Esoteric Discoveries: Upstream Color (2013)

Two complete strangers run across each other on the local metro, and spark up a most discordant and yet irresistible fondness. Both on the surface quite average, city professional types, it is also quickly revealed that their shared awkwardness carries with it a disturbing secret that if not faced soon, could manifest in disastrous ways. But this is merely the surface of the tale PRIMER helmer, Shane Carruth weaves in this borderline impenetrable offering. And it is not with any offhand sense of dismay that I express this confusion, but rather of feeling both distressed and thrilled that Carruth's follow up to perhaps the ultimate time travel film turns out to be anything resembling commercially safe, or comprehensible. Upstream Color is cold, calculated, and defiantly ambitious. And while It may not work completely, it is made with a sure hand that is incredibly rare.


Taking an almost Malick-eque approach to allowing the camera to play omnipresent observer, we are witness to some truly horrific acts in the first third that is meticulous to the point of obsessive. The initial 30 minutes involves the harvesting of a most unique form of blue plant that is digested by plant-eating mealworms. The worms are then used on unsuspecting city folk, who are soon rendered open to suggestion, and eventually released back to what wreckage remains of their former lives- with zero memory as to what happened to them.We are not made privy as to the identity of those who would do this, let alone why. They seem on the surface to be as benign as anyone we would meet outdoors, minus the creeping curiosity. The remaining moments of this first third of the film illustrates the fate of digital art producer, Kris(Amy Seimetz), who is subjected to systematic conditioning, and eventually used  in numerous financial crimes and rituals. Soon after, she is eventually "cured" by a local sound artist, and returns home, a shell of her former self with no memories of days past, and re-entry into a world that has become alien to her newfound behavior.

 And this is all before Kris meets Jeff (played by Carruth himself), a man from the city's law sector who seems just as broken as she is. Not much time passes before the two share a burgeoning relationship largely based on these huge missing sections of life and logic. They have a rough time conveying their detachment, and inner turmoil, and yet they are drawn together. Not much time passes before they truly feel as if they are the only two people capable of handling their altered psyches, awkwardness and all. The film seems primed to be discussing the onset of mental illness, and what we would do if we knew what was introduced into our bodies that caused this all to occur. If we were capable of seeking blame in a realm where more often than not, none can be made.


The rest of the film tinkers with the lives of these two as they seem almost subconsciously drawn to a nasty truth that could mean more than their newfound existence. Carruth isn't as interested in the answers so much as the questions in how a society could turn a blind eye to mankind's intervention of nature. While Kris once knew a life bound in vision and fantasy, she is soon host to a bevy of personal horrors. And Jeff's vast gulf of a life as a man of the legal world, there seems to be a constant scrambling of memories that he and Kris both seem incapable of knowing with a modicum of certainty. And with that observer's eye that Carruth and Co. are employing here, we are often left scrambling just as frantically as they are. It's not a puzzle to be solved, but an ever shifting sense of loss permeating every frame. While Kris is increasingly paranoid and internal, Jeff grows more frustrated with the gaps laid at both their feet. The compelling performances and overall ethereal gloom of the film creates the feeling of a series of very personal dreams. This is only made more troubling as we are given no island of reason to ground us. We're just as adrift as they are. It's not as interested in warmth as it is about allowing us to feel as helpless, yet resolute as the pair become over the film's length.



So when the film wanders from horror to almost parody of mumblecore drama, there seems to be a knowing jab being made. Much like how PRIMER characterizes its core conceit as something horrendously mundane, yet mysterious, Upstream takes independently financed breakthrough genre such as horror and mumblecore comedy, and plays with them in surprisingly fun but affecting ways. Carruth seems eager to do away with what has become something of a modern phenom as home video has gone streaming. With overt access comes saturation, and ultimately blandess, and somehow a lot of the film has a thinly veiled beef with it. All bound by a mostly droning score by Carruth(again), it is clear that this is meant to be an all-encompassing response to the scene over the last few years. The whole affair is a personal one.



And yet not all is congruent, yet how could it be considering the subject matter? The work is more an amalgam of ideas and concerns than a specific theme. There are moments when it is clearly turning tangential with its leads, rather than allowing the story to gel organically. The finale feels pretty forced and pat, while the use of Walden could be seen as entirely too on the nose for something so breathless everywhere else. So is it an exploration of the love lives of the mentally affected, or a rally cry for New Domesticity? I couldn't say. As capable of entrancing as it is of leaving viewers deeply unsettled, Upstream is a challenging piece of work that defies simple description. It dares you to explore, and to find your own thoughts in between, and come up with your own impressions post-viewing. Definitely not a film for every taste, but a welcoming dip into the uncanny for those with the inclination.

Fish Story (2009) Movie Review

It is hours before a wayward comet barreling toward earth is to eradicate all life, as a sole figure rolls into a puzzlingly open record shop. Within the walls of the naturally quiet establishment, a pair of young men; one being the proprietor, the other a loyal customer, listen to some tunes, musing about the possibilities of salvation. This only vexes the defeated elder gentleman, set in his feeling that humanity is doomed. It is only within an old recording from a lost punk outfit that predated the Sex Pistols, that the fates of all just might hang in the balance. And such a strange setting is merely the beginning of an unexpected journey through the lives of several  seemingly random, yet inextricably bound souls in Yoshihiro Nakamura's  thoughtful fantasy based on Tamio Hayashi's novel. Very much in the vein of "hyperlink" films ala BABEL, or Crash, and even the most recent, Cloud Atlas, the film explores the threads that link a piece of creative work has toward possibly changing the course of history through a series of semi-vignettes, seemingly unrelated toward one another, yet somehow finding some manner of connective tissue.

Jumping back and forth through time with characters that on the surface, seem so distinctly different from one another(and often displaying varying tones), while is in no way is the piece as serious as the previously mentioned examples, but it is an unexpectedly rewarding paean to inspiration, complete with just a smidge of sly satire.

Without going into far too much detail as to avoid spoiling, the film covers several decades leading up to the central dilemma, as hope becomes a bit of a ping-pong ball, with the young, ready to embrace the possibilities, and the elders, ready to accept their fate with clenched fists. So as the stories begin with one in 1982, and a trio of young men listen to "paranormal recordings" before heading out for a night on the town, we are re-introduced to the track, "Fish Story", which was what we heard in the music store. A song by long-forgotten rockers, Gekirin. And in is within the rebellious sounds (and bizarre middle-section) of the song, that fate plays a heavy hand in the events of this initial tale. It is from here that we leap forward to 1999, where a doomsday cult sees themselves having better days. With the end of the world "postponed" for a later date, pieces begin moving that may (or may not) affect future events.

So when the film takes a sudden left, toward what almost looks and feels like any other quirky J-drama setup (ordinary schoolgirl oversleeps on a cruise ship, only to meet a most unusual do-gooder moments before the boat is hijacked), it is with perhaps a little disappointment as the segment itself veers between levels of sweetness as if primed to almost completely derail what had come before. And yet somehow, Nakamura and company figure out a way to make even this teeth-rotting cul-de-sac vital despite its pacing and tonal weirdness.

And just when it all becomes borderline frustrating, what the film is barreling toward is something of a welcome sucker punch once the final major sequence enters the stage; a dramatically laid back 1975 sequence involving Gekirin, the band whose song permeates the piece. During a tumultuous time in their days as a band, torn between success and artistic, freedom, the sequence is a leisurely, thoughtful, and sometimes even touching compliment toward everything prior. Made all the more potent via performances by Nao Omori, Atsushi Ito, and others, this is a lovely centerpiece that is all so familiar, and yet sensitively executed. It's a segment that echoes more of a western independence streak that is rare for a mainstream Japanese film. And with this affectionately non-consumerist theme in its arsenal, the remainder of the comet tale makes for a last heartfelt push toward destiny. Which is where I'll stop talking about the story in general as this is a work that is far more potent in the feel rather than the reality.

With limited resources, and the diverse color of the cast, Nakamura more than makes up for certain deficiencies with pure heart. Fish Story is not only a charming & fanciful musing on the power of rock n' roll, but is also a clever tribute to those who try, despite the lack of traditional means. One person's bungled inspiration, might be another's battle cry. One person's act of kindness may just inspire greater things in the future. It's a celebration of the wistfully naive, and meant for those who love dreaming despite the odds. Whether we know it or not, we all have a part in the same song, and boy does the future seem in good hands.

Kamata Kyoshin-kyoku (AKA Fall Guy, 1982) Movie Review

Ginshiro Kuraoka (Morio Kazama) is a one-time matinee idol type who has now begun to feel the plummeting weight of his fading star. Having to stoop to sneaking in as many closeups as possible in lieu of up and coming competition, the once proud star reveals to his astonished entourage a less than flattering side that is in no small way, an open admission of panic at his predicament. And it only gets worse upon the bombshell that his one-time movie favorite starlet girlfriend is four months pregnant. Enter the life of his most trusted stunt double in Yasu (Mitsuru Hirata), who is now essentially put upon to marry the discarded and heartbroken Konatsu (Keiko Matsuzaka) in the name of damage control. Both equally shocked by the former star's behavior, but also saddled with few options, the two eventually do agree to swap vows, which leads to Yasu's ever more daring overtures for increasingly dangerous action scene work. With Kinji Fukasakuat the helm, one can't shake the feeling that he has taken the lens away from his more familiar focus of ire, the world of the Yakuza, and turned it inward, as Kamata Kyoshin-kyoku is as savage an evisceration of the Japanese movie industry, as it is a wildly entertaining anti-comedy.

No sooner does the good-hearted, and humble Yasu take on this complicated responsibility, that his entire world becomes a winding rollercoaster of pain and hardship. Often taking double jobs within the same scene, pretending to have not had his chance prior to the crew, Yasu's dedication to his bride-to-be and unborn child begins to reach troubling levels. And all the while, Konatsu comes to better understand her erstwhile ex, as he has now set his sights on a younger, hopelessly dim bulb of a fan. Now even further feeling left behind, Konatsu attempts to better dedicate herself to her new circumstances. So when the film takes a sharp turn, leading to the return of Ginshiro to the core story, and a potentially death-defying stunt with Yasu singularly in mind, the film becomes a gut-wrenching time bomb along with Yasu, as he is pushed to his physical and emotional limits.

And while some may argue that such a premise is the last thing one considers to be one that could elicit laughter, Fukasaku's often frenzied direction and the work's effective performances create a world where the irony and laughter are interchangeable within a cultural context. While westerners might see much of this as often uncomfortable, and borderline melodramatic, it may be important to be familiar with the language of Japanese cinema, and the means by which little of this is filmed with abject seriousness in mind, save for the implications. Which is why Hirata's Yasu is so indelible. His unique blend of earnest simpleton, and selfless fool is an incredible draw for the film as he embodies more than merely a complex loser lead, but rather many of those who live the cinema dream, even while working in its stages. There is no spill too big, or bruise not worth flirting with. It's all in the name of this undefinable dream that is ever elusive, no matter how close one is with those already within the "winner's circle". Equally impressive is Matsuzaka, who carries with her a classic beauty who has like so many, settled well before their ability came to full flower in a industry obsessed with youth. But these two would not be so well established without the terrible force of nature that is Kazama as Ginshiro, who's diva manchild antics simply borderline on horrific.

Cleverly, the film begins within the confines of a cinematic world, as Ginshiro's most prideful face is on display during the filming of yet another period action piece. But just as soon as we see this, we are also witness to the reality regarding him, as well as the bit players on the set, which include day players such as Yasu, who seem set in their wishes for better work, even if it's for mere peanuts. So even as we get to know how good and dedicated a presence Yasu is to the clearly childlike and unstable Ginshiro, it becomes something of a masochistic relationship- more than likely borne out of a film world filled with individuals incapable of seeing their own worth, and often wiling to do anything to remain part of it. When considered in such a context, Yasu's role is no different than so many of Fukasaku's criminal outcasts. Always on the outside, looking in, and often at a heavy price.

So when the story reaches its final act, and the mutual worlds of  Yasu, Konatsu, and the film's reach critical mass, it is a boiling point that is both intentionally overwrought, and almost mocking of how such films in a standard movie world both seem so real and yet ineffectually manufactured. Worlds blur, and it's pretty stunning with how it is all handled.

While definitely not one of his most instantly accessible, Kamata Kyoshin-kyoku is a sneaky, brutal, often bleakly funny experience that is vital to J-film fans the world over.

Karaoke Terror: The Complete Showa Era Songbook (2003) Movie Review

Early twentysomething, Ishihara (Ryuhei Matsuda) one day makes friends with a most peculiar group of friends. All male, and of similar ages who all seem to share a love of voyeurism, karaoke sessions set to decades old pop tunes, and most unusual, older women. Led by the clearly troubled, Sugioka (Masanobu Ando), these boys continue their quirky lifestyles. That is until until one day, the knife-wielding leader commits murder after being turned down for sex. Sugioka, now gloating about his deed to his seemingly amazed friends, unbeknownst to him, has incurred the plotted wrath of a close-knit group of divorced, karaoke-loving middle-aged ladies known as the Midoris. It is in this one young man's act, that not only is a bizarre blood feud of sorts spawned, but a grudge match between two generations seems ready to come to a devastating head.


Based on the 1994 novel by satirist, Ryu Murakami, Karaoke Terror is that all-too-common duck that takes a twisted approach to illuminating contemporary metaphor, but finds itself at odds with how to make it work. And in this case, the war between Sugioka's band of aloof sociopaths and the aimless, yet now determined Midoris make for a potent look at the 1990s sense of deep enmity between adults and kids, but takes it into the more rarified territory of the May-December romance (essentially romantic affairs between younger men, and elder women), making this an all the creepier affair. The film wastes no time in establishing Sugioka's clearly paranoid mind, but once the inciting murder is committed, director Tetsuo Shinohara and company can't seem to figure out a means toward making the ensuing conflict make any deeper impact than a few unique images and grotesque yuks. Being a definite product of the post Battle Royale cult-cinema high Japan was going through after the horror boom ended, the film at times feels torn between extremes, and always at odds with the source material's need for emotional immediacy.



In some ways, Karaoke Terror delivers some memorable characters, particularly in the main members of the Midoris. Most standout are Kayoko Kishimoto, and Kanako Higuchi who create something of a believable backbone for the remainder of these women on a mission. Kishimoto's take being that of the sexually liberated Hemmi, and Higuchi as the magazine editor who's assignment to meet these ladies led to the formation of this group years ago, grant some semblance of class to the film. Sometimes, one cannot help but wonder if a more subdued black comedy about the lives of these characters might have made for something far more engrossing than what we do have here. As the Midoris come across as the film's closest thing to a beating heart amidst all the blood and explosives on display, one wonders if Shinohara was even the right choice considering the cartoonish nature of the violence, which does reach absurd proportions by the finale.




The script adaptation by Sumio Ohmori seems almost ready to carry Murakami's warped yet telling themes to fruition, but the largest problem seems to lay square in the lap of Shinohara, who seems to be attempting to direct a completely different film- or at least isn't as ferocious as the themes call for. Even as we are privy to the lives of the karaoke-loving cretins who start the film, enjoying watching a woman across the way striptease with windows undrawn, and in full-lit abandon, we never really get a glimpse into who they are as the borderline mentally stunted drones they seem to be. Ando's Sugioka seems to be the only one worth writing home about, and he doesn't last past the first half of the film. To make matters more difficult, the pacing is almost unbearably staccato; often stopping after a surreal joke, or violent zinger to draw out the story which is already fraught with forced story beats. The means by which both factions implicate each other throughout the film is often by way of wildly improbable leaps of convenience. It hardly matters how, but rather that they do find each other, and draw weapons. The big problems here, are that tales like these require a more visceral amount of action and humor to buoy the ensuing escalation of violence. Without this, what we have here are a series of fun, quirky cul-de-sacs barely held together by anything. And the at times too clean, pretty cinematography by Hiroshi Takase contradicts all that is happening between these often less than attractive characters.




So when thinking about it, Karaoke Terror is something of a deeply acquired taste. It does offer some handsome production values, a decent number of kooky moments, punctuated by instances of hyperbolic violence that can attract those merely ready for a unique night watching movies. But in a post-Fight Club cinema environment, one wonders what this would have been like if animated and directed within more constrained circumstances. What could have been a tight, provocative, and savagely funny voyage through contemporary Japan's war of the generations, merely plays as a leisurely blueprint of weird.