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News from Home (1976)
(An Away from) Home Movie
As far as experimental documentaries in the style of "cinema verité" go, News from Home was pretty much what I expected. We get some footage of New York City in the 1970s shot on 16mm film with a voice over of the director, Chantal Akerman, reading letters from her mother, and that's pretty much it. Reviewing these sorts of minimalist films is difficult for me, because there isn't much to latch on to. But there's one question that unites all films, minimalist or no: were you engaged by the film? And...well, no; I was rather bored through most of the runtime.
There are some striking images, particularly the ferry ride to Staten Island at the end of the film where you see Lower Manhattan receding into the fog, but most of the images are rather uninteresting. Shots of alleyways or streets without much - if any - movement that go on interminably long. Whole sequences of the camera on a subway train showing the brick walls of the tunnel passing by. Portraits of storefronts with the proprietor just lounging around waiting for something to do. Most of these kinds of shots just are not very visually stimulating, and even some that are work better as still photos and not something you leave the camera running on for thirty seconds. All of this might be intriguing if one lived in 1970s New York or if you are just fascinated by all things New York, but these shots didn't really stir any emotion in me.
As for the voiceover, one has to commend Akerman for being brave enough to publicly display her personal family drama (though I can't help but wonder what her mother would have thought) though there is nothing too remarkable being reported on in her mother's letters. Pretty standard familial conflicts really. The intent of the film is likely to have us read between the lines on these letters and match them up to the shots, from which one might infer that Akerman is (or was) rather lonely and depressed. As someone who themselves moved thousands of miles away from family as an adult, I can sympathize with a lot of the emotions being expressed though 80-ish minutes of this is just a bit too much for me to take. On a final note, while there are some individuals who "you'd listen to them reading the phone book," Chantal Akerman is not one of these individuals. Her voiceover was rather flat and unemotional, which again is perhaps the point, though it left me struggling to connect with the film regardless.
Overall, I would still give News from Home a 5/10 because this feels for all intents and purposes like the sort of film Akerman wanted to make and there are a few beautifully framed shots here and there. I know these sorts of abstract documentaries appeal to some people, though I cannot count myself among their number. Thus, I cannot really rant against Akerman: I knew what kind of film this was, and what I was getting myself into so you I won't bemoan the lack of a plot or the artificial trappings of narrative. If you are the sort of person who enjoys footage of urban cityscapes, film minimalism or cinema verité, you will probably enjoy this. Otherwise, you would probably be better served watching something else.
Xi meng ren sheng (1993)
Puppetry and Cinema: A Failed Experiment
The Puppetmaster is a film that had intrigued me for several years. It competed at Cannes in 1993, has won several accolades and is highly regarded by critics and yet it virtually unknown to all but the most dedicated of cinephiles. Having seen a few of Director Hou Hsiao-hsien's films beforehand - such A City of Sadness and Dust in the Wind - I had some idea of what I was in for. However, while I found that the director's style worked for those films, I found the rigid formalism of Hou's direction in The Puppetmaster stifling to the point where I was, frankly, rather bored by the film.
The Puppetmaster is concerned with telling the first 35 years of the life of Li Tien-lu, a Taiwanese puppeteer in episodic format, alternating between dramatic reenactments of certain scenes of his life and interviews with the real Li in the then-present. The story serves as a window into what life was like during the fifty-year Japanese occupation of Taiwan and delves into Li's activities during that time, including performing Japanese propaganda in the form of puppet shows. Such a topic has the potential to be interesting; unfortunately, the presentation of the story is severely lacking.
The chief fault lies almost entirely with Hou's directorial style. The film is comprised almost entirely of long, static shots some distance away from the main action with no camera movement or close-ups. This is no doubt intentional, and in a film, the film resembles a puppet show in and of itself; however, such a presentation just is not cinematically interesting. Instead of watching a film, I feel like I am watching a play in a bad theater seat without the benefit of peripheral vision or the ability to look where I want to. There are times when actors disappear from the screen for several seconds to do something off-camera, and the audience is left staring at an empty room. It can also be difficult to differentiate the characters of connect with them in any way since all the action is taking place so far from the camera. It says something that the interviews with the older Li, shot in typical documentary "talking heads" style, is more engaging than the so-called dramatic reenactments.
Exacerbating the problem with Hou's directorial style is the fact that much of the film simply isn't that interesting. Most of the events that engaged me occur in the last third of the film and concern Li's involvement with Japanese wartime propaganda; the prior two thirds felt very dry in comparison and amount to little more than stereotypical "slice of life" type events. Of course, it doesn't help when the pacing slows to a crawl either, such as one scene where two characters are eating and no one talks for about two whole minutes of screentime or on another occasion where roughly a minute of screentime is devoted to watching people cross a bridge - shot at a great distance away with no zoom of course. It gets to the point where one wonders what exactly these scenes are contributing to the film.
Because of these stylistic choices, it is tough to judge the acting in the film. Indeed, one could make the case that they are merely puppets for the director to move about as he wills. I will say that no one gives a distractingly bad performance though I also feel obligated to point out that no one gives a performance that's all that memorable either. The real Li is - perhaps fittingly - the only memorable human presence in the film. And indeed, his rambling recollections of his life are oftentimes more entertaining that the reenactments themselves. As a quick aside however, the fact that Li rather cavalierly cheats on his wife and freely admits it certainly might rub some viewers the wrong way, almost pushing him into 'unsympathetic protagonist' territory without many redeeming features.
In terms of music, the score is primary composed of source music and works well enough although it can get a little repetitive at times with the same instruments (chiefly percussion instruments) being used over and over. The few tracks of incidental music are well composed, particularly the track used in the final scene of the film. The cinematography is well lit and helps make the bland staging of the dramatic reenactments more bearable. Editing wise, I suppose little could be done given Hou's style for the film, but I feel several minutes could have been taken out of the film and it would not unduly suffer.
In conclusion, The Puppetmaster is best described as a cinema curio that I would only recommend to those who are fans of Hou Hsiao-hsien's work. Even more ardent cinephiles are likely to find themselves bored at times by the film which suffers chiefly because of the director's stylistic choices. That and the somewhat dull nature of the first two thirds of the film overwhelm its technical competency and leave it with a middling 5/10 grade from me.
Ladri di biciclette (1948)
The Pinnacle of Italian Neorealism
Bicycle Thieves is one of the most searing and heartfelt films I've ever seen. More than any other film from the Italian Neorealist movement, it represents all the virtues that characterize this style of cinema - on location shooting, little to no melodrama or cheap sentimentality, and a honest examination of contemporary social issues - while avoiding the somewhat stilted style that plagues other neorealist films.
The story is a simple one. In the aftermath of World War II, Italy is mired in poverty and jobs are hard to come by. One man living in the slums gets a job that requires he has a bicycle, but on the first day his bicycle is stolen. Faced with the loss of his job, he and his young son scour the streets of Rome trying to get the bicycle back.
The story has enough of a central focus to enable it to move along at a steady pace while retaining free from unnecessary complications that gives the narrative a chance to slow down and build the characters of the father and son or build a hopeless, despondent mood over the poverty and the indifference of humans towards the suffering of those less fortunate than themselves.
Much like the story, the characters are rather simple, working class folk; however, simple does not mean two-dimensional and both the father Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani) and his son Bruno (Enzo Staiola) give rich performances, no doubt helped by director Vittorio De Sica's own experience as an actor. Antonio slowly becomes overwhelmed by desperation and despair over the course of the film, culminating in him attempting to steal a bicycle himself and its hard to believe at times that he was a completely nonprofessional actor. Meanwhile Bruno is no less compelling, displaying a mix of childish idealism in looking up to his father that is tempered with a premature dose of cynicism over the circumstances he finds himself in. The other actors also give solid performances.
The direction of the film is also stellar. Unlike other neorealist films which sometimes feature an austere directorial style, De Sica uses multiple cameras and dolly shots to give the film a snappy, dynamic style. While not showy, it gives the film a sense of energy that keeps it from getting bogged down in the dreariness of the subject matter and setting. That fact that the film had so many professional film workers on its staff is also evident in the cinematography by Carlo Montuori which is sharp and crisp with excellent depth of field. The editing by Eraldo Da Roma is also quick and decisive, knowing when to slow down to let the poignancy of a moment sit in, such as the end of the film when Antonio and Bruno are lost in the crowded streets of Rome, but giving a sense of urgency to others, such as the search for the bike parts in the open-air market. Musically, the score of the film is provided by Alessandro Cicognini, and is provides a nice mix of melodies that compliment the film well. While you probably won't be humming it to yourself days after you see the film, it nonetheless is a solid plus in the film's favor.
In conclusion, Bicycle Thieves is truly worthy of being lauded as one of the greatest films of all time and serving as the definitive neorealist film. Don't let the simplicity of the story fool you, this is an emotionally rich film that shows that a film doesn't need to be complex to have depth.
Gojira (1984)
A Return to Form
The Return of Godzilla is the first film that in the second series - or Heisei era - of Godzilla films and functions as a direct sequel to the original 1954 film, ignoring all other films in-between. The film tries to emulate the potent anti-nuclear allegory of the original, updated to reflect then-contemporary nuclear fears and anxieties - namely the tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union that threatened to break out into a full-scale nuclear war. In many ways, it is just as somber as the original film due to its moody atmosphere and darkly lit cinematography with deep shadows.
The overarching plot concerns Godzilla being awoken by volcanic activity and returning to menace Japan 30 years after its initial rampage with the main focus being on a scientist, his assistants and the Japanese government attempting to navigate the geopolitical ramifications and determine a means of stopping the monster. It's a strong premise, and for the first time allows the series to explore the real-life implications the appearance of a giant radioactive monster would cause. The segments with the politicians discussing the impact of Godzilla's activities are actually my favorite parts of the movie, even more so than the parts featuring Godzilla himself, as it allows for some interesting political commentary on Japan's role in global politics and feel like a spiritual predecessor to Shin Godzilla in many ways.
However, while I found the scenes with the politicians compelling, the scenes following the main human characters are a bit of a letdown. Goro Maki (Ken Tanaka), Naoko Okumura (Yasuko Sawaguchi) and her brother Hiroshi (Shin Takuma) are all a bit bland and forgettable; particularly disappointing is Tanaka as Maki, a reporter, as his role starts off interesting but the script runs out of things for him to do in the second half of the film once his character's main conflict - his frustration over the government's decision to keep Godzilla's return a secret - is resolved. There's also a half-hearted romantic relationship between Maki and Naoko that isn't developed well or all that consequential to the story. It's the supporting cast, namely the Prime Minister (Keiju Kobayashi) and Prof. Hayashida (Yosuke Natsuki) who are carrying the weight acting-wise in the film and their characters have much more depth as a result. Kobayashi's performance makes the pressure the Prime Minister feels over his country's situation tantalizing real. Natsuki as Hayashida is essentially a rehash of the Dr. Yamane character from the 1954 film although his backstory - both his parents were killed by Godzilla in 1954 - adds an interesting twist to his character. Fans of classic Japanese cinema may also note many prominent actors from other Japanese films making small appearances in the movie, such as Hiroshi Koizumi as a geologist, Kei Sato as a newspaper editor and Eitaro Ozawa and Mizuho Suzuki as cabinet ministers.
One final review note on the plot, I admit to becoming a bit confused trying to figure out if this Godzilla was the same Godzilla that attacked in 1954. The script seems to imply that it is the same Godzilla, despite the fact that the Godzilla in the 1954 film was killed by the Oxygen Destroyer. The final film in the Heisei era, Godzilla vs. Destoroyah retcons this to state that this was in fact the second Godzilla to attack Japan. It's a minor quibble all things considered.
Koji Hashimoto is the director of the film and while his work is a bit dull and workmanlike at times, he doesn't really do anything wrong from a technical or artistic point of view either. Suffice to say, direction isn't one of the movie's strengths but it's hardly a detriment either.
In terms of the special effects and Godzilla himself, there are some high highs but also a few disappointing aspects. In terms of highs, the miniature work is fantastic as are the optical effects. However, the decision to use a large cybertronic Godzilla for several shots looks a bit...off, especially when compared with shots of the actor in the suit. And while the effects used to show the aftermath of an attack by a mutated sea louse on the crew of a fishing boat are eerie and striking, the sea louse itself does not really convince.
Another major positive in the film's favor however is the music by Reijiro Koroku. It gives off a mournful vibe that strongly invokes a sense of tension and dread, especially whenever Godzilla shows up. The only minor blemish in terms of the film's soundtrack would be the song used for the closing credits which I feel clashes a bit tonally with the rest of the film. The cinematography by Kazutami Hara is fantastic, complimenting the dark feel of the movie very well. In terms of editing, Yoshitami Kuroiwa's work is satisfactory though I due think the sequences of the human leads trying to escape from a skyscraper damaged during Godzilla's rampage could have been shortened without sacrificing much, as they become somewhat problematic from a pacing point of view.
Overall, I feel like The Return of Godzilla is as a whole greater than the sum of its parts. While several aspects of the film are a bit of a mixed-bag, the highlights - namely the character of the Prime Minister and Kobayashi's performance - elevate the whole movie. It gets a solid 8/10 from me and is well worth seeking out if you are a fan of Godzilla, monster movies or science fiction in general.
Shichinin no samurai (1954)
Kurosawa's Magnum Opus
What can be said about Seven Samurai that hasn't already been said at this point? Ever since its release in April of 1954, it has been considered one of the greatest films of all time. And deservedly so in my opinion. I must admit that I am biased: Seven Samurai is my favorite movie of all time and I consider Akira Kurosawa to be the greatest director of all time. That being said, I have tried to keep my review from being too effusive even though I would give this film the strongest possible recommendation. While I do not believe a "perfect" film exists - nor do I believe will one ever exist - I believe Seven Samurai is as close to perfect as a film can get.
The film is set in the 16th century and Japan has been devastated by decades of political instability and almost constant military conflict. As a result, bandits roam the countryside unchecked, wreaking havoc on whatever small farming villages they encounter. Aware of a forthcoming bandit raid, one village decides to hire the titular seven samurai to lead the defense of the village and train its inhabitants in the ways of war. Sure enough, the bandits arrive, setting the stage for a decisive battle that will decide the fate of the village.
While fairly straightforward as far as plot summaries go, the film's narrative is extremely engrossing and rich in subtext. Seven Samurai is one of the few films with an epic duration (almost three-and-a-half hours) that uses its runtime to its advantage. Not only does the film explore each of the seven samurai in depth, it also takes the time to highlight some of the villagers, giving its cast of characters the kind of depth rarely seen in standalone films. Because of the time spent getting to know these characters, the audience naturally grows to empathize with them and become more invested in their story.
The class differences and accompanying social inequality between the samurai and the villagers, who are all poor farmers, is also a major focus throughout the film. When the samurai first arrive in the village, the inhabitants hide in their homes and refuse to meet their new protectors, afraid that they have exchanged one oppressor for another. Even after the villagers become more comfortable with the samurais' presence, there is palpable sense of uneasiness to their interactions. It is later revealed that the villagers hunt down and kill samurai from defeated armies in order to take their equipment. The samurai are infuriated until one of their number - a peasant masquerading as a samurai - points out their hypocrisy. The villagers may be treacherous and cowardly, but they are the way they are due to centuries of oppression by the samurai, the ruling elite in 16th century Japan. In fact, many of the bandits terrorizing the village are themselves samurai whose clans have been destroyed. Even at the end of the film, with the bandits defeated and the villagers joyously planting their fall rice crop, the social divide still remains. The samurai have defended the village, but only three of them have survived and they grimly realize that the victory does not belong to them for their code prevents them from adopting a farmer's lifestyle; they are doomed to wander the countryside until they find a new master to serve or a new cause to take up.
Written by Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oguni, the story manages to be epic while retaining a focus on detail. This keeps Seven Samurai from feeling bloated or overlong; each section of the film feels necessary in telling the overarching story and each scene feels like it illuminates either a character or a major theme such as class, duty, or identity. This also grounds the narrative and avoids the common pitfall of epic movies by overwhelming the audience with the vastness of the story it's trying to tell; inundating them with too many characters and events to keep track of.
Kurosawa's direction is bold and dynamic, displaying his trademark mastery of movement and blocking. Even static shots are interesting to look at due to his excellent use of mise-en-scène or mood lighting. Of course, when discussing his direction, I would be remiss not to point out the battle scenes which are staged in a way that conveys the chaos and confusion of armed conflict while being shot in a way that the audience can still follow what is happening.
Acting wise, we get the usual trope of Kurosawa collaborators. The legendary Toshiro Mifune plays Kikuchiyo, a fiery and turbulent samurai pretender whose character serves as the emotional heart of the film. In a sense, he is the link that keeps the samurai and the villagers together due to his innate understanding of the later and his desperation to be considered one of the former. Ironically, for one of his most iconic roles, Mifune is actually playing against type somewhat. Typically, the characters he played were laconic and stoic, ruled by a strong sense of justice. Kikuchiyo is loud, obnoxious and impulsive. This freedom of expression gives Mifune's performance a sense of energy some of his more typecast roles would lack, and I find it to be the strongest performance of his career. Takashi Shimura plays the leader of the samurai, Shimada Kambei, and gives the character a sense of gravitas while also displaying great humility and empathy. Mifune as Kikuchiyo might be the emotional heart of the film, but it just wouldn't work without Shimura's stalwart persona.
Amongst the supporting cast, the highlights are Seiji Miyaguchi as the formidable Kyuzo, the most skilled of the seven, and Yoshio Tsuchiya as the impassioned Rikichi, the farmer in charge of recruiting and hosting the samurai. Miyaguchi - relegated to minor roles for most of his career - gives an understated delivery that helps Kyuzo feel authentically badass. Tsuchiya plays his part with a boldness that belies desperation, owing to the fact that his character's wife has been abducted by the bandits.
The score is provided by Fumio Hayasaka. While I generally prefer the work of composers who worked with Kurosawa later in his career such as Masaru Sato and Toru Takemitsu, Hayasaka's score is a personal favorite of mine. It perfectly encapsulates the melancholy yet stubbornly hopeful mood of the picture, particularly with its haunting main theme. Asakazu Nakai also does an excellent job with the film's cinematography, particularly with regard to depth of field and shadows. As was always the case, Kurosawa edited his own film and manages to synergize his expert direction of motion with his editing, creating a kind of rhythm that keeps the film moving at a brisk pace. Kurosawa has sometimes been called the greatest editor who ever lived and Seven Samurai is a testament to that accolade: it's a three-and-a-half-hour film that has never felt like a three-and-a-half-hour film when I've watched it. Rounding out the miscellaneous aspects of the film, the production design is fantastic. The sets and costumes look authentically lived in (in fact Kurosawa had several cast members wears their costumes prior to filming to achieve this effect) which greatly aids in the believability of the setting. This feels like pre-modern Japan and not just a facsimile of it.
In conclusion, Seven Samurai deserves its reputation as the one of the greatest films of all time. I cannot recommend Kurosawa's magnum opus enough to anyone interested in film whatsoever. Regardless, of whether your interest in film is based on its artistic aspects or on its ability to entertain, the film delivers on almost every level. In the film, the victory may belong to the farmers; in reality, the victory belongs to all of us for having the privilege of being able to watch it.