Ecstasy of the Angels

Koji Wakamatsu's treatment of this story is, compared to big budget filming, what guerilla warfare is to a full blown World War. Imagine seeing a hysterical comedy about idealistic terrorists betrayed by their leaders as written by Jean-Luc Godard, produced by David Lynch and directed by Gregg Araki: that gets you somewhere in the neighbourhood of what this picture is like. Untroubled by storytelling conventions Wakamatsu lets the thin thread that holds all scenes more or less together snap halfway through the film. His scenes of bloodcurdling violence are thrown at you with the gusto of a rabid modern painter. Visually brilliant and wonderfully over the top with some poignantly funny touches, this ranks as one of the most enthralling political nightmares ever printed on celluloid.

As I write, no one on IMDb has provided a synopsis for Ecstasy of the Angels, and the few reviews here are rather bereft of plot details; could that be because no-one who has watched it has got a clue what was going on thanks to the stupefyingly dull direction, the coma-inducing performances, and the fact that it is virtually impossible to tell one character from another? I reckon so.

Before I gave up trying to follow the story and began praying for the film to just finish and thereby end my misery (I'm obsessive about watching a film in its entirety, no matter how bad), here's what I garnered about the plot: The Four Seasons revolutionary group is split into factions that go by the names of— surprise surprise—the Four Seasons. Fall organises a raid on a US army base and makes off with some high explosives (stored in what looks like Bilbo Baggins' hobbit hole), but with members of her team killed and injured during the job, the way is left wide open for the other factions to help themselves to the spoils of her venture. Cue much arguing amongst angry freedom fighter types, and lots of strangely unemotional sex scenes between the uniformly hot female members of the group and the seemingly unappreciative blokes.

If I had known what I was in for, I would have passed on this film, but for some reason I had got it into my mind that this was a sleazy Cat III effort from Hong Kong; not only did I get the country of origin wrong—this is a Japanese flick—but I also was also severely misguided when it came to the kind of film this was. Rather than a trashy piece of Asian filth, Ecstasy of the Angels is a pompous, pretentious, and extremely dull avant-garde art-house film that could only possibly appeal to the bearded chin-stroker contingent; whilst they might enjoy waxing lyrical about the intent of the piece, the film's political message or the pointless techniques employed by the director (B&W to colour to B&W to colour, ad nauseum), anyone else will simply be bored rigid. Hell, I was practically catatonic by the end of the film's opening scene in which several of the characters sit around a table in a night-club while a singer drones on endlessly in the background.

I found I liked this a little less than I did when first seen on video a few years ago. Perhaps it just shows what effect 9/11 and subsequent worldwide terrorist activities have had on our psyche. This remains a well put together, exciting and amusing tale of confused young fighters (for they know not what) on the streets of Tokyo late 60's. The pace and style of Wakamatsu's film making is infectious but the pain of events and concerns for safety have made it much more difficult to be sympathetic to lost youth taking it out on innocent people. It's a shame because this, almost Godard like, movie so full of vitality, could inspire many to take up the making of movies but instead one is now frightened that the vulnerable might be encouraged in their cowardliness to take out others for a bit of glory. A sad reflection of the times we find ourselves in. Good film though!

Having greatly enjoyed Wakamatsu's earlier film Go, Go Second Time Virgin, I was very excited to come across this one. The excitement was however short lived. Or should I say endless because that is about how long this movie seems. Rarely have I looked at the counter on my VCR more often to see how much more I would have to endure.

It was much the same feeling as when after seeing Godard's wonderfully early new wave movies, I was subjected to La Chinoise or Pierrot Le Fou. Actually Ecstacy of the Angels seem very much inspired by this more avant-garde side of Godard's film-making. But without the originality.

There is plenty of sex and violence here, and layers and layers of what is most likely satire on political idealism and the media's exploitation of sex and violence. And possibly even sex and violence in cinema itself. A film mocking film maybe. There is that term yet again: Sex and violence. Usually a safe recipe for good entertainment, be it in celluloid or newsprint form. But the problem here is that the message is lost in all the boring scenes and purposely stiff dialog. You will quickly lose track of who belongs to which revolutionary faction. You are probably supposed to. Is the movie supposed to show us how predictable and repetitious our lust for sex and violence is? Because it's all the same here. Every scene is just more of the same. Tedious repetition. Maybe that is the message. Is that why all the characters are named after seasons and weekdays? Possibly.

Whatever it is, it all seems rather outdated and unoriginal now. It's just plain boring. Maybe it wasn't in Japan in 1972.

You do sort of get a picture of the screenplay being written on a roll of toilet paper by a couple of drunk pretentious intellectuals looking for an excuse to get some young actresses to take their clothes off. Which would in that case be the one side of this movie that would seem perfectly reasonable to me. I'm sure there is an intellectual masterpiece in there somewhere. A deeper meaning. But life is just to short to look for it. I simply cannot bear to watch this one again.

Koji Wakamatsu's "Ecstacy Of The Angels" runs for a mere eighty-nine minutes. After it ended it felt more like eight nine hours. Wakamatsu, known as the "Pink Godfather" (no, don't ask me why), was a pioneer of the pinku eiga genre. I had never heard the name Wakamatsu before. According to the blurb in the festival guide, "Ecstacy of The Angels" is a parable about a revolutionary organization torn apart by betrayal, its members descending into paranoia, sadism and sexual decadence. It sounded like a plot from an early Godard film, only from a Japanese perspective. This sounded interesting, I thought. It was about as interesting as having a tooth extracted. The opening sequence, in black and white, is set in a nightclub. A female singer screeches absurd lyrics, while at a nearby table three men and a woman sit in silence. Pretty soon though, I couldn't figure out which revolutionary faction was which, and by that time I was beyond caring. The actors don't just speak their lines, the bellow them at each other, as if they were all auditory challenged. In the frequent sex scenes (which are about as erotic as two storefront mannequins coupling), they go through the motions of sexual congress while mouthing absurd platitudes about fighting for the revolutionary cause. Frankly, Wakamatsu is definitely no match for Godard. Which reminds me, I need to visit my dentist for a check up. It'll be less painful all round.