So the kid from Kick-Ass (Aaron Johnson) is all grown up and buffed and in the Navy, doing bomb stuff (he either diffuses them or blows them up or something — it’s unclear). His crazy old dad (Bryan Cranston) has figured out that the Japanese are keeping a giant monster at the nuclear disaster site where he lost his wife 15 years earlier, and soon enough father and son are poking around where they shouldn’t be.
As it happens, the monster isn’t Godzilla (nee Gojira). It’s rather an awesome, Lovecraftian bug-like thing, quite wicked and HUGE. (Godzilla himself, when he finally shows up, is about five times the size of the original.) That’s the greatest strength of this otherwise mess of a movie: the gigantic monstery goodness of it all. The filmmakers have embraced the essence of kaiju, the sheer terror of being attacked and, most likely, crushed beneath the tonnage of a really, really big monster. We’re talking the horror of scale here, and this one element, done quite well, is what saves this film.
Unfortunately, our young male lead isn’t much cop at looking up at 500 feet of horrific monstrosity and communicating the brown trousers moment with anything like visceral terror. His reminded me of the similarly blank expression on Naomi Watts’ gormless mug in Peter Jackson’s 2005 King Kong remake. Both these actors should look up the boy and girl from the original Jurassic Park — those kids knew how to sell it! Even a spoonful of quivering jello wasn’t lost on them — they got the “holy shit!” moment and ran with it.
Either the screenwriter or the editor are responsible for a storyline that jumps from convoluted to nonexistent — don’t bother trying to keep up. Just know that, like the original, there are scientists and soldiers and giant monsters, and somehow Godzilla, while causing untold destruction and death, is really on our side. Never mind the atomic bomb our human hero’s team is trying to detonate in the middle of San Francisco to destroy the giant evil insect things. In the light of such operational logic, ol’ Godzilla doesn’t seem so bad after all!
So my advice: lean upon this movie gently, don’t expect too much in the way of acting or storytelling, just get into spirit of the thing and you’ll have a good time. Or conversely, you can follow Anthony Lane’s advice: “Skip Godzilla the movie. Watch the trailer.”
I’m a big fan of manga movies. I’ve reviewed a bunch of them in my books, calling them out as among the most outrageous and deliriously enjoyable films you’re likely to encounter in the remarkable world of Asian (particularly Japanese) cinema.
However, sometimes the manga in question is so monumental and beloved, the film adaptation turns out leaden and lugubrious by comparison (see Watchmen). So intimidated is the filmmaker by the original work, so eager is he to please the fans that he becomes preoccupied with the authenticity of his rendering. He forgets that while comics are uniquely suited to film adaptation (hey, it’s a fucking storyboard), still, there are considerations to be made in regards to the medium of film. You can’t shoot every friggin’ frame! You’re better off running the risk of pissing off the purists for the sake of a good movie (see The Lord of the Rings trilogy).
So it is with 20th Century Boys, a manga by Naoki Urasawa that ran from 1999 to 2006 (later published in 22 bound volumes). It’s about a gang of snot-nosed kids who get a notebook and fill it with a fanciful story about the end of the world. Flash forward 30 years and somebody is causing the story to come true. The somebody is Friend, a mysterious cult leader who appears to have a childhood connection with the original group. The whole premise is a little half-baked if you ask me, but what do I know. The thing was huge in Japan.
The resulting film trilogy (7+ hours) met with mixed reviews but nevertheless made heaps of yen. Unfortunately, the first installment, 20th Century Boys 1: Beginning of the End (2008), didn’t really do it for me. It was quite slow to get going, only developing a decent head of steam about an hour in. The pace reminded me quite a lot of Watchmen, but I happened to have read that epic tale of post-superhero intrigue and angst, so it was far more enjoyable. For those unfamiliar with the original of either film, the experience is much diminished.
I’ve got the second film here, 20th Century Boys 2: The Last Hope (both films courtesy of my friend and fellow Asian film fanatic Dr. Stan Glick) and I’ll watch it, as I’m somewhat invested at this point. But unless things pick up dramatically, I doubt I’ll pursue the third film; that would involve a cash outlay, and I’ve got so many flicks in the to-watch pile, it’s better I just move on to the next one. Looks to be something called Chambara Striptease …
Kiyoshi Kurosawa is known primarily in the West for his horror films. Tokyo Sonata (2008) represents a departure; ghosts and serial killers give way to the domestic horror of the shit-canned salaryman. Seems the company is moving his division to China, so our man Ryu Sasaki (Teruyuki Kagawa) does the usual thing: He keeps putting on the suit and pretends to go to work every day. Really, he heads down to the park where the homeless guys hang out and lines up for a bowl of bad rice porridge. How long can he keep up the charade?
Tokyo Sonata revolves around a familiar theme in contemporary Japanese cinema, that of the disintegrating family. And very often, the family is seen as a microcosm of the country. The sense that the society is falling apart at the seams is palpable in this film, it’s ultimate representative being the inept housebreaker played by Kiyoshi Kurosawa mainstay Koji Yakusho. Elsewhere, Sasakis’ teenage son, who wants to join the U.S. military, is another example of a lost soul; to the Japanese, such a life choice would be considered extremely bizarre. Throw in a disillusioned mom and a troubled yet musically gifted son, and we’re off on our harrowing downward spiral toward redemption.
Tokyo Sonata isn’t a particularly profound film; frankly, it starts to lose its way around the 1:10 point. But the subject matter, characters and quality of filmmaking keep you involved to the end, and for anyone who likes films set in the gritty, unflattering reality of Tokyo, it’s more than satisfying.
Way back in 1985, German filmmaker Wim Wenders made a pilgrimage to Tokyo in search of Ozu. Not the physical personage, mind you (Yasujiro Ozu died in 1963) but rather some element of the master still extant in the great city in which his films were set. Were the trains still running? Were any of the old cast/crew still kicking around? Yes on both counts, it turns out, and the resulting film is a delightful blend of documentary and arthouse meditation.
This being Wenders, you’ll experience long, lingering takes and soft-spoken narration. Dial back your immediate expectations and just let the imagery wash over you. After all, this is Tokyo in the 80s; the sheer density of information in each extended, dreamy shot is worth a good, long look.
Interspersed between the moving portraiture are segments featuring unique aspects of Tokyo culture, such as life in a pachinko parlor or Asakusa craftsmen making display case replicas of restaurant food out of wax. In city parks we find old ladies laughing, children at play and cherry blossom viewing parties with lots of beer and sake all around. At one point we meet up with Werner Herzog at the top of the Tokyo Tower. A splendid time is guaranteed for all.
The real gems of the film, however, are the interviews with two Ozu fixtures, actor Chishu Ryu and cinematographer Yuharu Atsuta. Both men open up about their experiences with, and feelings for, the great man, Atsuta to a degree uncommon for Japanese men of his generation (moved by his recollections, he breaks down and cannot continue). Ryu is predictably self-effacing, and gives all credit for his career and achievements to Ozu. Atsuta hauls out the original equipment, including the 50mm camera and tripods he used on all those films, and demonstrates Ozu’s unique, low-level “tatami shot.” It’s a real treat for aspiring filmmakers and fans alike.
Tokyo-ga is one of those how-the-hell-am-I-just-hearing-about-this-now pictures, like Teshigahara’s documentary about Gaudi (at least in my case — I’m sure there are plenty of far hipper film folks who’ve long known of both). Needless to say, I’d heartily recommend Tokyo-ga to anyone interested in Ozu, Wenders, and/or Tokyo itself. And seeing how they make that phony food is a major bonus!
For Halloween this year, I’m going to be a dick and suggest a film that is not readily available (although it should be — the rights are owned by a going DVD concern). It ran on TCM a couple of weeks ago, and apparently you can see it on hulu plus according to this. It’s The Ghost of Yotsuya directed by Nobuo Nakagawa (for a more fulsome review, see my book Asia Shock). The Ghost of Yotsuya (Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan, 1959) is a film every J-horror fan must see, as you get the prototypical vengeful lady ghost in all her glory (including a horribly disfigured face, a feature often obscured in more recent incarnations … ). This was originally a kabuki play penned by the great Namboku Tsuruya IV back in 1825. Tsuruya specialized in a particularly dark and depraved genre of kabuki drama known as kizewamono, concerned with a host of unsavory characters; thieves, murderers, desperate ronin and the like, all up to some variety of juicy jiggery pokery.
In our case, it’s skeevy ronin Iemon (the scintillatingly sinister Shigeru Amachi), and his scheming buddy Naosuke (Shuntaro Emi). Between them, they knock off more than half a dozen people, most significantly Iemon’s wife Iwa (Katsuko Wakasugi). She’s not taking her murder lying down (although she’s since been nailed to a board and dumped in the river). When Iemon re-marries into a rich family, Iwa appears to him in strategic positions, hovering before his new family members; as the terrified villain lunges at the ghost with sword and spear, he winds up killing his new kin!
The 1959 Ghost of Yotsuya is far from the only film adaptation of this dark fable. I mention a couple of others in my book, including versions starring Tomisaburo Wakayama and Tatsuya Nakadai. If you haven’t obtained Asia Shock by now, you really should.
As I mentioned earlier, this wonderfully wicked film ought to be out on disk by now, as Criterion Collection has the rights. They’ve released director Nakagawa’s other great work, Jigoku (1960), so why not this one? I realize it’s tough times for DVD/Blu-ray manufacturers just now, but if there were ever a dark, rare gem of a film deserving to be seen, it is Nobuo Nakagawa’s The Ghost of Yotsuya.
UPDATE: I just subscribed to hulu plus, and while I have great misgivings re: the commercials, I'm pleased to see the wealth of samurai cinema, including the film above. Guess everything comes at a price ...
One of the leading lights of South Korean cinema in the 1960s was a guy named Lee Man-hee. Lee was an extraordinary filmmaker who could work in various genres (thriller, action, melodrama), but his particular specialty was the war film. Like Japanese counterparts Masaki Kobayashi and Kihachi Okamoto, Lee was a veteran, having fought in the Korean War. He also had a particular affinity for soldiers, claiming that if he hadn’t become a filmmaker, he would probably have been a professional soldier. However, Lee was no propaganda-spewing ideologue; in common with his Japanese cohorts, his experience of the brutal calamity of large-scale warfare affected him deeply, and his war films are, in fact, anti-war films.
The film that put Lee on the map, both critically and box office-wise, was 1963’s The Marines Who Never Returned. The story concerns the experience of a largely doomed (hence the title) regiment of South Korean marines and their experiences at the battle of Incheon in 1950.
The film fairly explodes off the screen in the opening battle sequence, shot purely from the POV of the marines as they attempt to infiltrate a factory held by the North Koreans. A mother and small daughter attempt to escape through the crossfire and the mother is struck down. The soldiers save the little girl, Yeong-hui, and she becomes their collective little sister and mascot. Yeong-hui is so sweet and lovable, at first you worry something terrible is going to happen to her in the service of melodrama. However, Lee is better than that; he doesn’t need to rely on such cheap tricks to elicit a strong emotional response from the audience. Depictions of the realities of battle provide all the gut-wrenching drama he requires.
The impact of the battle sequences is truly remarkable when one considers the period. Hollywood movies didn’t get this gritty and realistic until decades later, with the likes of The Thin Red Line and Saving Private Ryan. Lee was clearly drawing on his experiences in war to direct the way men moved when shot, or how bombs and mortars could disrupt a trench line.
The grim realities of war are balanced by the sequences with Yeong-hui and the comedy gags provided by popular comedian Koo Bong-seo, here playing the joker of the regiment. Whether he’s spotting spies while taking a dump by the side of the road or conning U.S. soldiers out of beer and supplies, he never fails to get a laugh. Others in the squad include the usual assortment of types; the timid one, the cocky one, the pretty boy, the passionate vengeance-seeker, the gruff-yet-benign squad leader. Lee takes these stock elements and, through his unique treatment, makes us care.
I got a hold of this film as part of a Lee Man-hee box set available here (and elsewhere). It’s region 3, so you’ll need a region-free DVD player (you can get one here). Otherwise, I noticed it’s on youtube here. Any way you want to play it, I heartily suggest this picture. It will change the way you think about the Korean war, Korean film, and war films in general.