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Film: House
Release date: 25th January 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 87 mins
Director: Nobuhiko Obayashi
Starring: Kimiko Ikegami, Kumiko Ohba, Yôko Minamida, Masayo Miyako
Genre: Horror/Comedy/Fantasy
Studio: Eureka
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
Originally released in 1977, House became a box office hit in its native Japan. However, it took until 2010 before British audiences were deemed ready to experience this deranged debut, after a successful theatrical run in the US.
Oshare, who lost her mother eight years ago, has finished school and is excitedly looking forward to her summer vacation with her father. That is until he introduces her beautiful “new mother.”
Distressed that her father is moving on, she decides to head off with a group of school friends to her mysterious auntie’s isolated countryside mansion.
However, all is not well within this house, and soon the girls are fighting for their survival, whilst many secrets come to light…
As with most films that gain infamy, House is hardly an easy watch, with no cohesion attempted, and little let-up, as director Nobuhiko Obayashi looked to push the boundaries of what was possible at that time, using different filming styles/techniques (the jerky, slo-mo scenes are particularly unsettling) and manipulations to create a vibrant, if cluttered psychedelic world. Of course, plenty of the humour is intentional, but the severe dating of the special effects has only amplified the film’s comic value – when the character Melody’s (she’s musically adept you see) fingers are severed off, they take on a life of their own (clearly attached to strings), playing the aunt’s piano, which subsequently eats her. It’s all hysterically awful (let’s not mention the ravenous mattresses or dancing skeletons).
Despite this, there are some genuinely standout scenes, whose impact and ingenuity hasn’t been lost despite our predilection for big budget CGI today. The blending of live action with the fantastical, kaleidoscope background during the girl’s train journey is breathtaking; the silent movie interjections are handled with unexpected maturity; whilst the severed head that floats around biting one of the girls on her rear before vomiting blood manages to both amuse and disturb.
The extreme use of colours and a demented soundtrack (interferes with the onscreen dialogue, is used to convey emotions, and has no consistency – most painfully when it reaches a high-pitch), are also both used to mind warping effect, suitably aiding the film’s frenzied pace and dark undercurrent.
The comic book element is also used cleverly and in context (the introduction of each girl who has their own special individual talent, or impediment, most notably the martial arts ‘expert’ Kung-Fu whose kicks and punches are only lacking flash ups of the words “Pow!” and “Bap!”), and the jokes come thick and fast. However, whilst you warm to the tongue-in-cheek humour initially, it becomes a somewhat arduous element. Taken with a barrage of distorted visuals and audio, it all contributes to a somewhat frustrating piece of cinema, whose excesses begin to overbear – at least, if taken in a non-inebriated state.
Its real viewing worth, is in linking the influence it had on subsequent filmmakers internationally (even with Japanese gore films today), particularly Sam Raimi, whose subsequent Evil Dead should have afforded Obayashi a creative credit given its level of pilfering. But given how much the director was attempting here, and even if plenty doesn’t work, or couldn’t for the capabilities at the time, it’s a given that many of these ideas would resurface again – even with the likes of The Grudge, a fairly sophisticated piece of modern horror filmmaking.
The story comes second to the director’s experimentation, but it’s suitably bizarre, with many confused tangents, and a few cracking one liners: “You look good enough to eat,” delivered in a wonderfully sinister tone as the auntie views Mac (the overweight character who can’t stop eating), and the reiterated phrase “save us Kung-Fu” – given the other characters’ worthless attributes (OCD, nerd…), it’s understandable the athlete would be expected to ‘save the day’.
The girls, who are always “sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this,” are intentionally stupid (they witness plenty of crazy shenanigans and accept a few missing persons before it dawns on them that this is not a safe abode), and so you have no attachment to the characters - as you to try to regain your senses between each brain twister, it’s difficult enough to keep a grip on the storyline, so keeping everything else two-dimensional is a relief.
Completely insane from start to finish, this camp creation needs to be seen just to be believed, even if it’s pretty crude fare whose only real enjoyment comes from spotting steals found in more satisfying subsequent releases. DH
Film: Harpoon
Release date: 10th May 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 83 mins
Director: Julius Kemp
Starring: Gunnar Hansen, Pihla Viitala, Nae Yuuki
Genre: Horror
Studio: E1
Format: DVD
Country: Iceland
Harpoon is Iceland’s first foray into the world of slasher/horror, with enough obvious nods to a certain 70s horror classic to explain its subtitle ‘Reykjavik Whale Watching Massacre’.
The set up is simple, and very much a genre standard. A disparate group of people are taken from their natural surroundings, placed in jeopardy, with a group of ‘crazies’, and there you have it - blood and carnage! In this case, we have a multi-national tourist party comprising individuals and small groups who have never met before. They are all visiting Reykjavik, and decide to go on a whale watching trip, but disaster strikes while at sea, and with the captain of the tour ship wounded, the group are forced to take refuge on an unused whaling ship crewed by a family who bear a grudge for the loss of the whaling industry, and hold the international community squarely to blame…
From the opening credits it is hard not to be swayed by the style and chutzpah used by the makers of Harpoon - the library footage and epic orchestral sweep, as the film kicks off, acts not only as a paean to the loss of the local industry, but as a nod to the bygone era to which Harpoon owes most of its inspiration. And make no mistake, Harpoon not only nods in the direction of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it smothers it in a giant bear hug, like family members separated at birth meeting for the first time thirty years later. Thankfully, although the makers of Harpoon clearly love the Tobe Hooper classic, they make no attempt at revisionism or crass copying.
It has been more than twelve years since Harpoon director Julius Kemp made his last feature Blossi, a film which did not set the cinematic world alight, but whatever he has been doing in the meantime, it really has paid off because Harpoon is brash, confident, stylish and hugely enjoyable.
The dated opening credit sequence is literally blasted from the screen by a death metal barrage - a trick repeated throughout the film with old or existing preconceptions being bent or destroyed by the relentlessness of the onscreen action. Harpoon succeeds where loads of remakes fail because rather than updating wholesale sequences from existing slasher films, it uses them as a basic template, a foundation upon which to play with, and confound ideas in order to create something familiar but entirely new and vibrant.
Harpoon’s ability to warp and surprise the viewer while using a tried and tested formula is all down to the clever characterisation and script. Almost no-one in Harpoon turns out to be as they initially appear. A red herring is introduced almost immediately - mature women objectify black men, characters behave disgracefully toward each other, and almost everyone has surprising character traits or flaws. When the set piece is introduced which will ultimately leave the tourists in peril, it is shocking; when the full scale violence erupts moments later, it is brutal and explosive, despite the fact we are fully aware it is going to happen. This isn’t terror, this is shock and awe.
Harpoon has a wonderful aesthetic, and pleasure can be derived from a number of places. Amongst the breathlessness, there are moments of still, electrifying beauty. One scene in particular, involving a harpooned tourist dangling from a ship whilst framed by the fjord in the background, is destined to become an iconic snapshot - in its own way every bit as powerful as Father Merrin’s stark silhouette, as he prepares to enter the infamous house on 3600 Prospect Street.
The accompanying score is also pitch perfect: at times a lullaby, at other times a dentist’s drill. In one truly beautiful scene, distressed heroine Annette whispers a funereal version of the Bjork classic ‘It’s Oh So Quiet’, while the remainder of the tourists gather over the recently deceased. The effect is simple gorgeous, and acts as a rare pause in amongst the mayhem. You won’t get moments like this in the next Halloween reboot!
The acting is well above average for this type of genre film. The frantic pace means that broad strokes are used to paint the characters, and the actors establish who they are within minutes, but still keep enough in reserve to enable them to reveal their true selves at the appropriate time. It is impossible to know who to trust, and this second guessing remains pretty much until the final reel. Stand outs are ‘woman in distress’ Annette (a note perfect Pihla Viitala) or ‘put upon assistant’ Endo (a quite brilliant Nae Yuuki). Both these actresses give layers to characters who could have easily disappeared into stereotypes.
Of course, all this fraught energy means something has to give, and this is where Harpoon really differs from Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and The Exorcist for that matter. There is almost no prolonged tension in the film at all. At no point is a prevailing mood or atmosphere allowed to really grab hold, despite ample opportunities were this could have been allowed. This lack of tension doesn’t spoil the film, and there are tense moments interspersed with the madness, it is just that Harpoon may not live as long in the memory as the classics which have been its inspiration. However, at only 83 minutes long, you really won’t miss the slow build - just strap yourself in and enjoy the roller coaster.
If you are sick and tired of the Hollywood machine regurgitating the horror classics of yesteryear then Harpoon will remind you what made those films so incredible, while at the same time offering you something genuinely thrilling. SM
Film: The Headless Woman
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 89 mins
Director: Lucrecia Martel
Starring: Maria Onetto, Claudia Cantero, Inés Efron
Genre: Mystery/Drama
Studio: Drakes Avenue/New Wave
Format: DVD
Country: Argentina
The follow-up to Lucrecia Martel’s La Niña Cannes nominated La Nina Santa (The Holy Girl), sees the director tackling and exploring weighty issues such as guilt and emotional repression.
At the beginning of the film, Vero (María Onetto) is driving home from a family gathering and hits something with her car, bumping her head in the process. What follows is a study of Vero’s increasing anxiety as she begins to believe that she has killed someone, and a dazed and confused look at the inner workings of her strange and secretive family...
It is difficult to define exactly what is happening throughout most of the film, both in terms of what is happening in the story and in terms of the abstract, disjointed position that Martel’s camera chooses to place the viewer in many scenes of the film. Often we are not entirely sure what we are seeing, or where we are seeing it from. Sound is also used to this effect, with conversations being scarcely heard through thick windows, or taking place in the background of crowded and densely layered scenes. These techniques work to intriguing and often visually striking effect. Martel’s attention to detail is admirable, as is her use of depth of frame, meaning most of the film is aesthetically indulgent. As well as this, the distracted and unfocused mode of delivery serves as a window into the world of Vero, who is often slow to respond when asked a question, and seems to wander around in a dream-like state of apathy; her cheery half smile masking a vacant and world-weary look in her eyes.
However admirable Martel’s attempt to frame the world of the film through Vero’s perspective may be, it is in doing so that she encounters the film’s biggest problem. In creating a world so dreamlike and unfocused, she has also made a film which is fairly dull and unfulfilling. So little happens in the course of the film that we are left to ponder what, if anything, it was all about, and several aspects of the story of which more could have been made are subjugated in order that the camera may linger on several shots which, beautiful though they are, always seem to last a few seconds longer than they should.
Narrative ambiguity is always risky territory for filmmakers, as some viewers are always going to demand some kind of definite idea of what is going on, nevertheless an ambiguous ending can be rewarding if it comes at the end of a story that is gripping and layered, that provides material for viewers to discuss long after seeing the film, and demands to be seen again. This is clearly the effect that Martel is aiming for, but she has not left enough interesting material within the framework of the narrative to make any attempt to understand the sub-textual implications worthwhile. The film certainly does drag on, rarely has a film with such a short running time managed to seem so long and this is because we are moving from scene to scene waiting for something to happen, waiting for something to get our teeth into and ponder - something which never arrives.
It is in the nature of arthouse cinema to offer character studies rather than coherent, fast paced narratives, and this is perfectly fine in many cases because we see characters with such complex psychologies that delving into them and exposing what makes the character behave in the way they do is the most interesting aspect of the film. Vero, sadly, is no such character, and this is not a failing on the part of Onetto, who plays the role very well, but of Martel’s in deciding to make a film based on such a character. The whole point about Vero is that she is distracted, that she finds it difficult to engage with those around her, and that she has a lot of internal conflict that she does not allow to spill over into the surface. The fact that there is no penetration of these exterior characteristics, no supporting character who gets in side her head and exposes to the viewer what she is really feeling, leaves the viewer with very little to gain from watching the film, as it doesn’t really work either as a drama or as a character piece.
If Martel’s story had the strength of her artistic vision, she could have made a truly powerful, gripping drama. Instead what we are left with is a visually impressive but ultimately unfulfilling film, which leaves the viewer looking for answers, but not particularly willing to revisit the film in order to find them. PK
Film: Hidden
Release date: 19th June 2006
Certificate: 15
Running time: 113 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Daniel Auteuil, Juliette Binoche, Maurice Benichou, Annie Girardot, Bernard Le Coq
Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: France
Being spied on as we go about our daily lives is virtually impossible to avoid in CCTV-covered cities across the globe, but in Hidden, director Michael Haneke’s 2005 thriller, surveillance is given a far more ominous dimension.
Georges and Anne Laurent are a married upper-middle class couple who enjoy a comfortable, if slightly muted existence in the stylishly understated, book-lined Parisian home they share with their 12-year-old son Pierrot.
Both Georges and Anne have good jobs that they seem to enjoy: Georges is the host of a TV chat show about literature and Anne works for a publisher. They have dinner parties with friends, and tend to the needs of their slightly sullen son, but we see their routine being shattered right at the beginning of the film, when they watch and try to make sense of a video that has been anonymously left at their front door.
The video, shot from an adjacent street, shows them leaving their home on their way to work. Who sent it and why is a mystery, but as further videos and disturbing drawings begin to appear, Georges is forced to look back to his childhood, and an episode from his past that he would have preferred to remain hidden.
At first, Georges is unwilling to share his suspicions about a young Algerian boy who his parents adopted then later sent away, and his relationship with his wife suffers as a result, but as events unfold and edge beyond his control, his past comes messily spilling out, with terrible results…
There is no neat conclusion to the events that unfold in Hidden, and Haneke deliberately avoids providing the audience with a definite answer as to who was responsible for the videos and drawings. Whether this makes him a bold provocateur or a perverse fraud is a matter that has divided many viewers and critics, but what is certain is that Haneke enjoys unsettling audience expectations, and disobeying narrative conventions.
Frustrating, thought-provoking or both, Hidden is not afraid to touch a few raw nerves in its treatment of everything from colonialism and marital fidelity to childhood innocence and guilt. If there was a Hollywood remake of Hidden, and Haneke chose not to direct to it himself (as he did in the case of Funny Games), such topics would no doubt be dealt with in a far less ambiguous, open-ended way, but that is not the case here.
Haneke seems to revel in the insecurity and lack of certainty that plagues his characters, and he makes sure that we, as viewers, share in this unease. At times, you are not even sure whether what you are watching is part of the main body of the film or a section of one of the surveillance tapes. The two blur into one another, and we can’t help but be drawn into this voyeuristic, deeply unsettling world, wanting to see and know more.
Daniel Auteuil (Georges) and Juliette Binoche (Anne) are both exceptional in their roles, each expertly drawing out the nuances in their respective characters. It’s difficult not to sympathise with Georges as his cool facade unravels under the pressure, but, at the same time, you question who the real Georges is, as he begins to show increased aggression and an inability to own up to his past mistakes. Anne, too, elicits conflicting responses in the way she responds to the growing turmoil: at times vulnerable and confused, at others tetchy and self-centred.
Lester Makedonsky’s Pierrot, likeable yet prone to typical preteen sulkiness, is cleverly kept on the margins and we’re never quite sure what he makes of his parents. Does the Eminem poster in his room signal a rejection of parental control, or is he just another well-to-do kid going through growing pains?
There are significant stretches of the film where not a lot really happens, and the tone is one of detachment, as though what is happening to Georges and Anne is more of a rude inconvenience than a crisis in the making, but this only serves to make the film’s shocking moments all the more powerful and emotionally jarring.
The final scene, a static long shot showing pupils leaving a school, is quietly devastating in the way it echoes the earlier surveillance footage and suggests new, profoundly disturbing possibilities. If you don’t watch very carefully, you may miss this final sucker punch, and the full, quietly chilling effect of Hidden may remain exactly that.
Austrian director Michael Haneke has stated that he uses his films to pose questions rather than provide answers, and it is this approach that makes Hidden such a compelling and memorable viewing experience. JG
Film: Hierro
Release date: 18th June 2010
Certificate: 12A
Running time: 89 mins
Director: Gabe Ibanez
Starring: Elena Anaya, Nea Segura, Mar Sodupe, Andrés Herrera, Miriam Correa
Genre: Mystery/Drama/Thriller
Studio: Optimum
Format: Cinema
Country: Spain
For the last half-decade, Spain seems to have been establishing itself as the place to go if you want to indulge in imaginative and atmospheric spine-tinglers. Films like Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) and The Orphanage (2007) have gone on to win over both international audiences and critics alike with their compelling storylines and interesting visuals. This leads us to Hierro, Spain’s latest export proudly sporting the now attractive: “From the Producers of Pan’s Labyrinth and The Orphanage” marketing hook on its poster.
A single mother – María (Ellen Anaya) – takes time off work to be with her young son Diego (Kaiet Rodríguez). They take the ferry to El Hierro (situated within the Canary Islands) for a vacation. However, María’s son goes missing mid transit, which results in an extensive search of the ferry and surrounding port once the vessel has docked, but to no avail. Diego has disappeared.
Time has passed, and María is seemingly coming to terms with her loss, but has developed a phobia of the water, which is all the more frustrating considering that she works in a sea-life centre/aquarium.
She receives a call from the Hierro police stating that they have found the corpse of a young boy and need her to identify the body. María, along with her friend Laura (Bea Segura), travel back to the foreboding shores of Hierro where María, based on a chance encounter that she has on a desolate beach, soon becomes convinced that her son is still alive…
The film starts in promising fashion: opening on a minor character driving through the mountains with her young son, which makes way for a startling and interestingly realised car crash whereby the son simply vanishes during the aftermath of the wreckage before the mother regains consciousness. In retrospect, this scene merely sets a trend for things to come: a film with plenty of visual flash but absolutely no weight and a severe lack of emotional punch. In fact, it’s surprising just how bland and by-the-numbers Hierro is, even while it basks in its professional and stylish light.
The main problem is a severely underwritten script that borrows quite heavily from The Orphanage. Both films centre on a woman searching for their missing child in an isolated and unfamiliar locale, but while The Orphanage creates a genuine foreboding and uneasy mise en scène with a supernatural undercurrent, Hierro, by compassion, feels somewhat watered down and tired, reserving any and all eeriness to short lived Lynchian, effects laden nightmare sequences with a particular favouritism towards birds and water imagery (for reasons that are not satisfyingly apparent).
Since the disappearance María, for no readily ascertainable reason, develops a phobia for water making her work, as well as simple tasks such as swimming and bathing, very difficult. This would be understandable had her son drowned when he went missing on the ferry but reasons for his disappearance remain inconclusive. The inclusion of the frequent bird symbolism is perhaps even more frustrating; making aspersions towards some enigmatic or supernatural force, but ultimately proving to mean nothing of merit, except for possibly a shallow attempt at creating an eerie atmosphere.
María’s investigation into the possibility of her son still being alive takes her to all corners of the island, with the script forcing her to interact with the usual cavalcade of red herrings, including the disgruntled ex-employee and the isolated hermit. She even receives help and advice from the island’s well meaning but close-minded police officer. The result is sequence after sequence of drab enquiries for a mystery with little intrigue or emotional investment for the audience’s part. It makes for a flat and predicable experience, with the film’s overt symbolism and insistent musical score strongly implying a rather unimaginative twist which, when it does finally arrive, sets in motion the usual flashback sequence, where the previous clues are relived again in all their obvious glory.
First time feature film director Gabe Ibáñez has a clear flair for visual indulgence, as the cinematography is perhaps the film’s strongest asset; showcasing a beautiful and frequently threatening landscape. It comes as no surprise that Ibáñez is a former music video director, and while he has the potential to go on to become a filmmaker of note, he hasn’t been able to shake off the pop promo stigma of having style with no substance in this debut. All that’s mustered here is a nicely shot film with some welcome eye-candy in the form of Ibáñez’s leading lady. It may be worthy to note the surprising amount of nudity in a film that’s been certified 12A, although it’s never sexualised.
The cast do what they can with a decidedly under-developed script. There is a distinct lack of chemistry from most of the cast members, as well as a slight air of animosity. The relationship between María and her son – perhaps the most pivotal aspect to the narrative – lacks warmth and feels half-baked. They only share three or four scenes together before the disappearance, which doesn’t give much time for the audience to bond and then switch to empathy in time for the frantic searching of the boat and beyond.
Despite the pedigree of those involved, Hierro, while not a complete disaster, is a mostly lacklustre affair that bears no real resonance after the credits have rolled. While occasionally pleasant to look at, the film’s one note, transparent and ultimately predicable storyline, only serves to erect great big signposts pointing towards a rather easy-to-guess and unsatisfying conclusion. Those not accustomed to the genre will possibly find it more impressive; the rest will find it to be a hollow exercise in stylish tedium, which is disappointing to say the least. MP
Series: Heimat: A Chronicle Of Germany
Release date: 21st June 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 927 mins
Director: Edgar Reitz
Starring: Marita Breuer, Eva Maria Schneider, Kurt Wagner, Rüdiger Weigang, Johannes Lobewein
Genre: Drama/War
Studio: Second Sight
Format: DVD
Country: Germany
Over five years in the making, and with a running time of over fifteen hours, Edgar Reitz’s 1984 epic Heimat portrays the lives of the Simon family within their small rural village against the turbulent backdrop of 20th century Germany.
The majority of the action of Heimat (which roughly translates as ‘Homeland’) takes place in the fictional village of Schabbach, in the Hunsrück region of Germany. The story begins in 1919 with Paul Simon’s return from the Great War. His marriage to the mayor’s daughter, Maria Wiegand, and the birth of two sons does not seem enough to quell his innate sense of restlessness, and by the end of the first episode he disappears, emigrating to America (though as to why remains a mystery to his family and the inhabitants of the village for many years).
The remainder of the series focuses on the villagers of Schabbach, and particularly Maria’s journey from teenager to eventual matriarch of the Simon family.
Against the backdrop of the tumultuous events of 20th century German history, we are shown the impact on the lives of the ordinary German people, ending in 1982 with the death and funeral of Maria…
Despite being hailed by some as a sophisticated soap opera, Reitz has always insisted that his Heimat trilogy owed more to the novels of Dickens and Proust. The first Heimat seems equally indebted to that brand of naturalism that flourished in 19th century European theatre. There, as in Reitz’s film, strictly mimetic realism was often replaced by a kind of heightened realism intended to reveal deeper insights into human nature and our world, often depicting a specific society or social milieu as a microcosm in which universal truths are contained. While Heimat is most definitely concerned with historical accuracy, there are also present a number of features that give the film an added dimension, such as Paul’s hallucinatory visions of a dead war comrade, or the rain that stops, as if on cue, as the children’s choir complete their memorial service song.
Even the film’s elements of melodrama seem conscious on the part of the director, acknowledging the film’s debt to the heimatfilme genre, as well as providing a slightly jarring quality that works like the film’s various stylistic tropes to prevent the viewer from watching the film as historical escapism with no intellectual involvement. Of these stylistic tropes, the most salient is contained in the film’s cinematography. Predominantly shot in black-and-white, there are a number of individual shots in colour, sometimes whole scenes, and a few shots where an object is picked out in colour in an otherwise black-and-white frame. Reitz has stated he used colour to emphasise certain elements, most noticeably the landscapes of the heimat. But for the most part, it seems fairly arbitrary, drawing attention to the film’s artificiality (in the purest sense of the word), while reminding us that the historical background was very much real.
For this is a film that deals with zeitgeist in its most literal sense, haunted by the various ghosts of 20th century European history. As early as the first episode, a minister gives an impassioned speech in which he foresees the day when a ‘genius of (Germany’s) blood’ will rise to lead the country out of its misery. There is a terrible irony in the minister’s belief that this leader will take Germany into a period of peace. Later on, there are foreshadows of Kristallnacht in the smashing of the windows of a Jewish man’s home, and it is not long before the first of the communist sympathisers are rounded up for ‘re-education’ in the emerging concentration camps.
The subtly of its undertones, the simplicity of direction and the palpable warmth Reitz displays towards his characters perhaps account for some of the criticism of Heimat’s perceived romanticising of a traumatic era. While it is true that major events such as the post-First World War period of hyper-inflation are mentioned only fleetingly, this seems more in keeping with the film’s naturalistic approach, where such events have become so much a part of everyday life that it barely warrants mention by the villagers. There is also an argument to be made that relatively self-sufficient rural communities like Schabbach may have been somewhat insulated from the worst of the privations suffered by the country during this period. In fact, it is only when the inhabitants embrace modernisation, buying into the promise of prosperity via the latest motor car, the fancy villa, etc., that problems arise. Everything ‘is on tick’, as Katharina observes, and this knowledge of a debt arising that must be paid for later is equally resonant today. It also gives the portrayal of the village a haunting quality that is something more than nostalgia, almost like a paean to a world that never quite existed, or at least one destined to be left behind by the 20th century.
While some viewers may find aspects of the film troubling from a political perspective (the Holocaust and persecution of the Jews remains largely the elephant in the room of Heimat), it is refreshing to see a film that deals with such events seeking neither to demonise the ordinary German people nor acting as an apologist for the crimes committed within Nazi Germany. Much of this must go down to the strong attention to character paid by the screenplay and the overall excellence of the acting. While essentially an ensemble piece, a number of performances do stand out, particularly Gertrud Bredel as the kind-hearted and down-to-earth Simon matriarch Katharina, and Marita Breuer as Maria, perhaps the moral and emotional centre of the film (as suggested by the film’s ending with her death). Overall, though, this is a series that is very much the sum of all its parts, with a direction that rarely draws attention to itself, and a simple charm that is easy to surrender to.
Realising much of Reitz’s lofty ambition, Heimat is a considerable achievement that repays repeat viewing, containing beneath its relatively simple surface a complexity and richness that mirrors life itself. GJK
Film: Hidden Fortress: The Last Princess
Release date: 28th June 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 118 mins
Director: Shinji Higuchi
Starring: Jun Matsumoto, Kippei Shiina, Masami Nagasawa
Genre: Action/Martial Arts
Studio: 4Digital
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
Hidden Fortress: The Last Princess is the big-budget remake of Akira Kurosawa's 1958 classic Hidden Fortress from Shinji Haguchi; a man who is renowned for blockbuster-type movies and as such provides few surprises as he ups the action and romance this time around.
Assisting him are Masami Nagasawa and Jun Matsumoto as the young leads, with Hiroshi Abe taking on the role played (and nailed) by Mifune Toshiro in the original, and overall the cast proves to be an extension of the philosophy that Haguchi brought to this project: young and dynamic as they are.
The film is set (and filmed) in feudal Japan (not the feudal part) and begins with the near destruction of the Akizuki clan by the more violent Yamana, an event which forces the young Princess Yuki of Akizuki into hiding. She is accompanied by the General of Akizuki and all-round badass Rokurota, a samurai who has sworn to escort her back into friendly territory as soon as possible. However, to achieve this they must pass directly through the Yamana territory while carrying treasure destined for their homeland, a situation which introduces the young Tazeko (Matsumoto) and the idiotic Shinpachi (Daisuke Miyagawa) as the bumbling commoners…
The story is a classical one, as would befit something from 1958: princess needs help, loveable rogues team up with stoic samurai to help, trust issues ensue, bad guys die, (almost) everyone lives happily ever after. This is not a difficult plot to follow. However what made Kurosawa's original such a great film was, amongst other things, an attention to the people of the land rather than just to the heroes. Indeed, the inclusion of two characters from the lower orders of society helped establish a discourse for the often-silent inhabitants of the conflict-ridden territories that tales such as this are set in, something which inspired George Lucas when writing the Star Wars: A New Hope to tell the story from the point of view of his two lowliest characters. In this vein, Haguchi remains faithful to the original by revolving his storytelling in most part around Tazeko and Princess Yuki – for whom Nagasawa did a good job in creating a role that did not draw too heavily from the tired old 'heroine' or 'damsel in distress' clichés - as an unlikely and occasionally unbelievable romance springs forth. To his credit, though, Haguchi does not venture too far down the romantic path, and in doing so reigns himself in from one of the weaker facets of his interpretation of the story, but ultimately it proves a nice addition.
Notwithstanding, while Kurosawa certainly wanted the broader 'people' to be a focal point of his film, he also went to great lengths to establish Rokurota as a dependable and stoic character, and an incredibly cool one at that. And while Toshiro's performance proves to be beyond Abe, the latter still manages to turn in a solid performance as the unflinching and unblinking (quite literally, the man just does not blink) warrior. On the other side of the fence, we have Kippei Shina playing the almost ludicrously evil yin to Rokurota's yang as Lord Takayama, and his performance really helps to subtly shift the film’s tone in the direction that Haguchi seems to want to take it: family fantasy, rather than serious piece. That's not to say the story isn't serious, or that serious issues are not confronted, just that there are so many caricatured characters in this film that it feels more like Princess Bride than Seven Samurai.
The problems with Hidden Fortress: The Lost Princess are – to its credit – pretty much worn on its sleeve: on one hand Haguchi attempts to faithfully remake Kurosawa's stunning original, and on the other he tries to forge these borrowed ideas into something that is unquestionably his. The end result is a film which, at two hours long, sags in places, and sometimes doesn't seem consistent. The setting and costumes are brilliant, but the music (the last song is just ridiculous) and screen transition (screenwipes worked for Kurosawa and Lucas, they do not work for Haguchi) seem frequently incongruous, and a couple of key points in the story don't really make very much sense. Having said that, what Haguchi, his cast and crew have achieved here should be lauded for what it does well as much as it should be criticised. Abe may not be as good a Rokurota as Toshiro, but he's still hard as nails. Miyagawa's Shinpachi may occasionally flirt with being annoying, but the exchanges between himself and Tazeko are crucial to establishing the underlying theme and adding some comic relief to a film that is pretty low on laughs.
Cinematically speaking the film is well shot and features some very well choreographed fight sequences, including one on horseback which was difficult not to sit up for. Moreover the choices of location are sometimes stunning.
How this film was rated as a 15 certificate is beyond me, as it features very little blood, and the violence that is present is no worse than that seen in the Lord Of The Rings trilogy. It is fantasy violence at worst, and as such I feel the film’s certificate will unfairly stop some of the people who would most enjoy this film from seeing it: children. Indeed, Haguchi seems to have attempted to turn Hidden Fortress from a serious classic into something perhaps a little bit more palatable for the family, without losing any of what made the original so special.
Hidden Fortress: The Lost Princess is ultimately a fun film to watch, and not a bad attempt at updating a classic. Not an unmitigated victory, but not far off. JD
