikai poetry and bunjinga painting) with modern(ist) narratives is another shared hallmark. Of course, I’m obsessed with Sôseki and find traces of him everywhere, so you might want to take my reading with a grain of salt. The soundtrack here by Hisaishi Jo is pleasant, but not as memorable as the one Hisaishi composed for Kitano’s Kikujirô no natsu (Kikujirô, 1999). Kitano’s visual sense remains powerful, too, though the colorful imagery doesn’t cohere as tightly as it does in his very best work. (12/2/05 on VHS taped from Neco Channel)

87). Takeshis’ (2005; dir. Kitano Takeshi). An abstract film, with no storyline: it is held together by the repeated deployment in constantly altered situations of various faces, lines, situations. Much of the movie seems to consist of dream sequences (we see people waking up from them repeatedly), but it is never quite clear whose dreams we are seeing. Are they those of Beat Takeshi, famous tv star and movie director, or are they those of Kitano Takeshi (also played by Beat Takeshi), mild-mannered convenience store clerk who wishes he were Beat Takeshi? To make matters more complicated, the dreams they both see seem largely drawn from the films of the actual Kitano Takeshi. Lots of violence (I estimate something like 20% of the footage here consist of shots of people firing guns) and tap dancing, of course. Fairly engaging throughout: it’s a remarkably ambitious film—and of course narcissistic and self-indulgent. Then again, the film is basically about narcissism and celebrity culture, so whaddya expect? The film also seems to be making statements about postwar Japanese culture and its implicit and explicit violence, but here my interpretation is getting out onto thinner ice. (12/1/05 at Shibuya Cine Palace Theater)

86). Ôsone-ke no asa (Morning for the Osone Family; 1946; dir. Kinoshita Keinosuke). This week, NHK BS-2 is broadcasting a number of Kinoshita’s films. A few days ago, they showed his remarkably effective 1944 propaganda film Rikugun (Army), and now they aired this equally effective propaganda film – except here, of course, the Japanese military has transformed into the bad guys. One of the earliest postwar films, it tells the story of a decent family during the war; one son even publishes a ‘subversive’ article challenging governmental policy and gets himself arrested and jailed. Sugimura Haruko plays the long-suffering mother, and the villain (Ozawa Eitarô) is a corrupt, overbearing militarist uncle who finally gets his come-uppance in the climax, set during the days of Japan’s surrender. Some technical problems show the difficult material circumstances of filming (esp. on the soundtrack), but fine performances by the cast throughout. A full-blast sampling of early postwar democracy…. #1 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1946. (11/30/05 on NHK BS-2).

85). Mugibue (Grass Whistle; 1955; dir. Toyoda Shirô). Toyoda is remarkably uneven as a director, but this is one of his better efforts. Based on a short story by Murô Saisei, it tells the story of the sexual awakening of two young poets circa 1920. It will not ruin your surprise, I think, if I let it out here that they fall in love with the same girl. Thematically, the film revolves around the issue of scopophilia: the pleasures of watching. Toyoda constructs his shots carefully so that the film performs this theme in addition to depicting it—lots of fine tracking shots, striking camera angles, dramatic edits, etc. His use of music remains awkward: the soundtrack (by Dan Ikuma) in scenes depicting intense moments of lust, for example, consists of sweet, bucolic strings. But overall a nice little film. (11/16/05 taped from Nihon Eiga Senmon Channel)

84). The Dish (Australia; 2000; dir. Rob Sitch). Affable comedy about the satellite dish in rural Australia that downlinks the first live pictures of Neil Armstrong’s famous giant leap for mankind. The movie captures a vanished historical moment that I remember (I was eight years old at the time): when globalization seemed so full of promise, back when Coke commercials featured a cosmopolitan group of beautiful young people standing on a sun-dappled hilltop, declaring “I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony.” The movie recreates the feeling of hope and unity that the Apollo 11 mission engendered around the world; it reinforces its message with the period pop songs that brighten the soundtrack—reminding us that globalization in pop culture had actually already been achieved by 1969. Unfortunately, the movie itself—with its straightforward Hollywood continuity editing, elegant strings on the soundtrack, and flawless narrative arcs—also serves as a specimen of globalization in a less attractive guise: the transformation of cinema from quirky art into standardized commodity. (11/7/05 on NHK BS).

83). Swing Girls (2004; dir. Yaguchi Shinobu). Very much akin to Yaguchi’s previous film, Waterboys, a charming if unremarkable comedy about a group of high school girls in rural Tôhoku (the actors show uneven degrees of mastery over the regional dialect) who end up putting together a swing jazz big band. With the unrelenting criticism of today’s youth that floods the Japanese mass media, it’s nice to see a positive take. Oddly, the nondiegetic soundtrack features no swing jazz: it’s mostly acoustic guitar fills and riffs. Then again, perhaps Yaguchi knew better than to push his unlikely concept too far. The visuals are quite lovely. As in many recent Japanese films, this one repeatedly foregrounds the beauty of Japanese mountains and rivers, and it seems that anyone making a film about rural Japan these days is required to include a long shot of a single two-car passenger train moving slowly across the screen (always from right to left) as it crosses a plain of rice fields, nary a human being in sight. #7 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 2004. (11/5/05 on Fuji TV network).

82). Hard Luck Hero (2003; dir. Sabu). Sabu has honed his own unique style—perhaps even his own genre. His films all follow the “wrong man” formula: ordinary men by sheer accident find themselves tangled up in increasingly inextricable messes involving gangsters, car chases, shoot outs, etc. The only logic behind them is random chance; his films often feel like dreams as they lurch forward from one improbable sequence to another. They are also usually quite funny and visually extraordinary. Here a kitchen dishwasher ends up fighting by sheer accident in a Thai kick boxing match—which, again by pure serendipity, he somehow wins. This outrages a group of yakuza gangsters who were backing his opponents, and that sets the whole Rube Goldberg contraption into motion. The cast features members of the J-Pop band V6; apparently, this was meant simply to be a music video, and somehow—by accident—it turned into a feature film. (11/3/05 on TBS).

81). Seeraafuku to kikanjû (Sailor suits and machine guns; 1982; dir. Sômai Shinji). Semi-legendary production from Kadokawa Studios, a yakuza film with a creative hook: the gang boss is a 15-year-old female high school student who in the slow-motion climax machine-guns her enemies while dressed in her school uniform. Intentionally bizarre, of course, and in that it recalls the 1960s yakuza films made by Suzuki Seijun—except that it lacks his energy and talent. The soundtrack is an amazing hodgepodge of disco, Noh music, idol songs, etc. (11/2/05 on VHS taped from Nippon Eiga Senmon Channel)

80). Lost in La Mancha (2002; dir. Keith Fulton and Louise Pepe). I’d wanted to see this documentary for years. It follows the attempt by Terry Gilliam to direct a film version of Don Quixote. The endless string of disasters (military jets overhead, ailing actors, flash floods, balky trained animals, &c.) that finally derail the project had me laughing out loud: the film reminds us how life at its most horrific can actually, when viewed from the proper distance, take on the form of slapstick. (10/28/05 on the Movie Plus channel)

79). Onna no naka ni iru tannin (The stranger within a woman; 1966; dir. Naruse Mikio). Another Naruse drama centering on the mundane tensions of domestic life—but with a real twist, because here Daddy is a murderer. Wakabayashi Akiko, later a Bond Girl in You Only Live Twice, gives a steamy performance as the murder victim. Very striking film with an even more striking finale. As usual, Naruse elicits fine performances from his female acting talent, as well as from the children. The performances by the male members of the cast are remarkably understated, perhaps deliberately: it’s one of the things that makes the film so odd. #10 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1966. (10/19/05 on VHS taped from NHK BS2).

78). Kaze tachinu (The Wind Has Risen; 1976; dir. Wakasugi Mitsuo). Another Yamaguchi Momoe vehicle, albeit with much higher production values than Eden no umi (see below): we move from genuine awfulness to basic mediocrity. Adapted from Hori Tatsuo’s 1947 novel, it’s a weepy story of tragic young love during World War Two; Momoe-chan goes the way of all beautiful young tuberculosis patients. What’s most striking about the film is how anachronistic this version of the 1940s looks and sounds: haircuts, fashions, and soundtrack music all reference 1976 rather than 1942. (10/14/05 on VHS taped from NHK BS2).

77). Eden no umi (The Sea of Eden; 1976; dir. Nishikawa Katsumi). The NHK BS2 channel is devoting this week to a revival of films starring Yamaguchi Momoe, the enormously popular idol queen of the 1970s. This is one of her first films, and it’s pretty awful, a sleazy teen-exploitation film about love between a high school student and her teacher. Little imagination or skill evident at any level, the sort of movie that killed off the Japanese film industry. They don’t even have Momoe-chan sing a song…. (10/10/05 on NHK BS2).

76). Tôkyô kiddo (Tokyo Kid; 1950; dir. Saitô Torajirô). One of the great diva Misora Hibari’s most successful films, made when she was still twelve years old. She plays an abandoned street child whose singing talent ultimately reunites her with her fabulously wealthy father, who has been searching for her for years. The last shot is of Hibari boarding a plane bound for America. Enoken has a lively supporting role here as a shady fortune teller whose fatal flaw is an inability to resist the urge to dance when he hears music. (10/10/05 on VHS).

75). Onna no za (Woman’s Status; 1962; dir. Naruse Mikio). We are in the midst of celebrations marking the 100^th anniversary of the birth of two great Japanese directors, Naruse Mikio and Toyoda Shirô, and I am trying to take advantage of the screenings, broadcasts, etc., that are commemorating the occasions. This is another fine film, very much Ozu-like in its story, cast, and setting (though not in its camerawork or editing): the story of a large, extended family dominated by its women, especially a group of sisters. For the first hour, it seems very much like a typical comedic plotline: which daughter will marry which suitor? But then it suddenly changes directions in the last twenty minutes or so, transforming itself into tragedy. As always, Naruse elicits powerful performances from his actresses, and he does a remarkable job of working issues of class, poverty, and consumerism into his basic melodrama formula. (10/5/05 on VHS taped from NHK BS2).

74). An’ya kôro (A Dark Night’s Passing; 1959; dir. Toyoda Shirô). Plodding, humorless adaptation of Shiga Naoya’s plodding, humorless masterpiece. In other words, yer basic all-too-respectful literary adaptation. The score by Akutagawa Yasushi has some nice modernistic moments in it, especially the music for dark and gloomy scenes. And visually, one quirk of note: almost every shot is constructed with remarkable spatial depth—there is always an open door or window in the back, and characters are frequently shown walking forward from out of that distant background. Instead of a sense of claustrophobia, you are struck with….well, whatever the condition is that is the opposite of claustrophobia. (10/3/05 on NHK BS2).

73). Tsuma toshite, onna toshite (As a wife, as a woman; 1961; dir. Naruse Mikio). A terrific melodrama, this. The long-suffering wife and the even-longer-suffering mistress come face to face in a show down to decide who is the real victim here. All through the film, the war hangs over these personal conflicts like a dark shadow, and you gradually come to realize that the film is an allegory for the 1960 Ampo Protests: all adults are revealed to be hypocrites, and the only hope for the children is to break with them and move boldly into the future. Lovely use of music, both diegetic and nondiegetic, throughout, as well. And as always, Naruse gets bone-chilling performances out of his actresses. (9/29/05 on NHK BS2 television)

72). Meshi (Repast; 1951; dir. Naruse Mikio). This is an amazingly dynamic movie. Everything is in motion: the camera, the trains that appear in dozens of shots, the characters walking down the streets. Everything, that is, except for the life of the heroine, played brilliantly by Hara Setsuko: a housewife who feels trapped in a life of pointless repetition. A terrific cast, a fine score by Hayasawa Fumio (who did the music for most of Kurosawa’s early films), wonderful camerawork and editing throughout. I love the Hayashi Fumiko novel on which this is based, but I’d missed several chances over the years to see the film—and I’m quite glad to finally have seen it. #1 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1957. (9/25/05 on VHS taped from television).

71). Cutie Honey (2003; dir. Anno Hideaki). A literal comic-book of a movie, an affectionate and campy live-action version of a hugely popular manga from the 1970s—in other words, silly fun. I don’t think there’s a single shot in the movie that lasts more than three seconds, and what realism there is focuses mainly on reproducing the fantasy world of a comic book. Cutie Honey, the buxom, mini-skirted android, saves the world over and over again, just so long as she can get enough convenience-store onigiri to eat. (9/14/05 on the Nihon Eiga Senmon Channel).

70). Utao Enoken Torimonochô (1948; dir. Watanabe Kunio). A silly musical comedy starring the great Enoken, plus several 1940s singing stars: Kasagi Shizuko, Fujiyama Ichirô, Asahi Teruko. The story is set in the Edo period, but the music (composed by Hattori Ryôichi) is all postwar jazz. For example, Kasagi’s big hit “Tokyo Boogie Woogie” is transformed here into an ode to housework, and Enoken in trying unsuccessfully to attract customers sings the jazz standard “Dinah,” except here it is transformed to “Dana” (Sir!). The story is about henpecked Enoken (Kasagi is his wife) and love-lost Fujiyama (Asahi is his beloved), and a crooked samurai who tries to steal away Asahi. Everything works out in the end, of course. (8/25/05 on the Nihon Eiga Senmon Channel).

69). Madagascar (2005; dir. Eric Darnell and Tim McGrath). Funny and entertaining, and well-animated. In too much recent American animation, you get the feeling they spent more time thinking about how to animate fur realistically than they did thinking about the character to which that fur is attached—but that is not the case here. I wonder, though, how much of the humor translated to the Japanese audience: there were a number of moments when our family was the only one laughing in the theater. (8/15/05 at the Kichijôji Bauhaus Theater).

68). Belle Epoque (Spain; 1992; dir. Fernando Trueba). A charming sex farce, set in the formative of years of the Spanish Republic in the early 1930s. A young deserter is befriended by an aging, rascalous painter—who, it turns out, has four lovely daughters. Everyone sleeps with everyone else, no one minds a bit, and they all live happily ever after. (8/1/05 on download from www.movielinks.com).

67). Beat the Devil (1953; dir. John Huston). It’s nice to see the old gang—Humphrey Bogart, Peter Lorre, Robert Morley—together again, and it’s a lovely, cynical bit of work that ends on the sound of Bogey’s rasping laugh, as he realizes he’s been once again fucked over by the universe—but he of course sees the humor in this. (7/29/05 on download from www.movielinks.com)

66). Bottle Rocket (1995; dir. Wes Anderson). Anderson’s first feature film, an affectionate and silly take on three incompetent would-be criminals. As in all of Anderson’s films, a judicious selection of songs on the soundtrack, including a couple of choice numbers from the band Love. James Caan has a terrific supporting part here as the all-powerful Mr. Henry. (7/28/05 downloaded from www.movielinks.com)

65). Linda Linda Linda (2005; dir. Yamashita Nobuhiro). A charming film that sets its sites low and then proceeds to hit the bullseye The story of a group of high school girls who have a simple goal: to form a band and play three songs by the legendary Japanese punk band the Blue Hearts at their high school festival. They achieve their goal, of course, and that’s enough: they don’t go on to sign record contracts, they don’t become big stars. In fact, a dream sequence parodies that sort of glamorous conclusion, to push it firmly offstage once and for all. Bae Du-Na, the Korean actress, plays Son, a Korean exchange student who ends up being the band’s vocalist almost by accident, and she steals the film: her performance kept having me flash back to Faye Wong in Chungking Express. A lovely little movie. #6 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 2005. (7/27/05 at the Kichijoji Bauhaus Theater, Tokyo).

64) The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004; dir. Wes Anderson). I’m a fan of the director, and this is really a fine film. It calls to mind the zaniness of the Beatles’ best films, A Hard Day’s Night and Yellow Submarine—which is in fact referenced in numerous ways throughout the film. Bill Murray even looks a bit like Old Fred here. It’s the closest thing to British humor that Hollywood has produced in many years. (7/26/05 downloaded from www.movielinks.com)

63). Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith (2005; dir. George Lucas). To be honest, I was bored out of my mind for most of the film, which has no story, no characters, and (worst of all) no humor. The last thirty minutes or so are a bit more interesting as something resembling a plot starts to kick in, but overall, really disappointing. Even the music was mediocre. (7/17/05 at the Movix Sendai Theater, Sendai).

62). Byaku Fujin no Yoren (Madame White Snake, 1956; dir. Toyoda Shirô). Part of the National Film Center’s 100^th anniversary retrospective of Toyoda’s films, this one reminded me of nothing so much as those glossy Technicolor historical epics that Hollywood cranked out back in the 1940s – it even has the voice-of-heaven choir on the soundtrack and a few cheesy special effects thrown in. Think, for example, of the 1940 version of The Thief of Baghdad. The story is set in classical China: Ikebe Ryô plays a poor, honest young man who falls for a girl far above him in station – played by the seductive Yamaguchi Yoshiko (also known as Shirley Yamaguchi and Li Ko Ran, depending on when and where she was performing). It turns out the girl is in fact a serpent demon who has taken on human guise to bewitch unwary males. This brings up understandable inter-species complications in their relationship, but you’ll be glad to know that love wins out in the end. Not a great film, but striking use of color throughout, and special effects by the one-and-only Tsuburaya Eiji. (7/3/05 at National Film Center, Tokyo)

61). Umoregi (The buried forest; 2005; dir. Oguri Kohei). An episodic, quiet film about how storytelling weaves the ties between us and our past—whether that past is real or fantasy. The story traces through a few days in the lives of various people in a rural town in Japan and engages in a strong dose of magic realism. Some of the imagery is hauntingly beautiful: the buried forest, for example, and the floating whale that drifts through it. Lovely music, too. (7/2/05 at CineRise in Shibuya, Tokyo)

60). The Wedding Date (2004; dir. Clare Kilner). Ho hum. (6/28/05 as in-flight film).

59). Million Dollar Baby (2004; dir. Clint Eastwood). This is a reasonably good boxing film, with strong performances by Clint Eastwood, Hilary Swank, and Morgan Freeman. It isn’t the glorious masterpiece that Hollywood PR made it out to be last year, but it is a competent little movie. Then again, I watched it in the edited airline version, so maybe they cut out all the really good bits. (6/28/05 as in-flight movie).

58). Ten (Iran; 2002; dir. Abbas Kiarostami). Filmed (if that is the right verb here) on digital video, we follow a woman as she drives around contemporary Teheran, picking up and dropping off family members, friends, clients. Gradually, her life comes into focus—as does present-day Iran, and especially the life of Iranian women. A quiet, subtle film, in the manner of Ozu: nothing happens on the surface, while under the surface all is turmoil. (6/12/05 on rental DVD).

57). Hitch (2005; dir. Andy Tennant). An enjoyable sit-com extended to feature length. (6/8/05 as in-flight movie).

56). 50 First Dates (2004; dir. Peter Segal). Typical romantic comedy fluff, but one that harbors an ideological fantasy crucial for the survival of consumerist capitalism. Who would have guessed it? We are seduced into thinking that we will be happy if only we acquire something new (a new car, a new girlfriend, you name it). But once we actually obtain that obscure object of desire, we find it boring and remain unsatisfied – and then we start thinking we would be happy if only we could acquire something else new. The plot here revolves around a woman who suffers from complete short-term memory loss, so that her boyfriend has to win her heart anew everyday; in other words, the movie presents the impossible fantasy of winning the object of your desire without ever getting bored by it. (6/8/05 as in-flight movie).

55). 2009—Lost Memories (South Korea; 2004; dir. Lee Simyung). This starts out as a terrific action/sci-fi thriller, a kind of Korean version of Blade Runner. History has changed: the 1909 assassination of Itō Hirobumi in Korea was prevented, and as a result Japan not only won World War Two (with the U.S. as its ally---hmmm), but Korea in 2009 remains a rebellious outpost of the Japanese empire. The hero is a Korean officer in the Japanese colonial police in Seoul who has vague memories that trouble his sense of identity. Unfortunately, in the last half the movie gets tangled up in its own plot hokum and loses all of its energy. As I’ve written here before, every Korean film I see these days seems fascinated with the problem of how to reunite with a lost past, and this is no exception. (6/1/05 on rental DVD)

54). TheMayor of the Sunset Strip (2003; dir. George Hickenlooper). A fine documentary on the sad, crazy, wonderful life of Rodney Bingenheimer, the legendary “Rodney on the ROQ” deejay who has been a fixture on the LA rock scene since the 1960s. (5/31/05 on rental DVD).

53). BEAT (1998; dir. Miyamoto Amon). An impressionistic story of life and racial tension in the bartowns around U.S. military bases on Okinawa, mid-1960s. The title takes on multiple meanings: a reference to Jack Kerouac and the Beats, the physical beatings the hero endures, and the rhythmical beats of the musical soundtrack. The story is sometimes murky and ambiguous, and at its worst it substitutes a clunky, undergraduate form of sociology for actual scriptwriting, but there is a tremendous energy that drives the film forward, and some of its best bits are just terrific. (5/29/05 on VHS of dubious provenance).

52). The Aristocats (1970; dir. Wolfgang Reithermann). The animation on this is surprisingly good—impressionistic (befitting a story set in 1910 Paris) and at times even anticipating late Studio Ghibli work. The story is sweet and the characters appealing—I liked it a great deal more than I expected. (5/28/05 on rental DVD).

51). As Tears Go By (Wong gok ka moon; Hong Kong; 1988; dir. Wong Kar-Wai). Wong’s debut feature film, a good-girl-falls-in-love-with-gangster-with-tragic-results story. I’d heard the movie was so-so, but I simply fell in love with it: Maggie Cheung is stunning, and all of Wong’s characteristic quirks are here: hand-held cameras running through market streets at night, jump cuts, pop songs that take on symbolic weight through repetition, etc., etc. Terrific. (5/25/05 on rental DVD).

50). Ray (2004; dir. Taylor Hackford). A nice revival of the old 1950s and 60s’ genre of uplifting, liberal bio-pic. Nothing surprising, but you don’t come to this genre in search of surprises. Jamie Foxx is terrific, of course. The story strips away all the complexities of musical history, so that Ray Charles becomes apparently the first person to attempt to blend secular and gospel music (an interpretation would have startled, among others, the Reverend Tom Dorsey and Sister Rosetta Tharpe), but this is Hollywood after all: simplicity good, complexity bad. (5/20/05 on rental DVD).

49). The Love Bug (1968; dir. Robert Stevenson). I continue my unintentional retrospective of Stevenson’s 1960s work for Disney, as I retrace in my daughter’s compnay through films I loved (or wanted to love, except my mother wouldn’t bring me to see them) when I was a kid. This one has some embarrassing stereotypes—Asians and Mexicans played for jokes—but Buddy Hackett is enjoyable throughout, and the music is really cheesy. (5/8/05 on rental DVD).

48). Blade Runner (1982; dir. Ridley Scott). I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or proud that I hadn’t seen this one until know. I shuddered when I saw in the opening credits that the musical score was by Vangelis, but it wasn’t half bad – it actually reminded me a bit of the way Wong Kar-wai uses music. Anyhow, it’s yer basic great science fiction flick, full of quasi-philosophical ruminations and an astonishing set. (5/4/05 on rental DVD).

47). Kagemusha (1980; dir. Kurosawa Akira). The film that launched the fine last period of Kurosawa’s career, an epic retelling of the Takeda Shingen legend (with, of course, considerable fictional embellishment). The extravagant use of color throughout reminds me of Dôdesukaden, while the soundtrack is all over the place: Western classical music, electronic music, Noh flutes, etc. The mournful closing shots of a battlefield littered with dying men and horses are simply stunning: how did he film those? Nakadai Tatsuya is fine in the double role he plays, but I can’t help wondering what Mifune Toshirô would have done with the part. #2 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1980. (5/4/05 on rental DVD).

46). For Your Eyes Only (1981; dir. John Glen). Unlike Moonraker, which was better than I remembered it being (see #41 below), this one wasn’t nearly as good as I remember. Roger Moore is getting a bit old for the part, but delivers a fine, tongue-in-cheek performance. The supporting cast is weak, however, and the editing and camerawork are pretty dull. Worst of all is the lame soundtrack, by Bill Conti. (4/12/05 on rental DVD).

45). City of God (Cidade De Deus; Brazil; 2002; dir. Kátia Lund and Fernando Meirelles). Terrific contemporary gangster film, ala Quentin Tarantino, but this one set in the slums of Rio de Janeiro. Terrific acting, camerawork and editing as we follow a large group of Brazilian street kids growing older and more cynical. (4/12/05 on rental DVD).

44). Pollyana (1960; dir. David Swift). A fine example of Disney sentimentalism that works even today, despite its obvious ideological agenda: the whole problem that needs to be solved in the story is how to put uppity women back under the control of men. And of course there are no black people anywhere in sight, not even among the domestic servants. Hayley Mills is fine as the young orphan girl who brings happiness to a dour small town. (4/3/05 on rental DVD).

43). The Battle of Algiers (La Battaglia di Algeri; Algeria/Italy, 1966; dir. Gillo Pontecorvo). Neo-realist drama about the Algerian independence struggle in the 1950s, and the increasingly desperate attempts by the French to hang onto to its rebellious colony. The movie is basically stolen by Jean Martin, playing the commander of the French military in Algiers, a remarkably sympathetic villain who knows he is being assigned all the dirty work. A fine soundtrack, as well, and a complex non-linear narrative structure. It’s not surprising that the Pentagon was showing this to high-ranking military officials in the early days of the Iraq war. (4/2/05 on rental DVD)

42). Lilî Shushu no subete (All About Lily Chou-Chou; 2001; dir. Iwai Shunji). A visually beautiful, albeit at times confusing, story about alienation among contemporary Japanese middle school students, who try to fill the emptiness of their lives through devotion to a Chinese pop singer named Lily Chou-Chou. Very impressionistically constructed, with apparent flashbacks and flashforwards, lots of shots of Internet text messages that flash by almost too quickly to read. And the soundtrack is full of lovely Debussy piano music. #6 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 2001. (3/28/05 on rental DVD)

41). Moonraker (1979; dir. Lewis Gilbert). Not as bad as I remember it—in fact, the first hour is quite good, especially the opening parachute scene. The humor is a bit overdone and obvious throughout, and the climactic battle scene on the space station is just as cheesy as I remember it being, but overall an enjoyable entry in the 007 series. (3/27/05 on rental DVD).

40). The Fog of War (2003; dir. Errol Morris). A terrific documentary, both because of the engaging nature of its subject (Robert McNamara, Secretary of Defense during much of the Vietnam War) and the brilliant construction of its form. Remarkable editing, striking visuals (both archival and new footage), and perhaps most important of all a great musical score by Philip Glass. Would that all major historical figures encountered great documentary film makers—imagine, for example, what Derrida might have been like if Errol Morris had been behind the camera! (3/21/05 on rental DVD).

39). The Pagemaster (1994; dir. Joe Johnston). Half live-action, half animated, our eight-year-old swears by this tale of a timid boy who stumbles into adventure by way of his local library. Like all Hollywood films that try to convey the joys of reading, however, there’s a contradiction buried deep here somewhere: shouldn’t we just go straight to the book? (3/20/05 on rental DVD).

38). Dôdesukaden (Dodes’kaden; 1970; dir. Kurosawa Akira). The first film in which Kurosawa uses color—and he really uses it, of course. Some of the sets and shots just explode into abstract explorations of color. I’d always heard that this was a weak film, but I liked it quite a bit. And people have been trying to remake it for years—witness Itami Jûzô’s Tanpopo or David Ward’s underrated Cannery Row. It in turn is a revisiting of Kurosawa’s own Donzoku. It features a nice score by Takemitsu Tôru that sounds very much 1970. #3 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1970. (3/17/05 on VHS taped from television).

37). The Spy Who Loved Me (1977; dir. Lewis Gilbert). This is probably my favorite Bond film—in part because it was the first one, I think, that I saw in a theater when it was originally released, back when I was a sixteen-year-old. It works so well for a number of reasons—starting with Barbara Bach as the Soviet spy who matches wits with 007 at every step of the way. It’s also the first film to feature the wonderful villain "Jaws"—and they finally got rid of the tiresome Southern redneck sheriff. Visually, too, it’s terrific: there are lots of shots included for no reason other than their sheer beauty. And Marvin Hamlisch’s score is fantastic, full of wit and excitement—it reminds me very much of the great film music Henry Mancini composed back in the early 1960s. (3/12/05 on rental DVD).

36). Warui yatsu hodo yoku nemuru (The Bad Sleep Well; 1960; dir. Kurosawa Akira). One of Kurosawa’s darkest films—and that’s saying something. A tale of corruption in the highest echelons of Japanese society—and of the need to use fire in fighting fire, or evil in fighting evil. A fine score by Satô Masaru (especially the opening credits theme, with its pounding drums—which is reprised a couple of times during the film), and typically brilliant Kurosawa use of ironic diegetic music—like the recorded dance tunes that one character is forced to listen to as he watches what is ostensibly his own funeral ceremony. #3 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1960. (3/12/05 on library VHS).

35). Ditto (Donggam; South Korea; 2000; dir. Kim Jeung Gueon). Like so many examples of Korean film and television I’ve watched lately (e.g., the Winter Sonata series or the films Peppermint Candy, YMCA Baseball and My Sassy Girl), this one revolves around the difficulties of linking the national past and present together into some sort of coherent identity. It’s a romantic comedy with a hook—the boy and girl who find themselves falling in love via ham radio realize that they live in different times—she in turbulent 1979, he in peaceful 2000. I watched the Hong Kong version of the DVD, with the usual botched English subtitles—they are at least grammatical, but you get the feeling that the jokes are actually much funnier in Korean than in the dim-witted translations that appear here. (3/5/05 on rental DVD).

34). Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971; dir. Robert Stevenson). Another film I managed to miss while growing up, though perhaps that was because we always identified it as a "girl’s movie." A bit dull, actually—but it caused me to reflect on not only how much I grew up in the 1960s and 1970s still living out the imaginary world of World War Two (hence, the Nazi villains here were par for the course in my childhood), but also how much my general Anglophilia was not just a product of the Beatles (to whom I had always attributed it) but also a taste I acquired via Uncle Walt. (3/4/05 on rental DVD).

33). Akahige (Red Beard; 1965; dir. Kurosawa Akira). Kurosawa’s last film with Mifune Toshirô (they supposedly fought relentlessly during the production), it lacks a gripping plot to hold it together and hence feels long (and is long: 185 minutes). But it’s often quite brilliant—and brutal. One of themes explored here is what happens to children who are not permitted to have childhoods. The score by Satô Masaru is quite interesting: it borrows quite liberally from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (and from Brahm’s First Symphony, which itself copped much from Beethoven), but it seems particularly to revolve around pauses in the music—a tendency that is first announced over the opening credits, where we encounter a strange pattern: we get one of the motifs played, whereupon the music stops (and we here voices in the background, presumably from the townscape we see under the credits), then a few seconds later the music starts up again with another motif, which in turn is followed by a pause, and then yet another motif. Then, throughout the film, the soundtrack music repeats this pattern—music, pause, music, pause, etc. Hmmm. #1 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1965. (3/2/05 on VHS taped from television).

32). The Legend of 1900 (La Leggenda del Pianista Sull'Oceano; Italy; 1998; dir. Giuseppe Tornatore). One of the charms of this film is the way it casually sidesteps all the rules of realism: it simply invites you to step into its allegorical fantasy world, where the world’s greatest pianist is born on board an ocean liner and refuses ever to step foot off of it, so that challengers to his title (like Jelly Roll Morton) must come on board to see him. The film isn’t entirely successful (though perhaps it works better in the full version, not the slimmed-down American version that I watched), but it is nice to see a movie about music that isn’t afraid of music—even if it shows little sense of jazz history. Then again it is, after all, a fable, not a historical epic. (2/26/05 on rental DVD).

31). Tsubaki Sanjûrô (Sanjûrô; 1962; dir. Kurosawa Akira). One of Kurosawa’s funniest films. Mifune Toshirô is as always terrific, as he plays a masterless samurai coming to the aid of nine idealistic young warriors who are in over their heads in a battle against corrupt masters. This is perhaps Satô Masaru’s best musical score for Kurosawa, all sorts of interesting things going on in it—including some rare (for Kurosawa) instances of mickey-mouse-ing (soundtrack music that imitates the physical movement taking place on screen). #5 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1962. (2/26/05 on VHS taped from television).

30). The Man With The Golden Gun (1974; dir. Guy Hamilton). Often acclaimed as the best of the Roger Moore 007 films, this one is in fact a little more stylish than most of the series—in part because it contains numerous subtle allusions (read: rip-offs) from Kurosawa, Fellini and the 1960s surreal television series The Prisoner. It’s also a fine example of 1970s Orientalism, just before Edward Said opened fire. (2/25/05 on rental DVD).

29). Kakushi toride no san akunin (The Hidden Fortress; 1958; dir. Kurosawa Akira). It’s been twenty years since I last saw this, and it turns out to be even better than I remembered it being. The bumbling farmer-soldiers are wonderful throughout, summoning up memories of the comic tiffs that Laurel and Hardy used to engage in, and Mifune Toshirô is as always terrific. I was also struck this time by how the jerky movements of the princess (played by Uehara Misa) called to mind the female robot from Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. A fine, if conventional, soundtrack by Satô Masaru. #2 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1958. (2/19/05 on VHS recorded from television).

28). Tengoku to jigoku (High and Low; 1963; dir. Kurosawa Akira). Terrific: taut kidnapping drama that really is a meditation on the relationship between money and time: throughout the whole film, people are quite literally trying to buy a little more time. Time is marked throughout by a series of chimes, ringing bells, sirens, etc. (a gesture reminiscent of Kurosawa’s wartime propaganda film, The Most Beautiful). No soundtrack music is used through the first half; it suddenly kicks in halfway through when the kidnapped child is released and the police launch into their search for the culprits. The scenes near the end of the movie that are set in the drinking district near a U.S. base are highly reminiscent of Imamura’s Pigs & Battleships and of Suzuki Seijun’s Tokyo Drifter—you could do a very interesting film festival made up entirely of Japanese portrayals of American military bases and the culture that grows up around them. #2 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1963. (2/17/05 on VHS recorded from television).

27). Days of Being Wild (A Fei Zheng Zhuan; Hong Kong; 1991; dir. Wong Kar-Wai). The director’s second film, and many of his characteristic traits are already present. This starts out very strong: the opening scene with Leslie Cheung as an ultra-confident ladykiller moving in on a hapless Maggie Cheung is priceless. It slows down a bit, but the last half hour, set in the Philippines, is quite remarkable. Music isn’t quite so central as it will become in Wong’s later films, but still intelligently used. And Christopher Doyle’s cinematography is as always masterful. (2/16/05 on rental DVD).

26). Nora Inu (Stray Dog; 1949; dir. Kurosawa Akira). Watching it again now, I’m struck by the remarkable visual editing, the way shots are lined up with one another. And of course musically this is perhaps Kurosawa’s most interesting film. #3 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1949. (2/15/05 on VHS).

25). Donzoku (The Lower Depths; 1957; dir. Kurosawa Akira). Another mid-1950s film from Kurosawa with no soundtrack music at all. There is music here, but it is all diegetically motivated—that is, it is all music produced from within the story world of the film. A claustrophobic recreation of Gorky’s play as a story of Japan’s Edo period (1600-1867), two hours of almost unbearable gloom punctuated with exuberant outbursts of drunken song-and-dance. Tremendous character actors throughout; for once, Mifune Toshirô doesn’t get to steal the show. #10 on Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1957. (2/12/05 on VHS taped from television).

24). The Absent-Minded Professor (1961; dir. Robert Stevenson). As a child in the 1960s I had a powerful yearning to see this film—but now, about thirty years too late, I find that it wasn’t nearly as much fun as I had hoped. Fred MacMurray’s leading role (which could easily have been played by Ronald Reagan, I kept telling myself as I watched) is clearly based on Einstein, the loveable professor obsessed with a new source of energy. His dog gets the wild haircut, though. The character actors who fill the supporting roles all brought to mind the late 1950s, early 1960s sitcoms I grew up on: I don’t know any of their names, but I grew up knowing their faces and voices intimately. (2/11/05 on rental DVD).

23). Forever Fever (Also known as That’s The Way I Like It; Singapore, 1998; dir. Glen Goei). A fun comedy about Singapore 20-somethings in the late 1970s who become besotted with Saturday Night Fever and end up reliving it as farce. The movie’s also saying something about globalization, I think, and I suppose Singapore is an ideal place to explore that issue. (2/9/05 on rental DVD)

22). Katatsumori (Snail; 1994; dir. Kawase Naomi). This one is slightly more polished than Ni Tsutsumarete, as Kawase uses her camera not to search for what’s missing in her life, but rather to celebrate what has been there all along: the great-aunt who raised her. Kawase comes off as something of a pest, while her great-aunt (who has a wonderful face) takes on a very earthy form of beatitude. And there is a mysterious, unidentified third party hiding here behind the camera, next to Kawase herself. Again, some touching images: a shot of a dripping kitchen sink that pans to a frosted kitchen window—which then opens, to reveal the great-aunt working in her garden; then the window closes and the camera returns to the dripping faucet. (2/7/05 at the REDCAT Theater in Disney Hall).

21). Ni Tsutsumarete (Embracing; 1992; dir. Kawase Naomi). Kawase (who introduced the film in person at this screening, the U.S. premiere of her work) has been one of the most acclaimed documentary filmmakers to come out of Japan in recent memory. This was my first chance to see her stuff; this is her debut film, a reflective account of her search for her father, whom she had never met. Some remarkable images: in particular, sequences using old family photographs, some of the