Another gorgeous film from Miike (is it the filters, film stock, or the Chinese landscape that makes it all so visually engrossing?) that trades in incessant, sensationalistic violence for light-hearted (relatively speaking) fantasy. Which is not to say that Chûgoku no chôjin avoids heavy social topics while maintaining its calm demeanor: the inevitable encroachment of civilization, and the assimilation/annihilation of traditional rituals and beliefs in the sweep of modern culture are issues thoughtfully explored along with arresting images of unspoiled Chinese vistas by frequent Miike collaborator Hideo Yamamoto. An unusually pensive yet rewarding experiment from Miike, and one that continues to prove there is much to his oeuvre besides global destruction, excruciating torture scenes, and zombie dance numbers.
Reviews
7 Reviews
Street of No Return
(1989)
As subtle as a hammer to the face
30 October 2004
OK, I've seen a few of Sam Fuller's films now, but I'm still not sure whether he's a veritable genius or just a complete crackpot. Street of No Return does little to clarify things. As others have pointed out, it's not a particularly good film, but it is classic Fuller, in that it attempts to deal with salient social issues with bombastic acting, lurid violence, and some seriously ham-fisted dialogue. But that's why people (myself included) can't get enough of Fuller's work: it's so preposterous yet sincere you can't help but love it. After forty years of directing, Fuller obstinately sticks to his thematic and stylistic guns, for better or worse. In particular the dialogue seems incredibly anachronistic, as though everyone in the film grew up watching Fuller's own Pickup on South Street or Underworld USA. Like Kinji Fukasaku's Triple Cross (92), Street of No Return is the work of an aging maverick director who, despite a complete lack of commercial and critical success, never wavered in his artistic convictions. And for those of us who may stumble upon their work years later, it makes their films all the more endearing. The fantoma DVD release comes with a 'making of' which is really just an excuse to film the bellicose yet lovable Fuller spouting off on (what else?) race, violence, and the good old days of street journalism, and is well worth the price of rental alone.
Takeshi Kitano is my hero
14 July 2004
Takeshi Kitano is one of Japan's premiere directors whose films, along with Takashi Miike and Shinya Tsukamoto, never cease to enthrall me. First things first: the film's look is simply stunning. The color palette is subtly drained, almost sepia-tinted, giving it the allure of nostalgic cinema tones that stands in sharp, almost egregious contrast to the film's gratuitous cgi-violence. But this is a juxtaposition that seems to be at the crux of Kitano's filmic M.O: his keen cinematic eye for framing scenes and obsession with violence both slapstick and disconcerting meld into a style distinctly his own. Throughout Zatoichi, the camera moves with a sort of graceful yet implacable momentum, training the eye on the subject in a way that is never imposing or obvious. Likewise, the narrative follows its own momentum, traveling along character digressions or long wordless sequences, like the sibling's dance practice. While this sequence doesn't have the same artistic prominence as, say, the flower-animal paintings in Hana-bi, it's still indicative of a auteur's unique, highly stylized way of encapsulating his world view. To say that Zatoichi is a crowd pleaser is drastic understatement: samurai violence, slapstick humor, quirky characters, and Kitano as charming as ever as a soft spoken, untouchable blind samurai masseur all elide to create a unique and highly entertaining visual experience.
Dogville
(2003)
Von Trier's bleak moral prognosis
14 July 2004
I'll admit I'm a huge fan of Von Trier's previous works that I have seen (The Idiots, Dancer in the Dark, Breaking the Waves) and therefore have no real delusions of being non-partisan in critiquing his films. I believe that, despite how painful his films usually are to watch, his unwavering vision and stunning ability to transcribe it both visually and narratologically have created some of the most unforgiving yet ultimately enlightening films of the past few decades. That being said, Dogville stands right up there with past successes as being a haunting, fascinating study of charity, desire, and crowd psychology. Playing like a sadomasochistic version of Thornton Wilder's Our Town, Von Trier's script describes the plight of Grace, a young fugitive who comes to be harbored in the quiet town of Dogville, only to eventually become the scapegoat/whipping mule for each of the townsfolk's character flaws. Realizing that the script, with its archetypal proles and static setting, would suit more the stage than any real-life setting, Von Trier decided to film it as though Dogville were some audience-less sound stage (in the film's commentary, Von Trier mentions that they almost left the lighting rigs in the shot to extend that sense of self-aware fiction, a theme that first started throughout his early Dogme associations), with minimal props and theatrical lighting. Combined with Von Trier's patented shaky-steady cam and illustrious overhead shots (that took some 156 or so individual shots to make), Dogville has a look that is wholly its own.
No Von Trier film would be complete without gut-wrenching acting, and Nicole Kidman and co. should be commended for tackling a notoriously abusive director and coming out alive, and with such evocative performances.
Despite it's three hour running time, Dogville never feels languidly paced, and the theatrical style is not nearly as distracting as one might imagine. I read one review that called the film blatantly unAmerican, which I supposed it could be construed as such, but to distill the film's message into simple political rhetoric belittles the film's grandiose themes regarding human character and its flaws, intrinsic regardless of nationality. Still, see it for yourself and make up your own mind.
No Von Trier film would be complete without gut-wrenching acting, and Nicole Kidman and co. should be commended for tackling a notoriously abusive director and coming out alive, and with such evocative performances.
Despite it's three hour running time, Dogville never feels languidly paced, and the theatrical style is not nearly as distracting as one might imagine. I read one review that called the film blatantly unAmerican, which I supposed it could be construed as such, but to distill the film's message into simple political rhetoric belittles the film's grandiose themes regarding human character and its flaws, intrinsic regardless of nationality. Still, see it for yourself and make up your own mind.
The Celebration
(1998)
the refreshing disillusion of Dogme 95/mistakist cinema
21 June 2004
What I love about the Dogme 95 films I've seen is that they have this wonderful home-made feel to them, despite the extensive limitations the manifesto imposes on the director. By stripping the film of all its cinematic illusions (artificial camera shots, non-diegetic sound, editing tricks, dramatic lighting), the film becomes distilled to its barest essentials, and is therefore all the more evocative. Festen, the first Dogme 95 film, works beautifully in that regard. Vinterberg's claustrophobic study of a family falling apart at a moment when it should be celebrating its solidarity is both emotive and subtle, despite its taboo-inflected plot line. The acting, which, as with most Dogme films, relies heavily on improvising within a set scenario, combined with the hand-held and highly personal cinematography draws the viewer into the microcosm of the family mansion in which the film takes place. The paradoxical ironic detachment Dogme directors speak of when detailing the Manifesto and Vow of Chastity juxtaposes with the austere ethical sincerity with which they produce their films. The end result therefore is a film that is both self-aware and all the more compassionate because of its determination to adhere to its own moral code, something which cannot and never will be said for the amoral tripe regularly regurgitated by Hollywood's hedonistic cash machine.
Code Unknown
(2000)
don't have the code either
12 June 2004
I tracked this one down after being impressed with Haneke's "Funny Games," and while the two films could not be farther apart in intent, both reveal a competent filmmaker of enigmatic yet fascinating films. It seems in the three years between the two films, Haneke has replaced his antagonistic/didactic antics in favor of a more personal, contemplative study of how simple actions in today's diverse culture can have far-reaching effects. "Code Unknown" is as involving visually as it is cerebrally. Apart from a few montages (comprised of photos taken by one of the film's many peripheral characters), almost every scene is composed in one long, carefully orchestrated shot. Without the distractive tendencies of editing, the viewer is promptly absorbed into each vignette, each of which is loosely related to the others by the film's first scenario. Throughout the film, complex social issues such as xenophobia, vagrancy, and familial strife are explored; however the film's effectiveness lies in its ability to portray the sense of homelessness often described as an inevitability of today's consumerist, globalist culture. Which is not to say that the film succeeds indefinitely in its grand scope. At times, the scenes seem either pointless, or pointlessly drawn out. It occasionally seems Haneke is overreaching in breadth: framing the film with deaf children signing seems somewhat pretentious, but can be forgiven when the rest of the film's minimalist formality is taken into consideration. However, an interesting analysis of the semiotics of "Code Unknown" could probably be thought out (the two meta-films, the deaf kids, the title), but that would require more than one viewing, and more tenacity than I'm sure most viewers are willing to give. Still, quite a visually stunning and at times intense film, slightly marred only by the same quality that makes it worthwhile: its refusal to adhere to accepted filmic logic.
Funny Games
(1997)
relentless but rewarding
9 June 2004
Warning: Spoilers
From the opening credits, "Funny Games" is already playing tricks on the audience: as the film's family/victims drive to their summer home, listening to classical music, Haneke splices freakout thrash metal over shots of their unsuspecting faces. But what truly impressed me about this film wasn't the slight gimmicks (of which there are plenty, some more successful than others) but the muted, unobtrusive style in which the film is shot. Extremely long takes (like the first egg scene, or the harrowing, sparse shot of the father sitting in his living room floor, howling for his dead son) combined with elegant cinematography and lighting ( I liked how quite subtly the family's first interrogation grew darker and darker, until Paul commented upon it and turned on the lamp) never makes the camera feel an aloof presence to a choreographed scene. That is, until Paul turns, and in a Goddardian aside, winks knowingly at the camera's eye. At which point the audience is instantly implicated in the vicious proceedings.
It seems here that most people get caught up in trying to explain the film's intentions. "Funny Games" isn't a film so much as a cinematic exercise in the spurious shock of violence on the silver screen. Gone are all the scapegoats of plot or genre conventions that would help make the audience feel vindicated or justified in watching, say, a man get shot because earlier he raped the film's protagonist, etc. But Haneke's film doesn't shock for the simple exploitative aspect either. When the mother is forced to strip before her torturers, the audience is kept just as blind to the proceedings as the young boy. Likewise, we don't witness the child's murder, but hear it off screen, as Paul is making himself something to eat. The films shock therefore comes not only from the brutal torture scenes but the intense apathy conveyed not only by the purposeless killers but the lack of cinematic conviction commonly combined with narrative violence, a point all the more reinforced with the film's final murder.
As Peter and Paul are sailing back into the harbor, Paul comments how seeing violence in a film is no different than witnessing it in real life. The violence portrayed in "Funny Games" is so unnerving not because of any excessive display of exploitative gore, but for the exact opposite: the banal regularity of which such atrocities occur. "Funny Games" is anything but...but as is proven by the scores of reader responses, it's sure to provoke some reaction. Whether you think its fascinating or revolting, regardless it makes you think.
It seems here that most people get caught up in trying to explain the film's intentions. "Funny Games" isn't a film so much as a cinematic exercise in the spurious shock of violence on the silver screen. Gone are all the scapegoats of plot or genre conventions that would help make the audience feel vindicated or justified in watching, say, a man get shot because earlier he raped the film's protagonist, etc. But Haneke's film doesn't shock for the simple exploitative aspect either. When the mother is forced to strip before her torturers, the audience is kept just as blind to the proceedings as the young boy. Likewise, we don't witness the child's murder, but hear it off screen, as Paul is making himself something to eat. The films shock therefore comes not only from the brutal torture scenes but the intense apathy conveyed not only by the purposeless killers but the lack of cinematic conviction commonly combined with narrative violence, a point all the more reinforced with the film's final murder.
As Peter and Paul are sailing back into the harbor, Paul comments how seeing violence in a film is no different than witnessing it in real life. The violence portrayed in "Funny Games" is so unnerving not because of any excessive display of exploitative gore, but for the exact opposite: the banal regularity of which such atrocities occur. "Funny Games" is anything but...but as is proven by the scores of reader responses, it's sure to provoke some reaction. Whether you think its fascinating or revolting, regardless it makes you think.
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