Tsukamoto Revisited: Bullet Ballet (1998) An Astonishing Point Of Metamorphosis

It is never easy to make the leap from the more artistically flexible world of no-budget filmmaking, and into the slick and often more hobbled sheen of mainstream cinema without losing a bit of the initial authorial spark in the process. Once such a transition happens, it often becomes less about the personal voice, and more about maintaining accounts and studio credibility. And when this happens, certain story molds are often adopted in the name of playing matters toward viewers less accustomed to an auteur's vision. If global cinema still has a lively community of independent-minded creators with an extended pinky toe in the mainstream, one has to include Shinya Tsukamoto amongst this rabble. And despite his being a voice that has seen some truly commercial cul-de-sacs, it has often been one to never stray terribly far from his initial, almost home-made texture. Whether it be via the generous and handsome use of handheld, hyperkinetic editing, and largely non-diegetic audio, a few seconds in, and one can almost feel that the characters of TETSUO are never truly far away from the current story we are witnessing.

So when we delve back in time, and seek out the point when this voice made its first leap into classically linear storytelling, we inevitably come to Bullet Ballet. Shot on his still go-to-black and white, and adorned with much of what made TETSUO and Tokyo Fist so aesthetically troubling, Ballet injects a most unexpected mass of humanity where much had been missing by design previously. Part coming-of-age story, part recession-era ball of existentialism, Ballet paints a stark vision of urban loneliness without the meandering dialogue, or navel-gazing often known to bog many a similar piece down. By contrast, Tsukamoto employs the best of his already established arsenal to weave a tale where the young and the old find themselves at a spiritual impasse, often with bittersweet epiphanies illustrated by their actions.


Successful commercial director, Goda suddenly arrives home to discover his wife dead by apparent gunshot to the head. Shocked enough at the loss, let alone the means (he explains to authorities that they never owned, let alone possessed a firearm), he is suddenly enamored with the idea of seeking such a weapon in one of the most gun strict cultures imaginable. Throughout what seems to be a desperate quest to end his life upon said acquisition, he run across a gang of daredevil youths seemingly experiencing a similar turning point. Particularly in the guise of  the wayward Chisato (Kirina Mano) , who seems to resonate with the death-tripping Goda. All sides flirting with an avalanche of change that seems programmed to consume them all, the establishment and the restless find themselves in near rhythmic syncopation.

One of the most impressive things that Tsukamoto advances into a more dramatic structure, is a very raw sense of desolation as our characters seek a means to escape their concrete cages. So much of the film's visual architecture is pure walled, wet, neon drenched, and artifice. It's to such a degree, that it envelops the cast into this realm where sunlight is more incidental, and much less assuring. Even as Goda and company wander the Tokyo cityscape, there is a feeling of near suffocation that ultimately compliments their often irrational behavior. Even as they run across an entire world of seedy characters, undocumented denizens, lowlives, killers, and weirdos, it all feels like Tsukamoto is not reveling in this world in ways that other directors do. It becomes clear that many are this way because of their surroundings. It even goes so far as to imply that the only reason why Goda is reacting the way he is, is because of this ingrained need to fulfill the obligations of the collective- without asking the soul first.

Throughout his near nightly jags of considering death, it is the words of his lost love that haunts. Especially when they agreed to society's narrative over their own individual ones.

In flashbacks and by way of his encounters with Chisato and her friends, we are host to a system long in the function, but low on the self-reflection. So when violence by way of technology comes into play as a solution, it's easy to see how such a curse seems to have been woven into the Japanese experience post-WWII. Tsukamoto and company are viscerally taking on the detritus of the previous generation, and somehow finding beauty within it all. Even as development and technology begins to show signs of decay and scarification, the 1990s as a decade presented this opportunity in ways that perhaps have been covered up by means of mobile device culture, and a growing disconnect between individuals rather than groups. Because if even Goda could find some manner of future beyond his loss, it is all about roaming the landscape, never sure if salvation is right around the corner.  


Because destruction is nearly a lead-in to other realities, Tsukamoto seems to be implying. Whether it be via a bullet or nuclear blast, those left behind must still reassemble futures.

Nothing, is ever truly over.

Bellflower (2011) Movie Brief

Taking a brief detour into fiercely indie territory, it was with great anticipation that I was able to finally catch Evan Glodell's hellish ride through northern Los Angeles, BELLFLOWER, and it truly lives up to the near two-years worth of talk that had surrounded it.

Whipped together on an absurdly small for its results 17,000 dollars, the film follows Woodrow (Glodell, in a raw performance) and Aiden(Tyler Dawson) , a pair of traveling brothers from Wisconsin who decide to move to the west coast as they hone their penchant for engineering apocalyptic motor vehicles. Both boys are intensely enamored with the 1981 George Miller classic, The Road Warrior, the pair seek to live life freely whilst creating perhaps the ultimate in wasteland transport. Their stop to live in a less than normally tended to suburb of the LA hills, becomes a center for great inspiration, and ultimately tragedy, as both find themselves entranced by a pair of locals. The seemingly more shy Woodrow finds himself almost instantly in love with the unpredictable, and fearless Milly(a terrific Jessie Wiseman) , while the more daring and often obsessive Aidan fawns quietly over her pal, Courtney(Rebekah Brandes). And even as the first half of the film implies a fly-on-the-wall romantic drama of the handheld variety, it is merely prelude to what becomes something of a shared worst case scenario. Not only do these tangled relationships threaten the boys' original vision of purpose, but of everything anyone here holds dear.

Flashing forward in time, and even into alternate resolutions and perhaps false realities, Glodell's achievement here is evident in just how assured and adventurous he and his crew are in making this one disorienting ride. Even in the craft displayed in the machines being utilized in the story, there is an immediate feeling that what we are dealing with here is a work in the hands of those unafraid to take what little was on hand and make something capable of making a deeply ingrained burn.

While one can up and dismiss much of this film as a tale of grizzled hipster angst, there is indeed more going on underneath the heat-saturated visuals. As interested in seeking how a lesser seen quantity lives, it is also excited to dive headlong into the lives of those who have left behind a more modern, structured path, and into a life of anticipated anarchy - despite the suburban milieu around everyone. It is almost as if the brothers do not even see the domestication that is ready to consume them if they stay too long. With BELLFLOWER as sanctuary slowly dissolving into a self imposed Hades, we catch Woodrow's perhaps lingering wishes for earthly wants, as Aiden's dependence upon his other half to make good on their quest to ride out the end. And while a lot of the film goes from uncomfortable to outright gut-wrenching, it is truly hard to deny what has taken place here. 

Blistering in it's visuals, presentation, and performances, this is a singular piece of first timer work that burns promise into the eyes and mind like so few debuts ever do. It dares us to peer harder into the minds of the driven, only to see ashen embers at the laps of those prone to detours..

Timecrimes (Los Cronocrimenes 2007 Review)

Have we seen this before? Sure we have, but never so succinctly. When considering all of the films concerning characters becoming lost within an endless timeloop. A neverending examination, and re-examination of previous events has been a standard of modern narrative ambition since the beginning of the medium. Never letting it past the format's ability to tantalize with hints ever complimenting our memories, as well as playing with them in an only sometimes convincing editorial sleight-of-hand. Particularly since films such as Chris Nolan's brain-racking milestone, MEMENTO (2000) and even Harold Ramis' Groundhog Day(1993) have made playing with order, and expectation a tempting enterprise. And to see spanish newcomer, Nacho Vigalondo take on the perils of time travel in the most up front fashion imaginable with Timecrimes (Los Cronocrimenes), to fun but in places laborious results.

On what appears to be a quiet late afternoon, seemingly mild-mannered husband, Hector (Karra Elejalde) is at rest within the lush, green yard of his & his wife's new home, relaxing on an easy-chair and viewing the scenery with binoculars in hand when he scopes something unsettling. And it isn't merely the almost faceless young woman disrobing in the trees yards away, but also the macabre figure sporting a trenchcoat, some bizarre pink bandages over his face, and a pair of scissors seemingly threatening her. Upon going into the woods to further investigate, he is quickly attacked and injured in the arm via the shears, and is sent running in terror. This peaceful day gone horrific soon becomes a surreal exercise in increasingly entangled fate as our protagonist investigates further, leading him to a seemingly abandoned home nearby containing what seems to be a prototypical time machine operated by a lone scientist (played by Vigalondo himself with intern-esque naivete) and deceptively lured into it as the bandaged fiend closes in on them. Now back one hour before the chase began, the real troubles unfold.

Taking what seems already to be a clever spin on Rear Window(1953), with a little slasher thrown into the mix, one may not figure how the theory of time paradoxes would fit into this tale, and yet somehow the film dives into it gleefully, taking full advantage of the film's location and story consisting of merely several hours in which our protagonist is forced to make startling decisions in order to undo the predicament he has fallen into, without inflicting greater damage to everything he seems to touch.

Divulging any more would be truly unfair to new viewers. And even as the film at times suffers from bogging itself down within it's own logic, and even some iffy pacing from the first-time director, the film never loses grip on the fragility of reality from Hector's perspective. Even as the time travel conceit of the film comes dangerously close to derailing the film, Vigalondo's script and sharp collaboration with Elejalde gives us a creepy, multifaceted hero whom we'd just as soon run from as work with. Also gracing the small film with solid performances are Barbara Goenaga as the mysterious girl in the woods, as well as Candela Fernandez' brief but potent work as Hector's wife. Filmed within what seems to be only a square mile, and brimming with twists, it's a piece of work that begs for multiple viewings.

And even as Hector's troubles begin to pile up via an absurd fluke to end all absurd flukes, it's hard not to see the entire nightmare logic working as a counterpoint to time travel movies of the past. In Vigalondo's world, the great minds behind our worst fortunes remain faceless as ever, while those who'd inflict it be among the most ordinary. It's a scary idea simply because it rings terribly true.

Hong Kong Elegy Part I

The thought has often occurred to me that since I can be such an internal apocalpyse at times, that many of my interests tend to be applied in a fashion that is more in tune with the immediate rather than the meticulous. On one hand it can be considered lazy, while on the other, it is within the moment, filled with a grand love for unpredictability without restraint. It's just hard to place into words exactly it is that draws me into works that embrace this. Which is why when these thoughts occur, it is almost certain that a Wong Kar Wai marathon is somewhere, formulating in my mind and near imminent.

The Hong Kong auteur is no secret among my favorite film spinners. Particularly his works in the 90s, where he began to fins his own particular voice, and became infamous for extended, unprecedentedly long shoots without scripts, and sometimes merely a notion of plot. But within these particular works reside a soul longing for things intangible, a fundamental need to explore the world around him, without underlining his points with a bold black marker. Particularly his urban-centric pieces that seem to elliptically venture into feelings of both love and nostalgia within the seemingly cold doldrums of city life. Everyone is connected despite their lack of knowing each other directly. The romance comes not from merely declaring unrequited feelings, but from the small impressions left by others. And as so many lives intersect, the dweller knows within themselves a transformation has been sparked. Whether it be the inimitable Days Of Being Wild (1990), or the international darling Chungking Express(1994), Kar Wai's explorations into not only the Hong Kong experience, but of the ephemeral nature of the heart, are staggering even now.



And let's not skimp on the other element that has made the man's works so popular, few directors have the ability to simply make their lead actors look so amazing. What is likely obsessiveness, or plain visual saavy, his films create a framing that is wonderful for his actors. Even at their most anti-glamour moments in each film, his work with the ever terrific Christopher Doyle makes each star iconic in ways that few filmmakers can. Significant examples to me includes the imagery of a young Maggie Cheung working isolated shifts at the snack shop in Days. Or even the less than flattering, more disheveled looks Leslie Cheung & Tony Leung share in Happy Together(1997). And this extends well beyond the kind of looks we grew accustomed to with magazine shoots, and fashion ads. The looks are infused with feeling, often longing. Despite what some may imagine at the offset, the internal worlds of his characters carry great resonance through their facial expressions and body language - and it's something that isn't terribly easy to achieve.

On through 1995's Fallen Angels, the journeys of these intersecting lives continue to blur lines of individual realities, often opening doors into the surreal. No doubt compounded by budgetary limitations, the reuse of familiar locations also assists is in giving the films a sort of singular universal feel that implies more than any mere sequel can. The world continues to expand, adding layers to what often feels like a stream-of-consciousness visual poem.


(to be continued..)