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Film: My Father Pablo Escobar
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: Exempt
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Nicolas Entel
Starring: Sebastian Marroquin
Genre: Documentary
Studio: Brightspark
Format: DVD
Country: Argentina/Colombia
“Juan Pablo Escobar has agreed to tell the story of his life with his father, Pablo Escobar, once described as the ‘World’s Greatest Outlaw’. It is also the story of the sons of Pablo Escobar’s most prominent victims. It is the story of a country torn apart by violence and revenge, of death and reconciliation, and of a son’s attempt to atone for the sins of the father.”
Juan Pablo (renamed Sebastian Marroquin) was only 16 years old when his father was killed. As the documentary explains, at the time of his death, Pablo Escobar was a fugitive fighting three wars within Colombia: one with the state, one with a rival drug cartel, and one with a rogue vigilante organisation employing guerrilla tactics as bloody as his own killing methods. Pablo Escobar was no ordinary criminal. At the height of his power, his Medellin drug cartel controlled a rumoured 80% of the world’s cocaine trade. In 1989, Forbes Magazine listed Escobar as the world’s seventh richest man, worth an estimated 25 billion dollars. Pablo Escobar thought nothing of assassinating anyone who crossed his path and he is blamed for destroying Avianca flight 203 in order to assassinate one politician.
Escobar’s son Sebastian was forced to flee Colombia after his father’s death and went into exile in Argentina. He attempted to build a new life for himself as a designer and architect, but he has been haunted by the final words he gave to a Colombian journalist who called him to inform him his father had been killed. In a rage, he swore to avenge his father’s death, and in doing so, his father’s violent legacy was passed onto him. Sebastian’s taped conversation, complete with threats against those who had killed his father, was made public and the stigma has never left Sebastian, but he is not like his father, and is determined to make amends.
My Father, Pablo Escobar follows Sebastian as he attempts to contact the victims of his father’s crimes. Sebastian hopes that by clarifying himself and apologising on behalf of his family, not only will his father’s victims find some peace, but also that the gesture can show that the cycle of violence can be broken, and that Colombia as a whole can choose a different path. But will the victims of Pablo Escobar’s violent assassinations accept his son Sebastian’s attempts at reconciliation, or is the anger and hurt too great a hurdle to overcome?
The documentary uses a variety of methods to drive the narrative, but mainly consists of interviews with Sebastian Marroquin, his mother Maria Isabel Santos Caballero, and the sons of Escobar’s most prominent political victims; Colombian minister for Justice Rodrigo Lara Bonilla and presidential candidate Luis Carlos Galan. These interviews are shot over some time, and they are cleverly interwoven with library footage from Colombian news channels, plus taped recordings of Escobar from phone taps and conversations with journalists. Using these methods, director Nicolas Entel is able to build a picture of the man behind the myth, as well as showing the viewer the very real impact of Escobar’s actions.
As well as the seemingly unfettered access to the grown up Sebastian, we are also shown an Escobar family home movie shot when Sebastian was still a boy. In it, we glimpse the other world in which the then Juan Pablo inhabited. We see all the trappings and unbelievable riches; the home movie itself is like no other containing its own score, a voice over, and an introduction shot from a helicopter in the style of the opening sequence of ‘80s TV soap opera Dallas.
Sebastian talks frankly about his father during intimate moments; we watch as he looks back, either at the home movie or later in the film where Sebastian listens to a recording of his father singing along to opera. In these moments, the documentary never allows the viewer to forget that Sebastian is also a victim. To him Pablo Escobar was not a drug-dealing murderer. The father he knew was a rich man who bought him everything a child could ever want - a father who cheated at monopoly, a father who despite all his flaws still loved his family and wanted to be loved by them in return.
There are many outstanding moments in the documentary but watching the sons of Galan and Lara Bonilla discussing their dead father’s legacy, or deciding whether to accept Sebastian’s apology on behalf of his family are completely immersive. When the victims sons agree to meet with Sebastian, there is no hiding the powerful emotions at play, and the camera lingers on the faces of these men who are clearly haunted by the past, and wrestling with their emotions. It would have been impossible to make this documentary without setting up or manipulating certain scenarios in order to get the footage required, but it is of great credit to everyone involved that these obvious manipulations in no way detract from what is an incredibly emotive piece of filmmaking.
Ultimately it is up to the viewer to decide whether or not the actions of Sebastian Marroquin could ever have the impact that he so clearly desires. But as a snapshot of the human side of drug trafficking and the misery heaped upon the families of the victims, from all sides of the equation, My Father, Pablo Escobar is a brilliant and hard-hitting documentary. SM
Film: No One Knows About Persian Cats
Release date: 26th July 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 106 mins
Director: Bahman Ghobadi
Starring: Negar Shaghaghi, Ashkan Koshanejad, Hamed Behdad, Hichkas, Hamed Seyyed Javadi, Ash Koosha
Genre: Drama
Studio: Network
Format: DVD
Country: Iran
It is easy to become complacent and apathetic about the power of artistic expression in a pop culture soaked world such as our own. Director Bahman Ghobadi is a member of the third generation of Iranian New Wave cinema which is an important force in the cultural climate of the country. Far from being purely a commercial entity, Iranian cinema has become the main medium through which Iranians can access modernity and formulate a national identity outside proscriptive religious values.
This conflict between religion and cultural modernity is at the heart of No One Knows About Persian Cats. Negar and Ashkan have just been released from prison due to involvement in artistic activities prohibited by strict Islamic law. Far from deterred, the couple are keen to form a band so they can perform in Tehran before travelling to the UK to promote their music.
What follows is an excursion into the thriving underground music scene in Tehran, courtesy of Nader played by Hamed Behdad, the self-proclaimed “Marlon Brando of Iran…”
Nader is in many ways the driving force of the film, not only does he promise to arrange passports and visas for Negar and Ashkan but also for their potential band members. When Nader is first introduced, he is a hurricane of activity; between claiming he can facilitate the couple’s artistic endeavours, he chatters to his budgies Scarlett, Rhett Butler and Monica Bellucci. It’s just unfortunate that the demo they give him sounds like derivate washed-out Britpop. Luckily, Nader fails to notice this and introduces them to some of the best musical talent Tehran has to offer; Rana Farhan, the Persian equivalent of a soul singer, rough-and-ready rapper Hichkas, indie kids The Yellow Dogs Band and a heavy metal group.
Nearly everyone featured in film is obsessed with western pop culture. Just waiting in the queue for her illegal papers, Negar gets talking to a woman about indie music and Madonna. David, the shady character who is to provide their visas, gives Nader a verbal lashing for giving him a black market film that contains romance when all he wants is high-octane Hollywood action. Nader meanwhile will swear on his mother, the Qu’ran and endure a real lashing in order to protect his film collection when it is discovered by the authorities. However, the excitement of one indie band member when Ashkan gives him a copy of NME lends a little absurdity - why get excited about the music of Green Day when you’re a subversive musician rebelling against a strict Muslim government?
Ashkan and Negar’s difficulty in getting a permit to play a gig in Tehran shows how stringent the rules are, but this also provides much of the humour. Ashkan complains that Negar’s lyrics are too gloomy, joking, “Did you write them in prison?’” When she replies in the affirmative he adds, “you’ll never get a permit for that.” The bands have to get creative if they want to practice and avoid being reported to the police, or be stopped short by a power cut. This being the case, the trio goes to watch a heavy metal band perform in a cowshed. The cows clearly object to amps being balanced on their hay bales, as the farmer complains they have stopped producing milk.
Much of the film is music combined with cityscapes which could easily be naff pastiche if weren’t set somewhere as exotic and unknown to western eyes as Iran. The ‘indie’ unsteady camerawork is forgiven for the shots of people and places: a man proudly standing in front of his shop with a knickers display in the window, chickens being butchered, children messing about on bikes, and building sites. There is also a nod to class struggle thanks to Persian street rapper Hichkas, who explicitly states that all human life is not treated with equal respect. After all, one wonders how Negar and Ashkan support their artistic ambitions without ever having to work, it seems.
No One Knows About Persian Cats does not end optimistically and represents a generation of disenfranchised youth and talent. Many aspire to leave Iran, as, at present, this is their only option to achieve their artistic goals, but what the film does prove is that art, culture and music can thrive even under the most hostile of circumstances. SR
Film: Samurai Zombie
Release date: 19th July 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 86 mins
Director: Tak Sakaguchi
Starring: Mitsuru Fukikoshi, Issei Ishida, Tak Sakaguchi, Airi Nakajima, Shintarô Matsubara
Genre: Horror/Action/Comedy/Fantasy
Studio: MVM
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
George Santayana, the Spanish-American philosopher, once famously said that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Tak Sakaguchi, martial artist, stuntman, actor and now director, has a high standing for taking every opportunity as it comes. Samurai Zombie, his second film as director, shares the same aphorism as Santayana’s, so why, considering his rapid rise to success, did he deliberately choose an angry reanimated corpse with military nobility as his next step?
A happy family take a trip to the country when their vehicle is apprehended by a pair of bank-robbers intent on escape. Having already seen the criminals dispatch a stranger in front of them with merciless precision, they concede defeat and are lead to an abandoned village, picketed by a defunct samurai who hasn’t lost his talent for killing.
When the father is brutally murdered, the remaining family must join forces with the convicts, overcoming their differences if they are to defeat the zombie and ultimately win through…
Samurai Zombie is a splatter film with more in the way of plot than it has in blood, guts and bloodshed. Sadly, this isn’t a compliment, because it also lacks the former, too. Buoyed by an impressive performance by the young child actor playing Ryota, Samurai Zombie offers little in gore, action or originality. Opening with a bizarre and rather pointless scene in which a man talks to the camera about fate and how the audience will soon know what his is (he gets decapitated), Samurai Zombie is plagued by annoying characters that aren’t given the punishment they rightfully deserve (the guy obsessed with his own demise the only exception).
With all of its horrific, albeit briefly entertaining, activity suffocated by bloated and almost redundant scenes, the film feels like a pretty standard splatter movie for much of its running time with very little to say. Considering the team behind it delivered Versus, whilst providing valuable contributions to movies such as Tokyo Gore Police and Vampire Girl Vs Frankenstein Girl, you would expect a lot more, and that’s possibly the biggest criticism. Despite it only being Tak Sakaguchi’s second feature, it still feels like a step back in his career. Yes, a samurai zombie is a very good idea, but after watching the superior Norwegian splatter-fest Dead Snow, involving Nazi zombies, this effort seems rather tame and a missed opportunity.
To be fair, the first act offers an interesting opening. Empathy for the main family is quick in coming; a car journey in which the conversation questions fate and how the mother and father met, with its obvious and delightful consequences (the children), is executed to encourage a pleasant liking for all those sat in the car. Then the tyre explodes.
The vicious thugs that attack them for no reason, taking them hostage, are also welcoming, and the journey onwards to Eight Spears Village in order to swap vehicles adds intrigue and conflict (the male convict’s, played by Sakaguchi, interest in the young daughter a seedy highlight). Sadly, then it all goes terribly wrong. Having said that, the ghostly old hag warning them of their impending doom, the father who kills himself for no reason and the children who suddenly become psychic are thankfully interrupted by bank robber Lisa getting her fingers ripped off.
There’s also a twist ending that never quite works – its arrival is far too late to sustain any kind of interest. Therefore, the two police officers introduced during the second act, supposedly offering humour and back-story, deliver little other than a smirk-inducing scene involving guns and playground hilarity.
Visually, the locations work but the special effects reek of computers. This is fine when a scene focuses on the surreal; the swarm of bats and digit-dropping segment commendable, but relying on technology to supply the film with all of its blood is unforgivable. What’s wrong with pig’s blood or, dare I say it, red paint – is it really better to produce the image on a computer rather than use other traditional, and much more realistic techniques? As for samurai zombies, the only kick the audience gets is from the finale – less is certainly not more.
The leads do offer solid performances, and though the low budget proves obvious, at times, the film does offer moments for most to enjoy. Despairingly, there is maybe about twenty minutes of story (and that’s being generous), whilst even less is dedicated to characterization and plot, but a couple of set-pieces and an intriguing opening sequence keeps the viewer hoping for better things, and the ending at the very least offers something to make the journey worthwhile.
Sadly less than engaging after the opening gambit, Samurai Zombie is likely to be appreciated the most by seasoned splatter-horror buffs, whilst newcomers to the genre will be looking elsewhere for their gratuitous entertainment, wondering what all the fuss is about. DW
Film: My Father Pablo Escobar
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: Exempt
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Nicolas Entel
Starring: Sebastian Marroquin
Genre: Documentary
Studio: Brightspark
Format: DVD
Country: Argentina/Colombia
Drugs, money, murder and the people left to pick up the pieces. These are the components that make up Nicolas Entel’s My Father Pablo Escobar, a world famous documentary about Colombia’s biggest ever drug dealer.
The documentary mainly focuses on Escobar’s son (renamed Sebastián Marroquín) and Widow Maria Victoria, as they explain their life in connection with Escobar. They paint a picture of a man who was madly ambitious, but also of a man who went further than drugs. Escobar wanted political control, and it’s explained how he tried to influence and infiltrate the political elite in Colombia.
Starting off in the Liberal Party, he was soon rejected when knowledge of his drug empire came to light. Not a man who takes rejection likely, Escobar used his power to launch a counter attack on those who spurned him. Unfortunately for him, and his family, it quickly grew out of control, and proved the eventual downfall of a man who was once ranked the 7th richest man in the world according to Forbes (1989)…
There is the feeling that the documentary was somewhat of a therapeutic exercise for Sebastián, helping him come to terms with his father’s legacy. In the second half of the documentary, he meets up with the sons of some of Escobar’s victims, explaining how he thinks that his father “up in heaven” does regret his life of violence, and the pain he caused the orphans and widows left behind.
Sebastián lives his life in Argentina as an architect, and there is a strong impression that this is his way of wiping the slate clean for him and moving on. Forced to keep a low profile because of his father, and hide the truth from his new friends in Buenos Aires, Sebastián finally begins to accept himself as an individual, and a man in control of his own life. The documentary allows him to state this, and is really just as much about Escobar as it is Sebastián.
The documentary works well because it allows Sebastián and Escobar’s widow centre stage. This is rightly so, as they, along with Escobar, are the real interest, and the documentary is chronicling their account of events. The camera films them sitting as they explain the various episodes that led to Escobar’s fall, and this is very nicely complimented by archive news footage of those same events. This helps in the impartiality of the documentary, and creates a more well rounded and balanced account of events. We see the internal pressures on Escobar, as revealed by the family, but we are also shown the response of the authorities and the public through the media footage.
The research carried out in preparation for the documentary took over eight years and really gives the documentary a professional touch. Because of the scale of Escobar’s former empire, and the multitude of opinions that surround him, it is important to get the facts right. The authoritative voice of the narrator aides this, although the narrator plays a small role and only acts where the story moves location or topic.
One recurring, but not surprising theme is money, and how drugs really do pay. Whilst it is nothing new in a film about drugs, My Father Pablo Escobar still manages to raise an eyebrow when it explains the scale and influence of the drug trade. Escobar was able to change the constitution to remove the threat of extradition, to kill and harass the political elite, and set himself up in a prison designed to his specifications (that reportedly was more like a 5-star hotel). However, this is balanced out when we meet the relatives of Escobar’s victims, and the people left to live their lives without their fathers. Sebastián writes to the sons of Escobar’s most famous victims, former Colombian Justice Minister Rodrigo Lara Bonilla and the former Colombian presidential candidate Luis Carlos Galán. When they arrange to meet up, it is an emotional moment, and proves that the drug trade is a path laden with destruction as much as gold.
Escobar’s is a story that needs to be told, and his relatives were right to wait for Nicolas Entel to do the job. He shows the confliction in Sebastián between how he should feel about his father, and the guilt he feels about Escobar’s crimes.
Well researched and gripping, My Father Pablo Escobar paints an extraordinarily intimate picture of one of the biggest and most dangerous drug dealers of all time.
Film: Hierro
Release date: 26th July 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 86 mins
Director: Gabe Ibáñez
Starring: Elena Anaya, Nea Segura, Mar Sodupe, Andrés Herrera, Miriam Correa
Genre: Mystery/Thriller/Horror
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Spain
Like the starkness of a “missing” poster, Gabe Ibáñez’s Hierro immediately seeks to hook an audience and serve a purpose, the underwater submergence in its eerie opening a nod to the natural mystic. The commonalities of recent thrillers involving absent youths suggest a struggle between practicality and supernature; can children really just vanish? While the reality, of course, is that many of the missing are never traced, Hierro imitates forays into this burgeoning sub-genre (The Forgotten, The Dark, The Orphanage, to name but a few) by entertaining the notion of the mother-son bond as transcendent of physical relativity.
Hierro is immediately complicated by the repetition of similar instances of mothers entering into consciousness - from a car accident and deep sleep, respectively - to find their sons nowhere to be seen. The latter of the two forms the basis of the film, as María (Elena Anaya) wakes from her slumber on a ferry bound for the island of El Hierro and panics that her son Diego may have been kidnapped, or worse, drowned.
Divers come up empty and three years pass before the discovery of a body brings María back there, where she is asked to identify the corpse. Revealing that it is not Diego, the circumstances of her return to the island encourage María to ponder whether her son may still be alive somewhere, and when she thinks that she sees him on a deserted beach, her mindset alters to accommodate an investigative instinct…
What of this mother-son bond then? Julianne Moore, Naomi Watts, Maria Bello and Belen Rueda have all recently played distraught maternal figures attempting to track down their offspring by whatever means – usually to the extent of at least recognising what has happened to them. There’s a sense of atonement in their actions, that by contravening authority they become grown-up children themselves - that they are somehow behaviourally complicit, closer to relating to the people they have raised. We don’t really get the opportunity to gauge whether the guilt in María has set in at first, since the film skips forward in time rather abruptly after Diego becomes officially lost. It begs the question: what has María been doing in the three years that have passed? Why is she now suddenly demanding a resolution?
Fascinating as they are, neither the film nor an occasionally dynamite Anaya can fully address these queries, which are consigned to the backburner for the showier tendencies of director Ibáñez. The early premonitory announcement by Diego to his mother that he doesn’t like hide and seek, “because you might not find me,” is an early sign that Ibáñez is eager to plug Hierro’s sinister undertones. It proves alarmingly destructive in quelling the sensitivity of Hierro’s themes, as he overworks the production with incessant aural shock-tactics, and saturates the mise-en-scene with revelrous flash-camera frippery. His attempts to allude to the mythical elements of the island, and mystery surrounding the whereabouts of Diego, extend to the kind of rash eventualities that see a maintenance man fish a doll’s head out of a blocked toilet. Even a shower sequence designed to demonstrate María’s cleansing of guilt, the final phase of her post-ferry grief, is so strobe-distorted that it’s borderline unwatchable. Pushing this overt brand of macabre creepiness detracts from the interesting socio-realist angle offered - María’s bitter desperation recalling shades of last year’s Katalin Varga, a film that chronicled a brewing sense of vengeance in its heroine.
It enables us to register with the dread of having our sense of scope rendered foolish, that we aren’t omnipotent, and that questions can’t always be answered, but cajoles us by confirming some of María’s suspicions about El Hierro and its inhabitants. During María’s quest for answers, she boards a trailer and proceeds to have a violent face-off with the woman - a scene which indebts itself to Tarantino’s Kill Bill and marks a shift in direction for the film. For periods, the film is as dark and captivating as this scene, and Anaya’s presence carries it through even its most absurd revelations, but while often suggested that mortality is a less ambiguous state than rationale, the focus is placed more on plot than character. María’s grief is undermined by the gratuity of this stand-off and the fetishisation of her as a powerhouse would-be-killer reinforces the sense that Hierro has become somewhat of a joyless spectacle.
Considering the emotional weight of the first act, there is little organic about the way that the film is put together. Ibáñez, while essentially ‘generous’, appears bound by influence, and heavy-handed with the more uncertain aspects of the story. Hierro benefits from the debilitating sparseness of the landscape, but is too compact as a narrative, and suffers from the many brazen efforts to generate suspense. A sombre lullaby over the closing credits may act as sonar relief at the end of a tiresome ordeal, but it’s only the cherry atop a stylistic mound of confection. Sometimes less is more. CR
Film: My Father Pablo Escobar
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: Exempt
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Nicolas Entel
Starring: Sebastian Marroquin
Genre: Documentary
Studio: Brightspark
Format: DVD
Country: Argentina/Colombia
To some he was a businessman. To others a respected member of the community who helped build homes for those without. He was a husband and a father. He was also a very dangerous man who heralded Colombia being responsible for 80% of the world’s Cocaine. He was Pablo Escobar.
Argentinean filmmaker Nicolas Entel convinces the son of notorious Colombian drug baron Pablo Escobar, Juan Sebastian Marroquin, to tell the story of his father for the very first time. Marroquin chronicles how Escobar went from a well-liked businessman to the country’s most hated man. Meanwhile, Marroquin attempts to contact the sons of two high profile politicians who were assassinated for getting in his dad’s way…
Escobar was killed by the federal government in 1993. Since that time his son, daughter and wife have not returned to their native country. From the moment he first appears on screen; Marroquin is obviously a haunted man. Not because he ever did anything wrong you understand, but because he can’t help but realise that the nation he left behind fifteen years ago hates him simply for the family he was born into.
The story is told in two strands. We see the past as told to us by talking heads, and the present as Marroquin tries to make amends to those who suffered the most. The talking heads, however, aren’t your usual historians and ex-newscasters but the (surviving) players themselves. The incredible archive footage paints the rest of the picture with haunting detail, as corpses, destroyed buildings and at least one live shooting (the genuine on camera death of Luis Carlos Galan must be one of the most shocking sights you’ll ever see) show us what a terrifying time the 1980s and early-90s were in South America.
Perhaps the most fascinating aspect is that to some Escobar is hailed as a Robin Hood-esque figure. The idea that a self-made billionaire (once the seventh richest man on the planet according to Forbes magazine) would share his wealth with the community he lives in with no strings attached is the stuff of legend. In truth, he was taking way more than he was giving.
The man had everything he could ever want - a cheesy home movie shows how he would buy elephants and lions at a million a pop, just because he could. His widow Maria even laments the moment that they realised there was nothing left for them to buy. At this stage, Escobar decided to get into politics – and this is when the trouble started. Ousted from the new Liberal party because of his line (pun intended) of work, Escobar began killing off the politicians who wanted to out him as the ruthless racketeer he was.
The point of view now shifts from Marroquin to the sons of Luis Galan and Rodrigo Lara. Although their fathers’ lives aren’t detailed nearly as much as their antagonist, their murders are clearly depicted as a loss for the people of Colombia.
The impact that this story has on these men is obvious. Besides losing their fathers; Escobar’s political power allowed him to change Colombia’s constitution, so that the government couldn’t extradite criminals. This explains why the country is still a hotbed for the drug trade to this day. Knowing that their fathers were in one way or another involved in this has clearly left on indelible mark on them.
As with any documentary or true story, it is interesting to know what has been left out. This being the story as told from the man’s son, it is understandable that he doesn’t present the information on his dad’s affair with TV anchorwoman, Virginia Vallejo. It actually isn’t relevant to this particular telling, as Marroquin probably didn’t know about it at the time. In fact, within the context of the telling of Escobar story, his life and character is so interesting that nobody else really gets much of a chance to shine. It is fortunate then that Entel spends as much time as he does in the present day, as the regret of his and his enemies’ sons adds more heft and sheer emotion that elevates the film above your average TV documentary.
A fascinating story that will hook you from the opening moments and keep hold right up until the finale. Told with real passion by the people who care the most. It really has to be seen to be believed. SEAN
Film: Late Spring
Release date: 19th July 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 108 mins
Director: Yasijiro Ozu
Starring: Chishû Ryû, Setsuko Hara, Yumeji Tsukioka, Haruko Sugimura, Hohi Aoki
Genre: Drama
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
Beginning his six film partnership with muse Setsuko Hara, Late Spring is the first of Yasujiro Ozu’s Noriko trilogy, three films that explore the fragility of the Japanese family unit in the wake of World War II. Along with Tokyo Story, this film is widely regarded as the director’s best work.
Noriko Somiya is the 27-year-old daughter of a kindly professor Shukichi, and she leads a happy life alongside her father. Single and with no plans to marry, Noriko has classical opinions of love and marriage, illustrated by a visit from her father’s colleague Onedara, who she believes to be “dirty” because he has re-married.
Following this is a visit from Noriko’s aunt, who mentions to Shukichi that Noriko should be wed, suggesting that she pursue the interests of his assistant Hattori. Hattori is already engaged. Noriko’s aunt soon finds her another potential husband, while at the same time attempting to find a partner for Shukichi to fill Noriko’s role. Soon Noriko resigns herself to the arranged marriage, yet a trip to Kyoto with her father shows Noriko how much she does not want things to change. Noriko goes ahead with the wedding anyway and finally separates from her father…
The Noriko trilogy is essentially a series of variations on the same tale; a girl is badgered into marriage by her family, friends and societal convention. This girl is played by Setsuko Hara, whose creative relationship with Ozu is equally as important as the great cinematic partnerships, such as Mifune and Kurosawa or Wayne and Ford. Hara is the heart and soul of these films, and in Late Spring her performance is often heartbreaking.
The film is certainly the most sombre variation on the Noriko tale, as it deals with the sundering of a loving relationship between father and daughter. As usual with Ozu’s narratives, exterior forces surround the protagonists, pressuring them into choices they do not agree with. Noriko’s aunt meddles in the lives of her and Shukichi’s - kick starting a chain of events that will eventually tear them apart. Noriko’s sister lives a leisurely life after divorcing her first husband, she dutifully informs her sister of the dark side of love and men. Meanwhile, Shukichi (played by the brilliantly versatile Chisu Ryu, who would go on to play characters of varying ages in the other Noriko films) only wants what he thinks is right for his daughter, even if he does not want it himself - the scene in which Noriko asks if he really wants her to leave and be replaced is truly heartrending.
A highly technical director, Ozu employs many bold stylistic methods in his films, many of which are evident here. What is most noticeable in Late Spring is the fluidity of the editing, showcased in an extended sequence of a Noh play. The film’s centrepiece, this scene captures both the inner turmoil of the central character and the blissful ignorance of her father. Static close-ups and wide angle mid-shots transition between the haunting beauty of the performers and the slowly deteriorating mood of Noriko - it’s a bravura sequence, one of Ozu’s best.
Ozu’s films are never concerned with narrative convention, and are often stark and minimalist in terms of plotting; as such we never really experience anything here other than Noriko’s central dilemma. This singular focus may seem like a failing, yet as the film’s closing moments approach, and Noriko disappears from view, both Shukichi and the viewer experience an overwhelming feeling of sadness.
In this bleak tale of love and loss, Setsuko Hara is dazzling in her first role as Noriko. Among Ozu’s finest work, Late Spring sees the maverick director at the very peak of his power. KT
Film: Early Summer
Release date: 19th July 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 125 mins
Director: Yasujiro Ozu
Starring: Setsuko Hara, Mamiya, Chishû Ryû, Chikage Awashima, Kuniko Miyake, Ichirô Sugai
Genre: Drama
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Japan
Continuing his collaboration with Setsuko Hara, Early Summer is the second film in Yasujiro Ozu’s Noriko trilogy. Focusing on many of themes explored throughout his films, this is another highpoint in a directing career filled with them.
Noriko is a successful, middle class girl making her way in post war Japan. She lives in a large household comprised of her parents and her brother’s family.
Dividing her time between work, socialising with her friends and helping out her family, Noriko has little time for romance and marriage - this is a concern for her family, who believe she must be wed.
Politically minded and empowered by the social shift that has occurred after the war, Noriko has radical ideas about relationships and marriage, which complicates things when a marriage is orchestrated for her. Meanwhile, her parents lament the loss of family and friends to the war, and place hope in the happiness of their daughter.
Noriko eventually chooses to marry her old friend Kenkichi, as a special favour to his mother, but this decision does not sit well with her family. Noriko finally decides to ignore her families concerns and marry Kenkichi…
Like many of the films made in the latter half of Yasujiro Ozu’s prolific career, Early Summer is about the aftermath of war and the splintering effect it can have on the modern Japanese family. It’s also about the struggle of the individual against the influence of accepted society and familial meddling.
In this case, the one striving to make her own way in life, unhindered by the marital machinations of her family, is Noriko, played once again by the radiant Setsuko Hara. Ozu chooses to focus on the family unit and how tensions can often rise from a steadfast adherence to tradition. Noriko’s family wishes her to be wed for what they believe to be her own good, not for her happiness. Noriko, who argues women’s rights with her co-workers, and chides her married friends, chooses to marry because she feels it is right for her.
Hara is perfect in the central role - her unwavering optimism and playful smile completely at odds with those around her. Her mother and father struggle to cope with the loss of their son, while her brother Koichi (played by Tokyo Story’s Chisu Ryu) is frustrated by his sister’s hesitations. Hara is often a contrasting presence in Ozu’s films, and Early Summer is no exception.
Ultimately a positive story, like many of the director’s films, there are moments of overwhelming sadness. With Early Summer, it is the divisive conclusion, which sees a resolution to the central dilemma at the cost of the central characters happiness. If anything this highlights Ozu’s intelligent approach to traditional narrative - there is no hope for the characters, just the promise of hope.
As a portrait of the Japanese family unit after World War II, Early Summer is a triumph. Ozu once again adds political subtext and social commentary to a conventional narrative, coaxing another mesmerising performance out of Setsuko Hara along the way. KT
Film: Don’t Look Down
Release date: 26th July 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 84 mins
Director: Eliseo Subiela
Starring: Leandro Stivelman, Antonella Costa, Hugo Arana, Mónica Galán, Octavio Borro
Genre: Erotica/Drama/Romance
Studio: Axiom
Format: DVD
Country: Argentina/France
Produced back in 2008, Magic Realist filmmaker Eliseo Subiela’s Don’t Look Down has finally found its way into UK circulation after experiencing problems with the Argentina film censors with regards to the film’s sexual content. Nevertheless, the film went on to secure wins at the Latin-American Film Festival (Best Film) and the Montreal Film Festival (Best Latin-American Film) two years ago.
When his father dies, 19-year-old Eloy (Leandro Stivelman) begins to sleepwalk during the night, whilst by day he sees visions of his father carrying handfuls of nuts and bolts, as well as rows of the dead sitting in front of the wall of the local cemetery. Eloy seems to have some higher form of spirituality. For a brief time, he is convinced that his father has been trying to communicate with him through his school exercise book.
During one of his sleepwalking perambulates, Eloy falls through the open skylight of a neighbour’s house, landing on the bed of Elvira (Antonella Costa), who is staying with her grandmother whilst on vacation. Both Elvira and her grandmother share a somewhat spiritual outlook on life - the grandmother is a therapist whereas Elvira is a studier of Tantra. Eloy and Elvira strike up a relationship and soon enough the more mature Elvira begins teaching Eloy the infinite possibilities of Tantric sex…
Constructed around the teachings of the Karma Sutra, it comes as no surprise that Don’t Look Down comes across more as a sex manual rather than as a fully formed story of romance and coming of age. Rather than the lovers wanting to explore each other both as people and playmates, their chief concern is that Eloy achieves a predetermined number of thrusts before he succumbs to pleasure, leading to a shallow and somewhat tedious viewing experience. Most of the film consists of the two interlocked in various Sutra recommended positions, whilst an early scene sees Eloy deciding on what to call his penis - he settles for Marlon in the end, in honour of the late Mr. Brando.
When they’re not naked, Eloy spends a lot of time dressed as a sandwich as way of part-time employment, or delivering ornaments and headstones to the local graveyard on his bike. The latter is usually accompanied by a ponderous voice-over discussing sudo-spirituality and reinforcing Eloy’s unexplained ability to see the dead languishing in deckchairs outside the cemetery they’re buried in. Eloy is also a keen stilt-walker; a stroll with Elvira four meters off the ground provides one of the film’s weirder images. Some of the film’s more entertaining moments surface during these magic realist segments, however, said moments are few and far between - nor is their potential truly fulfilled.
Performances all round are satisfactory. Stivelman, while a fairly attractive young man, sports a confused, mouth slightly agape expression for most of the film’s meagre running time. Costa, on the other hand, displays far more screen presence and chemistry but is still unable to elevate the prolonged Tantric contrivances between the two good-looking leads beyond being merely adequate. Also, it’s difficult to determine whether Elvira genuinely cares for Eloy, save for his increasing technique in horizontal refreshment. For Elvira, it only seems to be about sex. Only Eloy’s ghostly father (Hugo Arana) gives the film any true sense of warmth and charm. It would’ve been nice if he appeared more often.
However, to the film’s credit, the frequent sexual intercourse on display is handled, for the most part, in a very tasteful manner, and certainly doesn’t exhibit the awkward and embarrassed execution seen in many a Hollywood outing. It may be worth pointing out that all of the sex in Don’t Look Down is simulated, which admittedly does garner some steamy results. However, the problem lies in the sheer quantity of the act that holds little development except for the decidedly half-baked concept that their love-making may possess hallucinogenic properties – realised through Eloy having visions of visiting places and cities all over the world – not to mention plenty of rodomontading pillow-talk about sexual prowess and the like.
A commendable aspect of the production is director Eliseo Subiela’s eye for framing and composition, with the majority of the film’s cinematography looking wonderful. Through a combination of photography and art direction, Don’t Look Down offers a timeless look showcasing a 21st century Buenos Aires that could easily be mistaken for the Buenos Aires of forty or fifty years ago. The film certainly has a very classic feel, sticking to the more historical parts of the city – a labyrinth of weathered apartment blocks and rooftops. Again, the sex scenes are tastefully choreographed and framed, avoiding cheesy temptations, such as having a foreground object blocking certain body parts.
Don’t Look Down suffers from a distinct lack of purpose: too steamy for mass consumption; too sweet and naïve for seasoned skin watchers. Amidst the lovely camerawork, there is plethora of missed opportunities resulting in a well crafted film devoid of any substance, as the rather ponderous script fails to gain momentum or any real sense of focus for that matter. The results are watchable but highly disposable, with some eye-candy thrown in for good measure. MP
Film: The Treasure Hunter
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 102 mins
Director: Yen-ping Chu
Starring: Chiling Lin, Jay Chou, Eric Tsang, Daoming Chen
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Studio: E1
Format: DVD
Country: Taiwan
When Stephen Chow (Kung Fu Hustle and Shaolin Soccer) pulled out of The Green Hornet reinvention scheduled for release in 2011, many were left baffled by director Michael Gondry’s decision to cast Jay Chou, gargantuan pop star, as Kato; stepping into the shoes movie phenomenon Bruce Lee left behind. With Seth Rogen already mysteriously cast as The Hornet (he did write the screenplay) anticipation for its release is slightly muted. The Treasure Hunter, starring Chou and available to buy this month, provides the perfect opportunity to assess his acting credentials in a film billed as “Indiana Jones meets The Mummy.”
Lan Ting (Red Cliff’s Chiling Lin), an adventure novelist living in the city, agrees to meet up with her estranged father; the man she hasn’t forgiven for leaving home so he could explore ancient ruins instead of raising a family. A collision on route ensures she never sees her father, awakening days later in a desert, held hostage, used as a bargaining tool for an ancient map that will lead her captors to a secret tomb filled with treasures.
Met instead by Ting’s childhood friend Qiaofei (Chou), with news of her father’s mysterious demise and the map her enemies have been seeking, she is attacked, along with the others, by more furtive foes hell-bent on retrieving the map and killing all those that have seen it.
Narrowly escaping, the custodians and convicts must join forces and overcome their differences if they are to banish the ghosts of old and ultimately prevail…
Director Yen-ping Chu must have thought he had potential gold on his hands by pairing two of Taiwan’s hottest properties together for this supposedly exhilarating desert romp. Sadly, although Jay Chou and Chiling Lin are both attractive to look at, and handle their roles more than adequately, they’re let down by a nonsensical story in which too many characters spend the duration of the film doing very little. It wouldn’t be so bad if the twosome had some kind of chemistry going on, but their relationship is more wooden than Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman’s in Attack Of The Clones.
Chou spends the majority of the movie with the same glum facial expression, no matter what emotion he’s supposed to be conveying, whilst Lan Ting seems almost worried to get too close to her co-star in case she upsets his adoring teenage fan base. Fortunately, seeing as the film is a cross between Indiana Jones and The Mummy, at least the viewer will be rewarded with tremendous action and adventure, right? Well, not quite. Whilst the CGI is easy on the eye, obvious wire work ruins the few fight scenes we are forced to endure. Chou’s performance suffers heavily with this, the punches he throws are tamer than those witnessed on a school playground - Bruce Lee has nothing to fear whatsoever. Admittedly, the duel between Qiaofei and a masked Dao Dao is briefly entertaining, but Chu’s decision to have a young boy play guitar during it is simply baffling.
Considering its running time, there are surprisingly few action scenes. The Sandstorm Legion offer some menace, but they also provide the film with its first of many illogicalities: can horses really outrun a car and a motorcycle? The finale, located in the lost tomb, finally raises some interest, involving a zombie and some white-haired ghosts, but it suffers from similar flaws - the scenes just aren’t long enough and lack any kind of tension. All too often characters are introduced to offer brief conflict; the Eagle of the Desert is much talked about during the opening scenes, but the duel between him and Qiaofei is lost in a sandstorm of sentimentality.
Lan Ting’s character infuriates simply because the death of her father has little impact on her persona. She basically grieves for two minutes, accepts it and moves on. Even when they are confronted by his apparent murderer, more of a mummy than a man, she’s primarily concerned about hitting the deadline for her next novel, or whether Qiaofei still loves her after all these years. As for the murderous mummy, another villain popping up to satisfy the audiences need for Chou to play tough, the Andrex puppy would probably offer more resistance.
Director Yen-ping Chu never commits to a particular tone, somehow managing to steal the worst parts from films of similar ilk, moulding them into a bland, pointless experience. The amount of money spent to achieve this is staggeringly obvious - some of the visuals are a feast for the eyes - but while he handles the visual aspect of the film with style, wire work aside, he is rather careless with the amount of annoying, and frustratingly redundant performances – Pork Rib (Eric Tsang) is supposedly the clown of the piece, but he’s so over the top it hurts, and others drift in and out offering very little to a plot lacking in mystery, suspense or drama.
Playing tribute to Indiana Jones and The Mummy, The Treasure Hunter manages to plunder all of the worst bits from both to create a mess of a movie. Devoid of originality, plot and action, only die-hard Jay Chou fans will find anything here worth to treasure. DW
Film: Tokyo Story
Release date: 19th July 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 136 mins
Director: Yasujiro Ozu
Starring: Chishû Ryû, Chieko Higashiyama, Setsuko Hara, Haruko Sugimura, So Yamamura
Genre: Drama
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
Regarded by many as the finest work of maverick Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu, Tokyo Story continued to display the director’s signature minimalist style, a style that was largely ignored by western audiences who favoured the samurai epics of Kurosawa over his delicate dramas.
The film opens on the image of elderly couple Shukichi and Tomi quietly packing and preparing to meet their children in Tokyo, excited and filled with pride at producing such successful offspring.
They arrive at the capital to stay with their eldest child Koichi and are greeted by his family and their eldest daughter Shige. Initially granted a warm welcome and promised many activities, it soon becomes clear that Tomi and Shukichi’s children cannot fit them into their busy lifestyles. Koichi, a paediatrician, struggles to find time away from his patients, while daughter Shige doesn’t seem interested in them at all. The only accommodating presence in Tokyo seems to be Noriko, the widow of Tomi and Shukichi’s second son. Noriko spends a lot of time with them and is as appreciative as if she was there real daughter.
During their journey home, Shukichi is taken ill and later dies. The children and Noriko visit Tomi for the funeral, once again Koichi and Shige display selfishness and disrespect towards their parents...
Yasujiro Ozu is perhaps the finest director Japan has ever produced. His stark filmmaking style is akin to that of the nouvelle vague and the Italian neo realist period. Evolving over time, Ozu’s films focus on narrative and performance, eschewing traditional Hollywood conventions in favour of bold stylistic choices such as the ‘atami shot’, a low angle camera position that the director pioneered. The ‘atami’ fixes the viewers gaze in such a way as to observe the proceedings from a kneeling position, often bringing us to the same level as his characters.
Tokyo Story is a perfect example of this wonderful craft. A film that unfolds at its own pace with a simplistic narrative, yet it’s the complexity of the characters in which Ozu and co-writer Kogo Noda place the most focus.
The narrative itself is steadfastly linear, allowing story and character to breathe. The central family are at odds with their own lives; Tomi and Shukichi are in their twilight years and only wish to be around family. They find their every attempt blighted by the hectic lifestyles of the stoic Koichi and the selfish Shige. Brief moments of heartfelt drama punctuate the film, like Shukichi lamenting the end of her life to the youngest of Koichi’s family, a sequence that highlights how often the director juxtaposes uplifting sentiment with great sorrow. Another example of this is present in one of the film’s rare light-hearted moments when Tomi meets with some old friends for a drink - the scene is bookended by bleak ruminations on death and regret.
Perhaps the films most heartbreaking moment comes when son Keizo, rarely seen or mentioned throughout the film, arrives late to the death of Shukichi - the shot of Keizo seeing his mother’s body captures perfectly the overwhelming sadness on his face. In a film about contained feelings, the impact of this scene is tangible.
Setsuko Hara is the beating heart of the film. As Noriko, she represents all that Tomi and Shukichi expect from their children but do not receive. Ironically, she is also the only one who attempts to make sense of Koichi and Shige’s selfish behaviour to faithful daughter Kyoko. It’s clear that director and camera love Hara - Ozu’s lovingly crafted shot compositions revering her delicate features. As well as Hara, the film is populated with strong performances, particularly from Cheiko Higashiyama, who impresses as the families softly spoken patriarch - his recognition of Noriko in the film’s closing moments is strangely uplifting.
Tokyo Story is a beautiful yet bittersweet portrait of regret and death. Ozu’s unassuming directorial style finds humanity in verisimilitude, his ‘atami shot’ mining raw emotion from his actors naturalist performances. A true masterpiece. KT
Series: Rozen Maiden: Traumend - Volume 1
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: PG
Running time: 150 mins
Director: Kou Matsuo
Starring: Asami Sanada, Miyuki Sawashiro, Masayo Kurata, Natsuko Kuwatani, Noriko Rikimaru
Genre: Anime
Studio: MVM
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
Rozen Maiden Träumend (translated as Rozen Maiden Dreaming) follows on from the original series with the introduction of further Rozen doll characters, whose differing philosophies result in a dramatic finale to the twelve episodes of this series.
In the first series, the boy Sukurada Jun discovered the secrets of the Rozen Maidens, dolls created by the mysterious puppet maker Rozen. After suffering a traumatic incident at school, Jun refused to return there and became withdrawn from society. His discovery with Shinku, one of the most dominant personalities among the Rozen dolls, led to him regain his confidence, emerging from his isolation to return to school.
In this second series, the emphasis has shifted from Jun’s personal crisis to the conflicts between the differing philosophies of the dolls living in Jun’s house, and those outside Shinku’s circle of influence. Jun’s house is home to three other dolls as well as Shinku – the twins Suiseiseki and Souseiseki, and the more infantile Hinaichigo. All three bow to Shinku’s superior guidance, and know that their destiny is tied up in some way with the perilous Alice Game – a game foreseen by their creator, Rozen, in which one doll will kill all the others, possess their inner power (Rosa Mystica), and so become the one idealised girl, personified as ‘Alice’...
Shinku refuses to fight with her sisters, but there are other dolls who do not share her qualms, threatening the equilibrium of the peaceful tea-drinking, TV watching existence within Jun’s household. One of Shinku’s strongest opponents is Suigintou, who was also an adversary in the first series. Desperate to obtain the approval of their ‘father’ (the dollmaker), Suigintou is willing to stop at nothing in order to win the Alice Game.
Greater complications ensue with the introduction of a further character, apparently the seventh of the Rozen maiden sisters. However, all is not as it seems, and deception and counter-deception are played out, culminating in a battle to determine who will win the ill-fated Alice Game…
The strongest aspect of the series is the artwork for the opening titles. The silhouetted shapes are reminiscent of European woodcut prints, a style suitable to the Brothers Grimm Gothicism of the subject matter. Beautifully sombre tones and swirling lines suggest an unhealthy vitality to the forms of the natural world, like an Arts & Crafts print imbued with some vampiric life force. This quality is carried through with the Lolita-esque designs for the dolls’ outfits. The most striking of these are the classic Victorianism of Shinku’s stately maroon bonnet and rose ornamented ruffles, the cold blue and purple tones and spiky Gothicism of Suigintou and her black-feathered shoulders, and the crystalline amethyst hues of the supposed seventh doll, with the horror of one empty eye socket incongruously obscured by a mauve rose.
The quality of this design is not carried through to the anime as a whole, unfortunately. While the backgrounds of the fight sequences are often atmospherically drawn, the quality of animation of the action is poor, and it doesn’t convey a proper sense of the peril facing the embattled dolls. The human characters are drawn quite blandly – the discovery of the true identity of one character is meant to come as a revelation, but lazy drawing means that even Scooby and Shaggy would have seen through this cunning disguise.
The ideas being explored in the anime sound encouragingly sinister, but the anime fails to live up to this promise. We watch the process of the dolls being created, the blankness of their initially lifeless forms, and the carelessness with which the puppet maker discards those that are imperfect (apparently all). The concepts of trying to please a seemingly implacable parent/creator, and invest life with some form of meaning, clearly hold the potential for layers of metaphor and significance.
The promise of the anime’s concept is undermined by the poor quality of the animation and music, and the cloying sentimentality. The younger-acting dolls are presumably there to provide some comic relief, and to up the kawaii (cute) element of the anime. But the whining and shrieking of Hinaichigo, Kanaria and Suiseiseki would give earache to bats, and the protracted demise of one of these characters could hardly fail to harden the softest heart. The appallingly cheesy music makes every appeal to the emotions even crasser, with fulsome piano music swelling out on cue at the merest suspicion of sentiment. The bizarre opening music sounds like a Eurovision-styled mashup of The South Bank Show theme with someone falling down stairs clutching a Casio keyboard.
There’s been much debate about the predominance of the kawaii factor in Japanese culture, and whether its portrayal of feminine helplessness and infantilism encourages the persistence of female subjugation. Granted, this is an anime for children, but the cloying fixation of the dolls on gaining the approval of a male figure, and the implicit approval of infantile behaviours, such as referring to themselves in the third person, is quite disturbing. In contrast, both Shinku and Suigintou can demonstrate dignity, self-determination and power, but these quieter voices are drowned out by the predominance of the kawaii dolls, meaning that the prevailing tone of the anime is overwhelmingly the juvenile shrieks of those that are most helpless. The creative duo who devised the manga, Peach-Pit, are clearly talented artists, and aiming their product at a younger female audience, but the idea that the level of sophistication offered by this anime is the most that audience can expect or deal with is fairly offensive.
The anime’s sinister Alice In Wonderland overtones, promising subject matter and intermittently fine artwork is undermined by the low production values and inappropriate use of music. Its mixture of dark Gothic mysticism and sickly sentimentality seems aimed to appeal to a wide age bracket, but is unlikely to please at either end of the scale. KR
