Tsukamoto Revisited: GEMINI (1999) A Prophet Goes Mainstream

As previously mentioned, the filmed works of Shinya Tsukamoto are by and large concerned with the paradoxical nature of the "successful" japanese person, versus their innermost selves who are seemingly being dragged behind. So when given the chance to explore this conflict with a slightly larger budget than ever before, his first foray into vibrant color is ironically set in the days prior to the advent. Loosely based upon a tale by the legendary Edogawa Rampo, GEMINI tells the story of Meiji era doctor Yukio Daitokuji (Masahiro Motoki), and his growing divide between his devotion to his practice, and to the powerful of the community. Seemingly unfazed by pride and disdain for those lesser in social stature, his charmed life as an heir to a respected physician is suddenly made hell by way of a malevolent doppelganger. And all the while, the mystery behind his beautiful amnesiac wife (Ryo) finds itself key to the storm. His denying of the poor as plague threatens to harm all throughout the region summons up secrets thought to have been buried in the name of the doctor's success. And as matters spiral, it becomes clear that the worlds of Rampo and Tsukamoto might very well be cut from the same cloth.


His world shattered, and now cast out of his own home, the doctor comes to the revelation that this double is vying for his wife, and with possible good reason. While languishing for a return to his life from the bottom of a long abandoned well, Daitokuji must not only contend with a double hellbent on usurping his life as a Tokyo doctor and husband, but of some truly disturbing facts about the world he and his family struggled to create. Beginning with a bizarre stench that begins to hover over his practice, and eventually the death of his secret-bearing parents, the doctor's place in the nature of community is placed headlong into a funhouse of mirrors scenario where nature was never far from reclaiming what pride had sought to cut away. 


The mystery and fury behind the tale feels very much like a tailor-made prequel to Tsukamoto's film output. His direct phrasing regarding Daitokuji and his relationship with his wife is a perfect seed for the cybernetic nightmares to come in the 1990s. We are given time to take in the growing divide occurring between the rich and poor, and the attitudes that pervade. Just enough to imply that Rin has the outsider's view, which plays heavily into the disruptions that begin to avalanche over the course of the story. Tsukamoto takes great advantage of playing with time and perspective without much of the hard-edged experimentation of his earlier films. And even so, his trademark handheld imagery and post film ADR work keeps matters feeling that indie aura. Especially unique to this period, is the lush color work which was a bold move. As if the world were a more lively place before greed and entitlement overtook the land, bleeding the color out. Acted as if part of an old world play, the broad gestures of Motoki, Ryo, Tadanobu Asano, and the rest of the cast embody the colorful landscape of the film in the spirit of a nightmarish traveling band of performers not unlike the circus we experience within the story. Tsukamoto understands his roots. And considering the release year (amidst the burgeoning J-Horror boom), there certainly was a yearning for implanting an origin story for contemporary terrors.

And judging from GEMINI, that terror is part and parcel with humankind.  

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.

Nightmare Detective (2006) Movie Review

After a series of grotesque suicides linked by eerie cell phone calls confound newly transplanted detective Kirishima (hitomi), and her team, they are forced to resort to seek out the assistance of a tortured, unstable young man (Ryuhei Matsuda) capable of inhabiting the dreams of potential victims. Hindsight can be a brutal thing, even regarding those that continue to inspire us. Which is why indie icon Shinya Tsukamoto's first foray into the J-horror mainstream remains an incongruous mix.  For all the seemingly jackpot perfect material the premise of a dream-diving misfit at odds with a psychopath with similar abilities, Akumu Tantei, despite spawning a sequel, is something more akin to a style exercise wrapped in a half-formed story. While much of the same, often cold, frenetic beauty Tsukamoto's films have been known for remains intact, the story never feels ready to come out of second gear. 

Having become the only woman to join the city's violent crimes division, the often prickly Kirishima herself is something of a tormented character despite often being relegated by way of script to wearing heels to a murder scene, and at times seeming completely clueless as to her new position at the department. Even amongst her new peers, which include the skeptical elder, Sekiya (Ren Osugi), and younger, more supportive Wakamiya (Masanobu Ando) , her transition is potentially something that could easily be seen as a prime target for the film's thesis, but once the crew sets their sights on having Matsuda's character in Kagenuma assist them in stopping the killer, in come the requisite chase n slash, which could easily have been more effective had the story been given more consideration. Another major subplot of the film involves detective Kirishima's personal difficulties with sleeping, and perhaps the troubled past that haunts her constantly. There seems to be an attempt being made to help this mean something throughout the course of the story, but it ultimately never achieves such a goal. And given the fact that much of Tsukamoto's most powerful works have done so well in the exploration of urban life, and the inherent feeling of alienation it can engender, what happens here seems so much less personal, and more like a preview to the "Greatest Hits" compilations that were to come soon after.


The murders having been connected by way of each victim seemingly last calling "0" on their phones, come courtesy of yet another creepy turn by director Tsukamoto, who has essentially made a career of playing characters such as these, feels much less like an actual character or even threat, so much as an admission of his own complicity in a work that has much less agency. So when it comes time for him and crew to deliver some classic Kaijyu Theatre-style antics in the murder/chase sequences, they are as rough and occasionally exhilarating as ever. Truth be told, several moments and images courtesy of some truly surreal nightmare logic come to fruition. The problem of course comes back to the meat that is binding these scenes together. And despite all that is being done to remedy the holes inherent in the script, Tsukamoto's "0" character rarely gets any chance to become terribly compelling despite everything. And coming off of a much more disturbing role in Takashi Shimizu's Marebito(2004), this is almost seen as a customary expectation rather than a character.

But possibly the biggest stumbling block the film suffers from the near anemic casting of singer, hitomi in the role of Kirishima. We can again just blame the script for this, but when one spends additional time observing her, it becomes clear that even some acting could have risen a small notch over the material. A lot if not all of her scenes feel awkward, even by Tsukamoto standards. It was as if director and actor were simply having trouble making the dialogue and motivations work. After having seen the director utilize actresses to astonishing effect in other films, a turn like this is in many ways telling of why she did not return for the second film in this series. But again, to be fair, this script remains the most egregious issue with the film as everything else around the production borders on immaculate from the photography, editing and music that do their part to gloss over what simply isn't on the page. Which all the more makes the more commonly angelic presence of Ryuhei Matsuda seem all the more jarring in many ways. For a title character, he seems more like a dark parody of many a broody anti-hero, but never seems to become more than a chuckle-delivering one-note, which is also a bit of a letdown.

Now while all of this may seem to be very disparaging to someone who has grown as an ardent admirer of Tsukamoto's works, Akumu Tantei is also a technical marvel that retains much of the same independent spirit, despite obviously being flirted by colorless corporate interests. It feels much like a hijacking of yet another violent terebi-drama, but with only middling results. It also proves just how soulful the work of "the iron man" can actually be when unfiltered.

Rain Washed: Tsukamoto's A Snake Of June Brought This On..

Feeling like a hostage in my own domicile as the rain continues to pound the Long Beach area with the now expected fervor, and unwelcome cold. When the east coast gets this, the become snowed in, for us, we just grin, bear it, not to mention bear a fearful populace doing their thing while driving. And yet on another level, such a troublesome downpour can also have a positive, almost healing effect. Those who know me, also know that I am a bit of an ambient sound enthusiast, often with his own playlist of all manner of aural business going on throughout the night's dreamtime. Perhaps even inspired by things as primal as the sound of a running shower, the very notion of water, making its power known over even the most technically/socially advanced civilization.

Which is possibly why such a simple thing helps remind me of films & pieces of art that utilize the natural elements as a metaphorical part of their fabric. Having realized that Shinya Tsukamoto's 2002 excursion into sexual psychology, A Snake Of June was to be a decade old, I had to pop in my copy to re-evaluate my feelings on it, as well as to compliment the way things were sounding outside. Perhaps even more than another personal favorite, Blade Runner, Snake not only has the trademark of what makes Tsukamoto's earlier films truly surreal, it also harbors enough raw emotional honesty to make it into a compelling treatise on how we manage our daily lives within such cramped, constrained physical and emotional spaces. And the rain, coupled with the film's deliberate chromatic blue tint that gives me vibes of living in the greater Los Angeles area. We may seem to be where all the activity, technology, and progressive action takes place, but throw in something as innocuous as a torrential downpour, and everything seems primed to change with naturally calibrated speed and ferocity.

Much like a pressure valve, the rain seems to be something of a grand reminder of the things we take for granted. It serves to not only inform us of how little control we have, and reiterate what it is that truly comforts and distresses us. It's a thrill to confront that which terrifies us not only about the outside, but of our very own natures. Which heavily informs why Snake continues to be a favorite. Much more than a treatise on Japanese repression, it is also a nature-borne poem that is all in service of the things we know we want, but fear having.