My goal: to see 100 movies in 2006
(Last
year, I saw 97 films; the list is available here. The list of the115 films I saw in 2004 is here. The list of the 86 movies I saw in 2003 is here.)
Return to Michael K.
Bourdaghs homepage
95) Casino Royale (2006: dir. Martin
Campbell). On the last day of 2006, my
son and I checked out the new 007. It
was interesting to see how the whole movie was a set-up for the last lines, in
which Daniel Craig finally becomes James Bond:
they even hold off on using the familiar Bond theme music until that
ultimate scene. The rest of the film is,
oddly enough, a real movie: in other
words, they don’t rely on the repertoire of gimmicks built up in the series
over the years. It will be interesting
to see what they do next, now that Craig has assumed the role. My son, a big fan of the series,
approves. (12/31/06 at
the Baus Theater, Kichijôji,
94) Jazz musume kanpai! (Cheers to the jazz girls; 1955; dir. Inoue Umetsugu). A “sannin musume” film made before the Hibari-Chiemi-Izumi trio formed (see #93 below), though both Izumi
and Chiemi appear—though Chiemi
takes a fairly minor role. Another
glossy musical, albeit shot in black-and-white, this was made with the help of
the Takarazuka theatrical company. The three daughters of a vaudeville performer
overcome their father’s objections to their becoming jazz singers and end up movie
stars. Here again, the notion of
voice-over dubbing takes on especial importance—which is odd, in part because
the lip-synching on the musical numbers is pretty bad, particularly in the
first half. And then there’s this
remarkable song performed in black face…. (12/23/06 on Nihon Eiga Senmon Channel)
93). Hibari Chiemi Izumi sannin
yoreba (Hibari, Chiemi & Izumi:
if the three of us stick together; 1964, dir. Sugie
Toshio). The last of the “Sannin musume” (Three girls)
films with Misora Hibari, Eri Chiemi, and Yukimura Izumi, like all the others in the series a big
MGM-style musical, shot in widescreen and full color. In fact, one sequence is clearly modeled on
Judy
92) Hibari no komori uta (Hibari’s lullaby; 1951; dir. Shima
Kôji). Here, Hibari plays two roles – Hibari,
the daughter of a wealthy musical arranger/composer who lives in suburban
91．Innocence
(2004;
dir. Oshii Mamoru). The sequel to Oshii’s Ghost in
Shell – and, I think, even more mind-blowing than the original. The film walks you right into a completely
credible world of surrealism, where you see impossible images that none the less
seem perfectly apt. The story is once
again about technology, humanity, and the soul, and it keeps you thinking, but
it is the visual imaginary that carries this work along. This is one I wish I’d seen on a big screen….
(12/22/06 on DVD)
90). Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001; dir. Gary
Trousdale and Kirk Wise). Better than I
had expected, and interesting in a sociological way, too. Japanese sci-fi anime has spent the last
forty years recycling the stories, images, and characters of late-nineteenth,
early-twentieth century Western sci-fi (Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, etc.), thereby eliciting nostalgia for a now-vanished fantasy of
what the future would look like. Here, Disney turns tables and appropriates
anime: the quirky personalities defined
by various obsessions, the sexy character designs, and the big set-piece battle
scenes are all clearly influences by the work of Ishii, Kon,
and others. (12/16/06
on VHS).
89). Elvis: That’s The Way It Is (1970: dir. Denis
Sanders). A
documentary tracing Elvis’ 1970 appearance at the International Hotel in
88). The Polar Express (2004;
dir. Robert Zemeckis). It is charming, of course, and it was nice to
see people make a family film without feeling the need to slip in some
wink-wink-nod-nod double entendres for the adults. But Tom Hanks is no character actor, and the
animation (especially in the quasi-rollercoaster sequences) made me feel like I
was playing a computer video game. (12/10/06 on DVD).
87). Walk the Line (2005;
dir. James Mangold).
What struck me first is the astonishing similarity of this film in terms
of style, story, and mood to the Ray Charles bio-pic
of a year or two earlier. Joaquin Rivera
does a reasonable job as Johnny Cash, but it Reese Witherspoon as June Carter
was a revelation: man, oh, man. As a kid, I always liked the old
86). ALWAYS 3-chôme no yûhi (Always sunset on
85). Sayônara CP (Goodbye CP; 1972; dir. Hara
Kazuo). The debut work
by Hara,
perhaps Japan’s greatest documentary filmmaker. It’s a frank, in-your-face portrayal of a
group of activist cerebral palsy patients that shocked audiences on its initial
release. The film’s subjects speak about their sexual desires, they get drunk,
and they serve as the film’s narrators, speaking in their own, sometimes
hard-to-understand voices. The movie
includes a number of especially riveting scenes: confronting “ordinary” Japanese on the
street, the wife of one of the main characters slamming a door on the camera,
etc. Hara makes particularly effective
use of the technique of dissociation between visual and audio: throughout the majority of the film, we’re
watching one scene but hearing another. (12/3/06 on VHS).
84). Beethoven (1992;
dir. Brian Levant). I’d never seen this “family
comedy” before. It’s loaded down with
Reagan/Bush-era ideological messages:
working mothers bad, stay-at-home mothers good, etc. Some of the physical gags are well done, though,
and Charles Grodin gives, well, a Charles Grodin performance:
am I wrong to feel nostalgia when I see his face nowadays? The soundtrack by Randy Edelman isn’t half
bad. (11/24/06 on the
NTV network).
83). Ringoen no shôjo (Maid
of the apple orchard; 1952; dir. Shima Kôji). Yet another
early Misora Hibari flick,
this based on a hit radio serial drama in which she had previously
starred. It was the first film produced
and released by her own Shingei Production company,
and although it was apparently shot both on location
in Tsugaru and on the Shôchiku Ofuna
studio lot, using a veteran production staff, it looks more amateurish than her
earlier films. The editing in particular
is clumsy – there is a remarkably bad sequence showing Hibari
out enjoying a motorboat on a lake. Lots
of local color, and Hibari and everyone do their best
to speak with Tôhoku accents. The story, as is standard for her early
films, revolves around a family torn apart by both the war and personal
conflict, and as always it is Hibari’s singing voice
that heals the wounds and reunites kin with kin. Her musical performances are top-notch. (11/19/06 on VHS).
82). Otoko wa tsurai yo: Torajirô monogatari (It’s
tough being a man: Torajirô’s
tale; 1987; dir. Yamada Yôji). #39 in the Tora-san series, and as always quite enjoyable. Here, Tora-san
tries to reunite an abandoned boy with his mother—reminiscent, as the NHK
commentators noted, of Chaplin’s The Kid,
but also of Beat Takeshi’s Kikujirô no natsu. Others
have pointed this out before, but what really caught my eye was the loving care
with which the material culture of lower-working-class life in
81). Chichi koishi (I
miss my dad; 1951; dir. Mizuho Shunkai). Another early Misora Hibari film. Here, she plays the daughter of a woman whose
father forbid her from marrying the man she loved –
only to learn out that she was already pregnant. The pair spend many
years apart before reuniting. As in Kanashiki kuchibue, the key to the reconciliation is a song
composed by the father that Hibari sings – here, the
number in question is “Watashi wa
machi no ko,” one of her
big hits. Just when the movie seems
determined to reach a tragic ending, from out of the blue it pulls off an
almost Brechtian fake ending. (11/9/06 on VHS).
80) Futari no hitomi (Two
pairs of eyes; 1952: dir. Nakaki Shigeo). This is the film where they imported
child-star Margaret O’Brien from
79). Linda Linda Linda (2005; dir.
Yamashita Nobuhiro).
I watched this terrific film when it first came out last year and only
intended to catch a few minutes when I turned on the television last
night. I got hooked again, of course,
and stayed up well past my bedtime to watch all the way through. A very small story – four high school girls form a rock band to perform a couple of songs at their
annual school festival – told extraordinarily well. What struck me this time is how precisely the
film captures the boredom of teen age life:
the dead time spent waiting for the bus, sitting around with friends
hoping something might happen, staring at your bedroom wall at home, etc. The film somehow manages to make boredom into
something quite entertaining. #6 on the Kinema
Junpô Best Ten list for 2005. (11/1/06 on
the Nihon Eiga Senmon
channel)
78). Odoru daisôsasen (Bayside shakedown; 1998;
dir. Motohiro Katsuyuki). A slick comedy/police-thriller, one of the
biggest hits in Japanese film history (its popularity arising, in part, because
it was based on a successful television series). Low-ranking cops solve a kidnapping, a
murder, and a string of petty thefts in their own police station—and try to
cope with tightening budgets and the political ambitions of their
superiors. Lots of sly
references to Kurosawa, especially Tengoku to jigoku (High and Low, 1963). The former signing idol Koizumi Kyôko plays a very creepy Internet vampire. (10/12/06 on
VHS)
77). The Magic Christian (1969;
dir. Joseph McGraith). An absurdist comedy, starring Peter Sellers
and Ringo Starr and featuring a wonderful soundtrack
by Badfinger (including the classic single, “Come and
Get It” that Paul McCartney wrote for the band). Sellers plays an
eccentric millionaire who, with his adopted son Ringo,
spends his days finding out precisely how far greed will take people. The social criticism is blunt,
and the humor not especially funny: this
is the sort of film that Lindsay Anderson could do much more effectively. But it also provides a foreshadowing of
greater things to come: John Cleese and Graham Chapman are credited as contributing to
the screenplay, and both take on small cameo roles to great effect. (10/10/06 on VHS).
76). Chirusoku no natsu (When stars converge; 2003; dir. Sasabe Kiyoshi) The title literally translated would be “The
summer of Tanabata” (Tanabata: July 7, the night when according to East
Asian legend two stars that are in love enjoy their once-a-year
encounter). The movie tells the tale of
a forbidden love between two high school students, one a girl from
75). X-Men (2000; dir.
Bryan Singer). I’d always been curious about
the emotional hold this series seems to have on young ‘uns
these days. Having grown up as part of
the Indy Jones/Star Wars/Christopher Reeves=Superman generation, I understood
the powerful sense of attachment indirectly, and having watched this now I sort
of “get it.” It’s all quite well done,
and the political message is anti-fascist—a nice change of pace these
days. Now I guess I have to go see the
rest of the series….. (9/30/06 on VHS).
74). Three Kings (1999:
dir. David O. Russell). This one had
stuck in my mind ever since I read rave reviews for it when it first opened,
and now (with the current awful mess in
73). The Yûchôten Hotel (The Ecstatic Hotel; 2006: dir. Mitani Kôki). A terrific farce that was a
big hit here earlier this year.
It boasts a genuinely amazing cast—pretty much every actor and actress
worth watching in Japan today has a role—Yakusho Kôji, Odagiri Joe, etc., etc. It’s all based on the great old MGM classic, Grand Hotel (see #42 below), which is
even referenced directly a couple of times—the suite rooms in the hotel here,
for example, are named after the cast members of that film. It’s all very slick and silly, as usual with Mitani, and I find myself again wondering why this sort of
film never gets imported to the
72). Breakfast at Tiffany’s
(1961; dir. Blake Edwards). This
film was made the year I was born, but somehow I’d managed to reach middle age
without seeing it – until now. It is of
course charming (and of course offensive:
can’t they just edit out Mickey Rooney?). Audrey Hepburn starts out as light
and airy as a silk scarf, but just as that act starts to get tiresome, she
begins to add depth and subtlety, until she finally emerges as a character
simultaneously light and heavy. The score
by Henry Mancini is justly famous – there is a particularly wonderful section
near the end of the film where the “
71). Sweet and Lowdown (1999;
dir. Woody Allen). Very
enjoyable Woody film, in which he resumes his exploration of the ambiguities of
documentary filmmaking as an avenue to discovering historical truth (cf. Zelig). Sean Penn gives a wonderful performance as
the genuine creep who also happens to be the world’s second greatest jazz
guitarist (damn that Django Reinhardt). Samantha Morton is also strong as Hattie,
though the rest of the cast seems a bit wooden at times. The best thing about the movie: unlike many
70). Shina no yoru (
69). 119 (1994; dir. Takenaka Naoto). A
romantic comedy that (like Takenaka’s Munô no hito) alludes
to Ozu—and that is constructed as something like the
mirror image of a Tora-san movie. Here it is the beautiful young woman that
travels to a picturesque town in the Japanese countryside, where she becomes
the object of affection for a group of bored, love-starved firemen (the title
is the Japanese emergency telephone number, the equivalent of
68). Tonite Let’s All Make Love in
67). Maison de Himiko (2005; dir. Inudo Isshin). A fine movie about
families, sexuality, and dying.
The estranged daughter of an aging gay man is lured into working at a
retirement home for aging gay men and finds herself involuntarily overcoming
her anger. Terrific performances
throughout, as the actors walk a fine line between bathos and pathos. It’s also one of the few films I’ve seen to
take up the topic of homophobia in
66). RV (2006; dir.
Barry Sonnenfield).
This was the third in-flight movie on a long Minneapolis-Tokyo trip, and
in my jetlagged stupor, I managed to watch the entire thing without the aid of
headphones. And you know what? I don’t think it made much difference – which
is only partially a criticism of the film.
The silliness and physical humor of Robin Williams shone through, and
the story was quite easy to follow even without the dialogue. I wonder if the soundtrack was any good…. (8/26/06 as in-flight movie).
65). Ice Age: The Meltdown (2006; dir. Carlos Saldanha). The
sequel to the animated hit from a few years back, this one comes with a plot
built around the dangers of climate change.
There are a few clever musical gags built in, and luckily the filmmakers
understand the crown jewel of their franchise:
a squirrel who is consumed with desire for an acorn and who reappears
here frequently here in a series of slapstick sequences. (8/26/06 as in-flight
movie).
64). The Pink Panther (2006;
dir. Shawn Levy). The reviews I’d read
for this were so unenthusiastic that I went in with very low expectations – and
then was pleasantly surprised. It’s not
great, but it is quite fun. And it set
me to thinking….Why do we find the notion of remakes in film so troublesome? In theater, for example, we want to see every
male actor worth his salt take on the major roles – Hamlet, Willy Loman, Stanley Kowalski, etc. So why does it upset us to see a film actor
take on a part that is strongly identified with another actor? Why shouldn’t we want to see, for example,
all of the great comic actors of our day take their turn at playing Clouseau? Hmmmm. (8/15/06 as in-flight
movie).
63). She’s the Man (2006;
dir. Andy Fickman).
A light, airy teen movie variation of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, entertaining and sweet. And who knows, maybe it will make the kids
want to take their vitamins and read the original? (8/15/06
as in-flight movie).
62). Munô no hito (Nowhere man; 1991; dir. Takenaka Naoto). A dry, melancholic tale of
midlife crisis and depression, with equal parts sadness and laughter. Takenaka
plays a manga artist who abandons his profession (or
perhaps his audience abandons him) for a series of unrealistic schemes, all of
which end in bizarre failures. His wife and young son look on, mostly in
anger and disgust -- yet they stand by him to the very end. Many Ozu-like touches in the film,
including the shot construction and editing. #4 on the Kinema Junpô Best
Ten list for 1991. (8/13/06 on
VHS).
61). Nabii no koi (Nabbie's love;
1999; dir. Nakae Yuji). A light
and enjoyable romantic comedy that also functions as a remarkable
melodrama: it gives us both melody (lots of Okinawan
songs, which here are presented alongside Italian opera, Irish jigs, the
"Star Spangled Banner" and other tunes--in other words, as World
Music) and drama. The latter, in classical melodramatic fashion,
transforms implacable social contradictions and historical trauma into a
narrative of love between a man and a woman. Here, we have young Okinawan lovers who were separated by fiat in 1940 being
reunited a half century later. The historical trauma is finally
healed, and yet the movie makes no mention of either World War Two or the
American Occupation, as if nothing worth mentioning had happened on
60). Over the Hedge (2006: dir. Karey
Kirkpatrick and Tim Johnson). An enjoyable piece
of animated fluff.
The parodies of contemporary American life are knife sharp
-- though there is something oddly ideological about this
cinematic equivalent of junk food taking on junk food as its target....We
saw the subtitled version with the original English soundtrack, but
the dubbed Japanese version has almost as much star power. The voiceover cast includes Yakusho Kôji and Takeda Tetsuya, among others. (8/6/06 at Kichijôji Bauhaus Theater,
59). The Neverending
Story (West Germany;
1984; dir. Wolfgang Petersen). The last time I saw this was during its
initial release here in
58). Hauru no ugoku shiro (Howl's
57). The Gold Rush (1925; dir. Charles
Chaplin). They aired the 1942 version, with Chaplin's
voiceover, on NHK. In fact, the narration works nicely: there is a
sweetness and decency to Chaplin's voice that matches nicely the film's story
and style. What I'd really like to see, though, is a screening of
this with a soundtrack from a good benshi
(the live performers who provided running commentary to films in Japanese
theaters during the silent era). Chaplin was, after all, enormously
popular in
56). The Great Dictator (1940:
dir. Charles Chaplin). What struck me watching this for the
umpteenth time now were the ways Chaplin worked references to American racism
into his critique of Hitler. The aborted lynching scene that comes early
on, and then the clear reference to racial hatred in the final speech sequence,
all draw connections between European fascism and American racism in a way that
strikes me as quite courageous for its day. And the
globe-as-a-balloon sequence retains all of its charm. (7/22/06 on DVD)
55). 1999-nen no natsuyasumi ((Summer vacation 1999; 1988; dir. Kaneko Shûsuke). Shot almost entirely in languid soft focus, this is the tale of four
boys (or perhaps five or even six -- that point remains ambiguous), boarding
school students left alone on campus over summer vacation. The
whole movie has a powerful manga feel to it,
especially in its powdery depiction of romance and sexual desire: the
boys, for starters, are all played by girls. The real stars here are the
art direction staff, who came up with remarkable sets,
locations, costumes, and props. The depicted world is simultaneously
antique and futuristic: the characters work, for example, on machines
that are a cross between PCs and crystal-set radio kits. (7/22/06 on VHS).
54). Patchigi! (We Shall Overcome Someday!) (2005; dir. Izutsu Kazuyuki). The latest in a string of films about the zai-Nichi (ethnic Korean) experience in
53). Shiko funjatta (Sumo Do, Sumo Don’t; 1992;
dir. Suo Masayuki).
Utterly conventional comedy about an unconventional topic: attempts to resuscitate the moribund sumo
club at a fictional Japanese university.
Pleasant enough, and you learn a little bit
about sumo, but all in all another piece of evidence for explaining why the
Japanese studio system died. The best
thing in it is Takenaka Naoto’s physical humor,
contorting his body in hysterical fashion as he plays a wrestler whose nerves
always give him diarrhea right before his matches. #1 on the Kinema Junpô
Best Ten list for 1992. (7/13/06 on VHS).
52). Hana to Arisu (Hana
& Alice; 2004; dir. Iwai Shunji). A nice little film by Iwai that seems to me
to capture perfectly – with an acceptable degree of exaggeration – what it is
like to be fifteen years old: the
stupid games you play with your friends, the way your friends turn the tables
on you in those games, and the way all of this functions as a substitute form
of self-expression and communication.
Two teen-age girls fall for the same boy here, and convince him
(perhaps: again, there are wheels
spinning within wheels in the games played here) that he is suffering from amnesia. As usual with Iwai, the pace is measured and
the actors all seem to be on Prozac, but the film never drags. There’s a nice string-quartet score composed
by Iwai himself. I’ve decided that Iwai
is the Murakami Haruki of contemporary Japanese
film-makers. Surely I’m not the first to
make this discovery. (7/12/06
on DVD).
51). Kiraware Matsuko no isshô (Memories
of Matsuko; 2006; dir. Nakashima Tetsuya). From the director of the delightful Shimotsuma
monogatari (Kamikaze girls), this is a
surrealistic musical, in the vein of Dancer in the Dark or Chicago.
The first half is a mess (it didn't help that I was woozy from lack of sleep
after getting up in the middle of the night to watch the World Cup final), but
the last 45 minutes or so pack a powerful humanistic punch. Centering on
the ultimate hard-luck life of the title character (played well by Nakatani Miki), the film insists with great skill that
unselfish love is the only thing that makes human life worth living -- even as
it traces how Japanese society over the last fifty years has made
such love almost (but not entirely) impossible. #6 on the Kinema
Junpô Best Ten list for 2006. (7/10/06 at Shinjuku Joy Cinema 3 Theater).
50) Grand Show 1946-nen (Grand Show 1946; 1946; dir. Makino
Masahiro). The Shochiku studio's musical extravaganza for
New Year's, 1946, filmed just a few months after
49) The Kids
Are Alright (1979; dir. Jeff Stein). I watched this for the umpteenth
time, because every once in a while I just need to see Keith Moon smash a drum
kit and Pete Townshend do that windmill thing. Nothing
better for the release of pent-up stress. (7/706 on
VHS).
48).
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005;
dir. Andrew Adamson). Why are all the
great fantasy movies, with no connection to human reality, all shot in
47). Peep TV Show (2003;
dir. Tsuchiya Yutaka). A remarkable work
that walks the borderline between documentary and feature film, this explores
on multiple levels the diminishing sense of the real in our media-spectacle
world. Using as its starting point the
televised images of 9/11, it walks us through a series of related
problems: security cameras, invasive
peeping tom cameras, Internet “reality” livecam
websites, etc. We follow two main
characters as they proceed through a series of increasingly violent sequences
acted out for Internet audiences, all in attempts to touch something real. This is all filmed in documentary style, with
“real” footage spliced together with staged sequences, all of it leading up to
the first anniversary of the 9/11 events and a realization that in a sense, we
all live at “Ground Zero” of media culture.
(7/2/06 at Cinema ArtOne Shimokitazawa,
46). Nihon no akuryô (Evil spirits of Japan; 1970; dir. Kuroki Kazuo) A classic example of 1970s Art Theater Guilt
(ATG) cinema, this is an avant garde yakuza film that explores questions of identity,
politics, and pretty much everything else. It uses all sorts of
experimental techniques, most prominently the disassociation of soundtrack from
visual image: we're constantly watching one scene but hearing
another. One of the big attractions for me was the soundtrack by two
leading figures from the 1960s underground folk music scene: Hayakawa
Yoshio (of The Jacks) and Okabayashi Nobuyasu. Okabayashi
makes several appearances in the film, singing his compositions
while parodying the whole notion of interjecting musical numbers into
films. (6/25/06 on VHS taped from Nihon Eiga
Senmon Channel)
45). Dodgeball
(2004; dir. Rawson Marshall Thurber). Well, it was Friday night and I wanted to
watch a stupid movie....If you do see this, make sure to stick around through
the end credits for the finale sequence, one of the more striking statements of
Hollywood's self-loathing you'll encounter anywhere. Sure,
it's intended as tongue-in-cheek, and yet it's the
only place in the film where you see actual emotion: pure
self-hatred. (6/23/06 on DVD)
44). Tony Takatani (2005;
dir.
43). Racing Stripes (2005; dir. Frederick Du Chau). A dud of a movie. The
characters are boring, the moral conflicts absurdly uninteresting, and you spot
every joke punch-line coming from a mile off.
Every time the film has a chance to stir up some magic (e.g., the first
time the animals speak), it just sloughs it off with a
shrug. It doesn’t even bother to give us
much horse/zebra racing footage and, somehow, making horses into villains just
doesn’t work. I’m ashamed to admit that
I kinda like talking animal movies, but this one is
plain dull. (6/8/06
on DVD).
42). Grand Hotel (1932; dir. Edmund Goulding). Early MGM
star vehicle, with John and Lionel Barrymore, Greta Garbo
(who wants to be alone), Joan Crawford and others, all at their radiant
star-power brightest. The full facial
close-up is the favorite device, of course.
What strikes me watching it now is the relatively adventuresome quality
of Pre-Code studio film-making – there’s cynicism, sexiness, and lots of
flippant anti-capitalist remarks all over the place. Not to mention the inherent fascination of
watching a depiction of
41). In za pûru (In the pool; 2005; dir. Miki Satoshi). Another very commercial
comedy. Quite funny, though as
often happens with farces like this, it loses energy near the end when its
attention turns to wrapping up the various plot threads. It’s the story of a mental health clinic, its
chief doctor (Matsuo Suzuki) who is clearly bonkers, his very sexy nurse
(MAIKO), and three patients who struggle with various obsessions. Very strong performances
throughout, including Odagiri Joe as a man burdened with a constant erection
and Ichikawa Miwako as a journalist suffering from
obsessive compulsion disorder.
Watching, I was vaguely reminded of Wong Kar-Wai’s
work: the style, purpose and ambition here
are completely different, and yet there is a similar attempt to capture the
alienation of contemporary urban life in
40). TRICK (2002; dir. Tsutsumi
Yukihiko). The
K in the title should be flipped around backwards, as in the title of the
popular television series on which this is based. A very commercial movie, highly entertaining—precisely
the sort of Japanese film that never gets released abroad, because it has no
artistic pretensions whatsoever. Nakama Yukie plays Yamada, a hapless female magician who,
as in the series, gets tangled up with conmen who fake supernatural
powers. As always, she is aided/frustrated by her friend Ueda (Abe Hiroshi), a
scientist-author who also specializes in exploring the metaphysical realm. Part of the charm of the film and series
comes from the love-hate relationship between those two: they are always too busy quarrelling to
notice that they are on the brink of failing in love. The script consists of an infinitely
expandable string of silly puns (especially those involving Chinese
characters), sillier jokes, and unexpected plot twists that usually turn on
brain teasers. (5/26/06
on VHS).
39). Densha otoko (Train man; 2005; dir. Murakami Masanori). Another huge hit from last
year, a very charming movie. Like
much of the best recent mainstream film from
38). Akasen chitai (Street of shame; 1956; dir. Mizoguchi
Kenzô). Mizoguchi’s last film, and one of
his best. A powerful melodrama about
women in Yoshiwara, the
37). Chicken Little (2005; dir. Mark Dindal). I came to
this with very low expectations, having read the mostly unenthusiastic reviews
that greeted its initial release last year back in the States. As a result of that, perhaps, I liked it more
than I expected. It does have
problems: it reminded me of Napoleon Dynamite on the sense that
though it purports to take the side of the misfit underdogs, it also expects us
to enjoy shots of them being tormented by bullies—e.g., the dodgeball
sequence here, when we are supposed to find humor in the fat pig being hammered
repeatedly and viciously by the popular kids in class. This is a classic instance of disavowal, whereby we get to enjoy being cruel to those
weaker than us but simultaneously get to deny our complicity in that
cruelty. Setting that aside, though, it’s
mostly a fun children’s picture with lots of allusions to other films
throughout. It’s far from a masterpiece,
but it isn’t awful, either. My
nine-year-old loved it, I should note. (5/7/06 on DVD).
36). NANA (2005; dir Ôtani
Kentarô). One
of the biggest hits in
35). Sono ato no hachi no su no kodomotachi (The later
children of the beehive; 1951; dir. Shimizu Hiroshi). The sequel to #31 below. The pretext here is that the original film
was a documentary and that the children in it have become famous because of
it. With their adult mentor, they have
formed a kind of soviet commune in the mountains of
34).
33). Wayne’s World (1992; dir. Penelope Spheeris). When I
saw this o n its first release, I laughed so hard that tears literally streamed
down my face. Watching it again now, I
still laugh, but not nearly as hard. In
part, it’s because I of course remember the punch lines in advance,
and also because so many of the once-fresh bits in the film became so popular
that they subsequently became clichés and lost their edge. But it’s also because the humor in the film
is so topical that it’s quite dated now:
I spent much time explaining now-obscure pop culture allusions (Grey Poupon mustard commercials, the Laverne & Shirley show, etc.) to my 14-year-old. It’s still a lot of fun, though, and Tia Carrera’s performance in it sits alongside that of P.J.
Soles in Rock and Roll High School on
my all-time list of crushes on actresses.
(4/29/06 on VHS).
32). Jozee to tora to sakanatachi (Josee, the tiger and the fish; 2003; dir. Inudo Isshin). A terrific off-beat romantic comedy about an
aimless college student and the paraplegic woman he literally runs into in the
street—whereupon she tries to knife him.
Their’s is a bumpy relationship, needless to say. The improbably story is nonetheless quite
convincing, in large part due to the terrific performances throughout, not to
mention the very intelligent script. The
film ends on what struck me as a surprising note—at least I didn’t see it
coming. Funny, sexy, unpredictable: a fine little movie. It has a tidy soundtrack, too, and lots of
oddball peripheral characters to keep things interesting. #4 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 2003. (4/25/06 on DVD)
31).
Hachi no su no kodomotachi (Children of the beehive; 1948; dir.
Shimizu Hiroshi). A
fine example of postwar Japanese humanism. Shimizu takes an anonymous social problem—the
thousands of war-orphaned street urchins who swarmed city
streets in the years after 1945, stealing, pimping, cursing, and generally menacing “decent” society—and gives it a human face. We follow a group of boys who find themselves informally adopted by an equally
homeless returned soldier. He tries,
with more or less success, to teach them how to live right. The film is funny, sad, beautiful—and quite
optimistic. It’s
shot on location, ranging all over the southern half of
30).
Swallowtail (Swallowtail butterly;
1996; dir. Iwai Shunji). I’d been wanting to
see this controversial work for years—controversial because
of the way it portrays foreign immigrants in future Japan as slum-dwelling
gangsters and prostitutes, even as the stance of the film is basically sympathetic
to them. The story is an odd mixture of
science fiction, action, and story-of-the-rock-band, kind of like Road Warrior crossed with Flashdance. The movie is polyglot
and messy—probably on purpose—but there’s also an undeniable energy that drives the whole thing along to its
improbable climax. And it includes some wickedly funny parodies of how Japanese behave around foreigners. (4/3/06 on VHS).
29).
Touch (2005; dir. Inudô Isshin). Based on a popular manga
and anime series, this is the story of two baseball-loving twin brothers and
the neighbor girl they grow up with. The
question is, of course, which brother the girl will fall for. The decision should be somewhat easier after
one of the brothers dies, but the course of young love is never smooth, at
least not in melodramas. Filmed with all the soft lighting, soft focus, and soft music of a
coffee commercial—but with none of the emotional depth. I love baseball and baseball movies, but this
one whiffs. (3/18/06
as in-flight movie).
28).
Gimme Shelter (1970; dir. Albert and David Maysles). I continue
to work my way through the rock music section of our neighborhood video rental
shop. Watching this for the first time
in about twenty years, I am struck by the remarkably high quality of the
visuals. It’s amazing how often the Maysles’ crew manage to capture fleeting yet definitive
images, zooming in on a particular face in a crowd, for example, just in time
to see it erupt with emotion. The end
credits list something like twenty different cameramen, much more than work on
a typical documentary, I think. I’m not
sure how many of those were present filming at the climactic Altamont Speedway
concert, but they do an amazing job of cataloging the sights and sounds of both
the performers and the audience on that violent, tragic day. (3/11/06 on VHS).
27).
Minna no ie (Everybody’s
house; 2001; dir. Mitani Kôki). A pleasant comedy from Mitani, albeit not quite as funny or as sharp as Rajio no jikan or Warai no daigaku. You’ve seen a dozen different versions of
this plot: a naïve young couple wanting
to build their dream house get caught up between a demanding, stubborn designer
with avant garde
pretensions and an equally stubborn traditionalist builder who, to complicates
matters, is the wife’s father, determined to build her the house he thinks she
should have. In the end, of course,
everyone turns out to have a heart of gold and they build a lovely new home. Good performances from a talented cast, as always
in Mitani’s work, but nothing more than a pleasant
trifle. Of course, there are worse
things than pleasant trifles. (3/11/06
on VHS)
26).
The Sting (1973; dir. George Roy Hill). Like Tommy
(see #23 below), I saw this with my middle-school buddies when it first came
out. In fact, for a good while it was
virtually the only movie we could see, since it played at our neighborhood
movie palace, the Grandview Theater (in continuous operation since 1926), for
more than a year. I think we ended up
seeing it five times during that first run.
Watching it now, I’m struck not so much by all the lovely old-fashioned
techniques it uses (wipes and keyhole dissolves, ragtime music, title cards) as
by how 1970s it all looks and feels: the
artfully constructed shots that remind me of an era when Hollywood wasn’t
afraid to give even its mainstream directors a wee bit of slack in their
leashes. Great fun, of
course. (3/10/06
on VHS).
25). Rajio no jikan
(Radio Time; also known as Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald; 1997; dir. Mitani Kôki). Terrific backstage farce about a live
broadcast of a radio drama—the harried producer who just wants to keep everyone
happy enough to finish the program, the amateur contest-winning scriptwriter
who watches in despair as her script is mangled, the actors and actresses who
vie with one another to see who can be the most self-centered and vain, etc.,
etc. A terrific cast (including some
very big names in very small roles) and script kept me in stitches all the way
through. Mitani
in both his writing style and his position in the film industry reminds me of
Neil Simon at his peak, back in the 1970s.
#3 on the Kinema Junpô Best
Ten list for 1997. (3/5/06 on VHS).
24).
Gigi (1958; dir. Vincent Minnelli). Winner of 13 Academy Awards, if I’m counting
correctly. It’s charming, of course,
though the female contingent in the family weren’t as enthusiastic about
it. I was struck by how tuneless the
whole thing is: the lyrics to the songs are
quite memorable (“Thank Heaven For Little Girls,” “I
Remember It Well,” etc.), of course, but I challenge you to try humming any of
them. (3/4/06 on NHK
BS2).
23).
Tommy (1975; dir. Ken Russell). I saw this when it first came out; I was
thirteen years old. My buddies and I
went to the Skyway multiplex in downtown
22).
Kanashiki kuchibue (Sad
whistle; 1949; dir. Ieki Miyoji). Misora Hibari’s first starring role, made when she was just twelve
years old. She plays a ragamuffin street
urchin who is adopted into the family of a down-and-out concert violinist and
his beautiful daughter (no mothers in sight, which seems a common thread
running through Hibari’s films). The ruins of early postwar
21).
Dare mo shiranai (Nobody
knows; 2004; dir. Koreeda Hirokazu). I missed this when it came through the
20).
Chi to hone (Blood and bones; 2004; dir. Sai
Yôichi). Something
like Once Upon A Time in America, but
set in the Zai-Nichi slums of
19).
The Miracle Worker (1962; dir. Arthur Penn). A filmed version of a stage play that, unlike
Warai no daigaku,
doesn’t feel like that at all (of course, the stagy feel in Warai no daigaku might be intentional, since
the whole film is about the theater).
This is also one an example of a genre that fascinates me: the 1950s
18).
Warai no daigaku (
17).
2046 (
16).
Operetta Tanuki Goten (Operetta Princess Racoon;
2005; dir. Suzuki Seijun). A fluffy piece of nonsense, a colorful
fairytale with music of all sorts—chanson, calypso, kabuki, rap, enka, etc., etc.
It’s fun to see Zhang Ziyi as a full-blown Heian-era princess, and the late Misora
Hibari even manages to make an appearance. In terms of Japanese film, it recalls the Van
Gogh sequence from Kurosawa’s Dreams—and
of course Suzuki’s own lunatic-genius films from the 1960s, especially the
final shout-out sequence in Tokyo Drifter. Beyond
15).
Tsuruhachi Tsurujirô (Tsuruhachi and Tsurujirô; 1938;
dir. Naruse Mikio). One of Naruse’s
early talkies—and he really takes advantage of having sound. It’s the story of a male singer and his female
shamisen player, superstars on the yose
(Japanese-style vaudeville) circuit.
They’ve been raised almost as brother and sister, and their devotion to
their art leads them to bicker constantly—yet they also clearly love one
another. They come close to marrying,
but repeatedly break up. Naruse shows great affection for the world of yose, allowing
various acts lots of screen time. There
are, of course, many nagauta
songs performed by the main duo, while the soundtrack is basically Western
classical—except it uses heavy orientalist stylings whenever we draw back to the world of the yose theater. The film is on the whole conventional, but
there’s one particularly remarkable (and dialogue-free) sequence: Tsurujirô, the male
half of the duo, is on his own for two years as a performer and slowly declines
until he’s playing fourth-rate theaters in the provinces. Walking outside the rustic theater one day,
he sees local boys tear down the poster for his act and fold it into a paper
boat, which then floats away down a little creek – the camera following it for
a good long while. (2/12/06 on VHS taped from NHK-BS2).
14). Janis: A Film (1974; dir. Howard Alk and Seaton Findlay).
For some reason or other, I’ve been into Janis Joplin lately—it’s been
nearly thirty years since I last paid much attention to her. At any rate, this is a nice documentary, lots
of interview and concert stuff, plus great footage of Janis at her tenth high
school reunion back in
13).
Namida o, shishi no tategami ni (Tears on the
lion’s mane; 1962; dir. Shinoda Masahiro). Yet another piece from the early 1960s’ New Wave, this one tells a story of corruption on the
dockyards and of a decent young man who finds himself transformed into a thug
by a crooked company. It’s creative and
stylish (check out, for example, the opening credit sequence), though it ends
up veering into blatant melodrama by the end—which in this case is a bad
thing. Memories of the war pop up
throughout in interesting ways, including false memories, and the film is also
studded with what seemed to me allusions to Kurosawa: stray dogs, violent rain storms, the sound of
water dripping against a scene of sexual tension, etc. The soundtrack by Takemitsu
Tôru is quite elegant, consisting mainly of classical
string quartet music—but punctuated with diegetic pop
songs, including a very striking rockabilly number sung acapella
by the hero. Terayama
Shûji, by the way, is one of the credited
screenwriters. (2/8/06 on VHS recorded
from NHK-BS2).
12).
Roku de nashi (Good-for-nothing;
1960; dir. Yoshida Yoshishige). An early instance of
Japanese New Wave cinema, a sharp little film that crackles with energy. The story revolves around the tough-as-nails
female secretary of an utterly amoral company president, and the gang of
“good-for-nothing,” thrill-seeking youths that the company president’s son
hangs out with. The secretary and one of
the youths fall in love, though neither can admit it—and it leads to a tragic
(and striking) end. The camera work and
editing are first-rate, with creative use of hand-held shots, strange angles,
jump cuts: visually, the film is simply
alive from the first frame of the opening credits. The soundtrack is quite nice, too: urban jazz that isn’t caricatured. The script is full of these wonderful little
snippets of conversation that characters have about life, philosophy, society,
etc. Those moments provide some of the
film’s social commentary, as do the shots of anti-AMPO street protests cut in
midway through, and likewise the subplot about the secretary’s brother and his
wife’s quarrels over their purchases of the latest consumer goods—a
refrigerator and television. (2/7/06 on
VHS recorded from NHK-BS2).
11).
Tôkyô kôshinkyoku (Tokyo
march; 1929; dir. Mizoguchi Kenji). This is the fiftieth anniversary of Mizoguchi’s death, so we will be seeing various
retrospectives throughout the year. This
silent film was based on a hit jazz song, it provides
an instance of the early crossover sophistication of the Japanese film and
music industries. Even in the silent
era, the studios knew how to exploit a hit song! Only 25 minutes survive out of what was once
a full-length feature (100+ minutes), but the story is still legible: a poor, beautiful young factory worker is
sold as a geisha by her family; an honest, dedicated wealthy young man who
normally doesn’t mingle with geisha falls in love with her—but turns out to be
her half-brother. She marries the young
man’s rival/friend, who has also fallen in love with her, and in the final shot
embarks on an ocean voyage to
10).
Kaze no Tani no Naushika (Nausicaa of the
Valley of Wind; 1984; dir. Miyazaki Hayao).
9).
Iden & Tity
(2003; dir. Taguchi Tomorowo). I’d been wanting to
see this one since it first came out. A
charming story-of-the-band flick, about a club-circuit rock group’s struggles
to keep it real in music and life—their songwriter-guitarist wants to somehow
hold his “iden” and his “tity”
together. Bob Dylan (played by an actor,
but apparently with the Great One’s blessings) keeps showing up, the way
Humphrey Bogart haunts Woody Allen in Play
It Again, Sam, and there’s a wonderful musical joke involving Dylan right
at the end. The music is good and
convincing: the songs sound like those
of a band right on the cusp of breaking through. The film gets a bit preachy and talky toward
the end, but overall a nice, solid rock movie.
(2/1/06 on rental DVD)
8).
Ai to kibô no machi (Town
of love and hope; 1959; dir. Ôshima Nagisa). I always
have mixed feelings about Ôshima’s films. Intellectually, they can be absolutely
stunning, but as films they are too often, uhm,
boring. They call to mind Mark Twain’s
famous put-down: “They tell me Wagner’s
music is better than it sounds.” To wit,
Ôshima is sometimes better to read about than to
watch. But this, his first feature film,
was a pleasant surprise. The characters
are still humorless and a tad too earnest, but there are real passions at
stake, a strong narrative arc, and the work still manages to make a stinging
social commentary about class relations in
7).
Help!
(1965; dir. Richard Lester). I hadn’t seen this one in many years. Not quite up to the standard of A Hard Day’s Night, the masterpiece
Lester made with The Beatles the year before and which combines zany humor with
a Neo-Realist sensibility, this one is still quite interesting and fun. The budget was much higher on it, allowing
Lester to shoot on location in the Alps and
6).
Tôkyô nagaremono (Tokyo
drifter; 1966; dir. Suzuki Seijun). Watched this for the
umpteenth time with my class in postwar Japanese popular culture. What struck me this time were the brief
snippet of The Spiders’ great debut single, “Furi Furi,” used briefly in the background of the discotheque
scene, and how bad the English subtitles are:
as if the film weren’t confusing enough on its own, they make an even
greater muddle of things. (1/27/06 on VHS).
5).
Shûu (Sudden rain; 1956; dir. Naruse Mikio). The centennial retrospectives for Naruse continue, with another week of his movies on
NHK-BS2. This is an absolutely charming
work, one of Naruse’s best, I think. Once again, the topic is an unhappy marriage,
and the film brilliantly picks up the ways the smallest details of daily life
(reading the newspaper, pouring a cup of tea, a chat about the weather) all
become weapons in a never-ending battle.
Here the battle spreads beyond the central couple to engulf their
neighbors and then the whole neighborhood:
everyone is getting one everyone’s nerves. The film is both touching and funny; it ends
with a brilliant sequence in which the husband and wife bat a child’s paper
balloon back and forth, a playful game that is simultaneously a desperate
battle. Throughout, we hear solo piano
on the soundtrack—someone is constantly practicing piano in the neighborhood,
and luckily for us, they consistently choose to work on pieces that match the
tone of the scene. And of course the
piano player too becomes a target for complaints from the neighbors…. (1/26/06
on VHS taped from NHK-BS2).
4).
Sho o suteyô machi ni deyô
(Throw away your books and head for the streets; 1971; dir. Terayama
Shûji). Absurdist, surreal film from the great theater director and
provocateur Terayama. The hero is a young man who lives with his
family on the fringes of
3).
Gojira (Godzilla; 1954; dir. Honda Ishirô ). Another
one I viewed
for the first time in many years in preparation for teaching it. Though this includes one of Shimura Takashi’s
worst performances as an actor (he’s the naïve, dedicated scientist who wants
to preserve Godzilla as a scientific specimen), it’s still strikingly
good. Ifukube
Akira’s musical score is justly famous, for starters, especially in the
mournful passages backing shots of the devastated
2).
Taiyô no kisetsu (Season
of the sun; 1956, dir. Furukawa Takumi).
This one’s better than I remembered it being – the beginning of the “sun
tribe” phenomenon in Japanese film, and Ishihara Yûjirô’s first
film (though he only has a small part in it).
Another story of teen-age rebellion-without-a-cause, set on the beaches
and in the nightclubs where the children of
1).
Kurutta kajitsu
(Crazed fruit; 1956; dir. Nakahira Ko). One of Ishihara Yûjirô’s
first starring roles, I watched this for the first
time in a decade in preparation for teaching it in a class on postwar Japanese
popular culture. It’s really a striking
film, a tale of teen-age ennui among the elite classes in mid-1950s
(Last
year, I saw 97 films; the list is available here. The list of the115 films I saw in 2004 is here. The list of the 86 movies I saw in 2003 is here.)