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Series: The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzimiya – Complete Series 2
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Manga
Certificate: 15
Director: Takesi Koike
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Antoinette Thirgood
In this second series collection, The Melancholy Of Haruhi Suzimiya continues to focus in on the strange powers Haruhi Suzimiya has and how this affects her companions, who all attend school together and have formed the SOS Brigade to investigate the mysterious events which seem to follow Miss Suzimiya around. Produced by Kyoto Animation and part of the franchise comprised of a regular TV series and also an anime film, this set continues the character development of the SOS group and combines both the fantastical and real as Suzimiya affects the plot in bizarre ways.
This DVD set is comprised of two main plot lines involving time travel and the affect Suzimiya’s subconscious has on reality. In the first development, Kyon is asked to time travel and meets the older Mikura Asahina, and has to find the time travel device or TTPD before he becomes trapped in the past with the younger Miss Asahina. This mission is a success, but as the summer holidays break, it soon becomes apparent that something strange is going on, as Kyon is struck by a mixture of strong paranoia and déjà vu , while Suzimiya instructs the gang to follow her summer itinerary of events.
The next development sees Suzimiya decide to make a movie using the SOS brigade as her cast with herself as the director. She plays on Miss Asahina’s attractiveness, using her to gain sponsorship for the film and, in general, bossing her around. She comes up with surreal ideas, often sexualising Miss Asahina. Kosumi has to explain to Kyon the consequences of Suzimiya getting carried away, as the lines between fantasy and reality again begin to blur. Kyon must again confront his feelings and concentrate on what he knows about Miss Suzimaya to save their reality.
There is also a disc with bonus anime features, such as manga versions of the main characters and shorter episodes jam packed with a different plot for each short…
The hint of romance between Kyon and Asahina is fun to watch in this series. Kyon often breaks his serious deadpan narration to exclaim his lack of control over Miss Asahina’s extreme ‘hotness’. With Miss Suzimiya insisting on playing on Miss Asahina’s sexuality and childishness and dressing her in skimpy outfits, fans of Miss Asahina will be pleased with these episodes. The plot dares to push taboos, as one episode even involves a drink being spiked and the threat of violence from Kyon, adding to suspense and revealing a darker side to Miss Suzimiya’s character.
The skill of the animators to convey emotion adds depth to the storyline, and the deadpan sense of humour which runs throughout shows the writers aren’t afraid of a little tongue-in-cheek self mockery. However, the Endless Eight section of the series leaves a little to be desired. Choosing to replay the same eight episodes under the pretence of déjà vu is a little tiring, with very little changing in the way of plot in each episode. The writers could be accused of laziness in using the same material over and over with little effort; three or four episodes would have sufficed instead.
On the ideas explored, however, viewers should not be disappointed. Miss Suzimaya’s consciousness affecting events in the other characters’ lives, such as her wish for something “unknown” that she is unhappy with, is interesting. Kosumi’s tantalising conversation with Kyon pushes him to think about why he gets annoyed with Miss Suzimaya, while also protecting Miss Asahina. It hints that we are closer to seeing Kyon admit his true feelings when he is forced to analyse his relationship with the two girls, adding a duality to the romantic plot which wasn’t there before. The appearance of a Miss Asahina from the future and the information about Nagato being able to transcend time leads to further questions on how the past, present and future will all come to fit together - there are a lot of facts discussed which have to remain “classified” and Kyon is often frustrated trying to piece it all together.
The extra features DVD is fun and shows surprising sides to the characters, some quite risqué, others enjoyable simply for the anime effects used in expressing what happens. In the main, the series has a good use of location. Mention of traditional Japanese events, such as Tanabata, and the purchase of traditional costumes and enjoying fireworks is also an interesting sideline to the main plot. Nagato and Asahina’s dress code competition on the extra features disc is a highlight.
This segment continues the development of characters well and tantalisingly reveals more about the odd collection of characters, while still leaving room for future twists and turns. The reason for Nagato, Kozumi and Asahina being there is further delved into and we also see a bit more from other characters in the school. Overall this series is a good comedy with lots of entertainment provided, often by the extreme mood swings of Miss Suzimaya. Her treatment of Miss Asahina and the romance hinted at with Kyon and the two ladies will be readily identifiable with many viewers.
Kyon’s narration pushes the plot along at a steady pace, the only criticism being the stalling altogether of events with Endless Eight, not enough is offered in variety between the plots to compensate for having to watch the same script re-play itself! An enjoyable watch but still definitely room for improvement in injecting more into the plot. What this series does do successfully is set it up well for lots more to learn about the characters in the episodes to come.
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Series: Durarara!! Vol. 3
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: Beez
Certificate: 15
Director: Takahiro Omori
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Alice Instone-Brewer
The recently released third volume of Durarara!! continues the anime adaptation of the first three novels in Ryohgo Narita’s light novel series. Brought to us by the team behind the famous Baccano!, and dealing with everything from shy students to city gangs and the supernatural, Durarara!! is a character-driven series of similar tone to the one that made Baccano! so popular, and has already gathered itself a loyal fan base.
The series as a whole follows seemingly shy country teenager Mikado Ryugamine after he moves to the “Big City” in search of excitement. Despite his shy appearance, his greatest fear is living an ordinary life – a fear that drives his often dangerous actions. The “Big City”, in this case, is Ikebukuro, Tokyo. Once there, he crosses paths with his confident and streetwise childhood friend, Masaomi, who takes him under his wing.
The plot centres around an internet-based city gang called the Dollars and their rivalry with the Yellow Scarves - a feud that is made worse by repeated attacks from a mysterious Slasher, who the Yellow Scarves claim works for the Dollars. On top of this, various characters possess elements of the supernatural. The most notable of these is Celty Sturluson, an Irish Dullahan (headless horseman) who travels disguised as a biker whilst she searches for her lost head. Like the rest of the characters, she becomes deeply involved in the gang war.
Though Mikado is technically the main character of the series, equal time is given to everyone, developing each character’s plotline as they intermingle and complicate each other’s lives. Episodes are told from different characters’ points of view through a Noir-esque narration. In volume three, which starts on episode 18 (‘Life And Death Are Up To Fate’), we pick up with Mikado and Masaomi as they walk Anri - the curvy completion to their trio - from hospital after her recovery. The episode hooks people straight into the third volume DVD with some revealing flashbacks for Masaomi and his history with a girl named Saki. The following episodes continue to deliver shocking revelations to and about the characters, causing their situations to become more and more volatile and unstable as the action heads towards the season’s life-or-death climax in episode 25, ‘World Peace’…
Durarara!! is certainly an anime with style and class. From the artwork to the scripting to the music, there is a bluesy, moody feel to the series. A laymen’s stereotype of the anime art-form might be of something loud, fast paced and highly saturated; this couldn’t be further from the truth here. This show is quiet, subdued, shadowy; all as Noir as its narrations. The acting communicates the tone perfectly; dialogue is often spoken in a quiet murmur, subtly tinged with either angst or menace, and often effortlessly cool. Of course, it wouldn’t be anime without irate and emphatic outbursts, but if you were to leave this DVD running in the background of your home, the tone of the voices, accompanied by the music, would often conjure up very smoky, Raymond Chandler inspired images.
Telling the story from changing points of view was a perfect choice for this style of show. It develops the plot slowly, yet to a rich effect. In a series where everyone has secrets and there is no clear-cut right and wrong, seeing the events from every angle allows us a privileged peak into characters’ hidden motives. We’re the only people that know what’s really going on. Coming at the series from this all-seeing perspective shows the audience just how complicated the web of secrecy has become. We can see the misunderstandings and the moral dilemmas for what they are. This is an advantageous way to enjoy a plot about gangs and trickery, but also the complexities of the human relationships within it - be they good or bad. If you can tolerate the pacing, you get more out of the show for it, much like the slower, character-driven early days of films and television.
Izaya Orihara buys and sells information, and his influence can be found behind many of the important plot developments. Like the audience, he too sits in a position of power, overlooking the events with more knowledge than the other characters – mere pawns, as he sees them, running around as he manipulates them. He is also the king of the charismatic delivery mentioned earlier, thanks to the voice of Hiroshi Kamiya. Every show needs a morally grey character with menace and charisma for us to harbour a guilty love for, and Orihara fulfils that requirement here. He seems to torture and control people for the sheer love of it, though his grand goal is to cause a full-out war in the city in order to wake Celty’s sleeping head.
In the volume’s first episode, his love of manipulation is symbolically demonstrated as he schemes hunched over Japanese board game pieces. He gloats about causing a three-way standoff between the Dollars, Yellow Scarves and the third gang, the Blue Squares, speculating and delighting at the power and explosive nature of such struggles. This scene comes right after one discussing a love triangle, making the link between person-to-person dynamics and the constant bigger picture. Whilst gloating, Orihara sets the pieces on fire and watches them burn, marking the downward spiral of events that will follow.
Thanks to the pacing, the audience has time to soak in and appreciate Durarara!!’s skilled artwork. Akira Ito’s images and Akira Takata’s animation are both expressive and admirable, mingling with Makoto Yoshimori’s music to create something that not only communicates the story, but is in itself a pleasure to listen to and observe. It is sometimes fortunate for the show that these visuals are as emotive and engaging as they are, as they help hold the audience’s attention. If these elements were not strong players, then no matter how good the writing might be people would lose interest. There are, of course, plenty of action scenes as well, which are animated to a similarly good standard.
Discussion of the gangs can feel unnecessarily repetitive, at times, such as Anri’s many repeating questions to herself as she runs from the Yellow Scarves in episode 19, ‘The Blue Sky Perishes’. In fact, you may start to worry that the words “Yellow Scarves” and “Dollars” will have burnt impressions of themselves onto your TV screen from how many times you’ve read them in the course of an episode. This could, however, be fruitful fodder for a drinking game. The scripting also struggles with the issue that much of the drama takes place online, as this is where the gangs originate and how they communicate. Fortunately, as said above, the voice acting, artistry and score help these moments stay interesting.
Because it shares many of the same creators, Durarara!! has inevitably been compared to Baccano! by many people. It is considerably less violent than its brother show, but certainly not lacking in grit and drama. If you appreciate one of the shows, the chances are you should check out the other one. Durarara!! is clever, attractive to look at, occasionally moving, and has a healthy balance of action and relationships – so, everyone’s happy. If you’re not usually an anime fan, you might find that you still enjoy this one. If you are already fond of the genre, and haven’t watched this already, then definitely give it a try.
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Series: Birdy The Mighty: Decode – Part One
UK Release date: 11th July 2011
Distributor: Manga
Certificate: 12
Running time: 325 mins
Director: Kazuki Akane
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Anna Attallah
This is a reworking of an OVA released in 1996, which was originally directed by the critically acclaimed Yoshiaki Kawajiri (Wicked City, Ninja Scroll). This time the lesser known Kazuki Akane (Noein, Vision Of Escaflowne) is at the helm and the story has been developed considerably. Based on Masami Yuki’s manga Birdy The Mighty, in itself a remake of an earlier manga published in the ‘80s, crime-fighting aliens (who happen to be drop-dead gorgeous) meets High School drama with an added twist.
Tsutomu Senkawa is a pretty average teenager with a rather odd hobby, namely exploring abandoned buildings. It is this unusual interest which gets him into serious trouble, as he investigates an abandoned warehouse which turns out to be where intergalactic crime fighter Birdy Cephon Altera has tracked the shape-shifting alien Geega. In the ensuing fight, Senkawa is caught in the crossfire and winds up dead.
This isn’t the end of the road for Senkawa, however, as his consciousness is able to exist within Birdy’s body whilst his own body is sent to the Federation for repair. Unfortunately for Senkawa, Birdy is more interested in fighting crime than allowing him to live a normal teenage life, but the arrangement seems to work – until Birdy discovers an evil plot to destroy Earth, which will test their friendship to the limit...
Birdy The Mighty: Decode is clearly aimed at young teenage boys (apart from being virtually naked all of the time, Birdy’s alias on Earth is a glamour model) and the overall feeling is that the writers have oversimplified the plot instead of challenging their intended audience. The first episode spends far too long introducing the characters and only begins to show promise at the very end, with a slick action scene leading to Senkawa’s untimely death. Fortunately, from there the plot does pick up, apart from a bizarre interlude involving a terrorist plan orchestrated by a bunch of dog aliens, particularly when Senkawa’s love interest Nakasugi’s miraculous recovery from a car crash begins to seem less than innocent. Each episode builds on the previous hints as we gradually begin to be drawn into Birdy’s mission to locate an apocalyptic weapon, the Ryunka, before its power is unleashed and humanity is wiped out. Unfortunately, the ending itself turns out to be a bit of an anticlimax, with everything tying up a little too neatly and various possible repercussions being ignored.
This isn’t to say that Decode is a complete washout, and the fact that Birdy has to share her body with a teenage boy offers plenty of scope for comedy. Birdy wryly comments on Senkawa’s clumsy attempts to capture the heart of the beautiful and unassuming Nakasugi, with Birdy herself being a likeable and feisty female whose maverick attitude makes her an appealing lead. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for Senkawa, whose character suffers from a lack of development which can make him seem oddly devoid of emotion. He seems incredibly uninterested in the fact that he now inhabits the body of a stunningly attractive woman and the practicalities of this point are never even touched upon. His schoolboy crush on Nakasugi does intensify as the series goes on up to the point where he states he is even willing to die for her, yet this inexplicably turns to wooden indifference by the end. The true villain of the piece, not Geega but Shyamalan, a businessman who looks like a male model, is also decidedly two dimensional with the most interesting thing about him being he has a creepy collection of toy dolls (which remains unexplained).
What the film lacks in characterisation it makes up for in a number of fun and well choreographed action sequences, in particular in one episode where Birdy has to contend with an intensely eerie marionette (or robot) that has gone evil.
The music is at turns poignant and atmospheric, cleverly linking the action scenes with the more emotional ones, something which contrasts to the annoyingly catchy opening theme which will become firmly ingrained in your head. Unfortunately the animation doesn’t always keep up with the high-quality score and, at times, seems rushed, but on the whole the effect is of a relatively polished anime which redeems itself on the animation front towards the end despite some questionable character design of the final villain, who resembles a giant jelly baby on stilts.
Birdy The Mighty: Decode is an entertaining and light-hearted anime which reveals a darker edge. The plot is an odd mix of convoluted ideas and oversimplification which could have been made slicker, but there is enough here to keep viewers interested if they aren’t looking for anything particularly heavy. AA
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Film: Patagonia
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 11th July 2011
Distributor: Verve
Certificate: 15
Running time: 118 mins
Director: Marc Evans
Starring: Matthew Rhys, Marta Lubos, Nahuel Perez Biscayart, Nia Roberts, Duffy
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Argentina/UK
Language: Welsh/Spanish
Review by: Karen Rogerson
Director Marc Evans’ multilingual film – in Welsh and Spanish, with a smattering of English and Polish – explores the connections between modern day Wales and the descendants of the Welsh émigrés who settled in Patagonia in the nineteenth century. In parallel stories, characters from both countries undertake journeys across the world, during which they explore their sense of history and belonging.
In Patagonia, elderly Cerys is sent, by her family, to Buenos Aires to undergo a cataract operation for her rapidly deteriorating sight, chaperoned by Alejandro, the teenage son of her neighbour. Hijacking her family’s plans, Cerys instead uses her savings and cash raised from selling her wedding presents to fly with Alejandro to Wales to find the farmhouse where her mother grew up. Sulky Alejandro thinks she has gone mad, but isn’t strong willed enough to stop her. Cerys’ only clues for finding the farmhouse are a photograph of her family from 1927, and the poetic name of the farm itself - Nant Briallu, or ‘stream of daffodils’.
Their search takes them from the south to the north of the country, where they encounter warmth and kindness from some locals and cynical exploitation by others. Alejandro encounters the seedier side of modern urban life in Wales when he goes for a night out in Cardiff. Here, he first meets the character played by Duffy in a nightclub, before she collapses and is taken away by ambulance. Their paths cross again towards the end of the story, as Cerys’ search comes to a close.
In the parallel storyline, Gwen and Rhys are a Welsh couple in their thirties whose journey takes them in the opposite direction from Wales to South America. He’s been given an assignment to photograph the Welsh chapels of Patagonia, symbolic of the pioneering spirit and fortitude of the émigrés who had set up their communities there under conditions of great hardship. Gwen agrees to accompany Rhys, but it’s obvious from very early on that her commitment to him is ambivalent. When they meet Mateo, the handsome guide hired to drive them to the sites of the various chapels, it’s clear that jealousy and infidelity will uncover the unexpressed tensions in Rhys and Gwen’s relationship…
Of the two stories, that of Cerys and Alejandro is far more engaging. Her serene acceptance of her diabetes and deteriorating eyesight contrasts humorously with teenage Alejandro’s nervy restlessness – “I need to avoid all stress”, he says, “I don’t have a strong metabolism.” There’s a touching vulnerability to their efforts to track down the mythical farmhouse; the two unlikely companions staring out at the alien Welsh environment with a constant smile, on Cerys’ part, and wide eyed, anxious naivety on Alejandro’s part. The winding roads and rain soaked green hills of rural Wales hold their own against the more obvious drama of the Patagonian setting as a poetic backdrop to Cerys’ emotional journey. Marta Lubos’ wonderfully expressive face conveys an endearing sweetness as Cerys, and the growing understanding between her character and Alejandro is believable and moving. As their story comes to a resolution, Duffy’s character reappears, a competent performance as a slightly raddled escapee from urban life. By this point, the story has become rather overlong and over sentimental. Its outcome is predictable but, as a story standing by itself, it’s affecting and quietly successful.
Back in South America, the Patagonian story is disappointing, so much so that the heart sinks every time the film cuts back to it. Director of photography Robbie Ryan crafts some beautiful, sun soaked shots of the barren flatlands, with the jagged snow covered peaks of the Andes soaring behind them. But, frankly, any decent cinematographer could hardly fail to produce amazing shots given such a stunning location, and the triteness of the story and unlikeable characters make the visual drama of the film seem just another card being played by the filmmakers to try to persuade the audience of the story’s emotional intensity and depth.
Gwen is harbouring a secret, which is uncovered towards the end of the film, but it is predictable from its start. While Gwen’s character comes across as self-indulgent and unsympathetic, Rhys’ emotions are so clunkily conveyed that you can almost see the wheels turning inside his head prior to the dropping of each entirely anticipated penny.
Having prefaced the film with an explanation that the Welsh colony in Patagonia was settled by émigrés in the mid 19th century, seeking somewhere they could speak their own language and follow their own religion without persecution, surprisingly little is made of the particular character and history of Patagonia. It’s almost as if the filmmakers have transposed a bland, soapy style storyline of thirty-something urbanites to an alien location to imply some unwarranted complexity to the film’s story, while the characters’ self-absorption makes the setting too much of an irrelevance.
In fairness, there are little offshoots of incidental characters and colour which offer some distraction to the main storyline, such as the short scene of the asada (barbeque), which gives a sense of the freedom and passionate love of life in this almost frontier style existence, or the Falklands War veteran who becomes Rhys’ drinking partner for an evening. The unexpected appearance at a graveside of men singing a male voice choir harmony gives sudden emotional depth, expressing longing and sorrow, which Rhys and the veteran are unable to voice themselves. But, overall, the Patagonian story is disappointingly uninfused with any sense of what its history might signify to Rhys and Gwen, or how the dual Argentinean/Welsh origins of its community informs the film’s overall themes of belonging and identity.
A film of two halves, in more ways than one. The story of Cerys and Alejandro is slow paced yet sweet and touching, its gentle tempo reflected in the muted greens of the Welsh landscape. In the Patagonian story, the reduction of the country to a metaphorical backdrop for the self-indulgent soul searching of the European characters leaves a bad taste in the mouth. KR
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Film: Norwegian Wood
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Soda
Certificate: 15
Running time: 133 mins
Director: Anh Hung Tran
Starring: Rinko Kikuchi, Ken'ichi Matsuyama, Kiko Mizuhara, Tetsuji Tamayama, Kengo Kôra
Genre: Drama/Romance
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Patrick Gamble
Often cited as an un-filmable classic, Haruki Murakami’s much loved bestselling novel, Norwegian Wood, is now available to buy on DVD after a director was finally found who was willing to accept the challenge and adapt this poisoned ‘paperback’ chalice. Anh Hung Tran’s film provoked predictable whispers of discontent from Murakami’s considerable fan base upon its theatrical release, but does the film fair any better now the critical dust has settled or will its purported inability to convey the book’s deeply emotional subtext condemn it to the same cinematic wastelands as other failed adaptations of celebrated literary works?
Set amongst all the social unrest, demonstrations and vandalism which occurred during the student riots of 1960s Tokyo, we join Watanabe (Ken’ichi Matsuyama), an undergraduate who despite his calm and peaceful exterior has an internal conflict gnawing away at his conscious. His heightened depression shares the same degree of amalgamated frustration and anger as the disenfranchised protestors causing chaos outside of his isolated existence, yet unlike his contemporaries, he seems unable to physically express himself in any noticeable way other than through his sullen appearance and self-imposed solitude.
He’s haunted by his past, which was devastated by a singular tragic incident. The suicide of his closest friend, whilst enough to affect any young man’s life, has left him emotionally tied to Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi), the deceased boy’s then girlfriend who, even numerous years after that fateful day, is still very much a fragile and troubled girl who never fully recovered from the death of her childhood sweetheart and the feelings of rejection which came with it.
The arrival of Midori (Kiko Mizuhara), a fun loving and free spirited university student, only exacerbates Watanabe’s complicated attachment to Naoko and leaves him with a moral decision to make as to whether he should continue to let this dependant relationship with Naoko stand in the way of a future with Midori. Either answer will undoubtedly result in some degree of heartbreak, but will Watanabe’s inner struggle afford him the courage to make such an emotionally monumental decision, or will he continue to torment himself with these feelings of guilt and misery?
As adaptations go, Norwegian Wood is surely one of the most difficult to attempt. The story is almost entirely told through 30-year-old Watanabe’s flashbacks, extended memories and internal monologue - a narrative technique that’s understandably difficult to convey on film whilst also maintaining an immersive sense of reality.
Tran’s translation of this multi-layered, poetic love story may well fail to capture the true extent of the characters’ existential struggles, but a film should always be able to stand alone and not purely be judged on the original source material which inspired it. Accurately recreating a novel is no mean feat, cuts need to be made to condense the story into an easily manageable format which encapsulates the feel of a story, a near impossible task as inevitably each reader has their own personal interpretations. However, Norwegian Wood’s failing is not how dismissive it is to the source material but rather how hard it strives to literally recreate the prose word for word.
The skilful cinematography of Mark Lee Ping Bin uses the strikingly beautiful Japanese countryside to create a dreamlike backdrop of intoxicating visual splendour, which only becomes amplified the instant Tan’s good looking cast become gloriously framed within it. There is little doubt that this painterly presented, hypnotic and visually alluring interpretation of Norwegian Wood is a cinematic equivalent of photographic art – like twenty four painstakingly hand drawn masterpieces being rushed in front of our eyes every second. Combine this with Johnny Greenwood’s captivating score and you have a technically accomplished piece of filmmaking which could easily be presented at any film art college as an example of how to use the medium to create something far removed from the drudgery of television or the formulaic approach of Hollywood.
However, a film must rely on more than just its ability to titillate the senses and also manage to affect us in deeper, less superficial ways. This introspective romance relies heavily on its sublime visuals to portray the emotions of its cast. It’s not to say the acting is poor (at times, it’s very accomplished), but rather a reflection of how the film has been far too strict with its use of dialogue, stripping the minimal conversational pieces out of the original book and failing to add anything else which may have helped communicate the film’s more subtle and personal moments.
Such a deceptively simple story really isn’t suited to a film which lasts over two hours. As a piece of literature, Norwegian Wood’s emotional story works perfectly. Each time the reader picks up the book, they feel like they’re following a diary of a man’s downward spiral into depression on a day by day basis. Some painful yet necessary cuts to the script would no doubt prevent the film from straying towards monotony. The frame narrative of Watanabe’s relationship with his wayward friend Kizuki (Kengo Kora), despite adding a comforting rest bite to an otherwise depressing story, could easily have been removed and acts as a prime example of where sacrifices could have been made. At the expense of the audience members unfamiliar with the book, Norwegian Wood’s attempts to appease its loyal fans has not just alienated those new to its desolate love story but, at the same time, angered those who hold its tenderly heartbreaking tale so close to their hearts.
Whilst this sumptuously bleak love story should rightly be heralded as a technically assured piece of filmmaking, its striking prominent visuals can only hold your attention for so long and the film’s repetitive and subdued approach will ultimately test the patience of even the most dedicated of art house fans. Perhaps not fully deserving of the clichéd responses from some critics who heralded it as a case in point for ‘style over substance’, however, the films atmosphere of resigned sadness and its melancholy facade of emotional numbness does become quite contagious towards the end.
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Film: The Kingdom: I&II - Original Broadcast Edition
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Second Sight
Certificate: 18
Running time: 573 mins
Director: Lars von Trier
Starring: Ernst-Hugo Järegård, Kirsten Rolffes, Holger Juul Hansen, Søren Pilmark, Ghita Nørby
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Fantasy/Horror/Mystery
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Denmark/France/Germany/Sweden
Language: Danish/Swedish
Review by: Rob Ward
No stranger to controversy, Lars von Trier has been delighting, appalling and surprising cinema goers for well over twenty years. He pioneered the Dogme 95 school of filmmaking, brought Bjork to the big screen and allowed his production company to produce hardcore porn. Mainstream success has not been easy to come by for von Trier, with even his biggest UK successes remaining largely ‘arthouse’. So it’s little wonder that his early career in Danish television has received little attention over here. But the release of a boxed set of supernatural hospital drama The Kingdom could be about to change that.
The Kingdom is a cutting-edge hospital staffed by an offbeat cast of characters, including a new-age director, an egotistical Swedish neurosurgeon and a reckless medical student. And their faith in science is tested as a series of supernatural episodes occurs: a ghostly young girl appears in a lift shaft; a phantom ambulance appears every night; an unnatural pregnancy affects one of the nurses and all the while a malingering patient attempts to communicate with those on the ‘other side’...
The opening credits create an instantaneous sense of intrigue. At odds with the modern hospital setting, the start of every episode features a prologue set in the misty and mysterious ‘bleaching pools’ upon which the hospital would later be built. A solemn voice narrates as the sepia toned action unfolds on screen, describing the ancient marshlands where cloth workers bleached their wares, enveloped by thick clouds of fog. It’s a simple enough scene, but slow pan of the camera and the deliberate movement of the workers on screen add certain gravity to proceedings. An air of menace and unpredictably is also evident as we are told that the building of the hospital was designed to help eradicate ignorance and superstition in favour of science. Clearly this will not be the case: the old world is literally breaking into the new.
Sadly, the impact of the credits as almost undone by the dreadful theme music which blares from the screen immediately aftermath. Perhaps a product of their time, they have not dated well at all. Like a mid-90s cop drama, they thud from the screen with the word ‘Kingdom’ repeated ad infinitum over cheesy background action. It’s woefully out of place in the midst of such an atmospherically spooky drama.
Thankfully, the director proves that he is capable of producing excellent credit sequences at the end of each episode. In an obvious homage to Alfred Hitchcock, von Trier himself appears as a presenter in dinner jacket and bow-tie as the end credits role to offer a summation of the plot and a hint at what will come in the next show. His language is quaint and antiquated as he poses rhetorical questions to the audience and occasionally mocks the actions of the characters. It’s completely unnecessary yet utterly charming - not only for von Trier’s determination to appear on the other side of the camera, but also for his geeky hand gestures, as he implores the audience to “be prepared to take the good with the evil.”
Just as The Kingdom is filed with ideas of good and evil, so it is filled with morally ambiguous (or often dubious) characters. Chief among these is Swedish neurosurgeon Stig Helmer (Ernst-Hugo Järegård). He’s a man with a whole collection of enormous chips on his shoulders – not least his utter disdain for all things Danish. Despite that, he’s played with some charm by Järegård. His aged face manages to convey just enough rumpled dissatisfaction with his incompetent colleagues to convince you that his heart is in the right place – some of the time. Despite being a fierce critic of malingerers and timewasters, he has secrets and faults of his own – not least a malpractice case arising from a botched operation which left a young girl brain-damaged.
It’s testament to the excellent writing that The Kingdom’s characters are so well-developed. It would have been very easy to rely on clichéd stereotypes in a series such as this, but each character is given room to breathe and time to develop. Some, like Helmer, arrive fully formed, others, such as his nemesis Jørgen Krogshøj (Søren Pilmark) develop more steadily. Initially, he’s little more than a sniping pedant, but he reveals himself as being rather more warm-hearted and ‘resourceful’ than he seems.
Whether the same credit can be extended as far as Sigrid Drusse (Kirsten Rolffes) is less clear. She’s the malingerer in question, inventing reasons to stay in the hospital as an excuse to carry out her paranormal investigations. Initially, she seems easy to dismiss, but as the plot unfolds her snooping becomes increasingly credible. She, however, remains irritating. Despite that, Rolffes gives a brilliant performance as the irritating old woman. One scene in particular, as Drusse attempts to speak to a ghost is an acting masterclass. With only a candle flame foregrounded and her face in the background of the frame, Drusse asks yes/no questions of the spirit world. How the flame reacts to her questioning determines what answer she has received. It’s a beautifully lit and wonderfully acted monologue – and completely compelling.
There are a whole host of other fascinating characters engaged in all manner of hare-brained schemes and storylines. A Masonic lodge rules behind the scenes, the happy-clappy hospital director attempts to introduce his hapless methods of motivation and a medical student uses a severed head to seduce a nurse. With workplace drug-dealing, a doctor transplanting a cancerous liver into himself and a pair of Down's Syndrome sufferers acting as a Greek chorus, it’s a wonder that the plot makes any sense whatsoever.
Somehow, however, it does. Von Trier has been extremely brave in throwing so many characters and so many story-strands into the mix from the very outset. Much of the success of the show lies in not underestimating its audience – each storyline is distinct and unusual enough to hold the attention and every character is interesting enough to sustain the interest. The hand-held camerawork also ensures that the viewer is constantly kept in the midst of the action. And if things ever do flag, an injection of humour is never far away.
The Kingdom is very funny – in a number of ways. There is out and out slapstick, humorous dialogue and enough absurd action to ensure that it appeals on numerous levels – and every episode contains an anti-Danish speech from Helmer (which often ends with him screaming “Danish scum” into the night sky). Often the more humorous scenes are effectively cut with the more supernatural elements to create a cohesive whole which never becomes bogged down in one particular element of the story.
Season one becomes increasingly interested in the supernatural elements of the story as it nears its conclusion, culminating in a series of cliff-hangers which are partly addressed as season two begins to unfold. It would be churlish to give too much away here about the happenings of the second series, but it’s fair to say that there are also plot points which remain unresolved as it ends. Sadly, they will remain that way. Following the climax to the series, both Ernst-Hugo Järegård and Kirsten Rolffes passed away. Shorn of arguably two of the most important characters, there was no way The Kingdom could continue and plans for a third series were shelved.
Despite the slightly unsatisfactory conclusion, The Kingdom is a simply brilliant series. It wears its influences on its sleeve proudly – clearly owing a debt to Twin Peaks and the X Files - features memorable characters and situations, and combines drama and comedy to great effect. Of course, it’s no surprise that a Danish series about the supernatural was never likely to be broadcast on TV in Britain. Instead, an inferior series (written by Steven King) attempted to replicate the appeal. Don’t bother with the remake – search out the original instead.
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Film: Who Can Kill A Child
Year of production: 1976
UK Release date: 23rd May 2011
Distributor: Eureka!
Certificate: 18
Running time: 111 mins
Director: Narciso Ibáñez Serrador
Starring: Lewis Fiander, Prunella Ransome, Antonio Iranzo, Miguel Narros, María Luisa Arias
Genre: Horror/Mystery/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Spain
Language: English/Spanish/German
Review by: Paul Kelly
Spanish horror is currently experiencing something of a golden age, with the recent international success of films such as the [REC] series and The Orphanage. The 1970s saw a similar boom period for the genre in Spain, matching the current rate of production, if not the worldwide acclaim of filmmakers such as Guillermo del Toro. From this period in Spanish cinema comes Who Can Kill A Child (no question mark according to this release’s cover), which is now available for the first time in the UK on DVD.
Who Can Kill A Child begins with grainy black-and-white footage which documents the impact of the various conflicts of the 20th century, from World War II through the Korean War to the Vietnam War, focusing particularly on the number of children killed or left in the clutches of famine and disease as a result of each. From this footage we are taken to a sunny beach on the Spanish holiday resort of Benavis, where an idyllic afternoon at the seaside is spoiled when a woman's body washes up on shore. All of this is unbeknownst to Tom and Evelyn (Fiander and Ransome), a well to do English couple who are spending the night in the town before hiring a boat to take them to the remote island of Almanzora.
When the couple arrive on the island, they are greeted by a group of children frolicking in the water on what seems like a typical lazy island morning. When the couple start to realise the town is deserted, Tom has to reassure Evelyn that everything is alright. His opinion soon changes when he witnesses an old man beaten to death with his own walking stick by a little girl, and it becomes clear that there is something very wrong with the children of Almanzora. Tom must now escape the island and its inhabitants and protect his pregnant wife at any cost…
Creepy children have been a staple of horror movies for many moons, from the influential Village Of The Damned to The Omen (released in the same year as Who Can Kill A Child). What makes Serrador's little terrors stand out is that they do not have any supernatural powers; their threat comes from their strength in numbers and the fact that, no matter what the situation, most adults will struggle to harm a child. That and the fact that they clearly weren't given the talk about playing with sharp objects. As far as psychotic children go, these are some of the most effectively creepy ever imagined. What makes them work is that they say very little, they carry out their business not with a growl or in a trance, but with a giggle and a mischievous smile on their faces. They behave, in short, like children, and it is the juxtaposition between the appearance of the children and their actions which leads to most of the film's memorable moments. These include a piñata unlike any you're likely to see at a child's birthday party, and a surprise towards the end that ranks amongst the most ingeniously twisted of all time.
The horror is helped along nicely by Waldo de los Rios' subtle and unintrusive soundtrack, which lends ‘70s electric sci-fi stylings only to the moments of greatest tension in the film, building the atmosphere superbly.
While the delaying tactics employed in terms of on screen violence help to carry the film to its well plotted ending, the lack of any real gore until the final act does mean that there aren't quite enough scares along the way, and it is hard not to feel that a more even spread could have made Who Can Kill A Child even more nerve shredding than it already is. Clearly, Serrador wanted to avoid making his film farcical, as there is a statement about the way our world is heading and the lack of regard for children in society at the heart of it, and this comes across well. Like most aspects of the film, it is not driven home with a sledgehammer but left to gently wash over the viewer, having been made abundantly clear by the effective if overly long opening montage.
In terms of performances, a finer example of 1970s English stiff-upper lip acting could scarcely be found than that of the leading duo, and, as a result, it takes some time for them to come across as likeable. However, once the audience is familiarised with Evelyn's constant moaning and Tom's ridiculously positive outlook in the face of obvious peril then eventually they do come across more favourably. Enough to hope for their escape and safe return home rather than death at the hands of the little rascals, at least. They're performances are enough to keep the film interesting, which is commendable in its own way as they are given nearly all of the dialogue. What their relationship, as well as the film as a whole, is lacking is a touch of humour, with Serrador eager to ensure his film did not come off as a black comedy, intentionally or otherwise. All things considered the decision to avoid the comic potential that the film's premise offered proved to be the correct one, making Who Can Kill A Child both intriguing and genuinely chilling.
Who Can Kill A Child may lack the kind of sustained attack on the nerves of many current day Spanish horror titles, but Narciso Ibáñez Serrador provides a well balanced picture which, in its subtlety and refusal to go over the top, leaves a lasting impression when the final credits role.
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Film: La veuve de Saint-Pierre
Year of production: 2000
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: Park Circus
Certificate: 15
Running time: 112 mins
Director: Patrice Leconte
Starring: Juliette Binoche, Daniel Auteuil, Emir Kusturica, Michel Duchaussoy, Philippe Magnan
Genre: Drama/Romance
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France/Canada
Language: French
Review by: Gordon James Knox
La veuve de Saint-Pierre (The Widow Of Saint Pierre) is a period drama set on an isolated archipelago just off the Canadian cost in the days of the Second French Republic. Despite starring two of France’s most revered actors in Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil, the film didn’t exactly set the world alight upon its original 2000 release. A stranger film than might be anticipated, La veuve… contains enough originality and moments of genuine inspiration to steer clear of Merchant Ivory territory and justify this re-release.
In 1849 on the island of Saint-Pierre, fisherman Ariel Neel Auguste is sentenced to death after being found guilty of the murder of the fishing boat Captain, Coupard. Since there is no guillotine on the island, arrangements have to be made to ship one in from the island of Martinique. In the meantime, Neel is placed under the custody of Captain Jean, Captain of the troops in Saint-Pierre.
While spending his days in the cell waiting for the guillotine and executioner, Neel is invited by the Captain’s kindly wife, Pauline, to assist her in her garden. Soon a growing bond develops between Neel and Pauline, watched over approvingly by her trusting husband, as she teaches him to read and allows him the freedom to perform odd jobs around the island.
Less pleased with Neel’s rehabilitation and integration into the community of Saint-Pierre is the island’s governing elite. Anxious to push ahead with the execution as a means of asserting their authority and maintain their privileged status, they are only too aware of the increasing popularity of the man they condemned to death. Their fears are soon realised as the islanders voice their opposition and make it clear they will in no way assist in Neel’s execution.
Finally, the guillotine arrives, shortly followed by a destitute immigrant who the authorities pressure into accepting the role of executioner. Tensions soon come to a head, and when the Captain makes it clear to the island governor that he will refuse orders to shoot on the crowds in the event of a riot over Neel’s execution, the governor writes to Paris accusing him of sedition. It is not long before Jean’s life also hangs in the balance…
The original French title of the film loses something in translation. ‘La veuve’ does indeed mean ‘widow’ in French, but it is also 19th century slang for the guillotine, similar to the American slang of ‘widowmaker’. Thus, the ‘veuve’ of the title refers both to the execution device which has to be shipped onto the island as well as to the eventual fate of Pauline. A certain element of miscommunication carries over into the film: a period piece which attempts to act simultaneously as an indictment of capital punishment, as well as a portrayal of the lengths people will go to for love and their ideals, it doesn’t always come together in a convincing manner. If it was not for the fact the film was based on actual events preserved in court records, the story itself would seem scarcely believable.
Some of the film’s shortcomings may be explained by Patrice Leconte only assuming the role of director at the 11th hour (the original director, Alain Corneau, dropped out of the project just four months before shooting was due to start). Leconte has been quite open in admitting his main motive in accepting the project was the opportunity to work with Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil. Two of the brightest stars in French cinema, their performances are the main reasons to catch the film.
Only last year, Gerard Depardieu caused something of a stir in French film circles by launching a scathing attack on the acting abilities of Binoche, the darling of French cinema. Her performance here is unlikely to change the opinion of Depardieu, but it is another example of why many consider Binoche the finest actress of her generation. She gives yet another excellent, accomplished performance; everything below the surface, in stolen sideward glances, in slight but telling gestures. Resolutely unspectacular, so naturalistic and subtle that you don’t realise how much she is actually communicating until afterwards. It appears simple, only because Binoche’s talent makes it appear so effortless.
Autuiel’s performance is equally fine, and even more low-key, so carefully contained that, at times he appears almost unhinged. And perhaps there is something in this. The theme of sexual desire verging on obsession was explored by the director in his earlier Monsieur Hire, Le Mari de la coiffeuse and Le Parfum d'Yvonne, and it’s definitely at work here. One society lady, noting the way the Captain watches his wife, remarks to her companion, “He devours his lady with his eyes.” These society ladies often provide astute observations, a generally reliable chorus to the action of the story (an example of the film’s subtle unconventionality). The companion responds to that comment with the claim that their own husbands would be similarly attentive should their wives take up a handsome burly protégé for themselves. The juxtaposition of a scene where Pauline teaches Neel to read, their growing attraction to one another quite palpable, with a particularly impassioned love scene between the Captain and his wife seems to confirm this. Is the rehabilitation of Neel simply a form of foreplay, unconscious or not, for the couple; a testing of their love? Is this the significance of Pauline’s sensuous red dresses, the dark carmine so conspicuous among the washed out greys and subdue hues of the cinematography: a dangerous game both are playing that will eventually result in the shedding of blood?
This ambiguity makes for interesting viewing, but it does tend to clash with the fatalistic nature of the film and the way it plays out as pure tragedy in the classical tradition. While some may find the ambiguity and shades of grey enthralling, others may see confusion and a lack of focus in the presentation of the film’s main message and themes, compounded by the filmmaker’s predilection for offering up questions rather than answers. The relationship between the Captain and his wife is successful (mainly due to the nuanced performances of Autuiel and Binoche), but the character of Neel is less convincing. Since the director focuses mainly on his rehabilitation, there is little effort given to explain the inexplicable murder at the beginning of the film. “They aren’t punishing the man they sentenced,” Pauline proclaims. The only problem is what we see on screen doesn’t quite back this up. Neel does not really change, since we know little about him prior to his imprisonment; he is essentially portrayed as a gentle giant, essentially good, even saint-like, forever putting the needs of others before his own (even at the risk of his own life). None of this is the fault of Emir Kusturica (better known as a director in his own right, he is quietly impressive in his acting debut), but can be attributed to significant gaps in the initial development of his character. A more interesting question raised by the film but never truly explored is that of the capability of ‘good’ people to commit ‘evil’ acts. The same themes of crime and punishment, rehabilitation, redemption and responsibility touched upon in Le veuve were explored with far greater sensitivity and thoughtfulness in Tim Robbin’s Dead Man Walking. In its desire to hammer home its anti-capital punishment stance, La veuve sacrifices psychology and crucially its overall impact.
La veuve de Saint-Pierre is a good film, although far from a great one. It’s handsomely shot, with fine set design and costumes, and excellent performances from two of France’s greatest actors. Ultimately, though, it’s let down by some muddied thinking and a lack of substantial depth behind its ideas. An intriguing, if somewhat frustrating film.
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Film: Ward No. 6
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 11th July 2011
Distributor: Artificial Eye
Certificate: 15
Running time: 83 mins
Director: Aleksandr Gornovsky & Karen Shakhnazarov
Starring: Vladimir Ilin, Aleksey Vertkov, Aleksandr Pankratov-Chyornyy, Evgeniy Stychkin, Viktor Solovyov
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Russia
Language: Russian
Review by: Bill Sherwood
Ward No. 6, an adaptation of Chekhov’s 1892 short story of the same name, is brought up to date in this modern treatment of a tale of the doctors and patients inhabiting the rooms and corridors of a Russian psychiatric hospital.
The film begins with several inmates of a psychiatric ward being interviewed. They briefly recount their childhoods as possible reasons for their current circumstances and discuss their dreams and aspirations. Some want marriage and families, where others simply want to get out.
The audience is taken back over 400 hundred years and given a potted history of the asylum’s gradual transformation from a wooden chapel dedicated to St Nicholas, then a stone monastery, a hospital for sufferers of TB, and finally, its present incarnation as a large psychiatric institution that ward no. 6 is a part of.
The previous senior psychiatrist, Dr Ragin, is now a mute inmate himself and the focus of the story. Through his predecessor, it is learned that Ragin wanted to study theology in his youth and was never inclined toward medicine, but his father had forced him toward it.
Given his innate philosophical bent, Ragin cannot help befriending the patient Ivan Gromov, a man he considers to be the one interesting conversationalist in the entire town. Ivan’s own philosophic musings make Ragin question his thoughts on existence for the very first time and having his world view turned upside down, his life changes its course in a manner he could never have expected…
The first thing an audience will notice about Ward No. 6 is its curious combination of supposed reality and fiction. The men interviewed at the beginning of the film are all real inmates of psychiatric institutions and are giving real answers. They are also peppered throughout the film and sometimes performing scripted roles. The documentary style is maintained through scripted interviews where actors play the main parts, but anything about Ragin’s back-story, which is beyond the scope of the ‘documentary’ time frame, is played as a drama where the camera is the traditional fourth wall.
At first, the transition of styles does not feel smooth to the viewer, or even necessary. Dr Khobotov, the present senior psychiatrist, and Ivan are not badly acted at all, but when they are presented as interviewees amongst the real patients they stick out as fictional entities and consequently make the scenes far less believable. It is, however, an interesting method of marking the past, when Ragin was in charge of the patients and his own mind, against his present circumstances. For the dramatic sequences in the past, the audience is a passive viewer taking in the story, but in the present, the viewer is like a doctor studying Ragin as he is now a part of the system.
Updating Chekhov’s narrative to modern Russia and into a fictional documentary has some other awkward and occasionally humorous moments. Here and there characters talking directly to the camera offer personal information that in a story would be imparted through the narrative, not their own mouths. One result of this is that Dr Khobotov frankly admits that he wanted Ragin’s job when he first started working at the hospital. Another is when Ragin’s predecessor lists all the things that were wrong with the hospital under his supervision. That is, Ragin put a stop to his predecessor’s clandestine selling of surgical spirits, the harem of nurses and female patients that he’d set up, and the vermin. Apart from creating some black humour, all this really manages to do is reference the fact that it is a literary adaptation without explaining why.
At the core of this film are the conversations between Ragin and Ivan, and the effect they have on the doctor. His philosophy is partly fatalistic and he enjoys citing the life of Diogenes, a Greek founder of Cynicism. Although these talks are important in terms of the story, they do not take up much screen time. This is a good thing because they tend to come across as dialectics about the absurdities of societal institutions that might have been better in a lecture hall, or more tellingly, a book.
Throughout the film, the viewer is constantly being posed questions about insanity, whether in the individual or society itself, the methods of defining it and the treatment. Early on, Dr Khobotov explains that the line between sanity and insanity is illusory. Although this is a fairly obvious statement, it is not at all comforting, as it casts doubt on the process by which people are committed to psychiatric institutions. When Ivan persuades Ragin that it was not by chance that he had been committed and not fair either, the viewer feels sympathy for the fact that society trapped him. However, niggling in the back of one’s mind is that he has a certified persecution mania. The diagnosis itself is the trap because despite feeling that Ivan is right, the audience can never agree 100 per cent, which is a teasingly satisfying dilemma.
As this is the film’s main point, it is a slightly laborious one. Its running time is not long, but it feels it could be shorter. Late in the story, Ragin sums the message up to his friend, Mikhail, saying that once a human is declared mad they should give in because nothing can save them from their fate. Parts of the film feel like an unnecessary embellishment of this statement, delivered after the audience figure out the message for themselves. Alternatively, by leaving out his speech, this might not have been the case.
A well acted and thoughtful film, Ward No. 6 nevertheless feels like it has bitten off more than it can chew. Its mixture of styles manages to keep the viewer interested, but in the end is more of a gimmick that is obviously there to distance itself from its literary source. It never really decides whether to let the audience think for themselves or to tell them what is what, but it impresses the most in that it has at least tried to present its troubling themes in a unique way.
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Film: Evangelion 2.22: You Can (Not) Advance
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 20th June 2011
Distributor: Manga
Certificate: 15
Running time: 107 mins
Director: Hideaki Anno, Masayuki, Kazuya Tsurumaki
Genre: Anime
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese/German/English
Review by: Mark Player
The highly anticipated second instalment to Hideaki Anno's four part feature film series rebuild of his seminal, mid-90s television series, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Evangelion 2.22: You Can (Not) Advance is now available on DVD and Blu-ray through Manga Entertainment.
Set not long after the events of the first film, 14-year-old Shinji Ikari is still conflicted about his supposed destiny; that is: to be an Eva Pilot – towering mechanised cyborg warriors, built to protect Earth from an ongoing invasion of Angels: equally huge and monstrous entities from space that wish to cause apocalyptic destruction. He also has to contend with his estranged father, Gendo Ikari, the director of operations at NERV – the organisation that controls the Eva Units – as well as reach out to his emotionally distant fellow pilot, Rei.
But with the continual threat of more Angel attacks looming, and with each Angel being more powerful and challenging than the last, NERV takes on another pilot; the arrogant and headstrong Asuka, freshly transferred from NERV's European branch. Her presence causes a rift in an already tentative equilibrium between Shinji, Rei and their chaperone/ranking officer, Misato. Things are complicated further by the arrival of a fourth pilot, the mysterious Mari, whose objectives and motives are unknown...
Neon Genesis Evangelion's mythology is so incredibly dense and multilayered that this is now the second time that the series creators are attempting to tell its story – not including the innumerable manga comic spinoffs, or the film that was a re-telling of what many viewers believed to be an unsatisfactory ending to the original series, Neon Genesis: End Of Evangelion (1998) – and as a result, has created a huge world fanbase. Pressure from such a fanbase was partly the inspiration for this reimaging. The first of this new generation of films – dubbed the 'Rebuild of Evangelion' – Evangelion 1.11 You Are (Not) Alone, released last year, was essentially a condensed and relatively faithful recap of the first third or so of the television series, but brought certain elements forward that weren't originally revealed until later on, as well as offered a complete visual overhaul with state-of-the-art animation techniques. Its sequel, the subject of this review, continues this modus operandi…sort of.
The same basic narrative progression occurs, but in a way that's strangely different. Many of the key events from the series take place here – when Shinji is forced into fighting one of his fellow Eva Units, with the pilot trapped inside, after it’s taken over by an Angel virus, for instance – but are executed with different characters and for different motivational reasons. However, fans of the original show will be blind-sided by how scenarios familiar to them have and will be used to evolve the story towards a drastically different conclusion. Evangelion 2.22 represents that figurative fork in the road. While its predecessor played out in fairly predictable tandem with its source, this film starts to deviate from the original course, and it’s mostly for the better.
The characters feel better drawn, not just in terms of animation – which, by the way, looks very good – but in terms of emotional development. The personalities of the main cast, as well as their relationships with one another, feel much more subtle and smooth, whilst complimenting the existing dynamic quite well. Shinji is comparatively less whiny here, in the same way as Rei is a little more human and Askua less of a brat. Mari, a completely new character created specifically for this 'Rebuild', is an intriguing addition who doesn't get massive amount to do this time around, but whose role will probably become more prominent during the next instalments.
Another interesting addition is the extra detail given to the complex workings of Tokyo 3, a huge fortified cityscape that has the ability to lower its skyscrapers into the ground in the midst of an Angel attack and the story's principle setting. Little titbits like getting a glimpse of the evacuation procedures employed to get citizens to safety or the en-mass cleanup operations required after each conflict, which are as ridiculously destructive as ever, are most welcome and go some way to help overcome occasionally dubious logic issues. Rei's apartment complex remains partially demolished, presumably from a battle in the previous film. Considering the number of buildings that are destroyed in Evangelion on a regular basis, it’s nice to see some aftermath consequence as a result of the battles that are had; a reminder of the homes destroyed and the lives lost.
As for the battles themselves, the main draw for most viewers, they have been completely redone to the point that many of the Angels in this instalment are of new design, and with it comes a new vigour and intensity. Some of the set-pieces are especially savage, with the animators having no qualms over having the city awash in a tsunami of blood, or having gigantic pieces of armour-clad flesh rip through people's houses as they are torn off and tossed away. The general pacing of the story is equally brutal, though not quite up to the hyperbolic speed of the first film, and will likely leave the uninitiated out in the cold with all its talk of AT Fields, LCL Fluid and Dummy Plugs (fortunately, some of the film's terminology is collected in a glossary that features in the accompanying Collector's Edition booklet).
Another factor that may confuse or alienate newcomers is Evangelion's characteristically bizarre tonal shifts: flitting from apocalyptic battles of imposing scope to cerebral psychoanalysis of the main characters; each mentally ill or emotionally distressed in their own way. Similar to the television series, there are many biblical references and religious symbolism interspersed, but, at the same time, the film isn't too lofty or pretentious to have a stab at broad humour – scenes involving Shinji, Asuka and Misato living together in the latter's cramped apartment play out like a weirdly raunchy sit-com. Something that even fans may be puzzled over is the infrequent yet noticeable moments of blatant 'fan service' that find their way in: dubious partial nudity, the occasional and unnecessary up-skirt shot or lingering image of cleavage chip away at an otherwise dignified and excellent re-interpretation of one of anime's most successful and popular franchises.
Evangelion 2.22: You Can (Not) Advance is most certainly a treat for fans of the series; taking the Neon Genesis story in an interesting direction without desecrating the series that made it so popular to begin with (although there will always be nitpickers). Those who are new will do better by visiting the first film before taking this one on, but if you know what you're getting into, 2.22 offers a dramatic facelift that will leave you wondering how Hideaki Anno and his team are going to proceed next.
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