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Series: Bleach – Series 06: Part 02
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: Manga
Certificate: 15
Running time: 100 mins
Director: Noriyuki Abe
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Kevin Ilett
The sixth series of the epic action fantasy anime series Bleach is named “The Arrancar”. Directed by Noriyuko Abe and produced by TV Tokyo, Dentsu and Studio Pierrot, the series’ twenty-two episodes are based on Tite Kubo’s Bleach manga series. The series covers chapters 183-229 of the original manga. Bleach is known as Shonen anime, aimed at young males between 10 and 18 years, with an emphasis on action-oriented male camaraderie and battle. This volume, Series 06: Part 2, covers the second half of series 6, episodes #121 (‘Clash! The Protector vs. The Bearer’) through to episode #131 (‘Rangiku's Tears, The Sorrowful Parting Of Brother And Sister’). Series 6 originally aired in Japan all the way back in 2007, and the UK is gradually catching up with this new release through Manga Entertainment.
In the highly developed and complex mythology of Bleach, there is the real world and there is the Soul Society, an afterlife world where departed souls dwell. Within this world lies the Shinigami, or Soul Reapers, enforcers of the Soul Society with special powers. The Shinigami’s arch-enemies are the Hollow, corrupted and evil spirits borne from deceased human souls. For one reason or another, these souls have not passed over to Soul Society and they devour the souls of living and deceased humans. Bleach’s long-term hero protagonist is Ichigo Kurosaki (voiced by Masakazu Morita), a human teenager gifted with the ability to see spirits. Ichigo becomes a Soul Reaper, and an important individual in the Shinigami’s struggle against the Hollow.
The second half of series 6 involves the ongoing development of a war between the Soul Reapers and the Arrancar. This group are Hollows who have removed their masks and gained Shinigami-like powers. They are led by the sinister and brilliant Sōsuke Aizen (Shō Hayami).
After a close battle with the Arrancar, Ichigo tracks down another faction called the Visored, ex-Shinigami who have acquired Hollow powers. The Visored help Ichigo control his inner Hollow, through a series of battles, whilst his companions start spiritual and physical training for the war ahead.
The final four episodes focus on a somewhat irrelevant subplot involving the Soul Reapers Rangiku and Hitsugaya, a mysterious singing Arrancar and a puzzling lost child, Shōta Toyokawa…
This release will please fans of the series, but would certainly not be recommended for those uninitiated into the dense and fantastical world of Bleach. Over the years, the franchise has developed a giant, sprawling and wildly complex storyline, creating an entire universe of different characters, traditions, histories, wars, politics and peoples. Manga creator Tite Kubo and anime director Noriyuko Abe have created an entire mythology, with its own language, its own codes and its own hardcore followers. The action found in this volume is fast, loud and intense, but is intermixed with surreal asides, wacky humour and inventive, involving animation which should appeal to all audiences.
The initial story arc of Series 06: Part 02, involving Ichigo’s dealings with the Visored, is undoubtedly the set’s most interesting and absorbing feature. Whilst aimed at boys and teenagers, Bleach should be praised for its complexities and its shades of grey regarding the morals and intentions of its various groups of characters. The Visored are a perfect example of this ambiguity. Supposedly outlawed traitors to the Shinigami and denizens of Soul Society, the Visored initially come across as untrustworthy, possibly in league with the bad guys, but the story eschews such a simple formulation. Led by the powerful yet quite dandyish Shinji (Masaya Onosaka), the colourful gang have different motivations.
The Visored’s character design is great fun, with each member of the gang distinct and intriguing visually, and the characterisation dripping with humour – both dry and madcap – and pathos. Over the course of five or so episodes, the dynamic between Ichigo (a rather bland and self-indulgent protagonist) and the mysterious group shifts entertainingly. At first, Ichigo tries to force the knowledge of how to control his inner-Hollow out of the group through battle, but soon realises his mistake. Shinji, along with the feisty and hilarious Hiyori (Reiko Takagi) agree to help Ichigo their way, by forcing him to ride an exercise bike for days on end in order to see how much spiritual energy he holds. Ichigo must then enter his subconscious and battle his inner demons, whilst the Visored, in a dazzling sequence of action scenes, must fight the deranged and powerful version of Ichigo in the real world.
This arc aside, Series 6 Part 2 feels somewhat stop-gap. Great battles and storylines have passed, and a great war is building between the Soul Reapers, the Visored and the Arrancar, but one must wait to have his fill. This series of episodes helps to build the scene, and gradually develop the already convoluted storyline further. Bleach’s greatest flaw, however, is its overuse of internal jargon and terminology, with each fighting technique and special power holding many special names and being referred to constantly with little explanation.
Often watching Bleach feels like being smacked over the head by a hyperactive child with a very developed imagination. Despite these reservations, the voice talent is enthusiastic, the artwork varied and impressive and the tone, whilst lurching rather oddly from serious action to bizarre humour, is dark and distinct. This set plays its part in an epic story, but greater treasures lie ahead. KI
Film: Needle
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: High Fliers
Certificate: 18
Running time: 90 mins
Director: John V. Soto
Starring: Tahyna Tozzi, Jane Badler, Travis Fimmel, Michael Dorman, Ben Mendelsohn
Genre: Drama/Horror/Mystery
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Australia
Language: English
Review by: Kevin Ilett
John V. Soto follows his debut, the 2009 mystery thriller Crush, with another Australian feature, the supernatural horror film Needle. The flick won a best makeup gong at LA’s Screamfest 2010, followed by a few more awards at the British Horror Film Festival.
The film will win no awards for its storyline, however. Set on a university campus, seemingly populated entirely by mumbling, confused-looking Calvin Klein models, the plot focuses on the mysterious deaths surrounding Marcus (Travis Fimmel), his love interest Mary (Tahyna Tozzi) and his friends: the jock, the nerd, the black guy and the sexy lesbian couple.
As each member of the group is killed off in bizarre circumstances, Marcus must uncover the truth around a supernatural death box (think the Lemarchand boxes in Hellraiser) which appears to be at the centre of the mystery and the re-emergence of Marcus’ suspicious, estranged brother Ben (Michael Dorman). As Marcus gets closer to the killer, he must also travel deeper into the darkest parts of his family history…
Horror has always been a genre with self-esteem issues. Ridiculed and reviled in equal measure by the mainstream, it’s an industry which is nevertheless a fertile breeding ground for potential talent. Inexperienced teams can obtain funding and distribution for their horror project because, if it ticks certain boxes, there will always be a market for the product. Horror films sell on the promise of sex and violence (in other words, basic human needs).
Whilst this offers fantastic opportunities for new talent to gain experience, the market is flooded with films so remarkably, so blandly average, because you don’t need a good idea to get your film made. Expectations are so low in horror that bad films win awards and critical faculties are repressed or even rendered irrelevant. Needle is a good example of such low standards. There’s such a void of originality displayed here, such an amateurish level of acting and production that in any other genre Needle would never have come even close to existence.
Needle is essentially a US-aping teen slasher, with the gimmick being that instead of a masked madman killer, we have a wooden box voodoo doll being operated by an unseen antagonist. The main problem here is that this motif removes all potential excitement, tension and surprise from proceedings. No-one gets chased, no-one jumps out at anyone, there are no iconic killer visuals and no opportunities for the victim to fight back. All the killer has to do is insert a photograph of his victim into the box, stab a doll a few times and, hey presto, job done.
Now, if you’re going to go with such a dull, predictable and unoriginal premise, there are still avenues open to the clever horror director to raise the film above the mire. Firstly, the film could rely on an ironic tone, with witty, knowing dialogue, tongue-in-cheek twists and clever nods to older, better films. Admittedly, this approach was already overdone by the time Scream 2 came out in 1997, but it can still raise the odd smile during a bad film. Unfortunately, Needle is utterly straight-faced (apart from a cameo by John Jarrat as a heavy-drinking coroner) and entirely humourless; its serious tone jarring absurdly with the ridiculous plot and terrible acting.
The other redeeming feature could have been the kills, an area of potential artistry, imagination and delicious invention. A bad horror film’s sins will always be forgiven by fans if there are fun kills to be had, but, again, Needle falls short. Despite winning the aforementioned makeup award, there is nothing special or inventive to be found here, just dullness repeated.
The only strand of interest to be found in Needle is in Michael Dorman’s portrayal of Ben, Marcus’ mysterious brother. Dorman plays the unhinged forensic photographer with a wild abandon and off-kilter glee, a cross between Nic Cage’s Bad Lieutenant and a stoned surfer dude. Ben’s bizarre and inappropriate behaviour is never explained and this idiosyncrasy, whether intentional or not, is strangely amusing.
Apart from Dorman, however, there’s a real lack of verve to be found in Needle. The acting is predictably wooden, but it often appears that they’re not even trying. Whole sequences are mumbled in an offhand, embarrassed fashion, potential subplots are forgotten or ignored and the denouement is offensively stupid even for a film this bad.
Needle is a poor film, which will be quickly forgotten. Its mild success up to this point is a damning indictment of the inexistent standards in the horror industry. KI
Film: Of Gods And Men
Release date: 11th April 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 121 mins
Director: Xavier Beauvois
Starring: Lambert Wilson, Michael Lonsdale, Olivier Rabourdin, Philippe Laudenbach, Jacques Herlin
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: France
A huge critical success, Of Gods And Men tells the story of the French Roman Catholic monks tragically caught up in the Algerian Civil War in the mid-90s. The film is the product of a collaboration between Etienne Comar, a French Catholic who wrote and produced, and director Xavier Beauvois, whose interesting oeuvre thus far includes the dramas Don't Forget You're Going To Die (1995), The Young Lieutenant (2005) and Villa Amalia (2009).
Mirroring the solemn and repetitive nature of a life given over entirely to religious worship and self-sacrifice, the film’s slight and slow narrative follows a group of French monks in their day to day activities in a small Algerian village. Their stoic, peaceful and altruistic existence is thrown into turmoil by the civil war, and their involvement with a group of Muslim rebels located in the mountains nearby.
The monks, led by the excellently reserved Lambert Wilson, are forced to help an injured rebel, and are unwittingly thrown into the middle of the region’s war-time tensions. As inevitable tragedy creeps toward them, passionate disagreements erupt, and the group must decide between their faith and self-preservation…
Of Gods And Men focuses very acutely on the experiences of its French monks – not in itself a bad thing – but, unfortunately, this comes at the detriment of a wider understanding of Algeria’s problems (the French role at the heart of these problems), and a rounded picture of the Algerian individuals represented in the film.
Beauvois and Comar’s film is so deeply ensconced in the ponderous rhythms and profound faith of the Trappist monks’ life that it entirely forgoes characterisation of any Algerian – whether villager, fundamentalist or governmental – and offers no explanations for their troubling actions, or the national conflict which shapes and propels the film’s narrative. Possibly the film’s creators assume a knowledge on the part of the audience of the intricacies of Algeria’s history of colonial rule under the French, and the religious and socio-political troubles the country has battled since being granted independence in 1962. Given their shared history, certainly French audiences are more likely to be familiar with the Algerian Civil War than others, and films are often admirable and successful when focusing on the specifics and the quotidian, letting the audience draw wider political conclusions for themselves.
The problem with Of Gods And Men, however, is that its specific focus does not encourage, or even allow the viewer to expand on its minutiae in order to gain a greater understanding of the internal or external conflict. The unflinching focus on the monks comes at the expense of the Algerians, resulting in a simplistic, Manichean representation of the political situation.
Whereas the monks are consistently bathed in imagery of holiness, purity, goodness and warmth, the aggression of the Algerian Muslim ‘extremists’ is half-heartedly painted as illogical, ignorant and paradoxically anti-religious. Elsewhere, the Algerian army is sinister, dangerous and unhelpful, government ministers corrupt, and the villagers - the only half-way positive representations of Algerians in the whole film - are disinterestedly weak, simple and needy.
The night before the narrative’s climactic event, the monks hold a ‘last supper’ with Tchaikovsky soaring loudly on the soundtrack. For a film which largely forgoes explicit sentimentalisation in favour of silence, slowness and poetic religiosity, this overwrought scene betrays the emotional simplicity in the film’s formulation. These monks are revered – unrealistically, almost mythically – as paragons of virtue, patience and love, symbols of a ‘correct’ form of religion: white, European, civilised and Christian.
Algerians, under oppressive French colonial rule from 1830 to 1962, should be offended by a French production which represents their resulting troubles through the exalting story of a group of morally pure white French Christians, and their evil treatment at the hands of Algerian brutes. Only once during the film is France’s colonial past in Algeria mentioned – an offhand gesture to complexity – and in producing a story which asks us to sympathise with a group of colonial leftovers in lieu of Algerian victims, Of Gods And Men presents an unpleasantly simplistic, Eurocentric representation of history.
The performances are first class, and the film holds a largely consistent and evocative mood of patience, melancholy and glacial tension. By removing Muslim atrocities from their political context, however, the film paints a simplistic and conservative snapshot of history, with an ultimately unfaithful pretention toward universal profundity. KI
Film: Larks On A String
Release date: 14th March 2011
Certificate: 15
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Jirí Menzel
Starring: Rudolf Hrusínský, Vlastimil Brodský, Václav Neckár, Jitka Zelenohorská, Jaroslav Satoranský
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance
Studio: Second Run
Format: DVD
Country: Czechoslovakia
Jiří Menzel, one of the all time greats of Czech cinema, first came to international attention in 1967 with his first feature, Closely Watched Trains, which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. Menzel’s Larks On A String was shot in 1968 but was suppressed by the Czech government for twenty-one years, until the fall of the Communist regime in 1990. Upon release, this long-lost black political comedy garnered wide acclaim, winning the Golden Bear at the 1990 Berlin Film Festival. The film is now receiving a UK DVD release through Second Run, with digitally remastered sound and picture.
Again collaborating with novelist Bohumil Hrabal, as he did with ...Trains, Menzel sets his picture in an oppressive industrial heartland, all creaking masses of metal junk, cold weather and sinister surveillance. This junkyard’s function is to smelt down scrap metal to create tractors and washing machines for the Communist party, yet its workers are a motley crew of ‘bourgeois elements’ sentenced for re-education through labour, including a philosophy professor, a lawyer, a saxophonist, a milkman, and a believer in God.
The other half of the junkyard is worked by a group of beautiful, kind-hearted women, ‘enemies of the state’ imprisoned by the regime for attempting to defect. The film’s plot follows both groups as they attempt to interact, forging emotional connections at odds with the strict, dehumanising regime calling the shots. A romance blossoms between a worker and a prisoner, dissenters are taken away by sinister men in suits, and a prison guard’s new marriage is portrayed as hilariously dysfunctional, the product of a society who’s demands on its people come at the expense of honesty, communication and emotional connection...
Larks On A String may strike some at first glance as a quaint and amusing farce. Its humour, at times, may seem silly, gentle or dated, but look a little closer and the film’s angry political convictions become clear. Menzel and Hrabal’s piece is a biting satirical attack on the dehumanising effects of communism on the individual.
Propagandist signs adorn the scrapyard, wryly juxtaposing slogans like ‘Rejoice! We are Working for Ourselves’ and ‘To Surpass and Overtake’, with images of our luckless bourgeois heroes sleeping or playing cards amongst the rubble. In fact, these men are part of the rubble, being ruthlessly crushed - forced to make way for the new world order. As the snooty party official says at one point, “We’ll melt them down into a new kind of people.” The chaos, danger and uncertainty of the piles of junk mirror the internal conflicts of the yard’s labourers.
There is a very tangible sinister undertone at play throughout the film, as those who speak out are taken away in cars and party officials wash local children with disturbing pleasure. Targets are increased without consultation, freedom of speech is denied, and, in one heartbreaking sequence, an old lady is worked so hard she cannot enjoy her own birthday meal, prepared with great love and care by her son. The ideals of the workers’ revolution, Menzel suggests, are an absurd sham. It is the workers, both blue and white collar, who still suffer.
The film’s main method of conveying this message is, however, through humour, ridiculing the hypocrisies of the party – a state official removes his tie and briefcase before addressing the men – and the uptight humorlessness of its bureaucrats. The film is dense with absurd little jokes: a worker is issued a written warning which he immediately uses as a serviette. “This man,” states the official, “will not die of natural causes.” The prison guard’s new wife refuses to share a bed with him, and they end up sleeping on top of a wardrobe.
As for the other side of the yard, the female prisoners are less well-explored. They are unanimously beautiful, a symbol of their innate goodness which is, perhaps, slightly over-simplistic. Their situation, however, still gets across the absurd harshness of the regime effectively. These so-called enemies of the revolution are simply nice young women whose only crime was to attempt to leave the country. The line which symbolically divides the two groups is gradually transgressed throughout the film, suggesting that the human spirit is, for Menzel, stronger than any party manifesto.
Whilst appearing a little gentle, at times, the history of this film’s censorship gives some indication of its political conviction. Underneath its silliness lie profound themes of alienation and a visceral anger at Czechoslovakia’s communist overlords. Without slipping into dogmatic lecturing, the film cleverly warns of the negative effects on the individual of bureaucratic heartlessness. The film’s tone of absurdist humour proves to be, in the end, its greatest weapon in exposing the absurdities of its target. KI
Film: The White Ribbon
Release date: 15th March 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 144 mins
Director: Michael Haneke
Starring: Christian Friedel, Leonie Benesh, Burkhart Klaussner, Ulrich Tukur, Steffi Kühnert
Genre: Drama/Mystery
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Germany/Austria/France/Italy
Once known as the enfant terrible of the art house, Michael Haneke has garnered mainstream acclaim for the maturation and restraint displayed in later films such as The Piano Teacher in 2002 and Caché in 2005. His latest film appears to continue this trend, winning critical plaudits upon cinematic release, along with the coveted Palme d’Or at 2009’s Cannes Film Festival.
Set in a small German village on the eve of WWI, strange and mysterious events draw a cloud of resentment, repression and simmering violence over its inhabitants. A hidden wire injures a doctor travelling on a horse, loose floorboards cause a tragic fall, a boy is found tied up and thrashed, and a crop is savagely destroyed. The children of a strict disciplinarian pastor appear cool and inhuman.
As a young schoolteacher attempts to uncover the truth behind these sinister happenings, the moral corruption of the patriarchs of the village reveals itself, with dark implications for the next generation...
Haneke shapes his narrative as a series of interlinking vignettes, bringing to mind earlier works such as 71 Fragments Of A Chronology Of Chance (1994) and Code Unknown (2000), exploring the moral consequences of a pre-war context through minute, ambiguously symbolic actions.
Haneke has always been a divisive figure, and it is no surprise, then, to find that underneath the sterile tones and clean lines of his imagery lay emotional, political and thematic complexities which are ripe for critical and sociological dissection. Always an overtly provocative artist, he demands the viewer take a position, form an opinion, use their critical faculties and question what they are being shown. This is not just the effect of his style, but an intrinsic part of his philosophy, mirrored in both the substance of the film’s narratives (or lack of) and the forms they take.
In other words, Haneke’s films challenge conventional audiences, but they are also about challenging the audience. He attempts this balancing act by using transgressive, shocking elements to induce an instinctive yet intuitively moral response to the situations, whilst presenting characters’ actions without the given psychological motivations typical of Hollywood fare. Little explicit explanation is offered for the strange violence enacted by the village’s members, forcing the audience to interrogate the historical context, and wider themes of morality and consequence.
In many ways, The White Ribbon is a departure for Haneke. It is the first period film of his long directorial career and, after working in France for a number of years, it is the first of his since 1997’s Funny Games to be an Austrian/German production. The change of scene does nothing, however, to diminish or soften his unique auteurial vision, and Haneke has produced a morality tale of remarkable clarity, poise and power.
Haneke draws proceedings as a deceptively simple parable, a highly moral, vigilant allegory for the rise of fascism. The largely terrifying children of the village, at once supremely obedient and sadistically threatening, are shown as inevitable products of their upbringings. Whilst the children are ambiguous in their violent fragility, the adults of the village – the pastor, the doctor, the baron – are mostly revealed as brutish, strict, overbearing and hypocritical. They bring their children up in environments of violence and fear, yet expect of them innocence, subservience and perfect behaviour. It is these sad, confused, aggressive children, Haneke suggests, who will grow up during WWI and be instrumental figures in the rise of Nazism as adults.
Typically for the director, few narrative conclusions are revealed, answers are withheld, and the violence almost always occurs off screen. The camera lingers closely on faces, on blank, bleak landscapes, capturing withheld emotions and repressed violence. What makes the film such a success, however, is a newfound warmth in Haneke’s direction and his use of characters. Like all his films, The White Ribbon is difficult - a challenge to his audiences, but whereas in the past he has often refused to come in from the cold, here he constructs his vignettes around a central story of a budding romance between two genuinely likable characters.
Christian Friedel’s innocent, bumbling schoolteacher and Leonie Benesch’s nanny Eva provide a counterbalance to the cold sterility and tragic narratives of the rest of the film’s characters, providing a hopeful core of humanity. Both are played perfectly, but the acting throughout the cast is sublime. Haneke must surely be one of the most gifted filmmakers in world cinema in drawing out superb performances from child actors, and this film displays his gift in abundance. The pastor’s children, in particular, are entrancingly, chillingly well performed.
Composed with the subtlety and grace we have come accustomed to from Michael Haneke, The White Ribbon is a genuine achievement - a striking blend of style and substance with an unequivocal moral message. If you are prepared for the ambiguity and bleakness displayed by this film, you will come away surprised at the warmth at its heart. KI
