Seven Samurai (1954)

Seven Samurai (1954) movie poster

director Akira Kurosawa
viewed: 04/12/2013

My venture into cinema with my kids has typically been quite a broad one, but seeking to expand it yet further, I set us up with Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai for Friday night.  I, myself, hadn’t seen it until five years ago, shamed-faced as I was to realize that.  But Seven Samurai was actually only the 2nd film that we watched in a foreign language together, with me reading the subtitles to them so they wouldn’t have the challenge of keeping up, but would have the sound of the language in their ears.  They were certainly open-minded about it.  I had, however, forgotten that it was over 3 hours long, which has been more daunting (the length) than many other possible impediments to success with them.

When the intermission rolled around, both Clara and Felix groaned, “What! It’s only half-over?”  Fair enough, fair enough.  Epics are epics.  They require endurance.

Being familiar with The Magnificent Seven (1960) and A Bug’s Life (1998) (oddly to a slightly lesser extent), I had talked to them about how this film was adapted into those two, and how many elements of the story, characterization, action and adventure had been pulled into many other films since.  Felix has been particularly keen to see many of the films considered to be among the best ever made.  Whether he is at the right age to appreciate them fully, or whether Clara is, might be somewhat questionable, but I also thought that having seen Seven Samurai now, at this age with me, it will be a part of his/her landscape of cinema going forward.

Queried at the end of the film, Felix said it was “okay”.  Clara said she liked it.  These are typical post-movie responses from the two of them, probable to be repeated time and again after many varied films we see together.

For me, it had been five years since I’d first seen it, and while much of it remained strong in my mind, oddly the fact of its epic length had been forgotten.  Maybe that is a statement to how engaging the film is.  Even at 3 hours plus, it doesn’t feel overlong.  In fact, through much of it, the pacing seems apt and energetic.  And really, the kids did not wane through the film.  They made it all the way and were involved throughout.

It really has been the template of a great action/adventure film, from the build up of the characters to the inevitable battle sequence that finishes the story.  Takashi Shimura is great as Kambei Shimada, the eldest, noble, first samurai enlisted to protect the farming village.  I also particularly liked Seiji Miyaguchi as Kyūzō, the quiet, serious, deadly capable member of the team.  And as always, the great Toshiro Mifune is great as the rambunctious, wily rebel, Kikuchiyo.  There is much of class, not so much critique perhaps, but representation in what the ideals of the samurai are meant to be.  Like the classics of the Western genre, which I so often consider in contrast with the Samurai film, such an early genre film tends to establish more of the tropes, traditions, effects, character types than to subvert them.

What I noticed this time that I hadn’t before was that each of the samurai that are slain in the film are felled by musket fire.  None falls to the traditional weapons of the samurai, not swords, spears, arrows, knives, but each are brought down by essentially “cheap shots”.  Set as it is in 1587, these weapons are rare and almost seem anachronistic.  Throughout the siege, though, the samurai are keenly aware of the number of guns that the enemy has, with two of the weapons being uniquely captured by the daring of two of the samurai.  It is the third, uncaptured gun that brings down the last two, even with Kikuchiyo surging forward, bullet wound in his gut, to slay the man with the firearm.

It’s an interesting point, with perhaps some interesting interpretations.  I won’t overly hazard much here.  But I will say that it struck me.

Great movie.  Maybe I’ll give the kids a break next week.

Summer Wars (2009)

Summer Wars (2009) movie poster

director Mamoru Hosada
viewed: 04/06/2013

Despite the fact that we weren’t all that taken with director Marmoru Hosada’s The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (2006), for some reason, perhaps just looking for the right amount of variety to switch up for our movie nights, I decided we’d give his Summer Wars a go, despite not knowing a whole lot about it.  I had queued it because I must have read some positive things at some point.

While The Girl Who Leapt Through Time was cute but vapid, Summer Wars is far more ambitious and varied.  It starts out with a scene in a computer lab, where two teen dweebs are moderating a social network more like an elaborate, more integrated “Second Life”, when the cute older Natsuki shows up and is looking for someone to come help her with a part-time job.  One of the boys, Kenji bites and travels to Ueda to Natsuki’s family’s home, a huge estate in very traditional rural Japan.  It turns out that she’s tricked him into coming to her grandmother’s 90th birthday, to pretend to be her boyfriend.

The story fluctuates between the traditional family story of the Jinnouchi clan (their sprawling family with a long, proud history) and what they represent in the film and the world of this virtual reality universe which has become almost as real and impinges on the real world in a major crisis.  The switching makes the film a little hard to get a handle on at first, but ultimately works pretty well as the story plays out.  In the “real world”, Kenji becomes insinuated in a cyberattack on OZ, the virtual world, and is exposed to the family for who he is.  The cyberattack on OZ is launched by an artificial intelligence (sent by the US military!) but because of the uncontrollable nature of the AI and the real world connections (credit cards, phone identifications, power grids, etc.), the attack is having effects everywhere, eventually and ultimately potentially launching a nuclear assault.

While parts of the story are facile, such as the black sheep bastard child of the great grandfather returns to rile the family and is also the creator of the AI that he sold to the US (it’s all about the family), the representation of traditional Japan, even the local high school team playing on television during the heat wave, the history of the clan, the food, family traditions versus this slick, Takashi Murakami-inspired OZ, populated by avatars of all stripes, like modern personalized yōkai, if you will, Summer Wars is a sprawlingly complex narrative with a cast of “thousands”.

The ambition serves Hosada and the film well.  While I wouldn’t call it a great film, it’s a far more interesting and complicated picture, something quite interesting.

The kids liked it pretty well.  They found it a bit strange, flipping between the two main story lines, much as I did, but also felt that it all came together pretty well.

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (2006)

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (2006) movie poster

director Mamoru Hosada
viewed: 01/12/2013 

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time is a sort of disappointing anime that I watched with the kids.  It had gotten pretty good reviews and I’m always trying to mix it up.

It’s quite the soap opera, though light-hearted, cute at times, and upbeat.

A teenage girl discovers that she can “leap” through time.  What does she do?  Go back to significant historical periods?  Fly into the far future to see what fate awaits the Earth?

No, she goes around her bad day, trying to tweak her behavior to make everything fun and peachy keen.  Sing karaoke for hours.  Eat your favorite meal for dinner.  Get the dessert that your sister stole from you.

It’s adapted loosely from a 1960′s Japanese science fiction novel, so maybe the small-mindedness of the character is more a representation of the period?  Or is it an accurate image of certain “girls”.

And while her final leaps move towards more significant goals, it’s a pretty pathetic image of what a teenage girl would do.  Sweet as she is.

Clara was fairly engaged with it. Felix thought that it didn’t measure up to other Japanese animation that we’ve watched.  I have to agree.  Not horrible but utterly forgettable.

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time would have benefited from thinking and looking…before…she…you know…

My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

My Neighbor Totoro (1988) movie poster

directed by Hayao Miyazaki
viewed: 09/08/2012 at the Bridge Theater, SF, CA

The opportunity to see Hayao Miyazaki’s wonderful My Neighbor Totoro on the big screen, that was what this was all about.  The Bridge Theater in San Francisco was (and still is through this week) running a series of Studio Ghibli films, and schedules permitted only Saturday for us, and luckily Totoro was the film of the day.  It showed in both the English dub and alternately in original Japanese with subtitles.  Our timing had the dubbed version showing.

If you’ve never seen, My Neighbor Totoro, you should.  It’s a beautiful, low-key, wonder of a film, one of Miyazaki’s signature creations.  I would even posit that the image of Totoro, standing in the rain at the bus stop next to the young girl Satsuki, with the leaf on his head, accepting her umbrella, is as classic and iconic a moment as Gene Kelley, “Singin’ in the Rain” in Stanley Donen’s thus named film.  There is a magic to the film, plain and simple, a transcendent beauty as inspired and powerful as any in cinema.

It’s a film that I’ve seen many times, in whole and in parts, and Clara has seen it many times as well.  Though never on the big screen.  The crowd in the theater were largely families with young ones, obviously those “in the know” because as much as I read and follow up on what’s happening locally in the cinema, this event came a bit out of nowhere, with little promotion or notability.

Totoro is a simple story, about two young girls who move to the Japanese countryside with their father while their mother convalesces at a nearby hospital from an unnamed illness. What they find in the country is nature itself, the people who work the land, and the spirits of traditional Japanese belief still living within the world in all corners.  They first encounter dust mite spirits, and then eventually are led down (or up) a rabbit hole of sorts to the King Totoro, the spirit of a massive camphor tree at the top of a tall hill nearby.  These spirits befriend the girls, giving literal flight to their dreams, encouraging them to plant more trees, and helping Satsuki find Mei when she gets lost.  It’s a spiritual encounter with nature and tradition, a grounding to culture and the natural world that embodies ethics and kindness as well.

It’s such a quiet and simple film that when I first saw it, I certainly considered that it might be slow or quiet for some.  Watching it again this time, the themes of spiritual embodiment, along with ecology, magic and traditional Japanese culture, things all deeply embedded in his later film Spirited Away (2001) are all deeply imparted here as well.  There is a great beauty beyond the charm here.  It could be critiqued for its yearning to a simpler, more pastoral time (the story is set in an indeterminate past, sometime in the 20th century), which is perhaps more wistful.  But there is magic to it.  There is a transcendence within this little story, these brief moments of fantasy and the beyond.  Most lovely.

Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart at the River Styx (1972)

Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart at the River Styx (1972) movie poster

director Kenji Misumi
viewed: 08/22/2012

So many movies, so little time.  I had watched the first of the series of the Lone Wolf and Cub films (Lone Wolf and Cub: Sword of Vengeance (1972)), with the intention of watching the whole series as I delved more deeply into the samurai film genre.  Only, that was four years ago already.

Well, no time like the present to catch up.

Unlike the Samurai Trilogy that I had just finished watching, the Lone Wolf and Cub films, coming 20 years later, are comprised of a much different substance.  These were not big budget studio films, but much more rapidly produced, pulpy action films in which blood spouts and breasts are bared, limbs are lost, surprises leap out from many places.  Though it’s not as high-falutin’ nor noble or polished, the films are gruesome fun, much more like a comic book (they were adapted from a manga, not a novel.)

One thing about these films, four years between episodes doesn’t require a great deal of memory to catch on to the story.  The “Lone Wolf” is the former executioner for the shogunate and is pretty much the most badass swordsman out there.  He treks through Edo-era Japan, taking assassination jobs, having committed his and his “Cub’s” life to Evil.  Though he’s not really evil at all.  He’s just a ruthless killer.

He is hired to take down three assassin brothers who seek to assassinate another man in a dispute over trade secrets.  He’s also faced with a clan of killer geishas and ninjas, who still seek revenge over his shaming them from before.

With his cute as hell kid in his super-armed cart, he puts on some wild shows, chopping limbs and heads and loosing geyser after geyser of bright red liquid.  The child even gets in on the act at one point, pushing a button that pops out some more blades that take down one assailant.  The contrast of the innocence of the wide-eyed expression on the face of the child, seeing everything unflinchingly, to the stylized violence offers the films’ jarring kick.

Great stuff.  Hope it doesn’t take four years for me to see the next one.

It won’t.

 

Samurai III: Duel at Ganryu Island (1956)

Samurai III: Duel at Ganryu Island (1956) movie poster

director Hiroshi Inagaki
viewed: 08/19/2012

The final segment of Hiroshi Inagaki’s Samurai Trilogy, Samurai III: Duel at Ganryu Island, is the culmination of a masterful epic.  I had watched the first film, Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto (1954) a couple weeks before and then watched Samurai II: Duel at Ichijoji Temple (1955) following up with the finale the very next day.  It’s actually one of those film series that really works best if seen all together, in one sitting, or within direct proximity to one another.  it’s a single story, a fairly complicated one, whose cohesion relies upon the others.

It follows the path of Musashi Miyamoto from poor rebel to enlightenment and mastery.  For this finale, the story focuses on how Miyamoto (Toshirô Mifune) learns to go back to the earth.  He stops looking for fights and moves to a small village and takes up farming.  He fights against brigands when they come, but continues to eschew females (who all fall for him).  Ultimately, his nemesis, Sasaki Kojirō (Koji Tsuruta) (who should be his good friend except samurais, like gunslingers it seems, have to fight each other to prove their worth), sets up the ultimate battle.

The battle takes place on a beach at sunset, the most masterful sequence using natural light in the series.  Inagaki employs natural settings and natural light throughout the film when he can, achieving some amazing moments, while occasionally sometimes darkened scenes.  When it works, it’s brilliant.  The finale is brilliant in its simplicity and setting.

I’ve been (rightly or wrongly) thinking of this series as sort of the “height” of the traditional samurai film.  The production was doubtlessly expensive, starring the classic Mifune, featuring the traditional values of the genre: nobility, spirituality, honor.  I need to do some more reading to see if this is really true or not.  Judging from the samurai films of the 1960′s and 1970′s that I’ve seen, it appears, like the Western, to have become a genre ripe for social commentary, inverting classic tropes, contrasting well-established tradition.

One of those factors is the role of women in these films.  It’s either the “whore” or the “virgin”, both pathetic and limited in their way, in their parts they play, in their range of experience.  Certainly, these roles in the Edo period for women were probably greatly limited, controlled, and subjugated, but the film never looks to comment on this, rather it seems to perpetuate or at least not to evaluate it on its terms.  Again, probably something of equal in your traditional Western, too, in the 1950′s.

A great epic.  See it all together if you can.

Samurai II: Duel at Ichijoji Temple (1955)

Samurai II: Duel at Ichijoji Temple (1955) movie poster

director Hiroshi Inagaki
viewed: 08/18/2012

Part two of Hiroshi Inagaki’s Samurai TrilogyDuel at Ichijoji Temple expands the narrative of the first film, giving direction to where the story will culminate in the film’s final segment, Samurai III: Duel at Ganryu Island (1956).  Musashi Miyamoto (Toshirō Mifune) seeks to further his learnings and abilities as a great samurai, discovering more and more that the greatness of a samurai is not just in his skills and success in duels but in his own peace of mind.  Meanwhile, he develops a rival in Sasaki Kojirō (Koji Tsuruta), who sees Miyamoto as the one samurai that he must defeat, while the character of Matahachi (from the first film, Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto (1955)) fades away as a profligate drunk and fool.

Miyamoto continues to gain female adoration, of his own love Otsu, the courtesan Akemi, and even another very experienced courtesan.  He also picks himself up a follower, a boy who wants to train alongside him.  Miyamoto furthers his nobility and experience, his fan club, and more.

Typical of trilogies, the middle part bears the problem of neither beginning nor end as far as the larger narrative goes.  It’s not such a problem for this film, really, other than the story keeps getting more and more complicated.  It would probably be best to watch all three of these films in sequence together.  I did follow up Samurai II with Samurai III so that helped.

As I noted about Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto, the films are beautifully executed, and they seem like big budget studio productions at the height of a classic style.  Inagaki uses both sets and locations for the film, varying back and forth with good cohesion.  What is really striking about his outdoor shooting is his commitment to natural light.  The culminating battle in Samurai II takes place at dusk, and as Miyamoto is ambushed by a craven group of samurai, he backs himself into a rice paddy as the light begins to fail.  This technique of shooting in that “magic time” of dusk is further realized in the finale in the battle on the beach between the two heroes.

It’s great stuff, not quite as good as the first film, but great especially within the context of the whole.

Pom Poko (1994)

Pom Poko (1994) movie poster

director Isao Takahata
viewed: 08/03/2012

I think it was after watching Isao Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies (1988) that I started really looking at the non-Hayao Miyazaki films from Studio Ghibli.  The kids and I had watched a bit of a documentary about the studio that was attached to that DVD and they seemed to respond to the clips from Pom Poko, which I also had never seen.  Though I’d heard of it, I really knew little about it other than it was also directed by Isao Takahata.

Outside of a bitter melancholy, the two films could hardly be more different.  Grave of the Fireflies was largely naturalistic, following a story based in reality.  Pom Poko, conversely, follows a wholly fantastic story of a world of tanuki, Japanese raccoon dogs (not to be confused with actual raccoons), an animal strongly associated with magical abilities in traditional culture, capable of metamorphosis and magic, slovenly tricksters.  And magically metamorphose they do, turning from naturalistic-looking raccoons to goofier, more cartoony bipeds who speak, to even more simplified figures when partying or having fun.  Not only do they change according to mood and necessity, but they manage to turn themselves into objects or other creatures, even humans.

Set in the 1960′s, in one of Tokyo’s last bastions of green space, a village of tanuki is getting run out of their space by urban development.  The story follows them as they wage war, first physically, then spiritually (or spiritedly?) via magic tricks and enormous effort.

Like much of Miyazaki’s work, the film is about endangered Nature, and beyond purely ecological or biological concerns, the world of traditional country Japan is imbued with the spirits of Yōkai, traditional beliefs in which spirits pervade every natural thing, especially living creatures.  The metaphor extends that in destroying the natural landscape and the homes for the creatures of this world, Japan’s heritage is destroyed by means of eradicating its own history, culture, spirits, spirituality.  And though the film is replete with quite broad humor, it’s ultimately a story of loss and failure, sublimation.

The story is complex, spanning a long stretch of time, has certain levels of darkness, in the tanuki actually killing people and many of the tanuki being killed as well.  The folklore is deeply ingrained in the story, meaning that without some prior research, a lot of things might seem bizarre or not make a great deal of sense to someone unfamiliar with them.  For instance, all of the male tanuki have rather large testicles (apparently based on their true physiognomy), but that comes into play with other uses for their scrotums (referred to as “sacs”) in the American/English translation, leaving a lot of questionable thoughts on something not overtly explained.  That said, it’s anatomically correct, not rude or crude.

The kids quite enjoyed it, though Felix noted that it was “sad” or “sort of sad”.  I was struck by some parallel (though vastly different as well) to Watership Down (1978), another film about encroaching humanity on the natural animal world.  It’s a strange mixture of broad humor, epic conflict, magic, joy and sadness.  The magical “parade” that the tanuki evoke to frighten the humans is both a celebration and a failure, a disconnect for modern Japanese from the images of traditional folklore.  The wild, weird creatures charm the children rather than cow them.  It’s an odd tonality that is created.

Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto (1954)

Samurai Trilogy Criterion DVD box-set cover

 

director Hiroshi Inagaki
viewed: 07/29/2012

In chatting with a friend recently about the Samurai film genre, I came to realize that I hadn’t actually seen a samurai film in ages.  This same friend recommended Hiroshi Inagaki’s Samurai Trilogy, which I knew that I had in my film queue but didn’t really know much else about.  It seems the time was ripe to start up again with one of my favorite genres.

I’ve often considered the Samurai film to have a lot of analogues with the American Western.  It’s not a perfect match, in that as historical dramas go, the period ranges from a more Swashbuckling era through to the modern Western.  And of course, the codes, history, and settings are purely Japanese.  The analogues that I see are more in the types of drama and action, of violence and justice, of a templated genre ready-made for an auteur to utilize for social commentary, coded within traditional imagery and storylines, as well as the historical and cultural truths that lie in in and belie it.

Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto is epic, particularly in that it is the first of three films.  It stars the inimitable and ubiquitous Toshirō Mifune as the titular Samurai, though most of the film he goes by Takezo.  He comes from a poor village and is a rebellious, angry young man who wants to rise to become a samurai and earn fame and fortune and nobility.  He and his friend Matahachi (Rentaro Mikuni) head off into battle but end up on the losing side, running from the victors.  Matahachi takes up with a widow and her daughter, abandoning his bride to be Otsu (Kaoru Yachigusa).  Takezo returns to his village to inform them of what has happened but is considered an outlaw and tracked down and captured ultimately by a wily priest, who ties him up and hangs him from a tree, trying to teach him humility and piety.  Ultimately, Otsu sets him free but then he’s captured again by the priest to teach him further.  By the end of the film, he’s off seeking his fortune, abandoning Otsu against his heart’s desire.

Mifune’s Takezo has a broader range of emotion than some of his other protagonists.  He feels betrayed by his family, seeks his fortunes for himself alone, until he is rescued by Otsu, he seems only out for himself.

The film is color, which is a striking contrast to most of the samurai films that I’ve seen from this period.  It seems to suggest a greater budget perhaps, which is also evident in some of the battle sequences.  Inagaki’s camera tracks numerous shots, advancing warriors, running through the forest, through crowds.

I eagerly look forward to the following two films.

Steamboy (2004)

Steamboy (2004) movie poster

director Katsuhiro Otomo
viewed: 05/19/2012

Only the second feature animated film from writer/director/manga artist Katsuhiro Otomo, after his groundbreaking anime Akira (1988), Steamboy would have a lot to potentially live up to.  If you compared them. Two decades apart and potentially much more, Steamboy is a Japanese animated science fiction feature film, but perhaps that is about as far as a comparison should go.  Akira was a definitive breakthrough film for Japanese anime around the world.  It also carried a level of cultural zeitgeist, was a thing very much of its time, definitive, defining, representative.

Steamboy is a sampling of “steampunk,” a subgenre of science fiction fascinated with the technologies of the 19th century, focused on a fantasy that technology developed around steam power, and so everything is set in a world that is partially historical and entirely fictional, fantastical.  And the world of Steamboy is set in the Victorian England of 1863.  While steampunk has gained popularity over the latter 30 years, it is not a science fiction focused on the technologies or problems of the present or future, but is in many ways more a speculative fantasy world.

When Steamboy came out, the kids were too young for it, so I’ve held it back for several years, waiting for the right time to watch it with them.  I hadn’t been overly compelled to watch it on my own in the meantime, but I have kept it in mind all this time.  I wound up watching it with Felix, who enjoyed it tolerably.

The story revolves around three generations of the Steam family, based in Northern England, all of whom have committed themselves to the exploration of steam power.  Ray is the youth, who receives a mysterious metal orb from his grandfather, and is told to protect it from all comers.  The ball is the breakthrough in harnessing a greater amount of steam power and various factions are after it, including Ray’s father and grandfather who are now at odds with one another.  Everyone wants to weaponize the technology and profit from it, particularly the Americans.  Frankly, the story is a bit convoluted on that front.

The ultimate exhibit of steam technology winds up being the massive “steam castle,” a mountainous construct that can fly and sort of walk as well as launch planes and robot weapons. It struck me funny that what we have here is another “moving castle” movie, which came out the same year as Hayao Miyazaki’s Howl’s Moving Castle (2004).  Steam versus magic.  Both films focus on the wars against humanity, the use of power to destroy or besiege.  Both film’s wind up with a bizarre contraption that can move on its own by some core crazy power.

Steamboy is no Akira.  Nor is it Howl’s Moving Castle.  It’s no great cultural touchstone, nor great fantastic magical story.

It is beautifully animated.  Mixing traditional cel animation with a number of digital shots, the film is richly rendered and many of the contraptions are cool and interesting.  But the film never has anything really meaningful going on in it either.   The characters are stock, not developed in any unique way.  There is no deeper resonance regarding the world, technology, humanity, anything.  It’s entertaining enough.  But it’s long and it doesn’t have that spark that raises it to a level of significance.  As I said, Felix liked it okay, but wasn’t all that bothered about it.  It’s not bad, though, either.