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Film: The Silent Army
Release date: 6th December 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 93 mins
Director: Jean Van de Velde
Starring: Marco Borsato, Abby Mukiibi Nkaaga, Andrew Kintu, Thekla Reuten, Jacqueline Blom
Genre: Action/Drama
Studio: High Fliers
Format: DVD
Country: Netherlands
According to the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, up to half of the world's child soldiers are based in Africa. In the end titles of the film Blood Diamond (2006) it is claimed that "there are still 200,000 child soldiers in Africa,” so it’s little surprise director Jean Van De Velde (All Stars, Wild Romance) felt the need to remind us of their plight with his latest film, The Silent Army.
Eduard is a relatively successful restaurant owner in an eastern African country who has his world turned upside down with the sudden death of his wife. Running a business and raising his 9-year-old son all by himself fast becomes a struggle, not helped when Thomas’s best friend Abu disappears with other children after a night raid by the rebel army.
Desperate to have his buddy back, Thomas persuades his father to search for Abu, who proceeds to a refugee camp in the middle of the conflict-infested area for clues to the child’s disappearance.
Meanwhile, Abu is undergoing harsh child solider training, watched over by former Minister of Defence Michel Obeke. Eduard and Abu’s paths inevitably meet after a dangerous search through the jungle, when the failing father finally manages to reach the rebels camp, hoping his tenuous friendship with Obeke may offer some kind of hope for Abu and the other children…
Halfway through proceedings, main protagonist Eduardo tries to convince a photographer to join him in the search for Abu, hoping the child’s plight is enough to secure a helping hand and hard evidence of such atrocities. “There are a lot of good stories here,” mumbles the photographer before leaving, forgetting to add “this isn’t one of them,” a line no doubt spoken by the viewer as soon as the credits begin to roll.
If this review reflected the film it’s based upon then there would be no punctuation whatsoever, especially full stops; each scene in The Silent Army has barely enough time to be digested before another is rammed down the viewer’s throat so forcibly. Eduard’s restaurant should really be a fast-food takeaway, selling distasteful nuggets of child abuse with a secret recipe that everyone is familiar with.
It’s hard to believe how director Jean Van De Velde managed to fabricate just such a movie, boasting a scant few points in its favour: an innocent girl picking up a grenade; the impressively tense if not familiar assembly-of-a-gun challenge; a brilliantly nerve-racking phone conversation with an automated receiver; Abu proudly reclaiming his football boot; and the concluding showdown involving poison, a young child and an explosive resolution. It’s also short on running time (the biggest blessing of all), an odd feat considering its subject matter.
The first thing to let The Silent Army down is its failure to create a believable setting in such an impossible place. The location itself is obviously physically possible, you only have to watch the news to realise such horrors exist, but credibility within the context of the story is sadly lacking. Eduard’s motivations and actions should drive the story, yet his reasons to search for Abu are unclear, other than his son Thomas having a massive strop if he doesn’t. Marco Borsato is no Schwarzenegger, he’s a chef, and The Silent Army is certainly no Commando, even if, at times, it seemingly wishes it was.
Van De Velde also seems determined to clear away any clutter, dispensing of anything that doesn’t serve to move the story along. This, in theory, is a good thing, but concentrating solely on set pieces to create plot devices, he has instead masterminded a ninety minute pop video (without the musical score), giving little information or details to bring the audience on board, especially when it comes to empathy. The script drifts too far in one direction, giving the viewer little time or reason to care about anything they are witnessing. It’s true that boredom won’t be an issue here, but such a ho-hum, seen it all before approach will hardly invite praise either.
The director neglects his characters by refusing to allow them time to develop. Instead, he seems happier to highlight the problems faced by children living in Africa with bloody violence. But by showing brutal scenes time and time again, the whole thing becomes gimmicky and somehow more fantastical – the more you see, the less you care. The scenes aren't even all that original, but nothing on show here is. Proof is in the pudding, served deliciously by the pantomime villain Michel Obeke, more of a bully than an evil dictator, eventually hinting at some kind of nastiness in the finale, but too little too late.
The Silent Army offers rich, authentic-looking settings and some striking visuals; however, gaping plot-holes and cartoonish characters soon frustrate, so viewers expecting anything other than volatile scenes of children being harmed will be sorely disappointed. DW
Film: Shogun Assassin
Release date: 29th November 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Robert Houston
Starring: Tomisaburo Wakayama, Kayo Matsuo, Minoru Oki, Akiji Kobayashi, Shin Kishida
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Japan/USA
The early-80s. Britain’s video shops are a savage, lawless frontier. Cassettes are exempt from BBFC classification and, unless legally deemed “obscene”, anything goes. Illicit imports such as Mario Bava’s Bay Of Blood (refused release in 1972) are exhumed and unleashed for the first time. A slew of exploitation titles cascade into the marketplace, as distributors ransack back catalogues for product. Mining the exotic, outlandish and sanguinary, outfits like Vipco sought to deliver amoral sleaze to front rooms across the nation. Synthesising this unholy trinity into an intense, borderline surreal concentrate, Shogun Assassin is an exemplar of video nastiness.
Alongside it, nefarious foreign titles such as Possession, Inferno and The Beyond jostled for shelf space, their lurid cover art enticing wide-eyed renters with the promise of deviant thrills a-gogo. It couldn’t last. A self appointed outfit of moral sheriffs – with Mary Whitehouse at their fore – decided to clean up the tide of clamshell-encased filth. Many of the most outrageous titles from this ephemeral boom were withdrawn, denied certification, and cast into exile. But their repression was pyrrhic - since being classified as likely to “corrupt or deprave” was always going to imbue them with malign cool. Thus, a subgenre of forbidden cinema was defined; and, rather than slip disgracefully back into obscurity, the elusiveness of the movies enhanced their aura. And so the repute of Shogun Assassin was born.
Adapted from famed manga serial Lone Wolf and Cub, the film traces the bloodstained flight of the shogun’s decapitator and his infant son, Daigoro.
Wary of his martial prestige, the slightly loopy overlord commands his ninja minions to execute the executioner. And fails. Finding his wife slain, Lone Wolf vows that the perps “will pay. . . with rivers of blood!”
Exile from empire, the disgraced samurai realises that vengeance may be incompatible with single parenthood. Finding his young son unscathed, he places two symbolic props before him, and compels Daigoro to make a choice. Either from intuition or instinct, the barely crawling babe must decide to “choose the sword and join me...or choose the ball and join your mother.” Drawn to the gleaming blade, he lives - and sets off on the road to hell with his father…
Capitalising on James Clavell’s namesake novel, Shogun, the movie dubs and merges two Japanese Lone Wolf and Cub films from the early-70s. Conceived by Japanese culture fiends Robert Houston and David Weisman, the visceral reversioning showcases kick-ass aesthetics whilst effacing cultural differences. In a bold change, Daigoro acts as narrator, providing a humanising counterpoint to the bloodshed with his cutesy expository. Eschewing the original soundtrack, a contemporary minimal synth score is installed. Think John Carpenter channelling orientalist cliché, circa Halloween. As producer Weisman states, “We took out all the material that had generically Japanese historical stuff…and just pared it down to ‘Conan the Barbarian walks the earth.’”
The result: streamlined, relentless spectacle. Diluting context and pruning plot, the recuts inevitably compromise texture. American accented voiceovers – hailing from the venerable “you killed my master!” school of dubbing – consolidate this crude absorption. Like a chicken teriyaki sub, Shogun Assassin envelops the exotic within a palatably occidental framework.
An all-action emphasis radically affects the pacing of the film, which often feels stuttering and episodic. Structurally, Lone Wolf’s quest resembles a side-scrolling hack-em-up video game of yore. Walk. Stop. Kill. Walk (continue for 82 minutes, then roll credits). A succession of baroque and brutal vignettes, the film’s gory flamboyance is its fundamental attraction – and greatest liability.
Shogun Assassin never quite entered the BBFC’s banned list, but, in the fervour of the era, copies were seized and its distributors (unsuccessfully) prosecuted. So – just how nasty is this nasty-by-association? Superlatively billed as “the greatest team in mass slaughter!” during its trailer, the film’s protagonists are murderously prolific. Resembling the grotesquerie of ukiyo-e prints, Lone Wolf’s lethal grace is formalised with morbid reverence. Rotating around him - cynosure of a Danse Macabre (Dance of Death) - foes are inventively decapitated, severed and maimed. Blood assumes the pallor of poster paint. A katana sword is the brush with which he executes frenzied, splattered tableaux; the Jackson Pollock of snuff. Crimson eruptions gush, geyser and spurt with pornographic vigour, as hordes of opponents succumb to the sword.
Ironically, the movie’s visual style evidences an east-west fusion far before any swingeing American edits were inflicted. Original helmer Kenji Misumi’s framing is clearly indebted to Sergio Leone – who, of course, ‘borrowed’ liberally from Kurosawa’s Yojimbo. Misumi shoots in ultra-widescreen 2:35-1 ratio, frequently alternating between expansive long shots and extreme close-ups. Punctuating combat with instants of bucolic lyricism – swaying grass, scenic waterfalls – Misumi’s action choreography recreates Leone’s famously tense pauses. Stillness, serenity. Then slaughter.
With dialogue pared to a minimum, intimate portraits of his characters’ grimy, haggard faces communicate their emotions. Sharing the spaghetti western’s obsession with gadgetry, Daigoro’s pram becomes a wheeled arsenal, and ingenious ninjas wield a variety of disguised weapons (including daggers concealed in giant daikon carrots!). Like Eastwood’s ‘bounty killer’, Lone Wolf is an ignoble mercenary in a world bereft of honour, who oft plays dirty. Unexpectedly throwing his sword at an opponent in an unthinkable breach of samurai etiquette, archaic codes are clearly redundant for this man become demon. Morality is a luxury. Ultimately, only survival matters. Bestial, lupine logic prevails.
If unlikely to “deprave or corrupt” – as all good video nasties ought - Shogun Assassin may be charged with perverting its sources. No critique can besmirch its cult credibility, but Robert Houston’s (commercially imperative) re-write wreaks havoc with the integrity of the original works. Nonetheless, expedient butchery renders this an often jaw-dropping, incessant action extravaganza. Who needs formalities like character development when you’re mere minutes from the next bout of artful carnage? A vital grindhouse artefact, Shogun Assassin will irk those in search of coherence, but should more than appease audiences receptive to the glory of the gory. DJO
Trio of supernatural stories based on the works of Edgar Allan Poe and directed by Roger Vadim, Louis Malle and Federico Fellini.
In 'Metzengerstein', Vadim's then-wife Jane Fonda plays a jealous medieval Countess with incestuous feelings for her cousin, played by Peter Fonda. In 'William Wilson', directed by Louis Malle, Bridget Bardot finds herself on the end of a whipping when she loses at cards to a sadistic Austrian officer (Alain Delon). Finally, in Fellini's 'Toby Dammit', Terence Stamp plays a self-obsessed movie star who, while driving home drunk one evening, bets his head that he can survive a deadly accident.
This Blu-ray release features a brand new transfer from a new HD restoration of the original negative; alternative English audio for Metzengerstein and William Wilson, English and Italian audio for Toby Dammit, as well the French dubbed version - brand new English subtitle translation on all versions – and rare Vincent Price voiceover narration used for the US theatrical version.
Packaged with a sixty-page booklet featuring Edgar Allan Poe’s original short stories, ‘Metzengerstein’, ‘William Wilson’ and ‘Never Bet the Devil Your Head’ (Toby Dammit); 'Spirits Of The Dead Revisited' essay by critic and author Tim Lucas; and ‘Literature And Cinema' essay by scholar and author Peter Bondanella on Toby Dammit. There are also re-prints of original lobby cards and posters included.
Film: Spirits Of The Dead
Release date: 15th November 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 121 mins
Director: Federico Fellini, Louis Malle, Roger Vadim
Starring: Brigitte Bardot, Alain Delon, Jane Fonda, Terence Stamp, James Robertson Justice
Genre: Horror/Mystery
Studio: Arrow
Format: Blu-ray
Country: France/Italy
Blu-ray Special Features:
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Original trailer
Film: Shogun Assassin
Release date: 29th November 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Robert Houston
Starring: Tomisaburo Wakayama, Kayo Matsuo, Minoru Oki, Akiji Kobayashi, Shin Kishida
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Japan/USA
Banned in the UK for over a decade, Shogun Assassin is the film which re-invented the martial arts movie in the west during the ‘80s. Inventive, artistic and violently beautiful, Shogun Assassin’s influence is almost as far reaching as the death toll contained in its unique 83 minutes.
As told through the voiceover provided by his toddler son Daigoro (Akihiro Tomikawa – voiced by Gibran Evans), Ogami Itto (Tomisaburo Wakayama) is the shogun’s decapitator, but the Shogun has gone mad and is inflicting terrible suffering on his people through impossible taxes and endless killings. Although Itto carries out his master’s wishes, he goes home to his wife and young son every night, and prays for peace to fall on the kingdom.
Unfortunately for Itto and his family, the mad Shogun is frightened by his decapitator and decides to kill him. He sends his ninjas to carry out the orders but they mistakenly kill Itto’s wife instead. A furious Ogami Itto swears revenge and promises there will be “rivers of blood” as he is exiled with his young son. Itto becomes Lone Wolf; a masterless samurai for hire whose ultimate goal is to destroy the shogun and anyone who stands in his way…
Shogun Assassin is a movie which has been cut from the longer Lone Wolf and Cub series of films. There are six films in total, and Shogun Assassin is made from parts of the first two movies in the series. The fact any semblance of narrative coherence has been maintained is a miracle in itself, and the finished product has many flaws, but there are many positives, too.
As with the originals, Shogun Assassin has a beautifully dated look. The whole film has been shot in the style of a spaghetti western; the camera closes in on eyes squinting in the sun, or sweeps slowly past implacable faces with emotions of stone, and the violence, when it comes, erupts from the stillness. There are many examples where there is no action at all; the atmosphere of impending violence is built through the eyes of the actors and the atonal hum from the soundtrack. Shogun Assassin is full of atmosphere, drama, and at all times the threat of impending violence - all of which is underpinned by the incredible sound design and startling, but brilliantly over the top soundtrack.
Indeed it is hard not to escape the genius of the sound design of the film; doors creak and snap, the wind howls with voices floating on the breeze, and the cart carrying Lone Wolf’s ‘cub’ slowly trundles along seemingly deserted roads, with the wheels creaking over broken stones. The garish synths and programmed drums could be a distraction, and they are intrusive at times, but for the most part, they provide a harmonious bedrock upon which the atmosphere can safely lay its foundations, subtly working its magic.
The new score was recorded in its entirety using a Moog Modular synthesizer system; cutting edge studio equipment at the time, and although some of the music may seem out of step with the on screen action, the aural landscape is beautifully crafted - it is easy to see why so many musicians have fallen under its spell, most notably Wu-Tang Clan (GZA uses wholesale sections of music and dialogue from Shogun Assassin on his seminal album Liquid Swords).
The violence is perhaps the most captivating of Shogun Assassin’s many facets, and it is easy to see why the film gained such a cult following upon release. It is so different from any accepted western ideal of what action cinema should be; cartoon violence married to dialogue which has a strange, almost poetic beauty. It is also easy to see why the film was banned under the UK’s ‘video nasty’ laws during the 1980s as arms, legs, ears, and even the tip of someone’s nose are all sliced off. Men and women are chopped, diced, sliced, stabbed and, of course, decapitated, in a series of increasingly inventive action sequences. In one memorable scene where Lone Wolf takes on the deadly ‘Masters Of Death’, a trio of seemingly indestructible assassin’s - each with their own unique weapon - one of the masters has his head sliced in two from his hat to shoulders. The camera lingers for what seems like an eternity until the head slowly peels apart like pieces of fruit, before pausing as the blood gushes toward the sky! It is an iconic moment, as is the moment where Lone Wolf decapitates the shogun’s son during a duel to win his freedom. As the camera pulls back, Lone Wolf is silhouetted beside the headless figure, the sun setting behind him as the two figures stand in the long grass; one figure has no head, one figure has a baby strapped to his back.
Of course, all of this beauty comes at a price, and although using such stunning original material to create a new film may have seemed like a good idea, it clearly wreaks havoc with narrative and indeed Shogun Assassin’s many flaws are all directly attributable to the unusual way in which the film was made.
Despite the obvious lengths the makers of the new version went to keep some of the original dialogue intact (hiring deaf Japanese lip readers to interpret the original dialogue, using professional voice actors for the new dialogue), they have sacrificed lyrical integrity for narrative sense. Whole sections of dialogue at the beginning of the film do not make sense when taken in the wider context of the new storyline. Indeed, the final third of the film clearly has nothing to do with the beginning. It is as if, having created the back story for Lone Wolf, they realised it was going to be too difficult to tie in an ending with the footage they were using. Instead, the film changes tack after the first third and a new story is introduced. Maybe the makers were hoping Shogun Assassin would be the first of two, or possibly three films. Or maybe they just ran out of time or inclination, or money?
No matter what, Shogun Assassin is an essential part of any martial arts fans collection, and it also compliments the longer Lone Wolf and Cub series. Eerily magnificent, this is an oddity that will repay attention and stands up to repeated viewings, despite the flaws inherent in a project with such an unusual genesis. As an aperitif for the full series, it is the most tantalising of hints at what is to come. SM
Film: Playtime
Release date: 29th November 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Jacques Tati
Starring: Jacques Tati, Barbara Dennek , Rita Maiden, France Rumilly, France Delahalle
Genre: Comedy
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD
Country: France/Italy
Many creators have suffered for their art, but few go as far as bankruptcy to succeed. After Jacques Tati made his third feature film, Mon Oncle, in 1958, it took him nine years to wrap shooting on his next project Playtime, having had to generate funding (some of which was personal), and construct an entire metropolitan setting from scratch. Although Playtime is often very physically compact, it might be said that this is the ‘epic’ in Tati’s filmography, if only for the sheer scale of his efforts in creating an artificial ecology of thought, and for the assured methodology behind this fascinating world.
Tati recycles his old faithful heroine Mr. Hulot, and again elects to play the role, wandering around a nameless city and becoming distracted by its populous of tourists, salesmen, and partygoers.
The true intention of his visit to the place, however, is not as leisurely as it was in something like Mr. Hulot’s Holiday, as he arrives at an office tower for an appointment with his business partner, Mr. Giffard. What follows is a comedy of errors, whereby Hulot chases after his partner but – through increasingly bizarre circumstances – is unable to catch up with him. One such moment occurs when a patiently-waiting Hulot moves across the room to study some artwork, only to discover that he has entered an elevator and is promptly taken to the top floor of the building…
When Hulot boards a bus full of American tourists by mistake, he is transported to the lavish nightspots of the city. The rectilinear style of this metropolis, with its simple, clean lines and arresting symmetry, is said to be in France, but feels more like developed American conurbations in its polished extravagance. Tati uses the setting to demonstrate the commercialisation of existence, in terms of how we view ‘home’, and what we want from the places that we visit. Ageing women visit a trade fair and seem genuinely enthralled when a man tries to sell them a vacuum cleaner; whilst brash Americans throw their money around at travel agencies, and are rude at restaurants. Do we want to be catered to, marketed to, sold commodities to invest in, and, if so, is life just a commodity?
Playtime recalls the post-war emergence of consumerism, and how that is fuelled by places like this city, which provide people with a way of surviving through capitalist self-sufficiency. A family’s apartment overlooks a packed street like a high-street store window, and the surrounding blocks have identical layouts. The venues in the city, whether business or socially-oriented, are aesthetically slick but essentially cold, hollow places to be. They have no mark of personalisation, but its inhabitants seem perfectly content to live there.
The lounge bar which Hulot visits literally falls to pieces at the slightest contact, and the showroom feel of the bar suggests that it is meant to be viewed and not touched - its physical properties are irrelevant. After Hulot has dismantled a certain section of the bar, a frustrated woman leaves, claiming, “Every night – it’s always the same.” A figurative remark, this feels like more of a jibe against pristine living spaces and regulated commerce, almost as if these inhabitants are like The Sims (simulations) in the computer game of the same name. They appear to exist as part of this place, as a product of it, than through their own individual needs.
Despite causing things to go slightly off-kilter, Hulot doesn’t garner any blame from the people that he encounters, and can’t affect the systematic nature of this world at all. He seems particularly aloof and enveloped in this picture than in other outings, as Tati spends fifteen minutes navigating a restaurant before he shows Hulot arriving. A touching late bond with a female tourist offers recompense, and it might be that the authorial nature of Tati as Hulot connects with the woman, who asks him how the word “drugstore” is said in French, despite all the signs being in English. Is her cultural awareness an appealing gesture? Either way, it’s a warmer way to end the film than one would certainly expect.
The final scene, too, offers lighter ideas of this place, as a visitor attraction, by transforming menial elements of city life into a veritable cavalcade of funfair rides. The previously drone shade of cars flourish into a multicoloured brethren of vehicles that mount a roundabout and revolve at the same speed like a makeshift carousel. Elsewhere, an ice cream truck halts to open service, and motorised lifts move up and down like mini-theme park rides. Purely and simply, this is “play time,” making light of the heavy formality of city life, in as orchestrated a manner as we’ve seen in ambitious advertisements: “come here and spend.”
If only for the sheer magnitude of what Tati has built and voiced, Playtime is a curious beast to behold. Add to that the unique, interesting ways in which he manages to collate different representations of capitalism; the meticulous, almost real-time approach to telling his story; the rasping social context that he keenly offers, and this is an essential artefact of world cinema. It’s somewhat comforting to see somebody go all-out and succeed, and although Playtime financially flopped, there’s little doubt that it ranks as a gutsy, artistic triumph. CR
Film: Les Vacances De M. Hulot
Release date: 29th November 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Jacques Tati
Starring: Nathalie Pascaud, Micheline Rolla, Raymond Carl, Lucien Frégis
Genre: Comedy
Studio: BFI
Format: DVD
Country: France
Those reverent of the bane of slapstick British TV comedy, Mr. Bean, may be surprised to learn that the show sprang from much deeper-rooted influences within comedic cinema. In 1953, Jacques Tati followed up his debut film, Jour de Fete, with Les Vacances De M. Hulot, the tale of a man who gets himself into hairier situations than the undeniably popular Bean, yet escapes relatively unharmed. Les Vacances De M. Hulot is less straightforward, and rather a damning social commentary from the director at its helm, but nevertheless uses similar techniques to elicit amusement from its audience.
Mr. Hulot visits the Hotel De La Plage (Hotel on the Beach) for his summer holiday, and immediately ingratiates himself with the locals at the hotel, despite being more than a tad calamitous during his first meal there.
The film then follows him as he journeys with the other residents to various events, such as beach gatherings and firework displays, and finishes when Hulot’s trip has ceased.
The film reads as more of a fleeting montage than a concrete story, but Tati has a lot to demonstrate during the ninety-minute exercise to conserve interest…
Although Tati himself plays the part of Mr. Hulot, he is not cited as an actor in the official credits, which is probably because the film isn’t really about Hulot in the first place. It’s true that he’s a vessel for much of the comedic set-pieces, but Tati’s comedy is more concerned with satirising the mechanisms of society than creating a character that contravenes or alienates his own social standing. When observing the ephemeral chaos generated in the film, one is reminded of Jean Renoir’s The Rules Of The Game, which portrayed the higher classes as clueless, champagne-quaffing bats. The group at the hotel saunter through commonplace holiday activities like clockwork figurines, and their general incompetence towards banal holiday tasks, like collecting seashells and taking snaps, acts as a critique on the uniformity of social tradition.
There are also deliberate attempts to allude to the indifferent philistinism of the group, as Tati intersperses their routine with coverage of political resistance on French radio, and students reciting the work of French philosophers. Young people on street corners profess their love for the music of Fats Waller and Billie Holiday (two musicians who suffered from addiction and died young), before exchanging cigarettes in a matter-of-fact way. The film’s approach reveals a cynical perplexity with regards to the state of society, and the increasing influence of popular culture.
And yet, it manages to say all of this with such an ease of vitality, obvious and cutesy with its humour, but hotly incisive as it dissects the absurdity of social norms. A rambunctious soundtrack accompanies the farcical failures of Mr. Hulot as a sailor, a diner, and a chauffeur, aiding the deadpan, tongue-in-cheek style of Tati’s visual storytelling. A particular highlight is when Hulot utilises a tennis technique shown to him by a girl at the racket club, which renders him an invincible opponent. The overtly simple two-step technique aligns with the abruptness of the film’s comedic charm, as well as its canny, minimal use of sound to generate moments of delightful whimsy. There is little-to-no dialogue in Les Vacances De M. Hulot (and, in truth, it has more in common with pre-talkie techniques at eliciting laughter), but the sound design of the film is undoubtedly one of its most meticulously crafted elements.
This is not to say that much of it isn’t thoroughly assembled and masterfully co-ordinated - from a game of Bridge descending into chaos to an upturned canoe sparking fears of enemy invasion. Tati’s social allegory suggests that we aren’t the principal organisms on earth, that we’re governed by objects and symbols, and by imposed iconography, which means that we can’t deal with the unexplained or loosely-bound. These tourists don’t connect with each other on a personal level, and only serve in a regimental capacity, so as to maintain an equilibrium or sense of normality. A final scene sees Mr. Hulot toss the contact details of a departing fellow hotel guest into the sand; a poignant, apt way of saying that sentiment is easily constructed, and not necessarily as honest or meaningful as one might think.
Les Vacances De M. Hulot is modestly funny and undeniably focused, zipping along with character, style, and an infectiously cheeky demeanour. The stylistic novelty of Tati’s film initially feels like it’s going to be a trawl through cause-and-effect comedy, but emerges as something totally different and eminently more worthwhile. It’s more than an exercise in hazard perception: Les Vacances De M. Hulot is a piquant jaunt through tetchy social terrain, exhibiting all of the hallmarks of an early Charlie Chaplin picture, and packing more than enough of the punch. CR
Film: Heartbreaker
Release date: 22nd November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 105 mins
Director: Pascal Chaumeil
Starring: Romain Duris, Vanessa Paradis, Julie Ferrier, François Damiens, Héléna Noguerra
Genre: Comedy/Romance
Studio: Revolver
Format: Cinema
Country: France
Most Hollywood romantic comedies manage to be about as funny as having a tooth pulled with a pair of rusty pliers and as romantic as a Valentine's Day card written by accountants, but French director Pascal Chaumeil's debut feature is a breath of fresh air: stylish, witty, and with a romantic streak that is sweetly endearing, not sickly. Heartbreaker may not rewrite the rom com rulebook, but it's certainly a cut above the norm.
Alex Lippi (Romain Duris) is a disreputable womaniser, but he’s a disreputable womaniser with a difference: along with his resourceful sister Melanie (Julie Ferrier) and unconventional brother-in-law Marc (Francois Damiens), Alex runs a business that tasks itself with getting women to split from unsuitable partners.
Alex doesn’t have sex with any of the women he charms, and he refuses to intervene if both partners are genuinely happy in their relationship, but his professional ethics don’t stop him from doing whatever else it takes to get the job done - whether it’s getting arrested or masquerading as a teary-eyed humanitarian do-gooder.
Alex, however, is about to find himself firmly out of his comfort zone. Faced with a large debt that threatens the existence of his business, and possibly even his life, he accepts a job he would normally turn down from a wealthy flower merchant with apparently shady connections. The client’s daughter, high-flying wine expert Juliette (Vanessa Paradis), is seemingly perfectly in love and set on marrying wealthy English philanthropist Jonathan in glamorous Monaco in a mere ten days.
With no time to lose, Alex, Melanie and Marc head off to Monaco, where Alex poses as a bodyguard employed to protect Juliette by her concerned father. Under normal circumstances, Alex would not have to do much more than fake a few tears and feign a shared interest or two, but as he soon discovers, Juliette is no pushover…
The basic premise of Heartbreaker is utterly ridiculous, of course, but that’s probably one of the main reasons why Chaumeil and his cast have such fun with it, and pull off it so well. While Alex is clearly a fine looking man with a stereotypically Gallic je ne sais quoi, he’s also, as Juliette points out to him, a bit of a moron, and the spy team antics of Melanie and Marc veer from the implausible to the hilariously farcical. Rather than trying to limit the absurd nature of the plot, Chaumeil revels in it, and layers one screwball idea on top of another, sometimes with joyously amusing results.
In one of the film’s funniest scenes, but not its most politically correct, Marc disguises himself (not very well) as a bumbling Polish labourer whose inept attempts to fix the faulty air conditioning unit in Juliette’s hotel room lead very quickly and deliberately to complete disaster, with the desired result that she has to spend the night in Alex’s room (her on the bed, him on the couch).
The arrival of Juliette’s old friend Sophie, a sexually voracious free spirit, further complicates Alex’s task, but she is also a jarring reminder to Juliette that her life was very different, and a lot more exciting before she settled down with the tediously wet and teeth-gratingly well meaning Jonathan (Andrew Lincoln). At this point, it begins to become more obvious that Juliette and Jonathan’s relationship is not the stuff of rom com heaven, but when Jonathan finally arrives in Monaco, it looks as though as the game is up and Alex has to accept defeat.
Inevitably, perhaps, this is where Heartbreaker has to start playing it a little more straight, and where Alex has to complete the transition from smooth conman to genuinely smitten would-be love interest. Having already played his trump cards (involving a professed love of George Michael, Dirty Dancing and Roquefort cheese for breakfast), Alex has to improvise, and rely on a little good fortune to get the girl.
Fortunately, Chaumeil is a skilled enough director to manage doing this without completely upsetting the balance of the film, and you’d have to be a hopeless misanthrope not to enjoy the way Heartbreaker concludes. Even if you do find the ending a touch syrupy, or aren’t quite convinced by the chemistry, or lack thereof between Duris and Paradis, there is a brilliant, laugh-out-loud final scene, played out over the closing credits, where we see Marc attempting to take over Alex’s role as seducer for hire.
Apparently there is already a US remake in the works, but no doubt it’ll be as bad, if nowhere near as funny, as Marc’s attempts to follow in Alex’s footsteps.
In many ways, Heartbreaker is a thoroughly conventional rom com, and an ideal date movie for the unadventurous, but director Pascal Chaumeil is clearly a new talent who knows how to make something ordinary a little out of the ordinary. JG
Film: Frontier Blues
Release date: 8th November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 95 mins
Director: Babak Jalali
Starring: Abolfazl Karimi, Mahmoud Kalteh, Khajeh Araz Dordi, Behzad Shahrivari, Karima Adebibe
Genre: Drama
Studio: Artificial Eye
Format: DVD
Country: Iran/UK/Italy
Set in a northern province of Iran, with its racial mix of Turkmen, Persians, Kazakhs, Russians and Armenians, Frontier Blues depicts the lives of people in limbo, belonging to neither one country nor another, who seem to exist in a permanent state of transition.
The film switches between four different characters, all living an unsatisfactory kind of existence. Hassam is the young man abandoned by his parents, brought up by an uncle who is bewildered by his bizarre habits of collecting number plates and having a donkey as his constant companion. Uncle Kazem’s shop has a random assortment of clothes, which never seem to fit any of his customers. Alam lives with his widowed father, works in a chicken factory and dreams of marrying a woman he has never spoken to - and taking her to a new life in the capital. A man referred to only as Mr Minstrel poses with his lute for a photographer from Tehran in a series of shots which attempt to recreate a vision of a simple nomadic lifestyle that is long gone.
There’s a sense with each of these characters of aspirations unfulfilled. Hassam makes prank calls to strangers and boasts of owning many eucalyptus farms. Alam teaches himself English from a tape in preparation for his dream life in the big city, but the parents of the woman he wishes to marry reject his proposal. Mr Minstrel initially plays along with the intentions of the Tehranian photographer, who is constantly directing the musician and the children who follow him so that he can make the most artistically composed shots. When asked by the photographer to relate a story in his own Turkmen language, the story the musician tells is not a folk tale, but the story of how his wife was abducted years ago, and how he has been searching for her ever since. The substance of his life is not consistent with the picturesque National Geographic style tableau that the photographer is trying to create…
The frozen nature of the characters’ lives is reflected in the pace of the film. Hardly anything happens here. The soundtrack uses a scratching noise, like the sound of a needle stuck on vinyl, giving a feeling of restlessness and futility. There’s a focus on mundane and repetitive actions - Alam feeding the chickens in the factory or Hassan trying to fix a number plate on a car. Journeys aren’t significant for their destinations, but to show these people in a state of constant transition against the blank backdrop of the steppes. There’s a particularly beautiful shot of Hassan walking with his donkey underneath a cobwebby sky, among the waters and reeds of the Caspian Sea, but any sense of tragic grandeur in the setting is undermined by awareness that Hassan’s character is eccentric, if not disturbed.
The film’s melancholy is tempered by a droll visual humour. Hassan and his uncle stand outside his house, watching men walking past with their donkeys, from right to left and left to right, like a tennis match - rush hour on the steppes. Uncle Kazem goes to his usual cafe for lunch and sits one of the shop mannequins between him and his lunch companion, who unexpectedly leers with excitement at Kazem. Life here is ridiculous but sad, its beauty cut through with banality and frustration – “the land of heartbreaks and tractors,” in the words of the musician.
Iranian-born director and writer Babak Jalali used non-professional actors from the region of Golestan in northern Iran, where the film was shot. The actors’ performances are naturalistic and understated, although the portrayal of the characters tends to skate along the surface, building a picture through an accumulation of repeated actions rather than through any exposition of their inner lives. Khajeh Araz Dordi takes on the most challenging role as Mr Minstrel, shifting from a strong and dignified silence – one of the characters compares him to Charles Bronson – to ranting bitterly about the loss of his wife and the crassness of the photographer’s sentimentalised view of provincial life. His character gives a fiercer edge to the film, which suggests that Jalali may have more to give than the quiet and melancholy quirkiness which forms the core of Frontier Blues.
The film’s pace is glacial, but its gentle and humorous observations, as well as the striking landscape of its setting, are enough to sustain interest for its modest hour-and-a-half duration. If you’ve ever uttered the words “but nothing ever happened” when leaving the cinema, it’s probably one to avoid. For all that, it shows some skilful and delicate filmmaking, and it’ll be interesting to see what Jalali does next. KR
Film: Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky
Release date: 22nd November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 120 mins
Director: Jan Kounen
Starring: Anna Mouglalis, Mads Mikkelsen, Yelena Morozova, Natacha Lindinger, Grigori Manukov
Genre: Drama/Romance
Studio: Soda
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: France
French director Jan Kounen’s Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky explores a period in the lives of the controversial Russian composer and the celebrated French fashion designer, when they briefly lived together in Chanel’s country villa, and were rumoured to have had an affair. This was the second film released in 2009 to feature the character of Chanel, alongside Anne Fontaine’s Coco Avant Chanel. Kounen’s film was released to mixed critical reviews, but was chosen as the closing film of the 2009 Cannes Film Festival.
1931, and Russian composer Igor Stravinsky (Mads Mikkelsen) unveils his new ballet ‘The Rite Of Spring’ to the Paris glitterati. The music is greeted with a virtual riot by an audience outraged at his bold and controversial new use of rhythm and choreography. Among those present are über-chic fashion design Coco Chanel (Anna Mouglalis) who is impressed by the shocking performance.
Some years later, the two meet again as Chanel is mourning the death of her lover, and Stravinsky and his family have been forced to flee Paris following the Russian revolution. Chanel invites them all to come and stay with her in her country Villa, where the composer can concentrate on his work.
They accept, and for a while all goes well. Away from the city, Stravinsky enjoys extraordinary musical productivity, while his wife Catherine (Yelena Morozova), who is suffering from tuberculosis, benefits from relaxation and bed rest. It’s not long before passions begin to run high between the composer and designer, however, and, under the noses of his wife and their young children, they embark on a passionate affair…
It is worth bearing in mind that the film is not necessarily a true statement of fact. The events that take place are largely the product of conjecture and hearsay, and although it is true that Stravinsky and Chanel did spend time together in her country retreat, rumours of their affair remain just that – rumours. That isn’t to say that there is nothing of historic interest on show here; despite the dramatic licence taken in sexing up the facts, the real truths being examined are the personalities of these two giants of the creative world, and Kounen has captured something very special in transferring their personalities to screen.
The piece is definitely a two hander, with both lead characters given equally intricate dissection, but despite Mikkelsen’s precise, powerful performance, the film really belongs to Mouglalis. Her Coco Chanel is a revelation; dynamic, multi-layered, powerful and fragile. A beautifully toned, exquisitely written study of this complex character, capturing in the heroine a mix of fierce independence and simmering fragility. Credit must also go to Morozova as Catherine, Stravinsky’s wife, suffering critical illness and the critical failure of her marriage in front of their young children. It is heartbreaking to watch Catherine try to retain her composure and dignity whilst turning a blind eye to the undeniable passion building between her husband and Chanel.
The music itself is treated reverently, and with a careful hand by Kounen, who obviously knows his stuff. It is not as much its own character as, say, in Milos Forman’s ‘Amadeus’, but still Stravinsky’s music is a powerful, malleable presence in the film. At the time of its composition, his music was controversial and mould-breaking, and today it is no less affecting. With its strange, complex rhythms and unusual, absorbing melodies, the soundtrack will get under the skin and linger in the head long after the final credits role.
The film looks beautiful, with Kounen’s immaculate framing and careful camerawork mirroring both Chanel’s elegance and Stravinsky’s precision. The staging of Stravinsky’s ballets, in particular, come across with all the proper power and dark intensity, and it is obvious from the way they are treated that Kounen is a man with the greatest respect for the work. Similarly, full credit must go to the costume design by Chattoune and Fab, who have decked out the cast exquisitely - there is plenty here for budding fashionistas to drool over in Chanel’s incredible couture.
A careful, elegant, and thoroughly grown-up study of two fascinating characters, Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky offers a powerful insight into what made these geniuses tick. Possibly a little slow paced for some, and slightly let down by a clichéd and unconfident ending, but for those with even a passing interest, it’s a definite must-see. LOZ
Film: Splice
Release date: 29th November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 104 mins
Director: Vincenzo Natali
Starring: Adrien Brody, Sarah Polley, Delphine Chaneac, Brandon McGibbon, Simona Maicanescu
Genre: Drama/Sci-Fi/Thriller
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Canada/France/USA
This is an English-Language release.
Vincenzo Natali has every right to be confused. Thirteen years ago, Phillip Schofield was struggling to cut and run from children’s television, eventually escaping mundane holiday documentaries to front the National Lottery Winning Lines programme, thus becoming a national treasure in England, epitomised by a game-show called The Cube, nowhere near as mesmerising as Natali’s mythical head screw film of the same name, which was released many years earlier. Natali fought against the tide, and years went by without the further success his criminally underrated sci-fi thriller warranted. Finally, somebody also decided to give him another shot, and Splice was his riposte.
Clive and Elsa are young and gifted genetic engineers, able to create new hybrids by splicing DNA from various animals. Blocked to delve further by their backers, a pharmaceutical company that funds their research, they must take the project underground.
Risking their careers, they meddle with the boundaries of science by using the DNA from humans as well as from different animals, creating Dren, a unique creature that’s not only intelligent but boasts unexpected physical attributes, including an abnormal growth rate.
Trying to keep this beautiful monster a secret when all Dren wants to do is escape her mundane existence puts a huge strain on Clive and Elsa’s already fraught relationship, hindered by personal problems, increasingly suspicious backers, a devoted varmint, and a botched scientific demonstration foreshadowing the gruesome horrors they are about to face…
It’s already common knowledge that director Vincenzo Natali named his two protagonists after Elsa Lanchester and Colin Clive, leads from James Whale’s The Bride Of Frankenstein (1935). Other than the mad scientist link, the only obvious comparison to Splice is Delphine Chaneac’s astonishing performance as Dren – her birdlike movements echo that of the Bride’s, with Lanchester once admitting she based her actions on the quick darting of swans. Expressive without the need for language, Chaneac does what Natasha Henstridge failed to do in Species (1995), and gives an intense yet beautiful performance that really tugs on the heartstrings.
The other two leads aren’t bad either: Elsa (played by Sarah Polley) is stubborn and ambitious, Clive (Adrien Brody) is easily led and doesn’t like taking risks, but their relationship is believable and familiar as they try desperately to pull each other into similar directions (she wants a bigger house to work in but he wouldn’t mind her giving it up to raise a child). Neither character is off screen for any longer than a minute at a time, which enables the viewer to get to know them inside out. The problem is by having such few characters, even when Dren is teetering on madness, it wouldn’t make any sense to eliminate either Clive or Elsa, so tension is inevitably lost during those volatile scenes, and along with it some intriguing opportunities.
Having said that, one of the surprising things about Splice is its ability to turn the mad scientist movie into a fascinating drama, aroused by failing relationships and dark taboos neither Clive nor Elsa can hide from. There may be little in the way of scares during the opening two acts but that doesn’t matter because there are plenty of shocks, thanks to some ingenious plot devices and previously hidden character traits.
Only during the finale does the body count increase, and those that initially succumb to the frenzy are mere fodder an audience has failed to bond with. It’s a good excuse to dazzle us with some impressive effects though, even if you could be left wanting just that little bit more - Natali refusing to slow things down in a scene that if you blink you may miss the money shot. Only when Clive and Elsa are under threat does the director finally manage to play out a tense, albeit brief, hide and seek, including a sinister twist that you probably won’t see coming. A lack of gore throughout will disappoint a few, but to compensate those splatter fans, there is a completely insane botched scientific experiment that is arguably the best moment Splice will throw at you.
Natali’s ability to surprise is what makes this movie so enjoyable. Just when it seems the film is falling into a generic minefield, he manages to take your breath away – it’s certainly not humbled to revel in such enjoyable fun. The introduction of Dren is tense and well-timed, not to mention impossibly cute; Clive’s attempts to drown their mistake adds a much-needed kick up the backside; and the already mentioned performance by Ginger and Fred is as hilarious as it is gory. Other great moments involve Dren’s evolutionary add-on, a look away moment for cat lovers, and two sexual encounters that will send your jaw plummeting to the floor.
By turning from science fiction to all-out horror, and switching locations midway through proceedings (gothic remote farmhouse always a winner), the screenplay does begin to tread familiar ground, and this is all a bit disappointing, delivering few chills and not enough action to keep the viewer on the edge of their seat. Even more frustrating is Dren mark two – whereas Dren was able to express her feelings with mesmerising ease, Natali does the unthinkable and decides to add the art of articulation to his monster’s list of attributes. Not only is the whole thing ultimately pointless, it’s cringe worthy, embarrassing and although only comprising of two futile words, nearly destroys all the good that went before it. Note to Natali: monsters should never talk.
Able to belie its low budget constraints, Splice is a fascinating, fast-paced blend of sci-fi and horror with the genuine ability to surprise and entertain, complimented by impressive performances - and an utterly bewitching monster. DW
Series: The Slayers Revolution: Season 4 Part 1
Release date: 8th November 2010
Certificate: PG
Running time: 325 mins
Director: Takashi Watanabe
Starring: N/a
Genre: Anime
Studio: MVM
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
Taking inspiration from Dungeons & Dragons, and based on Hajime Kanzaka’s manga series, Slayers Revolution returns for a fourth season, blending action with fantasy and comedy as Lina and her gang face insurmountable odds to face off against the evil Duclis.
The sorceress Lina Inverse and her gang are searching for the Sword of Light after losing it in an earlier battle when they happen across Pokota, who is in possession of one Lina’s most powerful spells.
On the way, they meet a marauding gang of pirates, who have kidnapped a mermaid; emergency aid for Pokota’s kingdom of Taforashia is vindictively intercepted by the evil Gioconda; and a rich lady’s pets have gone missing. As the crew deal with these problems, they must bring the final battle to Duclis’ newly created Zanaffar, who can only be damaged by the missing Sword of Light…
The most striking element in season four of Slayers Revolution is the poor animation and characterisation. The style forgoes the obvious potential of similar series’ in favour of a simplistic, poorly designed approach, with uninteresting clichéd character models and a lack of consistency throughout the production. Clichéd is a notion which is synonymous with the whole series, as the attempted aesthetic and function of the show has been done before so many times, and done so much better (see D.Gray Man et al).
The lead character, Lina Inverse, is presented as an anti-hero of sorts, with the producers aiming to squeeze some comedy out of her arrogance and defiance. All they succeed in doing is making her possibly the single most un-relatable and unlikeable protagonist in anime. Of course, not all heroes have to be pure and innocent, and these flaws normally succeed in driving the narrative - and offering the audience anchor for the adventure, but it seems they have set out to make the most repugnant, annoying character ever, helped in no small part by the irritating voice acting from Megumi Hayashibara. The voice acting is a mixed bag, with a notable turn from Yasunori Matsumoto as the hapless Gourry who brings most of the comic beats as he struggles with his clumsiness and constantly breaking sword - much to the dismay and anger of Lina.
The relationship between Lina and the rest of the gang consists mainly of them lamenting her bad attitude or (rather bizarrely for a PG rated show) relentlessly bullying her for her flat chest (a sentiment echoed by many of the enemies they come across, even the live stuffed animal Pokota). This shift in tone from action and adventure into infantile, repetitive references to an 18-year-old girl’s breasts (or lack thereof) is somewhat unsettling, and lends an element of unsuited crudity to the show.
The aforementioned stuffed animal antagonist, Pokota, is also a redundant, infuriating character, despite featuring heavily in the earlier episodes. This is largely down to his simplistic and uninspired characterisation, leading the gang on a fruitless and dangerous journey before becoming an annoying sidekick of sorts once he realises that the evil Gioconda is involved in a plot to destroy Pokota’s kingdom, Taforashia. Pokota’s appearance is reminiscent of a bargain bin Pokémon, lacking any of their charm and harbouring a massive chip on his tiny shoulder, which, when combined with Lina’s constant arrogance, presents a truly lamentable proposition.
The juxtaposition of highly stylised, overly cartoony characters (Lina and Pokota) with much more human, relatable designs (specifically in Wizer Freon, the inspector of Ruvignald) creates a sense of disjointedness which does not lend itself well to the show’s overall aesthetic. Secondary and background characters are very poorly animated, with seemingly only a couple of frames of animation to share between them, becoming the only focal point as they spasmodically jig behind the action in a relentless loop of lazy production..
These moments of laughable shoddiness are only exacerbated when shown alongside the rather impressive action scenes. The characters cry out the names of their attacks - in typical anime fashion - and use creative combat and spells to offer a real sense of pace to these scenes, and present a pleasant distraction from the rest of the episode.
The plot is rather typical fantasy fare, with the clichéd set up of an overarching narrative beset with smaller sub-plots to appease the casual viewer. The main narrative is a convoluted affair, with Lina and Gourry reconvening with her separated friends before Wizer attempts to arrest her for apparently “being herself” (which would have been a blessing). And so begins a cat and mouse chase between Wizer, Lina and Pokota which results in an epic final battle against the Zanaffar. The confusing main narrative is made more so by the simplicity of the events of individual episodes. New characters are constantly introduced and long-winded names of far off lands are dropped with a misguided familiarity while the gang search for missing pets - and take part in a ball rolling festival.
Slayers Revolution is a poorly produced, confusing and unappealing anime with substandard design and a lead character who is one of the most unlikeable and annoying in recent memory. There are much stronger examples of similarly themed anime available, and fleeting moments of exciting combat and comedic lines cannot save this from being difficult to recommend. RB
Film: Shogun Assassin
Release date: 29th November 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Robert Houston
Starring: Tomisaburo Wakayama, Kayo Matsuo, Minoru Oki, Akiji Kobayashi, Shin Kishida
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Japan/USA
After the long running success of the Lone Wolf and Cub manga series, Shogun Assassin marks the cinematic opening chapter of this tale of a samurai warrior and his infant son taking bloody revenge against an evil Shogun. Daddy Day Care this is not.
The old Shogun becomes paranoid about being overthrown by his soldiers, so orders assassins to kill Ogami Itto; one of his best samurai warriors.
Whilst Ogami - and his young son, Deigoro - manages to survive the attack, his wife is killed. Brutally striking down the rest of the assassins who come after him; Ogami vows revenge on the Shogun and sets off on the road to destroy his enemy, bringing little Deigoro with him in a wooden baby cart.
Ogami and Deigoro wander the land, the samurai taking assassination jobs for money along the way, whilst constantly fighting off the Shogun’s ninja...
Whilst a film of this genre trades heavily on its gore and violent content – the film was previously banned – the violence is rather run of the mill. Yes there is blood, guts and people’s limbs flying here and there but it’s all really been done before in Japanese thrillers similar to this – and, crucially, better than this.
Thankfully, the film just about saves itself by having more depth to it than just than being another hack and slash revenge thriller. Instead, the story focuses heavily on the themes of revenge, damnation and the bond between parent and child. Maternity and paternity are some of the strongest themes running throughout this film, and it is from the latter that Ogami gains much of his power. The task of protecting Deigoro creates a focused demeanour for the protagonist, and also a sense of loose purpose, besides seeking revenge on the Shogun. However, maternal instincts are strongly portrayed. A fine example is shown as a master female ninja relinquishes her attack on the duo when Deigoro’s life is placed in danger. Despite facing death for failing to kill Ogami and Deigoro, she cannot bring herself to end the young boy’s life.
Kenji Misumi, the director, also does well to make some of the scenes sublimely atmospheric. This is achieved from interesting directorial tricks, such as framing characters against spectacular background visuals or using close up shots of the characters’ eyes to create insightful gazes into the minds of the key players. Misumi also uses the scenery and the mise-en- scène to create extra emphasis, such as displaying shots of cut bamboo lacerated by Ogami’s sword as he kills one of the shogun’s soldiers.
Whilst the cinematography is well realised, the narrative path suffers from a lack of direction. The story, at times, feels aimless, and seems to have no point to it aside from documenting the torture and betrayal felt by Ogami and his son, as well to show as how they are struggling to survive on a daily basis. Whilst this is interesting, it is not as exciting as the hype surrounding the film would suggest. Additionally, a few sub plots are added on, but ultimately the film doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere until it is long past the midway point. It is possible the pointlessness of the plot symbolises Ogami’s own sense of pointlessness in life, after having his world torn apart. Unfortunately, if true, this doesn’t make for good entertainment.
Some moments do compensate for the brooding gaps in Shogun Assassin’s plot but these, by contrast, are incredibly silly and absurd. Luckily, these don’t detract from the enjoyment of the more serious scenes - Deigoro operating booby traps from his cart, ejecting knives into the enemies attacking him, or when ninja assassins start firing bladed parsnips at Ogami.
Whilst Shogun Assassin is no epic yarn, it is mightily enjoyable. The premise is refreshingly different to other samurai films in that Deigoro actually assists his father, despite his very young age. This film manages to strike a good balance between humour and drama, whilst keeping the action compelling enough to follow. Also the idea that Deigoro and his father are actually damned by their outlaw status adds a sense of tragedy to the proceedings. DJ
