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Sabu

2009-01-01T12:14:00.000-08:00

Directed By Miike Takashi
Japan, 2002

Starring
Tatsuya Fujiwara ... Eiji
Satoshi Tsumabuki ... Sabu
Tomoko Tabata ... Onobu
Kazue Fukiishi ... Osue

Writers:
Hiroshi Takeyama (screenplay)
Shugoro Yamamoto (novel)

Since the 1999 horror shocker Audition was released internationally, Miike Takashi has made a name for himself in the horror genre. Outside of Japan he is probably best known for graphic horror and shock films, but back home he does everything from quirky comedies (with a gruesome underbelly) such as The Happiness of the Katakuris, TV dramas and idol movies. He’s one of the most prolific directors in Japan now. His filmography looks like that of a schizophrenic or maybe just a person who can’t say “no” to anything. But is he actually a good director? Not everyone would agree.

Sabu was a project that Miike took on for Nagoya TV in 2002. It’s a period piece – edo Japan – the last days of the Samurai class. But this film isn’t about Samurai. It features Tsumabuki Satoshi (Sabu) and Fujiwara Tatsuya (Eiji) as two orphans who grow up in poverty as apprentices learning a trade. Eiji, the more attractive and more rebellious of the two gets incarcerated for a crime for which he has been framed. Throughout his incarceration he considers revenge on his supposed framers and attempts to separate himself from his dearest friend Sabu. Sabu, eternally loyal, will not allow Eiji to alienate himself from his friends or previous life. The two struggle with each other and with themselves to do what they believe to be right.

The film ends with a nice twist, and the story is quite clever and engaging. It comes originally from a novel by Yamamoto Shugoro, and while I’ve not read the novel I can say already that this is a case of “the book was better than the movie”. Sure screenwriter Takeyama Hiroshi left giant holes in the characters, and forgot to elaborate on crucial motivations. But it’s worse than that. The film rolls along like it has a flat tire. The rhythm is choppy one minute and lethargic the next. Miike seems anxious – like he can’t settle down into the genre or into this story. It’s almost as if he doesn’t quite know himself what story he is trying to tell. I have no idea if this book is available in English, but if it is, it’s probably a pretty good read.

Osoushiki (The Funeral)

2008-04-01T22:01:00.000-07:00

Directed By Itami Juzo
Japan, 1984

Starring
Yamazaki Tsutomu
Miyamoto Nobuko
Sugai Kin
Otaki Hideji

It was a hit in Japan, taking five Japanese Academy awards including best picture, director and actor (Tsutomu Yamazaki) in 1984. Now 24 years after this debut from the would-be internationally famous writer/director of Tampopo and A Taxing Woman, the film still stands as one of his best. Itami had already spent 24 years in the business as an actor when Osoushiki was released. At 51 he was a rookie director, but he'd already amassed a god deal of film savvy from those acting years. As a result Osoushiki does not feel like a freshman film. Ironically, Tampopo, his remarkable follow up illustrates more technical and directorial snafus than this film. It's not perfect, but it is classic Japanese cinema in a time when classic Japanese cinema had all but disappeared. In fact during the 1980's and 90's almost all Japanese cinema disappeared.

It's the story of the death of a man who was neither popular nor important, who had done more in his life to alienate people than to endure himself to them. Even his wife was seemingly never the object of his love. Suddenly on the very day he received a clean bill of health from the doctor in Tokyo. He suffers the heart attack that would take his life. The family = his daughter and son-in-law, his brother, his nephews, and neighbors descend upon the house in the days leading up to the funeral.

Much like a funeral in real life Itami's funeral is a completely surreal experience. Elders discuss and argue over the proper protocol while children play near the corpse nearly oblivious to the somberness of the situation. The old man's wife and daughter struggle with the emotions and lack of emotion they are experiencing while the son-in-law fights off his mistress who has come to the wake incognito, gotten drunk and nearly betrayed the relationship. He ends up sleeping with her in the woods, and while his wife never discovers her, we know that she has known all along.

Later that evening family, old friends and neighbors get so drunk they can barely walk. The son-in-law joins them bringing out a particularly fine sake for everyone to enjoy. It hardly seems that anyone has noticed the old man is dead at all until the next morning, when the mother gives an unexpected speech. She did love him after all we learn, and somehow as we learn of her love, and perhaps as the people in the room first learn of it we somehow carry a very strong hope out of the theater. This movie gives us permission to hope that even though we are idiots and fools, users and parasites, that someone may actually love us.
Even the daughter and the son-in-law look at each other with love, and although we can never know what happens after the curtain closes, I can say there was reason to believe that they lived with each other's love ever after.

Well maybe that a little too positive of a read from this otherwise cynical and often humorous social satire. But, as he illustrated in Tampopo, Itami likes happy endings, and throughout his social commentary one has the feeling that he still believes that humans are basically good creatures. Many filmmakers might be less forgiving, but Itami doesn't want us to leave the theater hating each other. Despite all that we are, there may even be a reason to love each other. That's how I felt when the credits rolled.

Solntse (The Sun)

2008-01-01T15:01:00.000-08:00

Directed By Aleksandr Sokurov
Russia 2005
(with Financing From Italy, France and Switzerland)

Starring
Ogata Issey
Robert Dawson

Hirohito is one of the most notorious men of the 20th century. In the eyes of many outside Japan he stands with Hitler, Stalin and Mao as one of the most evil dictators to live. Millions died on his behalf. Enemies of the Empire died for their opposition to his nation's imperialism, and the soldiers and civilians of Japan died for the sake of his very name. According to Shinto, Japan's national religion, the Emperor not human but "Kami" - that is to say a god - whose existence exactly parallels the existence of the nation itself. Theologically speaking the Emperor is the embodiment of the nation. He is the soil, the people, the culture and the spirit of the islands both now and throughout her history. That is why so many fought to such extremes in the Second World War. It was not for Hirohito, the man who sat in the palace. It was for the God - the Showa Emperor - and the family of gods charged with protecting the nation.

Many foreigners in the 20th century might not understand this about how the Emperor is viewed in Japan. Perhaps some Catholics who believe that the communion bread and wine become the actual flesh and blood of Christ can fathom this intervention of divinity. Catholic doctrine states that the Eucharist is not merely a symbol of the body of Christ. Through divinity the bread and wine become the body and blood. Similarly the Emperor is not merely a symbol of Japan, but the divine embodiment of Japan. The suffering of the Emperor is the suffering of Japan and the exultation of the Emperor is Japan's glory.

As enemies we were encouraged to believe the man, Hirohito, to be a deranged, power hungry tyrant; an embodiment of evil ruthless to his enemies and perhaps even more ruthless toward those of his people who sought to disagree. This man relished the sadism of the massacre in Nanking and the Bhutan death march. He alone ordered the genocide of the Chinese and vivisections of the American prisoners of war. Behind this demon the inhuman Japanese flashed their bloodthirsty teeth. Perhaps that is the best-known image of Hirohito in the West.

Theories exist both inside and out of Japan as to Hirohito's actual involvement in the war. Some believe that he had no control over a nation kidnapped by extremists, and that he operated as merely a figurehead for the war effort. Others insist he was active in the war effort. There may be no more controversial individual throughout the 20th century, and few men continue to be as mysterious in death as in life. Aleksandr Sokurov's "The Sun" offers a courageous perspective on Hirohito in the days leading up to his declaration that the Emperor is not a God. It is an interesting perspective of a man whose idiosyncrasies of behavior reveal a gentle heart, and a troubled soul. Widely known in Japan but unknown in the West, Hirohito suffered from a form of retardation common in royal families. Sokurov and Actor Ogata Issey accentuate this ailment in ways painful for most Japanese to see, and surprising for most Westerners.

Forced by the American Supreme Commander General Douglas MacArthur to renounce his divinity, Hirohito struggles with his responsibility to his nation trying to determine what is best for his beloved people. Even his identity becomes unclear to himself, as Sokurov's Japan grows darker and mistier throughout the film. Finally realizing that there is no alternative Hirohito records the proclamation.

Ogata portrays the simplicity of the man along with his complexities and his weaknesses. It's a portrayal that was shocking in both East and West. Reactions in Japan ranged from surprise to outrage. Ogata's name became synonymous with controversy and he spent time blacklisted from the Japanese film industry. The unwritten rule of Japanese cinema is that the Emperor is portrayed only when necessary, almost always in shadow and never in anything that might be considered a bad light. Certainly Ogata's accentuation of the human characteristics of Hirohito - the frailness, the social awkwardness and the weakness - he portrayed are clearly violate this rule. In fact in the eyes of many Ogata's portrayal was as much a mockery of the Showa emperor as an honest interpretation. As Christians may balk at a human portrayal of Christ, many Japanese felt Ogata's Hirohito was sacrilegious.

Perhaps as surprising was the contrast between the gentle, even kind Hirohito of Sokurov and Ogata and that of the deranged dictator who commanded kamikazes and civilian troops into battle. Was this man so gentle, so harmless, and so preoccupied with science and nature? How could such a man have controlled a war so brutal? Those are the sorts of questions Westerners may ask of this Hirohito. Did he know what was going on? Was he kept so far from the war that news of it arrived to him as it did the rest of Japan?

Sokurov doesn't attempt to guess where Hirohito was during the war, although as he makes his way to the underground briefing rooms of his home, some may insist that he was far away from the strategy tables. The Hirohito we see has already lost the war. His advisers and military chiefs are gone and he is again alone in leading the nation.

Much of what Sokurov does in this film is courageous and intriguing, and in keeping with his sense of image, the film is photographed beautifully. In contrast to the title, the film is dark, misty, and shadowy. The colors are washed out. There is no color left in Japan anymore. However, Sokurov was unable to resist the temptation to make a political film. Perhaps his treatment of the American General MacArthur and the meetings with the Emperor and the American are the downfall of the film. Like Hirohito, this is not the MacArthur we learned about in history, but unlike Ogata's rich portrayal of the controversial man, Robert Dawson's two dimensional interpretation of a cardboard MacArthur leads us to doubt the authenticity of the entire movie. While I am convinced most Japanese reviewers panned the film for it's unrealistic portrayal of Hirohito, I must point out a similar weakness in the character of MacArthur. After seeing this movie we have no idea who MacArthur is, and because of that we can't possibly understand the relationship between the two men. Without knowing that relationship, the film relegates itself to the character sketch of a single man. We have lost the contrast and the struggle that provides the story. In the end I'm not sure whether what Sokurov is saying is truth.