Oshima Nagisa's In The Realm of the Senses and The Empire of Passion are being released by Criterion. I wish they would releases some of his 1960s masterpieces instead, but this is a start!
McCarthy Cormac, No Country for Old Men New York: Alfred A. Knoph, 2005. 320 pgs.
Some seven years after he completed the final novel of his famed Border Trilogy, Cormac McCarthy released to the world his ninth novel No Country for Old Men. With its title borrowed from a poem titled “Sailing to Byzantium”— That is no country for old men. The young, in one another's arms, birds in the trees- Those dying generations - at their song—No County for Old Men centers upon three men and the occasion which would bring them together and drastically change the lives of at least two of the men.
The novel opens with the welder Llewellyn Moss hunting antelope. After missing his desired shot, follows a wounded antelope. First, he sees a large wounded dog and a bit later he comes to still scene where chaos had taken place a short time earlier. Dead bodies strewed here and there, a dead dog, and bullet ridden pickup trucks. One of the trucks contains a large number of packages containing heroin and another contains a Mexican drug smuggler begging for water and worrying about wolves. Moss leaves the man and searches for the Last Man, the one who survived the chaos. Finding a trail of blood, Moss follows it until he finds the body of the Last Man. The man is holding a black leather case, and inside that case there is more than two million dollars. Under these circumstances Moss takes the money back with him to his trailer were his nineteen-year-old wife waits for him.
It seems that the welder and Vietnam veteran Moss is now a millionaire, but it is not thoughts of new wealth that keeps him awake, it is the thoughts of the Mexican man dying of thirst that bothers Moss and so against protests from his young wife and from his own inner conscious, he goes into the night to take water to the dying man and there encounters some men whose boss the money belongs. Worse yet, the encounter leads to Moss becoming the target of a fellow named Anton Chigurh, a hitman whose figure seems more demonic than human and whose cattle gun blasts the brains out of his victims.
Besides Llewellyn Moss and Anton Chigurh, there is Sheriff Ed Tom Bell. The fellow whose personal narratives give the backbone to the novel and whose narratives further the cat and mouse game played by Moss and Chigurh, Bell is nearing retirement and believes that the world is going to Hades in a hand basket. Drugs spreading, violence increasing, and senseless murder prevalent, Bell believes that he is no match to the changing times, so when the dead Mexicans are discovered, and one of his deputies has his brains blown out, Bell is faced with the destruction of time and change.
No Country for Old Men is a beautifully written novel which might leave some readers reaching for their dictionaries to find meaning to some of the words in McCarthy’s expansive vocabulary. McCarthy does a wonderful job being able to put the readers in the heads of the vastly different characters Moss, Chigurh, and Bell and making the readers understand their emotions and worldviews and give meanings to their actions, even ones as heinous as those committed by Chigurh.
Through Bell, McCarthy seems to displaying his own thoughts. The times are changing, and times seem to be getting worse instead of better. Old values and morals seem to have been cast aside and the new age is one of destruction, an age for men like Anton Chigurh, one in which “old men” like Bell no longer have a place. A fine novel by a writer who many consider America’s finest; No Country for Old Men will both horrify and entertain its readers, and hopefully make them think of time and its relationship to violence. I don’t quite agree with all of McCarthy’s rather conservative statements, but it is definitely food for thought.
current mood: excited current music: Brendan James: The Other Side
Mongol opens with a young Temujin, the future Genghis Khan, travelling with his father Esugei so that he can choose a bride from a rival tribe the Merkits, from whom his father had kidnapped his mother, Oelun some years earlier. The reason why Esugei wants Temujin to choose a bride from the Merkits is so that peace could be established between the two Mongolian groups; however, before arriving at the Merkits’ territory, Esugei, Temujin, and their posse stop for a rest at a smaller, weaker clan that is on friendly terms with Esugei. Their Temujin meets a headstrong girl named Borte who informs him that he should chose her to be his bride. A bit smitten with the older girl, Temujin informs his father that he wants to chose a bride from the weak clan, and with the use of a bit of subterfuge, Temujin chooses Borte to be his bride, and so, with their pact sealed, the two separate for which they believe will only be five years, but turns into a much longer duration of time.
While on the trip back home, Esugei is given some poison mare’s milk by the head of a rival clan. Unwilling to besmirch Mongol traditions by having a servant taste the milk first, he drinks the milk and passes away while heading home. Once the clan learns that their Khan is dead, it splits up with most of the members pledging allegiance to an upstart called Targutai, who swears that he will kill Temujin when he comes of age. Kept as a slave and forced to endure numerous humiliations, Temujin is eventually able to escape Targutai and form a bond with his blood brother Jamukha. After finding his wife Borte, Temujin begins a quest that is filled with defeat, separation, and humiliation, but also triumph and glory, to become the man to unite the Mongols.
First off, the reason why I decided to watch Mongol was because it stars my favorite Japanese actor Asano Tadanobu (What a Japanese actor playing Genghis Khan? I’ll get to that later). Asano does a remarkable job with his portrayal of Temujin. Playing a cool and quiet character, but one whom possesses a core of iron and who holds a stupendous determination, Asano is at times playful and humble in the film, but is able to turn up his ferocity at the drop of a hat. Displaying some of swordsmanship he displayed in Kitano Takeshi’s remake of Zatoichi, Asano’s character wields a sword as if he could take on all the Mongol hordes and the armies of the Han Emperor. Which, he pretty much does in this film which is billed as the first in a trilogy. The Chinese Sun Hong lei almost steals the show from Asano in his portrayal of the adult Jamukha, in fact, one would almost think that his boisterous nature would have made a more appealing Genghis Khan that of Asano.
One will notice that there are very few Mongolians in this film. Asano, as mentioned above, is Japanese, and most of the other “Mongolians” are played by Chinese actors. This has caused a bit of controversy in Mongolia, but I think the film is worthwhile as a whole, just be ready for some extreme displays of violence and numerous spouts of blood!
***
Films watched 2008: 106/150
current mood: blah current music: Lake of Tears: Children of the Grey
Most famous for his film Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989), director/actor Tsukamoto Shinya has over the past two decades released some of the most disturbing horror films in Japan. Films like Tetsuo: The Iron Man and A Snake of June depict man’s struggle with technology while films such as Bullet Ballet depict the brutality that can be found in “common individuals.” Whatever the subject of the film might be, Tsukamoto always brings his unique style to it and accompanied with the thunderous soundtracks composed by Der Eisenrost’s Ishikawa Chu, the director’s films always tend to make a last impact on the viewer.
Haze opens with a man, Tsukamoto himself, waking and finding himself in a damp, dark, and narrow cement corridor. He does not remember where he was before his imprisonment and wonders if he is a prisoner of war, was brainwashed by a cult, or is trapped by a rich pervert who is toting with him He also does not know his past or even his name. Beginning to panic, the man slides/is drug, across the slick surface and is wounded in the stomach where blood begins to gush. In the dim light, the man makes his way through the labyrinth only to be struck by invisible foes and find the remains of mutilated corpses. Eventually, he does locate a woman. The woman also does not know why she is there, but she has a stronger resolve to escape than the man. However, is the outside truly better than the confines of the labyrinth?
If I had to describe Haze in one word that word would be “uncomfortable” and if I had two words, “extremely uncomfortable.” The first sixteen minutes or so of the film are almost completely a close-up of Tsukamoto’s face in the dim light as it contorts in pain and fear. Within this time, the audience is treated to a scene in which Tsukamoto’s teeth are scraped against a pipe which gives off a screech that will almost make one’s ears bleed. Although uncomfortable to watch, Haze is a good film which delves into some quite unpleasant subjects.
***
Films watched 2008: 105/150
current mood: hungry current music: Amorphis: Perkele (The God of Fire)
Although I rarely watch anime now, from time to time there is a series that catches my interest, not so much because of an intricate plot or stunning animation, but because it possesses a bizarre sense of humor that I have yet to encounter. One such series is Azuma Kiyohiko’s Azumanga Daioh and another is Nonaka Eiji’s surreal Cromartie High School. Sporting the name of American baseball player Warren Cromartie, who made quite a splash in Japanese professional baseball from 1984-1990 for the Yomiuri Giants, Cromartie High School centers around a student named Kamiyama Takashi whose straight-laced nature puts him quite at odds with his classmates who resemble more a bunch of yakuza than high school students. But there’s much more. Besides yakuza in training, other “students” include a robot who does not know he is a robot, a gorilla, and a fellow who resembles Freddie Mercury of Queen fame. Any description would not do the series justice, but the animated form serves it fell and slight shifts that would be too blunt in live action films come off flawlessly. However, as with a number of other popular manga/anime series, a live action movie was produced of Cromartie High School.
Episodic in nature, many sections from the Cromartie High School film are lifted directly from the anime/manga, of course, so those familiar with those versions of the series will be treated to seeing them performed with real actors, so the audience will be treated to seeing such scenes as Takenouchi suffering from motion sickness on a plane and Yamaguchi Noboru’s detestation of the Putan show once again. However, while such scenes work well for animation, it fails pretty hard in live action. Also, the randomness of the film is not very enjoyable because 85 minutes is just too long for a type of humor that works best in 15 minute segments.
Cromartie High School is definitely a film made for those familiar with the anime/manga, because those uninitiated into the bizarreness of this series might be left scratching their heads. Funny at times, but mostly dull and stale, Cromartie High School the movie is one that can be skipped by those familiar with its earlier formats and those who are not.
***
Films watched 2008: 104/150
current mood: blah current music: Okkervil River: Pop Lie
Suter, Rebecca. The Japanization of Modernity: Murakami Haruki Between Japan and the United States. Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2008. 250 pages.
The author Haruki Murakami is a difficult figure to categorize. Abroad in the West, Murakami is primarily known for his longer works of fiction which tackle such issues as urban malaise, American-styled capitalism, and the memory of war in Japan. However, in his native Japan, Murakami is still primarily known for his short stories and, it should be noted, this is the image that Murakami promotes of himself both in the West and in Japan. However, there is another aspect of Murakami’s literary career that is less mentioned in the West: his position as one of the most prominent translators of English language, mostly American, literature into Japanese. This issue, amongst others, is one of the primary focuses of University of Sydney lecturer of Japanese Studies Rebecca Suter’s recent book The Japanization of Modernity: Murakami Haruki Between Japan and the United States.
Suter writes that along with his partner in translation Tokyo University English professor Motoyuki Shibata, Murakami has helped just as much, if not more, to carve out the literary tastes of the Japanese through his Japanese translations of English and American literature as his works of long and short fiction. Japan, being a country whose literary industry is dominated by translations, more literature is translated into Japanese than originally written in Japanese, Murakami acts as a filter and conveyor of Western Literature to the Japanese and his translation style is often mimicked in the fiction of young writers in their fictional works. Far from being only a filter of Western Literature, and oftentimes ideals, to the Japanese, it is through his popularity in Japan that Murakami’s literature, and its considerable Western (American) influence, has spread into countries such as China, Taiwan, and South Korea where his literature is immensely popular. Combine this with the influence Murakami has had on the number of individuals declaring Japanese as a major in America/Europe because of his writing, Murakami has transcended the level of author/translator to being a force between Japanese and Western cultures and he, putting on his different masks to Japan and to the West, acts as a filter where both Japanese and Westerners can recognize themselves in his literature.
Another issue that Suter tackles is the prevalence of Western cultural artifacts and Murakami’s heavy use of English loanwords in his literature. Murakami’s literature has received both criticism and accolades for the lack of things “culturally significant” to Japan that are prevalent in say the works of a Yukio Mishima or a Yasunari Kawabata. The supporters commend him on being “modern” and “Westernized” and his destroying the Orientalist mystique of the East that many have in conceptions of Japan. Detractors often have the opposite feeling. They are looking for something “Japanese” in his works, but instead are finding a cosmopolitan, globalized postmodern cultural milieu that take away from preconceived concepts of Japan. Japanese critics often critique Murakami on similar lines stating that his writing is little more than popular pulp writing with as little literary value as weekly comics and that gives in to the Americanized capitalist model. Murakami supposedly, on the other hand, likens himself more to Meiji and Taisho era writers such as Natsume Soseki, Akutagawa Ryu, and Shimazaki Toson who tackled the languages and literatures of the West in order to incorporate them into their own lives as Japan was quickly modernizing. Like a number of these Meiji/Taisho writers, Murakami believes in the value of Western literature and language not so much for the literature and language itself, but for their ability to help Japanese formulate different trains of thought and ideals separate from that handed down as standard from the Japanese elite/government. Also, to Murakami, aspects of Western culture have become so engrained in Japan that it is impossible for the Japanese to extricate themselves from it. That instead of fighting it, ignoring it, or looking at it as “superior,” it should instead be incorporated fully by the Japanese and no longer be viewed as “Western” but “Japanese” as well.
Dr. Suter’s scholarly tome is one of a number of scholarly works that have been released to the English speaking world concerning the works of Haruki Murakami. While it is not quite as easy to read, and as informative about Murakami’s personal background, as Harvard Professor of Modern Japanese Literature Jay Rubin’s Haruki Murakami & The Music of Words it is not quite as theory laden as Michael Seats’s Murakami Haruki: The Simulacrum in Contemporary Japanese Culture or Matthew Carl Strecher’s Dances With Sheep: The Quest for Identity in the Fiction of Murakami Haruki, making The Japanization of Modernity a relatively easy read for not only literature/Japanese language and literature scholars/students, but for typical Murakami fans as well. Another interesting aspect of Suter’s book is that she primarily focuses on Murakami’s short stories, which often receive little coverage or are outright ignored in other English language scholarly works on Murakami. She does this because Murakami’s novels tend to have a more mainstream attraction in mind, as well as an international reader base in mind, so his longer works are not as experimental or bizarre as his short stories where Murakami’s playfulness and creative use of the Japanese language, especially incorporating loanwords with the uses of the Japanese phonetic syllables katakana, comes to the fore.
A delightful scholarly work written in an easy to comprehend style, although it does uses a lot of modernist/postmodernist rhetoric, Dr. Suter’s The Japanization of Modernity: Murakami Haruki Between Japan and the United States will hopefully shed some more light on the work of Murakami for his English speaking readers and add yet another voice to help explain why Murakami has become such a cultural force in Japan and his importance as a filter between Japan and America.
In 1979 the militant president of South Korea Park Chung-hee was assassinated by his former friend Kim Jae-kyu who stated he had “shot the heart of Yusin Constitution like a beast. I did that for democracy of this country. Nothing more nothing less.” The Yusin Constitution was a policy created by Park to fully put power in his hands and human rights suffered greatly during this period. Therefore, after the death of the President, a fellow who had served the Japanese during World War II, many thought that South Korea would have a chance for a true democracy. Students and citizens took to the streets and yelled for democracy and freedom from military rile. Unfortunately, the next president Choi Kyu-ha was weak. Chun Doo-hwan the head of the Korean Central Intelligence Agency bullied himself into power and declared Martial Law with himself as the leader. He used the military to not only attack and kill protestors, “rebels,” but innocent citizens as well, and on May 27, 1980, the Kwangju Democratization Movement was quashed.
A recent film, Kim Ji-hun’s May 18 (2007) attempted to give voice to those slaughtered by the South Korean Army, and succeeds in doing so in a way heavy with melodrama. Im Sang-soo’s The Old Garden (2006) is a bit different. Instead of focusing on those who died, it focuses on a man whose life was spent in jail before he was able to truly engage in the fight for revolution.
The Old Garden focuses on Oh Hyun-woo, a man who has spent nearly seventeen years of his life in prison for his support of the overthrow of the South Korean government and his sympathies for North Korea. After being released, he finds himself in a world that has changed greatly whereas he has remained the same except for his black hair turning gray. Embraced by his family, Oh soon learns that his sweetheart Han Yoon-hee died three years ago from cancer. After meeting his “comrades,” who have all aged and whose revolutionary spirits have turned to bitterness, Oh goes to Yoon-hee’s home and reads through her diaries to learn more about the woman whom he loved but knew so precious little about.
When I first heard of this film, I thought it was going to be similar to the Chinese director Xie Fei’s 1990 film Black Snow which depicted a man who had a tough time assimilating to life outside of prison. Instead, The Old Garden is almost completely a flashback, but one not from the perspective of Oh, but from that of Yoon-hee’s diaries, so there are traces of emotion and fabrications tinged by Yoon-hee’s perspective which gives the film a novel outlook. Besides its interesting use of flashback, The Old Garden takes a different perspective of rebels that that of other films. In the aforementioned May 18, the deaths of the citizens are pitiable, but they die as martyrs standing for a cause. Oh’s imprisonment occurs before he even has a chance to rebel and to fight, so in the words of Yoon-hee, he is a waste of life and potential. The Old Garden paints a depressing picture of rebellion and uprising, but it also gives a glimpse of the love and comfort that can be found in times of trouble.
***
Films watched 2008: 100/150
current mood: tired current music: Gary Higgins: I Pick Notes from the Sky
Although she is quite tough and excels in sports such as basketball, Hyuga Ami is a normal high school girl. However, there is one aspect to her that is a bit different than other girls, her parents committed suicide after being accused of murder. With this dark cloud hanging over her head, Ami fights to get by each day with the support of her younger brother Yu. Yet, there is a major problem. Yu, along with his chunky, bespectacled friend Takeshi, are the targets of a vicious gang of school bullies led by Kimura Sho, the son of a powerful yakuza and scion of the Hattori Hanzo clan, the name of a historical samurai and a name that should be familiar to all fans of Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill films. Going beyond the normal bullying and extortion, Kimura and his gang kill Yu and Takeshi. Ami, unable to gain sympathy from anyone, goes on a killing spree herself when she finds her brother’s diary which contains a list of the people he would like to kill. After arriving at the home of her first victim, the insanity truly begins.
After Kimura’s underling heads off to school, Ami is attacked by the underling’s parents, the father attacking her with a double golf club attack and the mother deep frying the poor girl’s left arm like it was a big hunk of meat in tempura batter. Ami, however, is able to escape when she throws some boiling water on the dad. That night, Ami returns to the home and kills the mother and Kimura’s underling. She then declares that she is a demon bent on Kimura’s destruction, however, unfortunately for her, she is caught by Kimura’s dad and has her fingers and arm cut off. After managing to escape, she makes her way to the home of Takeshi’s parents, two mechanics, who aid her and build her a Gatling gun that attaches to the stump of her left arm. Now, the true action begins.
The Machine Girl is obviously a film that had a limited budget which it tries to make up for by adding enough blood and gore to make fans of 1970s and 1980s splattercore proud, and by adding enough eye candy, the bikini model Yashiro Minase as Ami, the former adult video star Asami as Miki, Takeshi’s mom, and nude model Honoka as Kimura Sho’s mother, for those who like cheesecake to go with their gore. Although incredibly bloody and gory, The Machine Girl is so over-the-top that the buckets of blood and guts produce laughs instead of cringes. Campy, poorly acted, and bizarre, The Machine Girl makes for a bit of mindless fun on a boring day.
***
Films watched 2008: 99/150
current mood: sleepy current music: Augustana: Twenty Years
One day while Iwata Mariko is heading home, a young punk and his crony accost her. The duo do not seem to be out to do any real damage to her, but her bags end up being tossed into the water. The third member of the group, a tall young man with longish hair and a mustache, jumps into the water to retrieve the girl’s bags and gives them back to her without uttering a word. When Mariko is busy cleaning her things that were in the bag, she notices that one page of her sheet music is missing, she sings in the school’s chorus and dreams of being a prima donna, so when she seems the tall man again she tells him that he owes her for what his friend did and from that day on he is to be her and her friends’ bodyguard. Mariko desires a bodyguard because a number of men seem to be attracted to the school uniform that she and her classmates have to wear which distinguishes them as Meisei high school students. Therefore, the next day, he waits for her and her friends to leave school and from that day on they gain a somewhat fearsome, taciturn bodyguard.
Reluctant to answer any of Mariko’s questions about himself, the bodyguard is most reluctant to reveal his name to her, so the girl comes up with the name Kure Masato for him. However, it is not only his name that “Masato” has to hide form Mariko because he is also an underling for the local yakuza, and he also has another secret, one engrained within his blood.
Out of the Wind is the fourth film directed by the noted film director Okuda Eiji, who also directed the film A Long Walk which dealt with the subject of child abuse. Out of the Wind, at first, seems to be little more than a romance film which revolves around the poor boy criminal and the rich girl with violent fight scenes sprinkled throughout its duration. However, there is more to the film that that and although some of its execution is quite clumsy at times, it does treat the issues with respect.
***
Films watched 2008: 98/150
current mood: blah current music: Red Sparowes: Annihilate the Sparrows...
On February 26, 1936, a day noted for the thick snow that had fallen, a group of some 1400 soldiers, primarily from the Imperial Japanese Army’s First Infantry Division, led by a group of junior army officers influenced by the radical philosopher Kita Ikki, whose philosophy evolved from a socialist to a pro-fascist perspective, attacked prominent members of the Japanese government and even killed a number of them, including Finance Minister Takahashi Korekiyo and Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal Saito Makoto. Attempts were also made on the lives of other prominent political figures such as the Japanese Prime Minister Okada Keisuke. The instigators of the Ni-niroku jiken (the February 26th Incident) wanted to eliminate corrupt politicians and to truly put Emperor Hirohito as the center of the nation in order to purify the corruption in its various branches. The uprising received a bit of support when it occurred, but many, including the Emperor himself, saw it as nothing more than an uprising. The event petered out by February 29th and a number of the young officers were executed.
It is this historical backdrop that forms the setting for Mishima Yukio’s first and only film that the prominent novelist directed: Yukoku (Patriotism). Lt. Takeyama Shinji, a member of the same group that initiated the February 26th Incident, was not involved in the siege because, unlike most of his compatriots, he is married and his love for his young wife Reiko knows no bounds. However, when he learns that he is to attack his fellows, Takeyama is caught between his loyalty to his fellow young officers and the Emperor. Instead of betraying either, he decides to commit hara-kiri (seppuku, ritual suicide by slitting the belly open), and is overjoyed when he learns that Reiko will follow him into death. What follows is an intense and sensual lovemaking scene and then a gruesome, albeit sensual, depiction of hara-kiri. A scene that will remain in the viewers mind long after the film comes to an end.
Unlike many of his other works which Mishima allowed directors to make filmic adaptations of, the noted novelist, short story writer, playwright, and body builder was reluctant to allow another man to bring Patriotism to the big screen. Instead, he went to producer Fujii Hiroaki who wholeheartedly supported Mishima’s desire to direct the film. Instead of using a normal set depicting the shabby home of a low ranking officer, Mishima worked with Noh master Domoto Masaki to create a set that looked like the stage for Noh theatre, including the raised platform and three pine trees covered in cotton snow. The stark whiteness of the set represents the purity within the hearts of Takeyama and his wife Reiko and the purity of the act that they commit.
Mainly intended for a foreign audience, the film was first shown in France and Mishima created scrollwork for the intertitles of the film in English, France, and German, Patriotism was to make Mishima a renowned man around the world. The film did quite well, but after Mishima’s suicide in 1970, he committed hara-kiri, legit copies of the film were locked away in a tea cabinet by Mishima’s widow, Yoko. But after her death, the film resurfaced and world film audiences can now see this beautifully gory and tragic film by one of Japan’s most prominent postwar writers.
***
Films watched 2008: 97/150
current mood: blah current music: Asobi Seksu: Taiyo
Murakami Fuminobu. Postmodern, Feminist and Postcolonial Currents in Contemporary Japanese Culture: A Reading of Murakami Haruki, Yoshimoto Banana, Yoshimoto Takaaki and Karatani Kojin. London: Routledge, 2005. 206 pages.
One of the most difficult issues when pursuing the study of a country which is based on systems of ethics, philosophy, religion, and culture from one’s own, is the application of theories, thought, and logic that are alien to the country coming under analysis. In his book Postmodern, Feminist and Postcolonial Currents in Contemporary Japanese Culture: A Reading of Murakami Haruki, Yoshimoto Banana, Yoshimoto Takaaki and Karatani Kojin University of Hong Kong professor of Japanese Studies Fuminobu Murakami attempts not only to analyze the works of the authors Haruki Murakami and Banana Yoshimoto through the lenses of European/American theories of Postmodernism, Feminism, and Postcolonialism, and a touch of Queer Theory, but to show how such theories after being imported into Japan have influenced the works of these authors and thinkers while at the same showing how such theories are a bit ill-fitting within a Japanese context.
Beginning with Haruki Murakami, an author whose fictional works straddle the line between literary and popular fiction, Professor Murakami engages in a careful critique of Murakami’s early works, especially Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World and Norwegian Wood to display how Murakami’s characters reject the “modernist” world of advancement, evolution, emotional love, and brutal violence for a “postmodern” world where ambition, and with it love and violence, has ceased to be and where everyone lives in harmony because there is no desire. Professor Murakami, however, states that this autistic, postmodern world leaves Haruki Murakami a bit on edge because of its lack of emotion and love, so in his later books, such as The Wind-up Bird Chronicle violence blossoms because love, and along with it, hate, is present. Haruki Murakami, according to Professor Murakami is trying to come to terms with the modernist concept of love and the violence attached to it.
Professor Murakami’s section concerning Banana Yoshimoto, one of Japan’s most read authors of popular literature, mainly focuses on Yoshimoto’s debut novel Kitchen as well as her novel N.P. Within this section, Professor Murakami takes on Yoshimoto’s passive feminist critique of modernist sexual relations. Although sexual activity is a major theme within the works of prominent female novelists such as Hitomi Kanehara Ami Sakurai, and Ami Yamada, sex in Yoshimoto’s novels lack the intensity found in these novels and more often that not resemble the lackadaisical sex found in Murakami’s early novels. This is significant because instead of desire for sex, Yoshimoto’s characters instead desire such things as food and incestuous, if not actually sexual, relations with family members or pseudo-family members instead of others outside of their homogeneous group. This aspect of Yoshimoto’s characters displays their postmodern natures and unwillingness to live in a modernist society of “traditional” love and violence.
Sections three and four of the book look at the careers of Takaaki Yoshimoto, Banana’s father, and Kojin Karatani, two of Japan’s most prominent philosophers. Professor Murakami does a fine job of developing an overview of these two men’s careers and mapping out the development of their though and their impact on the Japanese literary world. Heavily influenced by the works of Karl Marx and well aware of the European-American imperialism in the worlds of philosophy, political thought, and literary criticism, Murakami maps out how Yoshimoto and Karatani fight this imperialism. Unlike Haruki Murakami and Banana Yoshimoto, the works of Yoshimoto and Karatani, especially Yoshimoto, are not widely available in other languages other than Japanese, so Professor Murakami analysis is quite welcome.
Unlike a good number of books that tackle complex subjects such as modernism, postmodernism, and postcolonialism, Professor Murakami’s book, although it gets bogged down in philosophical, linguistic jargon from time to time, is a relatively easy read and he aids the reader in supplying histories of modernism and postmodernism in Europe/America and in Japan so the newcomer to such issues will not be left out in a sea of pedantic, incomprehensible language. While maybe not for the common reader of Haruki Murakami, Banana Yoshimoto, etc., Professor Murakami’s book is quite welcome in the field of Japanese literary studies for its insights into the works of Murakami and Yoshimoto, and the critical introductions to the works of Takaaki Yoshimoto and Kojin Kartatani.
If losing her father at sea during a storm while he pursued his hobby of photographing whales was not bad enough, the pretty, fierce-eyed Suzuki Hiromi also faces day to day torment and bullying at her school where she is ostracized from the group. One day, she is given the option to rejoin the group if she too harms a former friend of hers. Giving in to peer-pressure, Hiromi viciously slaps Aki. After these events, Hiromi becomes a hikikomori, shut in, and confines herself to her room refusing both to go to school and interacting with her grandparents. Her only link to the “outside” world is the internet which she uses to connect with other hikikomori who are unable to deal with the harshness and competitiveness of the outside world. However, Hiromi shows little sympathy for her fellow hikikomori and even tells one to kill himself instead of going on living. The only member of the message boards with whom she truly connects is a fellow who goes under the moniker of “Kenmun” who invites her to come to his home in the Okinawan island of Ishigaki. Having nothing else to do, Hiromi goes to Ishigaki to meet Kenmun who is supposedly a diving instructor.
At the boarding dock to Ishigaki, Hiromi meets Sayo a delivery woman/shaman who quickly recognizes that Hiromi is a runaway. However, instead of turning in Hiromi in to the authorities, Sayo sympathizes with the girl and invites her to stay in her untidy home. While helping Sayo with her deliveries, Hiromi meets other residents, including a cancer ridden man and his wife, a doctor and his staff, and eventually Ken. However, there is someone else Hiromi desires to meet: her own mother, Muraoka Kimiko, who abandoned Hiromi when she was three and who just happens to be the doctor’s nurse.
Hiromi because of the loss of her father, abandonment by her mother, and the general cruelty of teenagers searching for a victim, does not fit in the mold of “normal” Japanese society. Her going to Okinawa, an island that continues to stress its differences from Japan proper, represents her “otherness” and inability to fit social molds. Although she is at first unable to communicate well with the islanders and her fellow “mainlander expatriates,” she finally reaches a certain kind of peace because she is embraced by Others like herself. Although the films risks at time becoming overly sentimental and schmaltzy, it rises above its saccharine nature to tell a simple story of a girl who finds herself in new horizons and who learns how to grieve for those and things the cruelty of life has taken from her.
***
Films watched 2008: 96/150
current mood: blah current music: Amorphis: A Servant
Directors: Ethan and Joel Coen Duration: 122 minutes
One of the major reasons why I enjoy films directed by the Coen brothers is that, although they all contain certain stylistic elements, their films vary so much from each other, but still contain that special something that makes a film a Coen brothers film. My first Coen brothers experience was Raising Arizona (1987) and without realizing who the directors were, I became a fan of Barton Fink (1991), Fargo (1996), and The Big Lebowski (1998). It was not until the release of O Brother, Where Art Thou (2000) that I came to realize that aforementioned films were created by the same dynamic duo. So, when No Country for Old Men, based on a novel by the writer Cormac McCarthy, was released last year, I highly anticipated watching it.
No Country opens with a voiceover by Sheriff Ed Tom Bell, Tommy Lee Jones, who has the blood of generations of lawmen running through his veins. Bell speaks of the present, 1980, and how the times have changed and how the world has become a much more violent place. Soon afterwards, a deputy sheriff is strangled to death by a handcuffed man who he had just arrested. This man is Anton Chigurth, Javier Bardem, one of the coldest, hardest killers to have graced film screens.
The true trouble begins when Llewellyn Moss, Josh Brolin, a retired welder, comes across a huge stash of money and heroin at the site of a shootout. Dead bodies strewn everywhere and shot up trucks dotting the landscape, Moss finds one survivor who wants water. It is because of this one man that Moss returns to the scene because of his guilty conscious. After he returns, others are there, and although they lose him, they know who he is because of his truck’s serial number. Soon, Anton Chigurth is on his trail and a wave of death and destruction follows Moss wherever he goes.
What primarily makes No Country for Old Men truly standout is the presence of Javier Bardem. The evil represented by Anton Chigurth is almost like an emotionless, powerful automaton hell bent on destroying all to reach a desired end. His brutal, calculating nature is even more fearsome because of his complete remorseless actions where killing an innocent bystander means as little as crushing a bug. Added to this terrifying figure are the great acting jobs by Jones and Brolin which combine to make one heck of a film.
***
Films watched 2008: 95/150
current mood: blah current music: Silversun Pickups: Common Reactor
Along with Oshima Nagisa and Shinoda Masahiro, Imamura Shohei is considered to be one of the main promulgators of Japanese New Wave cinema of the 1960s. However, unlike the politically charged cerebral modernist/post-modernist films of Oshima and the ever varying films of Shinoda, Imamura is often considered to be the most humanist of the New Wave directors and instead of embracing the ideals of urbanite revolutionaries he turned to the poor, rural citizens who, steeped in their folk traditions, supposedly contain untarnished souls without influence of modernity and the West, i.e. America. Although many of Imamura’s later films take place in the city, their characters often leave the world of materialism and convenience in order to come closer to nature and there true selves. Warm Water Under a Red Bridge (2001), Imamura’s last full length feature film, holds to this tradition.
Sasano Yosuke is an out of work architect who spends his days going to job interviews while grimacing when his demanding wife asks him to send money and whether or not he has found a new job so that she and their son can return from her family home in Tokyo. Quite unmotivated in finding a new job, Sasano spends quite a bit of his time with a homeless man called Philosopher Taro whose shanty home is filled with scholarly works. Unfortunately for Yosuke, Taro passes away, but before passing away, Taro informs Yosuke that he stole a golden buddha statue from Kyoto and hid it in a small town called Noto. Not having much else to do, Yosuke goes to Noto and, while buying a cheap lunch, notices an attractive woman, Shimizu Misa, stealing some cheese. Walking over to the spot where she had been standing, Yosuke finds a golden earring in a puddle of “water.” He follows the woman back to her home and after eating a bit of cheese, the woman comes on strongly and the two make love which results in the woman’s inner “waters” to spurt forth like geysers. Yosuke soon learns that water builds up in the woman and that stealing trinkets and cheese helps her relieve the pressure. Not wanting her to steal again, Yosuke becomes her man to help relieve her of her water, but as the woman’s waters begin to run dry, will Yosuke’s affections remain as strong?
Never one to shy away from sexual themes, viewers new to Imamura might be surprised to learn that the director was in his mid-seventies when he created this sexy little film. However, Warm Water Under a Red Bridge is in no way a sleazy film, and the sex scenes are quite mild and entertaining instead of steaming and titillating. As with many of his other films, such as The Eel and The Pornographers, Warm Water is threaded through with magical realism and the film’s quirkiness is quite entertaining although some might find the whole of the film to be a bit patchy. While not one of Imamura’s best films, Warm Water does ask the viewer to delve into libidinal delights before they get old and their waters dry up, so the film might be a bit much for some, but for others it makes for an entertaining two hours.
***
Films watched 2008: 93/150
current mood: blah current music: Acid House Kings: Sleeping
Although I have watched Kitano Takeshi’s 2005 film Takeshis’ twice over the last two days and have recently read a chapter about the film in Aaron Gerow’s recent book about the director/actor and his films, I am having a hard time pegging exactly what kind of film Takeshis’ is. Unlike many of his films such as Violent Cop, Boiling Point, and Brother that can easily be put in the yakuza genre and Kikujiro, A Scene at the Sea, and Kids Return that can, possibly, be put in a humanist genre, Takeshis’ belongs more in an “other” genre with films like Getting Any? and Dolls which are considered Kitano’s more artistic films for vastly different reasons.
Takeshis’ opens with Takeshi gambling with a group of yakuza while watching one of his own films. Apparently poor at gambling, Takeshi looses to the gang boss, and then makes his way to the movie studio accompanied by his manager, the always impressive Osugi Ren, and his girlfriend/secretary, Kyono Kotomi. There, he meets Kitano, also played by Beat Takeshi, who sports the bleached blond hair that Takeshi sported in his latest film. Unlike the confident, rich, and powerful Takeshi, Kitano is a struggling actor who works at a convenience store to make ends meet. After Kitano asks for Takeshi’s autograph, the film takes up Kitano’s perspective and things go completely bizarre with characters making numerous appearances as different characters such as the above mentioned yakuza boss also appearing as mahjong parlor owner and a bank president. The film needs to be seen in order to appreciate the weirdness and any synopsis will fail to do it justice.
With that out of the way, Takeshis’ is a film that takes up the duality of the being of Kitano Takeshi/Kitano Takeshi. Unlike in the West where he is primarily known as a director and a film actor, Kitano Takeshi first made a name for himself as a manzai comedian alongside his comic partner Kaneko Jiro and acted as the clown Beat Takeshi to Kaneko’s straight man Beat Kiyoshi. Because of his quick wit and nearly vulgar way of expressing himself, Kitano changed manzai comedy in Japan and quickly became a noted comic television actor. However, in his film roles Kitano often played a villain, so when he finally was given the director’s helm for Violent Cop, the easily embarrassed Beat Takeshi became a cold killer and Kitano became a bifurcated individual split into his comic, television, half Beat Takeshi and his colder film half, Kitano Takeshi. Takeshis’ takes up this duality and focuses not only on the duality of Kitano, but of everyone and displays the illusions of the self and the perception of others. A complex film, Takeshis’, while it might not offer the most enjoyable one, makes for a fascinating, thoughtful film viewing experience.
***
Films watched 2008: 91/150
current mood: blah current music: Augustana: Sweet and Low
Gerow, Aaron. Kitano Takeshi. London: British Film Institute, 2007. 264 pgs.
Although at first destined to become an engineer like his elder brothers, the youngest of the Kitano clan, Takeshi, instead left the ivory tower of scholarship to work a number of menial jobs including that of a dishwasher and a taxi driver before embarking on his career as a comedian. At first, Kitano performed at small bars and strip clubs where alcohol and girls were the main draw, but after word of his quick wit and razor sharp tongue began to circulate, he joined with his comedic partner Kaneko Jiro, aka Beat Kiyoshi, to create the manzai duo of the Two Beats where he played the clown, boke, to Kaneko’s straight man, tsukkomi. The Two Beats were something that the manzai world had not seen before, and Kitano’s good natured vulgarity and rapid mind left others in the dust, including Beat Kiyoshi. As a solo artist, Kitano, or his persona of Beat Takeshi became a household name and he began appearing on more than ten television shows a week.
Although at first Beat Takeshi was primarily known as a television star, by the early 1980s he began appearing in films, most notably as the brutal Sgt. Hara in Oshima Nagisa’s film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence. The brutality displayed by the character of Sgt. Hara became a trademark of Beat Takeshi’s acting in film, and when he took over the director’s chair for Violent Cop from noted yakuza film director Fukasaku Kinji, the violent nature of Kitano’s filmic characters became enmeshed within his directing style and thereby he produced some extraordinarily brutal films including the above mentioned Violent Cop, Boiling Point, and Fireworks. Yet, it would be too easy, and incorrect, to categorize Kitano as a director of violent yakuza films, because he also created quiet films such as A Scene at the Sea and family comedies such as Kikujiro. Who is this complex man behind such complex films? Yale professor of Japanese Cinema Aaron Gerow tries to shed some light on the enigmatic filmmaker Kitano Takeshi in his most recent book.
A few years before the release of Gerow’s book, the Japanese film critic Abe Casio released his book Beat Takeshi vs. Takeshi Kitano. Within this tome the author attempted to describe Kitano’s split personality. The television actor Beat Takeshi and the film director Kitano Takeshi and stated that through his filmic work the director was trying to kill off the actor. However, Gerow states that this duality of Kitano’s personality is too simple and that Kitano in fact has a third self, the being of Takeshi who manipulates the personas of Beat Takeshi and Kitano Takeshi to play with his audiences both domestic and abroad and skewers their expectations with each subsequent film that he releases, and thereby causing uproar in filmic circles both home and abroad.
With that being said, the first part of Gerow’s book is a fascinating sketch of Kitano’s multiple careers in comedy, television, film, and the printed word. He traces how Kitano’s comic style and almost complete disregard for the audience play into his filmmaking and how Kitano plays with his audience by thwarting their expectations when they think that they have him figured out. The second half of the book consists of chapters from Kitano’s debut film Violent Cop to his version of the blind masseuse Zatoichi with his more recent film Takeshis’ acting as opening and closing chapters of the book. The essays, heavily laden with film theory from Japanese, French, and American theorists do not make for easy reading and those who have not taken a couple of university level film classes or who do not view film outside of the purposes of entertainment, might find Gerow’s book to be a bit dense and theory laden, but for those interested in Kitano’s films, Japanese films, or fine filmmaking as a whole, this book would make a welcome volume to one’s library.
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