He Keeps Me In A Bubble, So I Swam Away From Home: Ponyo (2008)

Yesterday was the birthday of the great Japanese animation pioneer and director Hiyao Miyazaki.  While I had encountered much of his work prior to beginning this blog, he has been featured rather prominently here in the past few years, particularly when I was finally able to catch up with My Neighbor Totoro, a film agreed by many to be his masterpiece, as well as one of the greatest moments in animation.  While my personal preferences lean towards Howl's Moving Castle, all of his films succeed at an exceptional level, wherein others fail to even scrape the surface.  I have watched a lot of anime films, most are trash, many are decent, but few are exceptional.  Ponyo, Miyazaki's take on the classic Hans Christian Andersen tale The Little Mermaid is one such work of exceptional stature. Miyazaki's more contemporary work is noted by its reliance on incredibly crisp visuals that expand and exploit the latest technology in both two dimensional sketching and three dimensional rendering. Ponyo while no less stunning visually is a bit of a digression for the director as it involves him using very simple animation with an equally moving and fantastical effect.  While one could make a case for Miyazaki's films working on various levels regardless of the age of the viewer or the individual sensibilities of the person encountering the film, given the nature of this work pulling from the fairly tale nature of Andersen's work, it does take on a rather childlike sense of awe without being juxtaposed by an adult reality, which occurs very jarringly in My Neighbor Totoro and proves a through line for all of Howl's Moving Castle.  Ponyo is one of the many films to be upgraded to bluray by Studio Ghibli, now a subsidiary of Disney and it is absolutely stunning.  The kaleidoscopic nature of the film, doubled by its already magical setting, much of which resides underwater, is a draw to any person appreciative of true art.  With the onslaught of CGI-only animated films comes at audience these days, it is heartbreaking to realize that Miyazaki has all but retired from the field, fortunately, his adoration is well-documented and varied, affording him a point of awareness given to few directors, let alone animators.

Ponyo, as the title might suggest does focus on a character named Ponyo, by the way of a young boy named Sosuke who lives with his mother and father on a cliff in a small pier village, wherein most of the residents work at sea.  This includes, Sosuke's father who remains absent from the narrative for much of the film, much to the frustration of his mother, who spends a considerable amount of her own time working at the local retirement home.  Prior to leaving for another day at school, Sosuke discovers a small, unique looking goldfish in the shore next to his home, capturing it an placing it in a bucket of water near his house.  Panicked and in a rush to get to school, Sosuke brings the goldfish with him on his ride to work, his mother noting its gorgeous nature.  Deciding that he wants to keep the goldfish, he names it Ponyo and hides it in the bushes outside his nursery.  Ponyo, however, is not a simple goldfish, but is actually Brunhilde, one of the many fish children of Fujimoto and Granmamare two deities of the sea.  When Sosuke leaves Ponyo alone, she is retrieved by an infuriated Fujimoto who tells her that she has no business messing with humans.  Yet, in an attempt to help Sosuke, Ponyo consumed some of his blood, which causes Ponyo to take a semi-human form.  During her escape to return to Sosuke, Ponyo accidentally knocks a potion into the center of Fujimoto's underwater home, unleashing a wild storm that ravishes Sosuke's town.  During this storm, Ponyo arrives at the home much to Sosuke and his mother's surprise.  Nonetheless, she takes what she believes to be a young girl into their home and await news on the safety of Sosuke's father.  Sosuke's mother eventually leaves to check on the safety of the nursing home, only to have her remain away for a considerable length of time.  As such, Sosuke and Ponyo mount their own rescue mission, one that leads to the awareness of Ponyo's non-human status, all leading to a meeting with Fujimoto in his underwater lair, wherein he and Granmamare test the loyalty and love of Sosuke for Ponyo.  When it is verified much to the happiness of all involved the two are allowed to live together and in the same moment it is revealed that Sosuke's father has return safely from his dire time at sea.

There are many ways to talk about a film like Ponyo, one of which would be to consider its validity as an adaptation, which is solid, because it is Miyazaki.  There is also the narrative surrounding human identities and how to navigate understanding that which is performing humanism, but is not technically human.  This is a new research interest of mine and will certainly lead me to return to this film in my academic studies in the future, yet I do not want to take that route here.  Knowing that the familial component is key to many of Miyazaki's films, Howl's Moving Castle, From Up On Poppy Hill and The Secret World of Arrietty, I too want to extend it to consider the narrative of Ponyo.  I think that it is particularly a ripe discussion point in this film, because it is heavily invested in the absence of Sosuke's father, something that leads his mother to drink on at least one occasion.  It is not to suggest that Sosuke's father does not care, but that economic situations necessitate that he must remain detached from the familial space only to assure the safety of such a construct.  The catch-22 at play is rather blatant, but, nonetheless, indicative of the illogical nature of capitalist consumption and idealism that has rooted itself in an unusual way within Japan and was particularly intriguing in and around the time of this film.  As such, one can certainly read the character of Ponyo as the family's own anxiety regarding the possibility of a future child, one that is met with adoration by the young Sosuke, but with understandable hesitation by Sosuke's mother.  In the film, Sosuke says something along the lines of it being part of reality that she must accept and the absence of his father only makes it that much more of an internal struggle.  Little should be made of the love relationship between Sosuke and Ponyo, because it is not one of a romantic nature, but more so of kindred spirits.  Indeed, keeping this economic anxiety in mind, the scenes involving Ponyo consuming are quite interesting, Sosuke's mother now having to provide food (specifically ham) for more than one young mouth, other economic issues like the lack of candles too take on larger narrative elements.  By adding the fact that Sosuke's mother works at a nursing home, which is, for many, another layer of economic anxiety makes this possible reading of economic anxiety that much more fascinating.

Key Scene:  The scale and intensity of the storm scene, is a particularly dark moment in an otherwise vibrant film, but it plays out poetically and perhaps best evidences the magical realist elements so key to this era of Miyazaki's work.

This bluray is stunning, indeed, all the Studio Ghibli blurays are stunning.  If I were to mount any downside to this particular release, it is the lack of a Japanese audio track, but that is probably only bothersome to a handful of people.  As such, purchasing it is well worth your time.

Top Ten Thursday: The Best Film Discoveries of 2013

It has been a considerable time since i have committed to making a top ten thursday list.  Indeed, if it was not the last time that I did a best film discoveries of the year it was pretty damn close.  While I am still tenuously navigating the space between being certain I have found all my favorite films released in 2013 and being certain the list cannot change, I figured now was an appropriate time to attempt to deliver the list accordingly of my most favored films that were not released in 2013, but were first time encounters this year.  While I was able to catch up with some rather glaring shame spots in my filmic viewing (Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Rio Bravo, My Neighbor Totoro) I decided to exclude those form the list, because I was fairly certain I would adore the films.  The list here is compromised of films that so utterly startled me as to make me considerably change my favorite films of all time list in very drastic and real ways.  These films have in varying forms altered my understanding of cinema, my academic research endeavors, or frankly were just so enjoyable as to rekindle the love for medium of film in a fresh and rewarding way.  In the past year I did a ton of marathons and even managed to tackle viewing a hundred movies in a single month.  The resulting list is barely a reflection of the options I had, but were certainly the most captivating outcomes.

10. Terrorvision (1986)

Between being what might be the zaniest film ever produced and being the most underrated film of the decade Terrorvision deserves all the cult adoration it has achieved.  Thanks to Shout Factory this overlooked horror/comedy/sci-fi study of the nuclear family in the misguided decadence of the 80's can be enjoyed by all in the highest of definitions.

Review Here

9. To Be or Not To Be (1942)

Ernst Lubitsch appeared a lot in my film viewing this year and while most of it was in regards to his silent work, this comedy that doubles as a scatting critique of Nazism managed to pull me into its narrative despite being viewed on a computer screen.  Indeed, this along with other works like The Doll and I Don't Want To Be a Man have led to me thinking that Lubitsch might be a single director research interest for me.

Review Here

8. Born Yesterday (1950)

This film was my first knowing introduction to the comedic genius of Judy Holliday and by far the most rewarding experience I had with a George Cukor film this past year.  The fact that it also happens to be a insightful consideration of gender relations in 1950 is equally engaging.

Review Here

7. The Man from Nowhere (2010)

I would be remised not to include at least one South Korean film on my year end list.  While I failed to watch as many as I would have liked, this accidental inclusion during my Kung Fu marathon was by far my favorite contemporary work from a country that still pushes the boundaries of cinematic possibility.

Review Here

6. Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933)

There is a agreed argument that Singin' in the Rain is the key text in the genre of the musical.  This is certainly true, but this Busby Berkeley choreographed film that has become a point of feminist critique is pretty damn close to its equal.

Review Here

5. Existenz (1999)

While this is probably not a universally adored Cronenberg film, it has, nonetheless, proven to be the single most important alteration in my understanding of cinematic possibilities and by extension my own continually evolving research interests.

I some how failed to actually blog about this film!

4. How the West Was Won (1962)

I watched a lot of westerns in May.  Most of them were brilliant.  While this is not the single most realized western, the use of Cinerama made it my favorite by far and it is essentially all the best parts of various westerns combined into a single epic film.

Review Here

3. Mind Game (2004)

I watched this film twice this year, it is still an enigma.  Furthermore, I watched quite a bit of animation, but this by far stretched my understandings of its conventions to their greatest point.

Review Hhttp://cinemalacrum.blogspot.com/2013/07/fear-takes-shape-we-are-willing-to-give.htmlere

2. The 36th Chamber of Shaolin (1978)

If I were told two years ago that I might seriously add a kung-fu film to my top ten films of all time, I would have scoffed off the possibility, but then I saw this film.  Body identity and Buddhist learning oversee what might well be one of the most stunningly shot action films ever made.

Review Here

1. A Matter of Life and Death (1946)

A absolutely moving film, this Powell and Pressburger film is a perfect navigation of color and black and white filmmaking that simply has to be seen to be believed.  While it does not receive the praise and adoration of The Red Shoes it is easily the greatest of the directing duo's works.

Review Here

Honorable Mention

On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969)
The Illustrated Man (1969)
Fantastic Planet (1973)
Possession (1981)
Sunshine (2007)

It Was A Dream, But Not A Dream: My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

This is yet another example of where pulling a quote into the title of my blog post also happens to reflect my feelings for the film on the whole.  My Neighbor Totoro, was perhaps the biggest blip on my "never seen" shame list, because having already encountered countless other Miyazaki films and being made constantly aware of this as a masterpiece, I was constantly putting it on the back burner, figuring that I would eventually get around to its viewing.  When it spent a year or so in a bizarre bluray upgrade limbo (at the time region free was not a viable option), I just sat hoping that it would magically appear in my lap at some point.  When the powerful of arm of Disney used its extension of Studio Ghibli to release this on bluray earlier this year, I knew that it had to be obtained, because much like all the decent stuff Disney releases, it is usually lacking in a wider audience, therefore resulting in it falling into limited print obscurity, a few copies being secretly passed amongst friends, or one would assume this to be the case with something like David Lynch's The Straight Story.  All of this is an aside of sorts to say that I finally caught up with My Neighbor Totoro, a work so heavily hyped and made to be something otherworldly that my expectations were nearly impossible, which I feared would result in a general hesitation to embrace the film.  Yet, when the film began to unfold in front of me I realized that the wonder that made Miyazaki's career was as present as ever, almost in a wildly subtle way, wherein, the magical realist elements that have become signifiers of his oeuvre creep into the narrative, as opposed to exploding into action as occurs in something like Spirited Away or Howl's Moving Castle.  Furthermore, never one to shy away from the tragedies in life, the threat of loss and the forced moments of youth being confronted with adulthood are at their most entrenched within this film, and for a filmmaker whose entire career has become predicated on breaking from realism, excluding his writing of the most recent From Up on Poppy Hill, My Neighbor Totoro, might well have one of the most hauntingly real of moments, so poetically executed, as to take on a surreal quality indicative of the hyper-tragic Grave of Fireflies.

My Neighbor Totoro, focuses on the experiences of two girls, the strong-willed, yet wide-eyed Satsuki and her younger sister the loud-mouthed but earnestly curious Mei.  The two girls are currently residing with their grandmother in the countryside, while their father moves too and from Tokyo for work, the reason for their needing to stay away is predicated upon their mother being hospitalized for an unnamed illness.  As such, the two spend many of their weekends traveling to visit her and awaiting the return of their father from work each day.  Of course, given that they moments, as well as attending school, only consume so much of their day-to-day activities, Satsuki and Mei spend their time traveling through the woods and meadows of the rural town.  It is during one of these trips that Satsuki and Mei meet a giant cat-like creature that Mei refers to as a mispronunciation of troll, therefore becoming known as Totoro.  This creature begins to appear intermittently during Satsuki and Mei's endeavors, often showing up in moments of trouble or fear as a means to put them at ease, for example, a large Totoro spends time awaiting the arrival of their father who is late from work, even providing them with a small gift of acorns and nuts which they plant in their yard.  These acorns lead to a gigantic tree growing in their yard, wherein Totoro and his various smaller forms take Satsuki and Mei on a wild flight through rural Japan.  When the girls awake the next day they realize it has been a dream, but also notice that the seeds have still sprouted, leading them to believe that the magic of Totoro might actually exist.  When Satsuki receives news that their mother has fallen ill, yet again, with a cold her and Mei panic, attempting to contact their father, who tells them to be patient until he can obtain more information.  Mei, unfortunatley, is incapable of grasping the necessity of patience and takes it upon herself to travel to the hospital, getting lost and become a cause for concern in the entire village.  Satsuki in a moment of desperation tracks down Totoro and uses his magical cat bus to find Mei and then visit their mother, although they do so from outside the window, leaving her a gift in the hopes of it leading to her quick recovery.  This act, assumedly works, or at least the closing credits animations would suggest as much.

Coming of age tales are often dealt with in a hyper-sentimental manner, leaning heavily on everything being perfect and avoiding the very real fact that for most people, growing up is tied to a point of fear or moment of tragedy.  Perhaps the best example of this working, while also being highly sentimental would be the lost love sequence of Summer of '42.  I would posit that Miyazaki also does this as a filmmaker, using the magical realist elements of his film to ease the heavy blow of tragedy, while also showing that necessitates growing older.  Totoro and the escapism it provides to the girls is also paired with Satsuki coming to realize that his escapist qualities do not factor into her mother suddenly becoming healthy.  Indeed, if anything Totoro is more a projection on the part of Satsuki to help maintain Mei's sense of wonder with the world, because Satsuki has her own moment of tragic awakening, when she realizes that her mother "having colds" indicates a white lie being propagated by adults to tell the two girls that their mother is sick, but not entirely playing into how truly troublesome her health might well be.  When Satsuki confronts an adult about his lie, they can offer nothing more than a defeated sigh, for they acknowledge the loss of innocence occurring, something that will never fully be the same.  Of course, Miyazaki realizes that the truly happy individual can still retain moments of innocence late into their life, pulling from it at moments of happiness, or as is the case with Mei and Satsuki's father, to help young persons understand the curiosities of the world, as is clear in the dust bunny discussion early in the film.  It is in moments like this were white lies are more fun stories in replacement of detailed scientific explanations which would be of little interest to a young person.  Yet, the most wonderful moment of magical realist escapism emerges when Satsuki and Mei's mother swears she sees her two daughters laughing outside her window, a moment that the viewers assume to be real, however, as their father suggests is only possible through the magical gift of the corn.  In this stroke of genius and subversive non-linear narrative, one can read the message as the father playing into the same "wonder in the world" rhetoric he uses when talking with his daughter as a means to ease the suffering of an ailing spouse.  To Miyazaki, tragedy is a reality, but it is also something that can be softened by a light-hearted and curious view of the world, because no all has to be heartbreaking, particularly when giant fluffy trolls can serve as emotional companions.

Key Scene:  The sandal floating in the water is stark, jarring and surreal and perhaps one of the single darkest frames in all of Miyazaki's oeuvre.

Buy this bluray.  Buy your friends this bluray.  Buy everyone this bluray.

There's A Storm Coming, Can You Feel It?: Fatal Fury: The Motion Picture (1994)

Storms! Gary! A ton of women who are often overexposed, these seem to be the major themes of Fatal Fury: The Motion Picture.  Aside from that it is about as cookie cutter as the anime movies come, particularly ones that are clearly cut with the intention of being screened on television.  I added Fatal Fury: The Motion Picture to the month of kung fu film viewing, because I felt that to exclude the clear influence of the genre on the anime film would have been illogical and Chop Kick Panda's inclusion was more so a dare than anything else.  I, however, should have known better than to even consider that this would be remotely worth my time, because as my appearance on Drive By Nerding to discuss Video Game Adapations showed, it is rarely a successful thing for a video game to make the crossover to narrative film, almost entirely a result of cashing in on the possibility of financial gain by name recognition alone.  The trouble with Fatal Fury: The Motion Picture, however, is that it seems to be trying its best to take itself seriously, including some early establishing character arcs that while initially promising fail to go any place worth note, particularly the forced love stories and even worse the suggestion of some familial bond that can transcend the very divide of good and evil.  That is not to say that the film is particularly terrible, but, instead; to suggest that what could have been a more taut and well-considered narrative on space and identity, particularly given the expansive possibilities of anime as an art and film medium, manages to be nothing more than extensions of the video game realm, meant only for gaze and the thrill of violence and destruction and very little if any acknowledgement of what is really occurring in moments of such violence.  I will admit that my most recent exposures in regards to animation have been heavily lifted from the absurd or heavily non-linear, especially with a recent revisitation of Satoshi Kon's Paprika, but even acknowledging that I cannot help but feel as though Fatal Fury: The Motion Picture missed an opportunity to really consider what it means to identify oneself in regards to a larger national structure, in favor of resting a bit too heavily on hackneyed tropes of gender and power.

Fatal Fury: The Motion Picture begins with a thief exploring ruins in Egypt in a quest to discover a piece of armor, which is purportedly part of a larger set of armor called the Armor of Mars.  The man Cheng Sinzan hopes to use this armor for purposes of powerful corruption, only to be stopped by a group of bandits led by the mysterious Laocorn, a man who already possesses pieces of the armor, thus granting him a considerable degree of power over the other individuals he encounters.  Needless to say, this act leads to a riff in the sense of good in the world, which leads noted fighter and all-around stand-up guy Terry to acknowledge a storm coming.  The film then cuts to a muay thai kickboxing match involving the wiley Joe, a friend of Terry's and the first compatriot we meet in the group.  Along with Joe come Terry's brother Andy whose sexual identity is left surprisingly ambiguous, much to the frustrations of Mai a voluptuous ninja who is constantly seeking out a means to bed the aloof Andy.  During a night of recreational arcade gaming, Terry comes into contact with a young woman named Sulia after she is attacked by a group of brutish masked men.  Knowing it is the right thing to help those in need, Terry agrees to help Sulia find out more information about her mysterious attackers, in hopes that he can also win over her affections.  Recruiting the help of his friends, the group then seeks out a cave that has more information about the armor worn by the brutes, only to discover sprawling hieroglyphics relating to the origin of the Armor of Mars.  It is at this point that Sulia reveals her identity to be related to the lineage of the Armor of Mars and, more importantly, her ties to her brother Laocorn, who is on his own quest to attain the pieces of the armor.  Realizing the dangers imminent in Laocorn's attaining of all of the pieces of the armor, the group splits up and begin to scour the various ancient ruins where the last pieces are suspected to be.  During this quest the various groups achieve new levels of self-discovery, particularly Terry who learns to let go of his previous loss and open up to Sulia for the possibility of a new relationship.  Yet there endeavors prove nearly futile when they arrive at the last location and discover Laocorn assembling the armor, however, the result of that act are grander than even Laocorn could have imagined.

There are some moments of possibility in this film where one might argue that the film navigates boundaries and since I am not ready to dismiss this film, I find it best to approach the film with such a framework in mind.  The clear boundaries emerge in a film like this through the travel narrative, in so much as the the various pieces of the armor are scattered about all the spaces of antiquity in which traversing means a very physical movement over a space.  As such, it is important to consider the privilege and power of the group as they seamlessly bob in and out of lands that are thousands of miles apart, dropping their obligations, if any, to do so.  Considering that it is lifting from Fatal Fury the game, which does focus on people moving about space, such a choice is not highly problematic, but the whim on which they move about cannot be overlooked.  Similarly, it is the layers of the modern upon the space that are also worth considering, especially since the group is moving through the ancient world.  In many case the high rises, or ruins of attempted modern civilization cover the archaic world in which Terry and others must move within.  To a degree, one could certainly argue that Fatal Fury: The Motion Picture, in its choice to place the narrative within spaces of antiquity that have confronted modernity, that boundaries not only take on a length aspect of crossing, but one of depth as well, reinforced by the multiple inclusions of caves and catacombs.  These are considerably tangible versions of space, however, and one must also consider the ways in which space can be a bodily function, especially in anime where characters looks and physicality are far more indicative of Western influence than Eastern, yet in the narrative it is made painstakingly clear that all of the individuals are of some form of Asian descent, right down to Terry who looks about as American as Hulk Hogan in his heyday.  To consider the animation choice beyond its video game adaptation, one could certainly suggest that the creators hoped to transcend body boundaries by creating Asian identities in non-Asian bodies, but this is likely not the case, instead; reaffirming the privileged place of western ideals of everything from ancient history to beauty.

Key Scene:  The arcade scene is probably the highlight of the film, if only for the one moment in the fight sequence, where things go almost entirely into cel-shade animation.

Watch Akira instead.  This is really not worth your time unless you want to be a completist on bad video game adaptations.

Fear Takes The Shape We Are Willing To Give It: Mind Game (2004)

Here I was, post viewing of Fantastic Planet, rather certain that I had explored all the possibilities and corners of the animated film, and was entirely sold that Satoshi Kon would be the height of Japan's particular anime leanings, however, when I discovered that the late director had championed a work I should have expected it to at the very best rival his films and at the very least explore some of the same territory.  While I will always respect Akira as the seminal work in anime, consider Paprika the point of absolute deconstruction of linear narrative expectations, while adoring Howl's Moving Castle as the classicist anime, what is at work in Masaaki Yuasa's Mind Game is one of the most revelatory, celebratory and outright challenging works in the canon of animated films, comparing perhaps even with the great works of spatial and temporal reconsideration in all of cinema.  I found myself constant shifting my viewing expectations throughout the film, sometimes being lulled into the sensuous colors of certain scenes, only to have them slashed into black and white dreariness, or in most instances taken to an even higher hallucinatory level.  In a couple of the film's moments I found myself changing expectations and understanding relative to each frame within a montage, whose juxtaposition was so clearly considered and organized as to work on a psychological level equitable to that of the Soviet montage.  It is glaringly obvious that Yuasa is not merely a filmmaker who knows how to make a cool looking film, but one that desires to engage with as much of cinematic theory and history as possible, both as it relates to his field of animation, as well as its larger place within the framework of cinema as a reflection of the mind's eye or in a French New Wave approach, an absolute truth that reflects the disillusions of society.  Mind Game is a ton of things, none of which are misguided, half-boiled or poorly delivered, in fact, this movie begs to be carefully considered frame-by-frame, so much so that I found myself pausing, hoping that some degree of osmosis would allow for the bombardment of imagery, commentary and overall visceral pleasure to properly wash over me, instead, what I am left with post viewing is a wild desire to simply press play again and see where the connections emerge in a film that takes the idea of enigmatic narrative to a whole new place.

Attacking the narrative of Mind Game is daunting, considering that to a considerable degree it is a series of cyclical events interweaving together, or perhaps a dream sequence bookended between two parallel visions, that are possibly within their own diagetic vision, it is tough to say.  There are, however, moments that tie together to at least glean some possibility of a protagonist in the character of Nishi, a soft-spoken manga artist whose chance reencounter with a former crush Myon results in his being dragged to Myon's family restaurant where he meets up with Myon's sister Jiisan and their less than likable father who only seems concerned with his own sexual conquest.  Within moments of being there, Nishi who is trying to outshine Myon's romantic interest, becomes, along with the other members of the restaurant part of a stick up as a mysterious man in black and brutish enraged soccer player begin making a mess of the place, violently attacking those in the restaurant.  At one point, Nishi is shot by the soccer player, leading to his own near death experience, before assumedly being reincarnated and afforded a second chance to stifle the attack, this time successfully killing the soccer player and stealing the man in black's car taking the sisters along with him as he proceeds to flee the city, the lackeys of a mob boss chasing him along in the process.  This second chance at life leads to Nishi throwing caution to the wind in this chase, ramping of truck beds and speeding much to the frustration of the pursuers.  Eventually, trapped by an insurmountable roadblock, Nishi ramps the car off of a bridge which will lead to his and the sisters' certain death, yet as though by divine intervention, a whale leaps out of the water and swallows the car, with its passenger.  Confused initially by their survival, the group finds themselves in a Jonah like situation eventually running into a large boat, occupied by an old man who has been living in the belly of the beast for thirty plus years.  He explains that it is a futile effort to escape from the whale, because the nature of his feeding and breathing cause waves to push boats backwards.  The desperation felt by the group, leads into a series of hallucinatory spirals and visions that become the narrative framing for the remainder of the film and their style is so non-normative and transcendent that to even provide a vague explanation would be to betrays its unfolding intensity.

I was mesmerized by a variety of elements in this film, particularly the suggestion that identity is something that is constantly evolving and reshaping itself to afforded the most ideal presence in a situation.  Indeed, one could call Mind Game the cinematic equivalent of a chameleon, but even that would be a false moniker, because it suggest an evolutionary necessity of survival.  The narrative that Yuasa provides viewers with is far from concerned with safety and survival of the fittest, indeed the film almost seems certain that it is only through reckless behavior that any notion of survival is afforded.  The characters who fair well in this film are in a incessant state of motion, which allows for them to move through the boundaries of the living and the dead, while in other moments defying physics for extended periods of time.  Yet, the film seems to also suggest that while much of this dynamic presence exists in the physical, it is more often a result of allowing one to free themselves from the mental constraints of a singular experiential frame of reference.  Indeed, this is where Yuasa manages to extend even beyond the wild visions of Kon.  I would never suggest that Kon did not push the images that occupied his films to their farthest parameters, but it is worth noting that in even his best work Paprika the bodies that occupy the space remain visually the same, even when their space movies between two dimensions.  In Mind Game both the characters and the spaces move about from live-action stop motion as the most grounded visuals, to highly impressionist works that are would be nearly indistinguishable were it not for the preceding or following images to add a shade of context.  Yet even these styles betray a possibility of grounded identity, because they constantly shift from the memories and daydreams of the various characters, to the point that even in the closing moments of the film, it is unclear as to whose story the viewer has just watched, or if it was indeed any story at all.  While they are stylistically as opposite as possible, I can only think to compare Mind Game to Chris Marker's La Jetee, in so much as both seem to posit a world where things are in constant motion, and it is rare, if not near impossible for things to ever coalesce into perfect harmony, but when they do it proves to be nothing short of beautiful.

Key Scene:  The last twenty minutes of this film will cause you to reconsider everything you have previously understood about film.  Trust me, I swear by this statement.

So I had to use creative methods to hunt down this film, but I am seriously considering selling a kidney to get hyper-rare this DVD.

Magnetic Roses, Stink Bombs And Cannon Fodder: Memories (1995)

While I have been ashamedly voiceless on this blog about my love of Akira, both as a perfected piece of anime, as well as being transcendent of its style into an exceptional piece of cinema, I have not shied away from defending Japan's long standing animation tradition as deserved of receiving discussion in the same voice as the auteurs and the larger cinematic history.  I cite Miyazaki and Kon as particular examples of this, although I must give all credit to Katsuhiro Otomo for my love of anime as a genre of film, in fact, Akira is easily one of my favorite films of all-time and were it not for the unfortunately high price of the available bluray copies I would own this masterpiece in the highest definition possible.  Memories, like Robot Carnival, which I have yet to see, stood as one of the works that sat on my shame list for not seeing, fortunately, I finally got around to watching it and it was more than a revelation, three unique yet undeniably bonded stories about the idea of reflection, one cannot help but bow to the unique cinematic magnitude offered only within animation.  The first story Magnetic Rose is sci-fi perfection made all the more gripping by the writing of the late Satoshi Kon, whose desire to challenge and undermine viewers assumptions burst through perfectly.  Second, is Stink Bomb, which is easily the weakest of the three stories, although this should not cause concern, because its deceptively light-hearted narrative allows viewers to consider the tradition of various filmic genres in Japan as well as a controversial relationship with the Western world.  Finally, to say that Otomo's own offering to the compilation, Cannon Fodder, is unique is a blatant understatement.  Watching the disheveled, dystopic clearly steampunk influenced world Otomo depicts, one cannot help but have everything they have understood about animation completely reconsidered, because the poetics and artistic level exuding from a half-hour anime short manage to provide for a deeply moving and heartbreakingly tragic piece of cinema on innocence and its unknowing loss.  Memories is everything one could want from a compilation piece, unique stories, powerhouse names providing these stories and a revelation on human existence worth many revisitations.

Memories exists, as noted, of three different stories, the first being Magnetic Rose, which borrows heavily and respectfully from the world of Alien, however, where Scott's film contest the nature of consciousness and a desire to live, Magnetic Rose, under the writing of Kon asks viewers to reflect on how memories influence our desire to support or destroy the world we live in.  It centers on a crew answering a distress call from a large ship at the center of a space ship graveyard.  The emergence onto this large vessel reveals a grandly realized simulacrum so deceptive that it proves to trap even the most rational of minds into the cold abyss of space.  The second story, Stink Bomb, centers on the accidental consumption of government funded medicine by a lab assistant who thinks it to be heavy power cold medicine.  The pill, however, causes the hapless scientist to become a walking weapon of nuclear warfare, in that he emits such a foul odor that it causes anyone in its path to lose all control of their nervous system and pass out for lengthy amounts of time.  In the process, the young chemist comes to understand the backdoor dealings involved in the world of pharmaceuticals, as well as the levels of transnational corruption involved in such engagements.  Finally, Cannon Fodder, centers on a city whose sole job appears to be firing off cannons at an nondescript location in the faraway distance, looking specifically at one boys struggle to transcend his working class identity via aspirations to become a high ranking officer in the system of cannon firing.  The narrative, as should be obvious, considers the issues of class mobility and consciousness, as they relate to the problems of an overtly regimented, clearly fascist form of bureaucracy.  The three coalesce beautifully and manage to reflect on levels of the personal, the national, the global and to some degree the universal, showing both the beauty and tragedy in each.

It seems as though the particular approach to memories within these three distinct stories manages to piggyback of these varying notions of interactions, firstly considering the idea of personal memory, which clearly affects the actions and eventual submission of the astronaut Heinz who clearly suffers from his accidental involvement in the untimely death of his daughter, something that is eventually exploited by the corrupt computer to cause him to stay onboard assuring his death.  This personal notion of memory is also challenged by a universal one in so much as the junk and rocks floating freely throughout space represent a physical memory that can either be seconds or billions of years old, all of which move towards a magnetic center overtime, a hugely realized commentary on existential woes.  Furthermore, Stink Bomb suggests the lingering effects of a historical memory, particularly one that is formed between The United States and Japan in regards to nuclear warfare, in focusing on the accidental emergence of a nuclear weapon at the hands of a clumsy scientist, viewers are asked to consider the very human element involved in even the thought of testing nuclear warfare.  The unconscious bodies littering the streets of tokyo take on a very real call back to the tragic loss of persons in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  It also considers the way in which dueling memories of the act of nuclear warfare affect how groups engage with one another, which is excellently depicted in the splintering relations between the Japanese and American generals throughout the work.  Finally, the film considers the issue of fabricated memories, explored in Cannon Fodder via a fictional fascist state in which the entire town fires cannons day by day with little or no question to its purpose.  In fact, the only point of contention emerges via a brief scene in which a few works demand that the chemical used to launch the cannons be cleaner thus equating to safer working conditions, ideas of armistice are irrelevant.  In a rather Foucaldian ending one cannot help but consider why the boy is ashamed of his father, particularly since it appears as though the ever-present search lights and indoctrinations of this town demand that he aspire for greatness, although the promise of his future is of course a guise, any one familiar with the history of fascism will easily pick up on this idea.

Key Scene:  There is a moment of childlike animation in Cannon Fodder that is completely unexpected and would be foolish or irrelevant in most animated films, yet its commentary and evolution into another image is so tragic that it cannot, and should not, be overlooked.

This, unfortunately, is currently only available on DVD, but that does not mean it should not be purchased, it is well worth owning and revisiting regularly, it has certainly inspired me to look back on Akira in the weeks to come.

If We're Seen, We Have To Leave: The Secret World of Arriety (2010)

Studio Ghibli is essentially a flawless company that has only gained a larger global acclaim with the help of Disney and the douchy shirt wearing John Lasseter.  While the handful of anime films released by this Disney subsidiary certainly have their father company to thank it is clear that most of the credit for their success should be directed to Hayao Miyazaki, the now aging director of anime classics such as Howl's Moving Castle and Spirited Away.  While Miyazaki has stepped down from the directors seat he was present as a writer, and, undoubtedly, as an advisor on Studio Ghibli's most recent offering, The Secret World of Arrietty which is based off the British novel The Borrowers written by Mary Norton some sixty years earlier.  While The Secret World of Arrietty is nowhere close to Miyazaki's masterpiece Howl's Moving Castle it is a clear work of art and a solid example of the cinematic possibilities of animation, a fact that many film critics still seem hesitant to embrace.  Like many of Studio Ghibli's other offerings, The Secret World of Arrietty is both accessible, yet quite broad in its commentary and philosophical pondering, and with the exception of the work of Satoshi Kon, I have trouble thinking of another anime director who is as concerned with the simplest of details in their work.  A key animator, under the tutelage of Miyazaki, it is clear that the films director Hiromasa Yonebayashi is prepared to take the reigns for the now well-respected Studio Ghibli and I know for one that I am excited at the future prospects.

As is the case with many works tied to Miyazaki, the film concerns itself with the experiences of particularly young individuals, however, these youth are rarely offered world situations that are remotely possible in the physical realm and often rely on worlds of magic and make believe for their existence.  The Secret World of Arrietty one such film as it focuses on the life of the title character Arrietty who is, along with her mother Homily and father Pod, a Borrower.  Borrowers are miniature versions of human beings that borrow small items from humans that they can live without missing, such as thread, needles, sugar and tissue.  It is their belief that they must remain out of the sight of humans because to be spotted by humans would assure their destruction, because as Pod make clear, their curiosity would lead them to ruin the Borrower lifestyle.  Arrietty seems set to abide by these rules and looks forward to her time as Borrower, until she is spotted accidentally by a human named Shawn.  Shawn despite being very calm in his approaches, given an life-threatening heart disease, is dismissed by Arrietty who assures him that no good can come of their interactions.  Arrietty's reservations are assured when Shawn's aunt becomes obsessed with catching the Borrowers, because she has been living in seclusion for years after public mocking for her previous claims of spotting such creatures.  As such, she hires exterminators to catch the Borrowers, much to the dismay of Shawn.  Realizing the impossibilities of unity, Shawn sets out to help Arrietty and her family move from the house to a new location and luckily, the task is made considerably easier by Arrietty's father running into another borrower, who provides guidance to a new location in a more urban area of Japan.  Both Arrietty and Shawn part with sorrow in their heart, yet they realize that their summer will represent a lasting memory in their lives of something magical and sentimental.  It is heartbreaking, but in a way that reminds viewers of the possibility of good in humanity.

When I reviewed Paprika awhile back I made note of the problems technology presented to women's relationship in society.  I argued that through objectification and disconnect women were oppressed on at least a theoretical level.  When referencing this, it is interesting to discover that the worlds of not only this film, but most other Studio Ghibli films place women in a rather progressive place.  Arrietty is an independent girl who desperately desires to carve her own path in the world and clearly dismisses the notions of domesticity pushed forcefully by her mother.  This is a theme that manifests itself in other Ghibli works, most notably in Howl's Moving Castle and Spirited Away.  Even the males within these works diverge from gender norms, Pod is a masculine in his demeanor, but is clearly an affectionate and loving father, while Shawn is in tune with his emotional side and promotes unity over the possibility of oppressive power.  In fact, it is clear that this film, as well as others from the studio, suggest that such traditions of gender are problematic and often only reside in the minds of an older generation.  With this in mind, a character like the aunt within the film are more understandable as villains, not only does she represent someone out to destroy the Borrowers, but she also wishes to maintain traditional gender norms as well.  It is interesting as well to compare this character to say the work of Ozu, in which gender mores were propagated by an aging male figure, in many Miyazaki films the paternal oppressor is not only not present, but rarely acknowledged.  All is not perfect in these films though, as they often end with the suggestion that the characters have found some sort of heteronormative relationship to engage in, this is certainly the case in The Secret World of Arrietty, as Arrietty is shown in the closing credits accepting a gift from Spiller, a male Borrower who has shown interest in her.  Problematic for sure these images must be criticized, however, as a whole the film does question gender roles and their apparent concreteness.  It suggests a possibility for fluidity and the evolution from an older ignorant tradition.

While The Secret World of Arrietty has been out in Japan for nearly two years, it is only now completing its U.S. theatrical run and it is certainly worth checking out in theaters.  It was my first anime theatrical viewing and the fully realized world of Arriety pours off the screen beautifully.  Also, I have to agree with my girlfriend on how awesome Arriety's room is in the film.

Don't You Think Dreams And The Internet Are Similar?: Paprika (2006)

This blog lacks no fondness for anime, and is certainly not ignorant of the work of Satoshi Kon, given a previous positive review of his much earlier work Perfect Blue, I assumed that when I picked up Paprika that it would be on equal level to that spectacular animated film.  To call the film equal to Perfect Blue would be doing its standalone brilliance an injustice.  Paprika, even more concerned with the dreamscape than Kon's previous film is something magically realized and innovatively executed.  It is impossible not to become completely involved with the cinematic feast offered to viewers, particularly given the viscerally vibrant palate with which the film is colored.  Simply put, a film like Paprika does not only help to promote the artistic relevance of Japanese animation, it outright demands its attention.  Paprika is unlike anything drawn before, and will likely surpass anything following, barring of course Kon outdoing himself.  To call Kon a director of animated films is to discredit him severely, he is something far more, and earns his place high upon the list of the most important Japanese directors ever.  This film is not anime, it is not a psychological drama.  Instead, it is quite simply perfectly crafted and easily enjoyable cinema.  It is in a tier far above any of its contemporaries.

Like Kon's other works, Paprika squarely resides in the psychological genre.  As such the narrative is incredibly convaluted and full of twists and surprises.  Given this, I will only provide a cursory glance over the plot as not to ruin what proves to be an incredibly rewarding viewing experience.  The film focus on a Japan struggling to deal with a problematic rise in psychological disorders, particularly depression.  The answer to curing these issues resides, to some scientists, in recording dreams for interpretation.  The process involves through, cerebral hookups, actual video recordings of dreams to be viewed after they occur.  It appears as though the process will be incredibly successful, particularly given the help of an entity known as Paprika who helps dreamers work through their subconscious experiences almost telepathically.  While it is known that this is done merely through external communication, the results are nonetheless the same.  Problems arise when the technology is used in a terrorist manner and individuals dreams start overlapping with others, causing instantaneous meltdowns and in some cases accidental suicides.  In response a group of scientists including the obese Doctor Tokita, whose genius overshadows his childlike state and unhealthy weight, as well as Doctor Achiba, a woman who is so entwined in the research involving this psychotherapy that to discontinue research in the face of societal concern is simply not an option.  Simultaneously, one detective Konakawa finds himself engaged in this psychotherapy as a means to deal with a past of disappointment and disillusion.  In time, the entire groups dreams begin to merge and their reality fractures as they attempt to deal with the intruder to the whole of Tokyo's dreamscape.  The ending results are unexpected and climactic as the extravagance and surreal images grow exponentially, playing ultimately into a doomsday finale that reflects a tradition so well-known in Japanese cinema.  However, the film ends sweetly on a fond closing of one willingly reflecting on their past, without regret or disillusion.

Paprika is at time concerned with gender and power, while at other times keenly astute on its references to psychoanalysis, however, it seems to most excellently approach problems of unrestrained technocracy, a theme that I would imagine is quite prevalent in the entirety of Kon's works, although I cannot say for certain having only seen one other work.  However, it is clear that unrestrained technology lacking a filter is a concern within Paprika.  Many references are made to dreams being similar to the internet in that it allows individuals to find dark corners of themselves that they did not think existed, particularly those parts that could drive them to become manically obsessed with certain things.  Kon clearly intends to question the effect of internet of a global scale.  However, internet usage and loss of a individual identity are certainly not the biggest concern in Paprika.  Instead, it is the very real fear that a government institution could have access to peoples thoughts.  In the film, this fear is enacted in a very grand manner, suggesting that not long after one is allowed unrestrained access to another persons inner most thoughts that dire events will ensue.  In Paprika, it leads almost instantly to terrorist behavior that comes extremely close to apocalyptic destruction.  Kon, is perhaps suggesting that once we allow our minds to be a thing of government, or an entity acting like a government, that the destruction of mankind will follow.  It is interesting to keep this film in mind as we emerge into a new technological era in which a person can find incredibly large amounts of information on a person simply by googling their name.  If this is not enough to scare a person, image a future in which we only need to think of another to have complete access to their mind.  It may be far in the distance, but I doubt people in the 1950's really thought they would ever compose messages with only their thumbs.

Paprika is an extravagant film, that is all-encompassing and a blast to watch.  While I own it on DVD, it is certainly on my short list of bluray upgrades and you should get a copy too.

Top Ten Thursdays: Japanese Films

One of my goals for the new year is to greatly increase the amount of Japanese films I view.  As it is right now I have seen a considerable amount of the classics, but could stand to see many more, particularly silent era Japanese cinema.  Regardless, I am offering a list of my ten favorite Japanese movies.  I will confess up front that this was a difficult list to compose.

10.) Audition (1999)

Thanks to a healthy push by Quentin Tarantino and an ever increasing cult following for the director Takashi Miikie, Audition is a infamous Japanese film that stretches the very limits of what one can consider viewable cinema.

9.) Battle Royale (1999)

Easily one of my favorite contemporary Japanese films, Battle Royale is an adaptation of a book by the same name, which follows a group of high school students who have been forced to kill each other in the name of entertainment.  The film is getting its first U.S. theatrical run in the coming year.  It should be exciting, if not morbid.

8.) Late Spring (1949) 

The works of Ozu set out to do one thing, and that is to break viewers hearts.  Late Spring, like so many of his works, follows a modern Japanese family as they face the crippling decay of their countries pre-war traditions.

7.) Patriotism (1966)

 The shortest film on this list at roughly twenty minutes, Patriotism was written and directed by Yukio Mishima who would later commit suicide in the name of political opposition in a manner that nearly parallels this short film.

6.) Kwaidan (1965)

Kwaidan is a series of short segments using popular Japanese ghost stories as its inspiration.  While the entire film is good, I would strongly recommend the short called Hoichi, The Earless.

5.) Jigoku (1960)

Roughly translating to Japanese Hell, Jigoku is perhaps the most exploitative Japanese film besides School of the Holy Beast.

4.) Ugetsu (1953)

Ugetsu is similar to Jigoku, in that it follows a character who travels through hell for a lost love.  This film is easily one of the most poetic ever made.

3.) Akira (1988)

This film keeps showing up on my top ten lists.  It is the pinnacle of Japanese animation.

2.) Godzilla (1954)

I know this is a different image than the original, however, Godzilla is not only one of the most important Japanese films ever, but one of the greatest viewing experiences a person can have.

1.) The Bad Sleep Well (1960)

I could have picked Seven Samurai...or any Kurosawa movie for that matter, but The Bad Sleep Well is my favorite, not only for its keen analysis of corruption in urban Japan, but also for its luxurious cinematography.







Honorable Mention

Seven Samurai (1954)
House (1977)
Vengeance Is Mine (1979)
Perfect Blue (1997)

Excuse Me…Who Are You?: Perfect Blue (1997)

Upon approaching this Perfect Blue, I had heard multiple statements claiming it to be the anime equivalent of a Hitchcock film.  While this is certainly true, it is a tragic understatement to how truly unique and dark this movie really becomes.  It is an intense, morbid and visually striking animated film that is condensed into eighty minutes of glorious madness.  It still does not top Akira, but truth be told this is one of the best pieces of animation I have ever seen.  It is making me consider reworking my previous Top Ten Thursday list.  I cannot express the surreal and oneiric qualities of this movie, but it is a must watch film and is perhaps the best piece of anime available to discredit notions of the genre being full of childish Disneyesque films.  Incidentally, the storyline for Perfect Blue is arguably more disconnected than the surrealist offering that is Fantasia.

Perfect Blue focuses on the crumbling celebrity status of Mima, the lead singer of the J-pop trio Cham.  She has decided to end her time with the musical group, against her wishes, in order to pursue a career in acting.  It seems as though Mima will acquire a decent amount of success as an actress, making cameos on crime shows and still maintaining her associations with her pop star past.  This is the case for a short amount of time, however, as her producer is suddenly the victim of a mail bomb intended for Mima.  At this point the film begins to immerse itself into a world in which reality and dreams are no longer differentiated.  This occurrence is spurred by Mima being introduced to a website called Mima’s Room which recounts her daily activities.  Mima is distraught by this discovery because she is certain that she is not the one writing this website and is the victim of another persons fanatical obsessions.  Her paranoia is not benefitted by the fact that the show she is starring on is concerned with a serial killer.  As her confusion increases Mima is incapable of separating her reality from that of the killer she plays in the film, often acting violently without explanation.  The plot continues to become more desoltary and murky ending with a twist that would make Hitchcock proud and put Shyamalan to shame.  I promise you that without spoilers you will not see the ending coming, it is that well delivered of a narrative.

I am going to for go an intense critical analysis of this piece and instead talk about how it serves as an example of what animated films can do that reality cannot (This is excluding CGI films).  A film like Perfect Blue has the power to portray dreamlike states and desolate landscapes in a way that escapes believability in the world of live action.  Even a perfectly executed dream sequence, like those in Inception, fails to grasp believability because we know as human being that we are incapable of fighting in a world void of gravity.  However, when approaching works that are animated we are certain from the onset that it does not in any way reflect reality and subconsciously we allow ourselves to view it in a surreal alternative reality.  Another good example of an animated film that allows us this venue is Richard Linklater’s study on dream states Waking Life.  Sure, it seems like a simplistic argument, but it is hard not to become captivated on a different level with something like Perfect Blue, because while you can disconnect as a viewer you cannot ever truly escape the depravity of the film.  You cannot remove yourself from the surreal in the same way you can the real, it eats away at your subconscious whether you allow it to or not.

This film is rather hard to come by, but well worth owning.  If you can throw the money around and like animated films then I would strongly encourage you to get a copy.  For those who are uncertain about anime, this is probably one of the best places to start