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UNDER THE BLOSSOMING CHERRY TREES / UNDER THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS (SAKURA NO MORI NO MANKAI NO SHITA). Viewed on Streaming. Subtitles = eight (8) stars; music/score = eight (8) stars; cinematography = eight (8) stars (exteriors); five (5) stars (interiors); lighting = five (5) stars; sound = five (5) stars. Director Masahiro Shinoda (also credited as co-writer) conjures up a stylistic fantasy about insanity caused by over dosing on Hanami (cherry blossom viewing) during a time before the onset of the Edo Period. Shinoda's plot objective is to show how sexual dominance/subservience role reversal can occur even under the strangest circumstances, and he uses the postulated mysterious impact of flower blossoming as a vehicle for progression. A mentally unstable wild-mountain-man and road bandit who usually murders travelers attempting to pass through "his" densely forested mountain of cherry trees encounters a stunning, demure, and shy "city woman" whom he promptly rapes and declares to be his common-law wife (after, of course, killing her husband and the rest of their party). Surprisingly, she readily agrees to this arrangement (the mental impact of flower exposure works fast!), becomes swept up by his passion, and agrees to become his "mountain woman" on the condition that he promptly eliminate (some by beheading) a collection of concubines saving one to be her maid. Not surprisingly, the city woman grows bored with mountain life, and, to amuse herself, reverts back to doll play where the "dolls" consist of a discriminating selection of decapitated heads (from former city dwellers she has known or known of) which her now-not-so-wild mountain-man obediently provides sans blood. With the reversal of roles apparently complete, the film ends rather abruptly (with a dissolve) that seems to indicate time and money ran out before the protagonists could run out (of the forest). Acting and direction are quite good. Lead actress Shima Iwashita (who is married to the Director) seems perfectly cast as usual. The male protagonist is allowed to "over inhabit" his part resulting in some ham here and there and slow intervals especially during the last third of the movie. Opening scenes include a fair amount of expository voice-over by a child actor for reasons the Director seems to keep to himself. Cinematography (semi-wide screen, color) is a mixed bag. Exterior shots of massive forests in full bloom are glorious. Interiors, however, are a bit on the dark side and "cry out" for deep focus so the viewer can simultaneously see foreground and background activities. Score is great with music that usually enhances scene impact. Sound is okay. Subtitles are especially well done. They appear to be reasonably accurate and well edited so that text length does not distract or compete with events (usually they can be read in a glance). A note of caution: there really could be something in those flowers and they are still out there, even more so! WILLIAM FLANIGAN, PhD.

(there are a couple of mild spoilers in this review, but *nothing* that would really "spoil" the film)

This is probably my favorite film out of the number of recently released Shinoda DVDs (R2 Japan, TOHO ltd. with English subtitles). Shinoda worked for Shochiku with a few of the other Japanese new wavers (in my opinion, giants of cinema) before the exodus into a more independent film-making, and in some ways he's the most conservative of the bunch (which is to say, not very conservative at all). Written by the extremely controversial author Sakaguchi Ango (an essay about his key work will be linked to at the end of the review) but to me this film didn't seem "politically" very daring at first glance. Though in a broader auteur context it does, like many Shinoda films, deal with woman's place in Japanese society in fact, it's largely a ghost story, fitting into a genre relatively defined (with a few notable examples being Kobayashi's Kwaidan, Jigoku, Mizoguchi's Ugetsu Monogatari, Shindo's Onibaba, and Kuroneko). You could call this genre a lyrical Twilight Zone riff, without the robust voice over work (usually), but more extremely stylized. Some of it's points are made very clear when you do some checking, which I'll get to a paragraph down.

Beginning in present day (1975, in a park with people dancing and singing) with a child's voice telling the viewer that Cherry blossoms are now celebrated but we're told that before the Edo period, they were greatly feared, and to be under them alone would lead to madness. We're then brought hundreds of years into the past, through a forest of blossoming cherry trees, blossoms blowing in the wind, and breezes moving the branches as if breathing (unintended plentiful "B" use). It's easy to understand why they were feared, they seem mystical, powerful, and Shinoda presents them as a force. The plot is filled with a beautiful woman (Iwashita Shima, Shinoda's wife) bending a fairly unattractive, bloodthirsty and blustery man (Tomisaburo Wakayama, recognizable from Shinoda's Captive's Island a decade earlier) to her will. Many beheadings, murder, sexual perversion (I won't go into detail here, but there are some moments that will lead to serious eyebrow raising and head scratching), and ambitious city-dwelling fill the story. And falling right in line with the ghost story genre, you have your twist ending.

You'll find a woman as man-eater ("Spider woman", that is) and man as a lust-filled animal, with plenty of tragedy thrown around. I call her a Spider-woman, yet unlike the category defining heroine of Imamura's Insect Woman, she does placate herself to a man's will at some point. She also holds up the definition in that she is sexually "free", and prone to putting pleasure at the foremost of concerns (these concerns become that of the audience as well, due to the morbid nature of her beast.) Sakaguchi wrote in his 1946 essay Darakuron ("On Decadence") that "…both the Emperor System and Bushido state that 'the virtuous widow never looks at another man.' This prohibition itself is not merely inhuman, it directly contradicts human nature." At the beginning of the film, Shima's husband is killed by Wakayama, and she immediately adapts (in this way she exhibits strongly the qualities of the "spider-woman") and places herself at the "head of the table" in her new home. I suppose you could also read the subtext of the trees bringing madness as the old way of life, and Japaneseness, having a similar result. This point comes through even more clearly when a troupe of monks are seen flailing about as if under a spell.

The cinematography is outstanding (maybe there's a listing for the individual responsible at jmdb), and the Takemitsu score adds to the dreamy flow of the film. I'll not soon forget the close-up of Iwashita with blossoms fluttering against her face as she smiles ambiguously. It's unfortunate that Desser dismisses the film as "minor", in my opinion it seems one of his best works (extremely accessible to those in need of exoticism, but a fantastic film no matter how you see it.) This, Himiko, and Ballad of Orin all seem to have similarities, which I'll give some thought to (I only have an unsubtitled version of Himiko, but it's fantastic to look at even though crippled by a language barrier).

I watched this with "Professional Sweetheart." They have similar structure: a pretty girl and a rustic get involved in shows and the thing ends. In this case it ends tragically.

And the show in this case is pretty gruesome. A pretty girl is captured by a rough robber who works alone. He takes her home for his wife.

She turns into the wife from hell, trading what we see as great sex for increasingly more difficult favors. Then those favors escalate to demands to bring more and more severed heads for her to act out plays with. The heart of the film is her plays, her discovering that she is missing some character and sending her loutish but charmed husband out to get the head of a specific character: "the last monk wasn't mean enough looking."

Meanwhile, we know that the cherry trees, when they blossom, magical curses affect those who wander through. This happens, and the falling petals are every bit as wonderful as you'll see in a Zhang film.

The story is slow by western standards, but the structure is a western folded narrative spliced onto a traditional Japanese ghost story. The blossoming trees, the curse and the fantastic end with the air filled with petals — and the smiling beauty dead, being caressed by the cherry blossoms — is traditional. The business about explicitly constructed narrative (the head puppets) within the narrative is from the new wave influence sweeping Japan in that era.

In both cases, the camera is extremely well managed. Space is essential, and one gets the idea that the story is only an excuse for the structure, and the structure is only an excuse for the visions. These are formally framed, and some of them are amazing. Visually, this is certifiably worth it.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

As I watched this film, I was reminded of the quote attributed to Margaret Atwood: "Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them." Under the Blossoming Cherry Trees tells the story of a beautiful woman and a man who tries to claim her, but she laughs at him instead. In this tale, beauty and femininity are so threatening as to drive men insane, symbolized throughout the film by the cherry blossoms.

The film opens in modern day Japan with a relaxed and festive scene full of people picnicking, dancing, and walking among the cherry blossom trees. We are voyeurs, viewing the festivities from afar. Sometimes our view is obscured by tree limbs heavy with blossoms. There is a reason for the distance. A narrator tells us these celebrations are absurd. More than 500 years ago the flowering cherries were feared.

The film cuts to a lone traveler dressed in clothes that belong to another era. He enters a full patch of cherry trees, and the camera zooms out, revealing a massive and breathtaking forest. He is small in comparison. The trees are more than a landscape. They feel alive, shedding petals like snow.

At first, the man does not seem to notice. As he makes his way steadily onward, deeper into the forest, his pace slows. Something has gotten his attention, and it is not beauty he sees. He is afraid.

He swings his arms desperately at the air and grasps his head, wide-eyed and swatting a swarm of invisible terror. The narrator's words ring more ominous. Now it seems possible to get lost in a blizzard of falling petals and lose your mind.

Suddenly we are transported to a scenic view of lush green mountains that crack with a woman's scream. A wild mountain bandit has cornered three travelers. "Give me everything you have." He turns his menacing stare toward the lone woman in the group. He plans to have her too.

He sneers and tears back her veil. She is arresting in her beauty, her eyes piercing, her lips shut tight. He freezes, his outstretched hand suspended in time, as a low, wailing sound grows louder. The film makes wonderful use of sound to create suspense. She pulls away. He awakens to his senses and slays the men where they stand. He approaches her again, intent on pulling her towards him. "You're my wife now!"

Where he expects to see fear and submission, instead she smiles. She is beautiful, seductive, and indomitable. He averts his gaze, turning his body away from hers. We sense this is the first time he has ever felt shame.

Japan historically asserted traditional gender roles. Men were taught to be tough and strong and were conditioned to dominate and control women. Women were taught to be subservient to their husbands. This makes it even more remarkable when she commands him to carry her up the mountain to his home. Stunned, he complies. "Can't you walk faster? I thought you were a man." He spends the rest of the film trying to prove he is.

When they arrive at the mountain house, seven wives appear at the door. She directs him to kill them all except for one wife, who serves as her maid. He is a man possessed. Soon he spends his days bounding through the forest with purpose and power. He hunts. He robs and kills wealthy travelers and brings her the spoils. He strips women nude to steal their fancy clothes. Soon the house is full of various comforts. The mountain man and maid are spellbound by items so foreign to them.

What is the reward for following her commands? Sexual ecstasy. I am reminded of the scene in Mizoguchi's "Ugetsu" when the beautiful noblewoman seduces the poor potter, and he cries out, "I never dreamed such pleasures existed!" Indeed. The mountain man is insatiable in service to her desires.

Winter comes. Her demands grow. He stares through the wooden boards that form the side of the house. The honeymoon is over. She complains they did not leave for the city in fall. He says they must wait until he can walk through the cherry blossoms. She asks why. "Because it seems endless." She says she may want to walk through the forest and lose her mind.

Spring arrives. The changing seasons are reminders that the trees threaten when they are most vibrant. The mountain man travels to the cherries.

A regimental group of men walks purposely into the forest seemingly unmoved by the beauty that surrounds them. Of course, we know what is going to happen. In one of the film's most striking moments, they are caught in a storm of petals, their hats flying into the air, screaming and stumbling over one another to escape, a flurry of chaos. The mountain man runs away.

The camera rests on a shot of the trees that lasts for more than 20 seconds. The trees appear calm. No hint of threat can be seen. Perhaps we are afforded the privilege of enjoying their beauty in peace because, unlike the men we see who flee in terror, we are willing to simply be there. Throughout the film, we glimpse madness through the men who use the forest as a shortcut. Maybe a certain kind of madness comes to those who attempt to pass through femininity in full bloom without being moved by the experience.

We are taken from the wilderness to the busyness of the capitol city. He appears absurdly out of place. In one scene, he stares quizzically at turnips a vendor is selling. He picks one up, and the seller scolds him in front of a crowd that has gathered to marvel at his ignorance.

His bride has instructed him to use his strength to bring her everything she desires in the capitol city. Soon we learn what she most desires: severed human heads. Once again, he goes hunting. Some victims she knows from her former life in the city. Their heads are her playthings. At times, she arranges them to watch her. They are her audience. At other times, she assembles them into a cast of characters. She is the director. In one scene, she is desperate for the heads of dancers for an imaginary party she is hosting. We get the sense she is more at home in this fantasy world than any other she has ever known.

As her need for heads grows, the mountain man begins working overtime. News of the grisly murders travels throughout the capitol city. He becomes exhausted, makes a mistake, and is caught, and he is held in such low esteem by his captors that they laugh at his confession to the murders.

He manages to break free and return home. When he arrives, he is resigned. He tells her nothing he does is good enough. He is finally giving up trying to please her.

She freezes, panicked, terrified. She has grown to depend on him to fill the emptiness she says consumes her. Desperate, she promises a return to the mountains. She will do anything as long as he remains hers. This is music to his ears. He draws strength from the power her need for him bestows.

However, we know what he does not. She has told her maid to maintain their house near the city. She will convince him to return to the capitol soon enough.

With renewed strength, he carries her up the mountain. This time, he decides to take them on a shortcut through the blossoming cherries. "Won't we lose our minds?" she asks. He tells her she is treating him gently now. They are together, so nothing can scare him.

How quickly he has forgotten. He has trespassed into something beyond his control. They travel further into a forest full of blossoms. His pace slows, and he becomes more alert. In one of the film's most gorgeous shots--and there are many--she gazes into the camera lens and smiles in the way that first possessed him. Cherry blossom petals blow all around her, a few landing on her face before sailing away. The cinematography of this film is something to behold.

Her hands tighten around his neck. He looks up to see a white-haired demon grinning back at him. He struggles to throw the demon off his back in a sequence that takes place in slow motion, outside time. From a distance, they appear to be dancing in the snow.

He flings the demon to the ground and strangles her to death. Of course, he quickly sees there is no demon. It is his wife he has killed. A close-up of her face reveals a serene smile, her eyes open. She is lying on a bed of soft petals, half-covered by them. He is tearful, wiping petals gently off her face with what could almost be described as tenderness.

Suddenly she vanishes. We know by the look on his face that he is a man without a future. He digs frantically for her through the petals. Then he disappears too. The camera lingers here before delivering us to a wide shot of massive cherry trees that lasts another 20 full seconds. In these moments, after what we have witnessed, the trees become what we believe them to be: A place on which to project our fears, where women are demons and men lose their minds, a shortcut to another destination, or a place to behold in awe.

The title of Masahiro Shinoda's Under the Blossoming Cherry Trees seems to promise a largely soothing experience, and even after the warning in an opening voice over that such trees were historically more to be feared than relished, it still often seems possible that the film might ultimately find its way into such a register. But that's just one aspect of its continual capacity to surprise and misdirect, being at various other times blackly comic, cartoonishly violent, mythically possessed, or (in the extended relish with which it plunges into urban hustle and bustle) an amused study of the gap between city and country. Ultimately this might all be tied together as an extreme parable on the perils of getting what you wish for, built around a mountain-dwelling bandit in ancient Japan who slaughters a group of travelers from the city, sparing a woman he finds uniquely beautiful and decreeing she's to be his wife. The captive accepts her fate with strange equanimity, while harassing him from the start and testing him with extreme demands, including that he kill most of the multiple women he already has on hand; eventually she persuades him to move to the city, where he slaughters dozens of victims for the sake of feeding her growing obsession with disembodied heads. But it's hardly a sustainable way of life, and in the end they set off back to the country, his excitement at going home causing him to disregard his usual caution regarding the cherry trees, and their fate accordingly awaits them. It's a visually striking ending, but also an evasive one, potentially leaving the viewer feeling rather abandoned. But then there's a final shot of the trees, certainly looping back to that opening warning, and perhaps commenting more generally on how our modern-day traditions and rituals lack a sense of the past complexity and turbulence from which they arose.