Thematic Wanderings: Shozo Hirono & The Yakuza Politiq

Been spending so many months considering how film is often a forum for not only the requisite escapes and flights of fancy so many viewers come to expect from a night at the cinema, but also of challenging, and often regressive forms of political musing. Much in the way that classic art and literature, at their core presented interesting ways to serve the public without being harshly transparent. And while many works attempt to avoid this, it is undeniable that many of filmdom's most iconic works are in fact collage-like representations of social constructs, questions, and occasional rally cries based on daily life of the time in which it was filmed. Even as markets lean more and more toward remakes and adaptations, it is not without an often pointed concern that even more spectacle-centric features are capable of carrying with them very real questions about the role of citizens versus that of those running the show. And the further we look back, the more this is evidently obvious in societies young in this manner of film discourse.


Specifically in realms of more rough and ready forms of media of the late 1960s-early 1970s anime and Japanese film, there was so much happening outside local movie houses and homes, that it was hard to watch anything of impact without it alluding to some form of strife taking place throughout multiple sectors of the post-war era. Where in anime, much of this frustration and angst could be seen manifested in works such as Devilman & others, few filmmakers captured the full-frontal conflict of hidden societies, scraping desperately for ever-shrinking dividends than Kinji Fukasaku. A man who's Battles Without Honor and Humanity (aka - The Yakuza Papers) series furiously carved out a stifling vision of systems forged and unforged in real time, without what so many once imagined to be firmly established codes. In this series, centering on the twenty-plus year war over Hiroshima's gangland titans and small fries, each installment paints a bloody tapestry, loosely based on real events that rocked an already unstable nation weary from conflicts abroad, aching for some manner of new identity.


With the young and often idealistic Shozo Hirono (in an icon-making performance by Bunta Sagawara) struggling to maintain a sense of honor to an increasingly chaotic underworld, we are host to a full-tilt typhoon of violence, treachery, and tattered pride that was up until that time, unseen in Japanese crime dramas outside of some of Fukasaku's earlier excursions into post-war criminality. Where Street Mobster, and others flirted with the dregs of an economic rollercoaster, the Battles saga dives headlong into the beast's belly, often surrounded by antiheroes with varying degrees of trustworthiness. Most of which is displayed by Sugawara's Hirono, a weathered man who's struggles from the very bottom of the pecking order, take him to the highest levels in Hiroshima gangland. His central struggle being that a man of old fashioned codes and morals, almost constantly finding himself in danger of irrevocably being stained by the erosion, not to mention treachery coming at him from nearly all sides.


Perhaps this is best encapsulated by his almost bleakly humorous relationship with would-be kingpin, Yamamori (Nobuo Kaneko), perhaps the new face of Japanese leadership. Sniveling, petty, and cowardly to a tee, Yamamori's almost whiny money-man approach seems primed to infect generations of more "jingi"-based members of the local families. This almost absurd invasion of big business into the affairs of those who would rather see themselves as local "Robin hood" types soon reveals hidden motivations, and newfound lusts for power that find Hirono almost inescapably trapped in Yamamori's orbit. Even as he begins making a name for himself amongst the Kure City gumi, the old man is never terribly far away. Almost becoming the father he never wanted, Yamamori (and even his equally cartoonish wife) ingratiates himself into poor Hirono's life, often leading to some truly terrible conflicts and bloodshed. The absurdity simply being in that our hero's often hard wood stubbornness to be the more honorable man keep him from destroying this longtime rival once and for all. But alas, nothing is ever so simple, therefore the two often require each other despite such animosity.

       
 By the time we get to Proxy War, this is made into greater manifest once Hiroshima's gangs are met with a most unlikely leader in Uchimoto, "successor" to the Muraoka clan. Whiny, petulant and cowardly, he is in many ways a far more irresponsible rendition of Yamamori, only with that much more reckless pride. Even as Fukasaku front-loads the "messages" behind this third film, the story is no less potent in its satire as a multitude of the town's most brawny gangsters find themselves at the whims of a pair of niggling manchildren, ready to spill blood over the most shallow of justifications. In many ways a mirror to the tumult happening in the streets of Tokyo(Not to mention the world abroad) , with those in power squabbling over scraps as the young and powerful are meant to fight amongst each other (and often die) for what Fukasaku likely considered to be patently absurd reasons.


What makes the Battles series so singularly political, is evident from Fukasaku's unflinching rage that is painted with grand strokes and striking sound, often making no bones about the horrors that lie under the veils of propriety and tradition that are bandied over others in the name of order. Rituals of bonding and unification suddenly take on a mechanical, often transparently disingenuous nature, and are little more than showcases for which new schism is soon to appear, ready to unravel virtually seconds later. The worms of pride, and greed underlie virtually every "diplomatic" move that is made, often a false formality, and far from interested in anything as noble as peace. In the world of Fukasaku's yakuza, power is fleeting, honor is questionable, and even the strongest find themselves at odds with comrades, even to the point that they must grovel at the feet of their greatest rival for some infinitesimal piece of rotted meat on petrified bones.

Special Rumbles: Lessons From Roger Ebert (1942-2013)

Despite yesterday's news regarding his health, there was no part of me that was in any way prepared for writing up several thoughts regarding the importance of one Roger Ebert in my social, and written life. To be completely fair, noone is truly prepared for such a thing. But to give a complete charting of just how important one person's views can be toward so many angles of another's life, it is also something possibly foolhardy to consider. But what I can best deliver in a timely, and hopefully raw fashion, is to keep beacons glowing in the name of what makes criticism so important to not merely film, but to human culture as a whole. Much like how achaeologists derive theory from findings and disparate elements available, there is a deep importance toward our collective ability to see beyond mere positives and negatives. To dole out how something makes us feel, rather than merely take in everything at face value wthout second thought, or future evaluation. And there were fewer voices available to so many of us in the broadcast age with such a reverence for the unusual, and the accessible than Ebert, a man who's very presence on television or in print, exuded a yearning to understand not only an evolving artform, but a rapidly morphing world.


Growing up a remarkably addicted child of movies, Ebert's views on At The Movies remained an integral part of my weekend viewing diet. To be in my presence throughout a majority of the late 1980s meant that this ritual was an expected norm. And it wasn't merely because of access to clips of the latest releases, and whether or not they received a thumbs up or down, but rather my focus was largely on how both Gene Siskel & Ebert went from gentle confirmation to outright verbal blitzkrieg in mere minutes, and still retain a fair amount of sympatico by the end of each episode. And despite the often whispered revelation that the duo in fact didn't get along well outside the theater for a time, it was endlessly exciting to see such worldviews interconnect with such energy from their reaction to something as commonly seen as diversion as film. They spoke a mature form of a language I long wanted to be able to grasp, even as I grappled with the often humiliating trial known as grade school.


Moreso than any other televised movie critic, there was an inherent relatability to the way Ebert examined movies that told me, "I could do that". In fact, I vividly remember recording my first movie review "podcast" with my best friend by way of cassette tape, capturing our reviews of movies like Robocop & Rocky IV. This went even further come the early 1990s, when a good high school friend of mine fand I wrote a "He Said, She Said" column for our local newspaper's experimental "youth" section. Sharing impressions was a major part of what drove me to write, and perhaps it seemed inevitable that japanese cartoons would eventually follow. It wasn't enough for me to merely watch something and forget about it in preparation for the next life trial, it was vital that I take it down somewhere, or talk it out with a fellow weirdo. Discourse was on the brain from a very early point, and Ebert was unquestionably a large part of why.



And as I mentioned, growing up the only kid in a nearly 40-mile radius who was halfway interested in cartoons from across the ocean, as well as weird movies from other parts of the world, it was great to have someone on TV with the openness & enthusiasm he did. Whether it be his surprising segment on AKIRA, or opening up about Miyazaki's works, it was strengthening to see someone in the grand sphere talking about something so many were so quick to write off in those days. In fact when they happened (which was not at all often), it was this brief moment of relief that came over me. A reminder that I had indeed run into something that spoke to far more than a small niche of strange kids/adults, and that it was something worthy of merit on a world's stage. A confirmation that art could be found just about anywhere as long as one is taking that extra moment to look.



Among the more important lessons I took away from him being such a presence in my life, was that articulation was vital toward greater connection between very different types.  That it wasn't enough to merely say your piece, and abandon room for further discussion. Walls were malleable and filled with gaps and curves which can shift and bend based on shared experience. That the wheel must continue to turn in the name of a healthier ecosystem. And while differences are an inevitability, they are also what make us so valuable to others. Enthusiasm for art, idea & expression flowed naturally through him, and it was infectious, especially when meeting new people who shared a similar affinity for the language.



And to be even more on the even side, it wasn't as if I agreed with his views all the time. In fact, a there were multiple instances where I simply didn't understand where he was coming from with many films that have since become important in the eyes of the public. For instance, I have never, and likely will never understand his evisceration of Blue Velvet (1986). But perhaps therein lies the greatest lesson; that critique of any kind is less about the object being reviewed, and often more about the person doing the review, and the others they are reaching out to. It's continued communication in celebration of something shared, also made by human hands. There is something inherently natural about reacting to the world, and examining the results on an individualistic basis. Just as no two people will see the same sunset in the same way, there is something important about the ability to take a human work, and derive a nebula of thought.It is within this important activity that our futures are founded, and universes are rendered endless.


But another really important thing I learned by way of watching and reading him, was that I didn't have to agree with a person's assessments, and maintain respect. That it was indeed possible to trade barbed differences upon anything, and still seek to understand the other person, which should be one of our greater goals as a species. Ebert saw human civilization as a triumph, and there is no triumph without regard to the past, and at its most primal -- that is the cinema's greatest gift to all of us.


That is what I'd like to believe anyway.

Poster Discoveries: Captain Harlock

Courtesy of the honorable, August Ragone, the one-sheet for Shinji Aramaki's megabudget CG Harlock project has arrived. Both brawny and ominous, the project feels a little removed from the Matsumoto classic, but thrilling all the same.

Thematic Wanderings: Intercultural Workout

Been Netflixing all Easter Sunday, and then it began to natter at me if cultural barriers will persist in dogging certain acclaimed works. It's just something that I have witnessed in various corners of the internet, where some often well-articulated writers/podcasters have disparaged certain works in ways that while containing gripes that may very well contain their own sense of validity, seem to lack additional insight as to why said works seems to connect so well with others. And while even considering such a jumble of subjectivity, it stands to reason that context is at times more than necessary for some viewers to bridge gaps that cannot otherwise be bounded over. Even I could be considered guilty for similar transgressions (perhaps Iron Sky would have worked for me if it didn't take such a singularly foreign view of american politics) when something that speaks clearly to a regional audience is bought here, only to garner detraction.

Which brings me to one of the main questions that has been nagging at me for years; With emerging, and expanding foreign markets for film, and the easiest access to foreign genre film in history, just how much have we collectively begun to gather a specific level of expectations based on what we consume as viewers in our native culture? In the last twenty years alone, we have seen a sharp climb in production and story quality in other markets, and one of the more interesting side-effects of this, is a clear need on the part of certain reviewers/commentators, to require an almost strange amount of objectivity to their subjects. While on one hand, this can be seen as a reasonable point of argument, there is also this evidence of possibly a lack of cultural/historical knowledge creating great gaps where some would expect more universal clarity. It's a discord that is possibly inherent in these accelerations of access and exposure.

Something is bound to be lost during this time, and can only possibly be remedied with patience, and work. But could within the age where all are content creators, be this place where such understanding could in fact be reached without so much of the expected derailment by way of the atypical failure to grasp simple language and cultural. We are all within our respectively shifting places in the global enthusiast community, and while it is expected that subjectivity will remain a human constant, it still fascinates me when a colleague expresses dismay at something that  reaches others in ways that transcend the mere distraction. So when films that come from other parts of the world, where there have yet to be greater amounts of understanding between cultures, it is only natural that certain themes and concerns will fail to make a dent in the minds of even the most attentive viewers.


Which leads it all in an almost "chicken or egg" scenario, where filmmakers are far more capable of making works that center well within a regional framework, and are brought over to be re-examined by cultures still a gap removed. It's almost paradoxical how we (meaning previous generations of strange cinema conisseurs) were once able to appreciate the works of foreign filmmakers with more openness, and encouragement once upon a time, regardless of a dearth of budget, or resolute comprehension. Flash forward to today, and such notions are almost completely flipped by these very same viewers. I do not propose anything in a way of a series of solutions, but it is something one couldn't help but notice. But could it possibly be that many of us have traded in some elements of wonder for an unspoken model of approval? This may be completely off base, but one cannot help but see this as a possible trend coming forth as more fans find themselves becoming reviewers, when it can also be said that arts such as film defy constructs despite having cul-de-sacs of narrative safety.

But I will state this as an ever curious lover of nuance, it sometimes takes as much work from us as it does from the artists.

Kubrick At LACMA: A Kaijyu's Spark

Spent yesterday afternoon, finally taking in the sprawling Kubrick exhibit currently taking residence at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and felt a need to share a few images and thoughts.

Despite the fact that this blog's initial function was to explore elements of film and pop culture more in line with more niche subgenres and  concepts, there's no denying the influence of Stanley Kubrick in nearly all corners of my artistic and written life. My first Kubrick film was 2001, where it grabbed hold of a 5 year old ball of curiosity, and never sought any reason to let go. I vividly remember seeing Spartacus with family soon after, and then the ads came about for The Shining, the winter we lost John Lennon, as well as my parents going their separate ways. My first, forbidden taste of A Clockwork Orange came via late-night cable in Texas during a vacation stay with some folks in Houston. So many pieces of personal history, intertwined with the deep impressions his sights and sounds left within me, and perhaps ideas far beyond what a kid could possibly comprehend. Even when I didn't understand it, I couldn't help by replay the emotions on display endlessly.

The name. The images. The aura. It didn't have to make intellectual sense so much as emotional, and somehow his films got to me in ways noone else had. I felt his films initially, and to have this before growing older and sophisticated in my processes in order to better grasp the chaos and beauty on display.

I liken his works to a gateway. One with great consideration for new creative angles, and a yearning for familiarity to take a vacation, whilst not running away from some of the more troubling aspects of the human animal. An obsessive vision that dared me to seek out, rather than merely take in. To question, rather than merely accept. Most importantly, to embrace film as a collection of daydreams, nightmares, and contemplations on who we are, and where we are as a species.

I feel like as a whole, we are transformed by artists who find themselves capable of reaching to others in their own unique language. Kubrick remains that primary voice in my head that reminds me to not only listen to my instincts as an individual, but to better listen out for those speaking unique, but resonant languages. That the tribes exist, and that they work to bridge despite our reptilian ancestry.

His works are also a reminder of our current frailties, and that it is possible to spend a little time in the shoes of those which we do not understand, without judgment, or division. And that perhaps previous world models, for all their pragmatism, might not have been the most human, let alone humane.

Which is why I cannot help but find hope in films by international names such as Chan-wook Park and others. It is this unerring drive to get at the heart of the modern human by way of imagery and sound that Kubrick laid out a path for more powerfully than perhaps any filmmaker in the history of the cinema. It is important that we continue to explore the possibilities, regardless of language, culture, or background. The paths are as infinite as David Bowman's ultimate dive into the unknown, all Kubrick did was illuminate this revelation.

State Of The Kaijyu: Springtime For Monsters!

Firstly,

Mending from almost two weeks worth of airbound illness, and more than eager to be back in the cockpit. There are many more worlds of weird, and fun to explore, so keep those backpacks filled with essentials, things are continuing on all fronts..

Second,

Beginning to see my way through some major life trajectory changes, and as a result, posts will likely remain this sporadic for the time being. But don't let this be a hint of an oncoming closing of gates. In fact, much of what is in the real life planning has everything to do with the writeups shared here, and elsewhere. It only felt right to pull up a few stakes in the name of taking the best advantage. Living in a new location has been enlightening beyond words, and in that regard, it feels more than time to do more in the living department. Knowing how this will impact future writings, this decision seems all the more invigorating.

After all, a great deal of what makes the Kaijyu especially fun for me, is the bridging between strange visual culture intermingled with the social world at large. And it wasn't in any way a planned theme that eventually became something of a backbone here. It like so many things formed in the doing. And now that I feel like I have some focal point to work with on these pages, it feels quite appropo to study outwardly in tandem with various weekly screenings/events/editorials, podcasts, etc. Blogging is essentially a means to keep the abilities fresh, and to hopefully expand them. There is a great need for immediacy with these pages, and there are times when it simply won't do to force out a writeup simply for the sake of itself. Believe it, or not, there are weeks when many films/shows are viewed and are never reported on. Often this is the case simply because the subjects themselves exhibit very little to muse or expound about. - Which makes one wonder if many creators find themselves in a similar predicament; unable to find the inspiration necessary to provoke ideas, tortured by an almost pathological need for work to be done. And while it is true that even the most lackluster work is capable of eliciting some laugh, accidental profundity, or even wholesale rage, it is a very particular series of patters that one must find in order to pack a post with a fitting response.

Here's to a future of strange discovery! It's bound to be an illuminating voyage.

Stoker (2013) Movie Thoughts

The instability of the opulent Stoker family is brought to a head after the death of the family's patriarch. With the family's one daughter, the quiet and fairly unusual India(Mia Wasikowska), and the emotionally fragile, previously distant mother, Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) now confronted with a reality that their loss has left in its wake, a deeply rooted tension. In the days of mourning to come, surprises come in the form of a long-never-known uncle (Matthew Goode), who has apparently come after years of being out of country, living the busy life of a jet-setter. And yet despite all this, nothing has ever been alright apparently. And they are about to get a whole lot worse as the extended-staying Uncle Charlie seems to not only have a bevy of terrible secrets, but the ladies of the house seem inextricably fascinated by him. And thus is the framework of Stoker, the US feature debut by the one and only Chan-Wook Park, who's films in South Korea have become relatively famous for not merely their visual panache, but of his attraction to some of humanity's most disconcerting behavior.

Taking cues from Hitchcock, and perhaps even Lynch, Park's big western first is an all-stops-gone hallucinogenic tribute to the classic Gothic Horror/Psychological Thriller, with mostly solid results. With a majority of the film centering on the life of the young India, we are immediately granted audience to her less than social tendencies, as well as her increasingly murky choices. Where most murder mysteries derive their juice from placing our protagonist in a place where the clues lead us to the guilty party, Stoker gets great mileage from playing us against ourselves as we are left willy-nilly with India & Evelyn, wondering where the proverbial shoes will drop. Within the first 30 minutes alone, the household, and all close parties from various corners of the family have been established as prime players in a mystery that isn't here to play nice. We are forced to fumble about in hopes of sympathy with our female leads as the ever-bizarre Charlie seems primed to close in on the estate, with deadly intent.

 Not sure I can go much further in discussing the film without elaborating a little on one of its shining elements; the character direction. For a piece that is pretty much a closed circle psychological game between three people, there is a surprising amount done in areas that perhaps screenwriter, Wentworth Miller (Under the name, Ted Foulke) might have gone light with. And in a work that is so packed with such visual punch, it's refreshing to again see Park grant his actors room to become characters that quietly burn deep where necessary.


As we are often witnessing the tale through the eyes of India, Wasikowska is a genuine find, as a unique girl wandering through a most awkward time of her life, and in need of some better grasp of this new world sans father. Already markedly quiet and strange, she is an embodiment of an era when the young are at the apex of their budding sexuality, which is flirted with from the getgo, especially via the uncle she never knew. And then adding a dash of inspirational ennui, the film is also a skewed "coming of age" tale, where our lead seems eager to find her path, but is finding herself endlessly stifled by perhaps her own inexperience. And she is already considered a pretty talented young lady. Whether it be playing the piano, or even painting, there is an ongoing question as to where this gilded cage is about to break. And in the guise of a classic mystery tale, with tropes ala Nancy Drew, the movie is unafraid to make us into voyeurs, thereby making us as suspect as anyone else. And Wasikowka's performance is that note perfect elaboration of that ambiguousness. We both pity her, and fear for her. But it simply isn't satisfied with stopping here, which is more than noteworthy.

Goode's Charlie is perhaps the film's most slyly challenging role, as the surface implies a lot less than is delivered in his expressions. While clearly something is in no way right with this guy, there's also this playful bent being taken with him as he slowly entrenches himself into the lives of the Stoker ladies, and it is a game that we discover has been long in the planning. His specific brand of malice is only matched by his unrelenting creepiness. (that damned stare)There is even this often crude sexual play that's at work early on that is subtle in its hilarity if one is looking for it. Park and Goode are aware of this particular mechanic, and play it to almost absurd extremes right off the bat. Park and Goode seem to know that this is all in the name of a larger series of swerves that come racing along in the third act. He's virtually a wolf in wolf's clothing, and that's especially tricky to play with.

And then there's Kidman's Evelyn. Even in a role that can be considered a distant third, there is a class and almost beautiful sense of the sad in her role that makes for a surprising punch come later. This is a woman who's entire marriage prior seems to have been another one not unlike a cage. Whether she be the wife of a wealthy fixture of the community, or a distant mother with one heck of a gulf to fill, there's a massive amount of tension to Kidman's presence that is hard to ignore. Even as the camerawork and lighting highlight what looks to be cosmetic work done in the real, it only adds to the whole by portraying a person imprisoned by her choices in life. A great deal of the storytelling again leaves us unsure whether to sympathize or not, and by design it is a potent choice. There is a speech near the finale that feels bare in ways we rarely see from such high profile names, and it delivers a much deserved gut punch to the proceedings.

So how did this one US debut come to be the almost complete home run that it is? Was surprised to discover right off the cuff that Park had powerful support as his prime producers on the film were none other by the Scott Brothers, Ridley & the late, great Tony. As staunch visualists, this is the kind of support few directors could ever dream of attaining, and Park goes for broke at nearly every opportunity, allowing the often thrilling cinematography by Park regular, Chung Chung-hoon to be seamlessly be intercut and weaved by way of often poetic use of CG. With the virtually isolated southern setting, and the surrounding green seemingly ready to envelope humanity regardless of the Stoker home and its enchantments on display, there is a neverending sense of deep unease that infiltrates every single scene. Even when certain elements such as India's classmates, local law enforcement and their behaviors, and the almost Twin Peaks-esque countryscapes give off the vibe of a world divisions away from our own, it is difficult to deny the hypnotics on display. And even when character decisions in the latter half range from puzzling to ludicrous, and character ages seem more than a little off, a sense of playful, coupled with an extreme, almost Kubrick-like confidence makes up for it in ways that may very well linger in the dream spaces for weeks.

It's very rare when the common themes of an artist from another culture is capable of translating themselves seamlessly in another language, and yet Stoker makes a case for that rarity with often cold, deceptive ease. Up to this point, many of Park's most effective works consider society's most frightening possibilities as great tests. His films tend to explore some of the darker characters, and asks why they may indeed require a stage of their own within of our general fabric. Not unlike cinematic rabblerousers such as Harmony Korine (who enjoys an interesting cameo here), he refuses to moralize or judge, and is more interested in the questions they pose than in any simple declarations. And even if the script isn't always up to the standards of the technical here, there is so much to consider about the American experience that is brought to the table. Finding beauty within the horrific is perhaps best expressed in visual arts such as museum works, and cinema. And for a film more about simmering, difficult notions rather than graphic gore, there are volumes of terrifying loveliness to be found in Stoker..