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Film: Don't Look Now
Year of production: 1973
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 15
Running time: 110 mins
Director: Nicolas Roeg
Starring: Julie Christie, Donald Sutherland, Hilary Mason, Clelia Matania, Massimo Serato
Genre: Drama/Horror/Mystery/Thriller
Format: Blu-ray
Country of Production: UK/Italy
Language: English/Italian
Review by: Mark Player
Nicolas Roeg's classic supernatural mystery Don't Look Now is getting the special edition Blu-ray treatment courtesy of Optimum Home Releasing, but is it worth the upgrade?
On a damp Sunday afternoon, a young girl sporting a red rain coat plays with her brother in the English countryside that surrounds her home. Her parents, John (Donald Sutherland) and Laura (Julie Christie) Baxter, are inside. Whilst observing some architectural slides for a restoration project, John senses that something is wrong and leaves the house. His instincts prove to be correct. His daughter, Christie, has fallen into a nearby pond and is drowning. John rushes into the water to haul her out, but he is too late. Christie has died.
Sometime later, John and Laura are staying in Venice, where John has been contracted by Bishop Barbarrigo (Massimo Serato) to perform restoration work on a dilapidated church in the city. Whilst dining in a restaurant, Laura encounters two strange and elderly sisters (Hilary Mason and Clelia Matania) in the bathroom. One of the sisters, Heather, is blind and claims to have psychic abilities. She goes on to give very specific details about John and Laura's deceased daughter. This overwhelms yet intrigues Laura who, after collapsing and being sent to hospital, is strangely energised and positive about the whole thing.
Laura seeks the sisters again to see if it’s possible to make contact with Christie from beyond, much to the alarm of John who fears that Christie is beginning to lose her mind. However, John's grief also seems to be getting the better of him as he begins to see glimpses of a small, childlike figure lurking amongst the cloisters and alleyways of the city, wearing a red raincoat...
Based on Daphine du Maurier's short story of the same name, and dubbed as a 'psychic thriller' at the time of its original theatrical release, Don't Look Now was very much ahead of its time in several ways. Annoyingly, the film has since become such a key work in British cinema that there's very little that can be said about it that's actually new. It's subtle depiction of the occult, unlike the overt Satan-worship of Rosemary's Baby (1968) or the special effects showboating of The Exorcist (1973); Graeme Clifford's fractured flash-back and flash-forward editing; the film's associative colours (particularly red) and its famous love scene between Sutherland and Christie have been dissected by many a scholar, critic and student of film.
However, it bears repeating in saying just how well the film has aged and how influential it has remained after nearly forty years. Few films capture the emotional gulf created by grief as well as director Nicolas Roeg does here, further defined by strong performances from both Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland. It’s one of the more credible on-screen marriages in cinema, perhaps best and most obviously personified by their infamous love scene, a scene added by Roeg to help displace the scenes where the couple are in disagreement. Although it was very explicit at the time – to the extent that rumours of Sutherland and Christie's performance being unsimulated continue to circulate – Roeg counterbalances the frankness of that moment by inter-cutting it with shots of post-coital dressing and preparation for a meal out; partly to appease the far more stringent censorship regulations of the time and partly to perpetuate the film's ongoing motif of portending events.
Past, present and future occupy the same time and space on a frequent basis. John is continually haunted by the imagery of his drowning daughter whilst wearing her iconic red coat. This imagery starts to transcend recollection and enters reality as John starts to see an elusive red coat-wearing figure during the night. Things start to get even more interesting when he also starts to unwittingly see future events, confusing them with the present.
The use of Venice as the film's setting is positively inspired. The labyrinthine alleyways of the floating city not only feel claustrophobic and nightmarish, but facilitate a visual representation for the characters’ mental states. John and Laura often lose their bearings and become separated. The multiple waterways of the city act as a continual reminder of the tragedy both characters are burdened with; one scene sees John fish a discarded child's doll out from the canal, echoing the moment when he tried to save his daughter at the film's start. Death is therefore irrevocably linked to water, made all the more prominent by a seemingly superficial serial killer subplot whose victims are routinely found dead in the canals.
Roeg's camera and editing style is not quite as groundbreaking as some make out to be, considering his earlier features, Performance (1970) and Walkabout (1971), employ similar techniques; with the former utilising a ‘cut-ups’ method of editing, inspired by the literary technique pioneered by William Burroughs. However, Don't Look Now was perhaps the first of Roeg's films to use these techniques as an intrinsic and inseparable narrative framework, as opposed to merely embellishing ideas, suggesting a concept of advanced cinematic grammar that has now become stock and trade. Whilst a little mechanical in places, the technical execution of the film also lends an uncertain menace to the proceedings, further augmented by the location's twisted geography.
With regards to the Blu-ray, Optimum have done a commendable job. The picture quality, if a little inconsistent, is very good overall for a film of this vintage. Some shots are marred by a grainy softness due to limitations of the original source, as opposed to fault with the disc itself. There seem to be no major issues with artifacting and other compression symptoms. Audio won't take full advantage of one's home cinema system, due to the age and nature of the production, but is suitably clear and crisp. Overall, while Don't Look Now isn't exactly an essential must-see title for Blu-ray, it still looks very good.
Don't Look Now is horror at its most subtle and thoughtful; standing as one of director Nicolas Roeg's best films. Although its cerebral style nurtures occasional stretches of what feels like not much going on, it still remains riveting and interesting viewing, regardless of its subsequent legions of flashier disciples. Don't Look Now comes recommended. MP
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Film: Animal Kingdom
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 11th July 2011
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 15
Running time: 108 mins
Director: David Michôd
Starring: James Frecheville, Bryce Lindemann, Paul Smits, Jacki Weaver, Joel Edgerton
Genre: Crime/Drama/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Australia
Language: English
Review by: Rob Markham
Gangster movies. Just when you think they’ve died out, they seem to sprout again like weeds. From classic, noirish Shakespearean stories of betrayal and lust through to the slapstick caricature of more recent British gangster flicks, it seems there are few places left for this genre to go and one wonders if it has run its course. David Michôd’s Animal Kingdom, based on actual events in Melbourne in 1988, offers us a worm’s-eye view of suburban crime, with surprising, and critically acclaimed results.
After the death of his mother from a heroin overdose, Josh goes to live with his Grandmother, Janine, the matriarch of a notorious Melbourne crime family. Josh’s uncles - Pope, Craig and Darren - and family friend Baz take Josh under their wing and he becomes embroiled in their misdeeds.
As armed robbery is on the wane, and the volatile Armed Robbery Squad are increasingly unpredictable and vindictive, the family begins to question the future, and to move into other areas for their income, such as drug dealing and the stock market.
When one of the gang is murdered, paranoia and fear spreads throughout the family, and, as the newcomer, Josh becomes an object of suspicion.
Caught between his family and the law, Josh must learn the basic, animal rules of survival if he is to survive in a world he is not equipped to deal with…
Fear is the overriding theme throughout Animal Kingdom. Every character is touched by it at some point. Whether they are living in it, or causing it in others, fear permeates every scene and every line of dialogue in David Michôd’s masterful tale of crime and family, which is one of the grittiest thrillers in recent years.
Told from the point-of-view of Josh, we are straight away thrown into a world we do not understand, and one in which nothing is what it seems and everything should be suspected and questioned. The opening scene sees Josh, apparently bored, watching Deal Or No Deal on television while his mother lies unconscious next to him. This could easily be a scene of bored youth in a disaffected time, but, within seconds, we learn that his mother has just overdosed on heroin, and seconds later, we find out that she is dead. We learn little of Josh, his background or his upbringing, and are instead thrown, shell-shocked, into the world of the Cody crime family and their oppressive and dangerous matriarch, Janine.
First appearing as a saviour for Josh, we soon learn Janine is as cold and calculating as any figurehead of any crime organization. Underneath her warm smile and demand for kisses in public is the same cold nature that drove Michael Corleone or Tony Soprano, and the behaviour of her sons reflects perfectly what it must have been like to be raised by such a matriarch. Pope is on the run from the police, Craig is heavily into drugs (dealing and using), while Darren, possibly confused about his sexuality, resorts to sitting in the shadows and using marijuana to cope. This is dysfunction at its finest and each actor takes to their role perfectly, showing the volatile nature of crime and the strain it puts on families, especially when it’s all they know.
Michôd does a remarkable job of making sure the tension never lets up throughout by ensuring a constant atmosphere of fear and paranoia that is aided by the superb performances. As Pope, Ben Mendlesohn is terrifying, channeling frustration and anger to painfully restrained levels and creating a sociopath of epic proportions. By turns afraid of his lack of patriarchal power in the family, and angry at almost everything, the character provides one of the most effective screen villains seen for some time. As matriarch, Janine ‘Smurf’ Cody, Jacki Weaver is equally scary, peeling away layers of niceties to reveal a cold and hard crime boss who will do whatever it takes to survive. Added to this, Joel Edgerton, Luke Ford and Sullivan Stapleton as the family/gang members portray testosterone soaked, fearful masculinity to terrific effect, transcending stereotypes and avoiding caricature. In fact, each character, in reference to the title, portrays animal-like behaviour perfectly capturing the essence of their character. Baz is bear-like and strong, Craig like a caged wild cat, Pope is cold, reptilian and untrustworthy, and Janine is the Black Widow, deadly and calculating.
At first glance, it seems that James Frecheville is a little uncomfortable in the central role of Josh, the young cub, but his lack of charisma, intelligence and emotion serves to keep the audience at a distance, ensuring we observe the horrific events unfold rather than become complicit in them. It is through his eyes that we see the world, and we are squarely on his level in terms of our familiarity and comfort with it. When called upon to portray strong emotion, he does an effective job, and the return to his dispassionate look at the end of the film is as horrifying as it is inevitable.
The title reflects the way these characters live, and the laws they operate by in their own world of armed robberies and drug dealing. Favouring interiors and claustrophobia over the open spaces Australia has in abundance, Michôd nevertheless shoots the action like a wildlife documentary, distancing us from the action and the characters, but never flinching from the minutiae. Movements within scenes, especially prevalent in the family home, are deliberate, brimming with restrained energy as each character fights against the perceived imprisonment their life has caused. It’s engrossing to watch, and every time the family is together, the tension is palpable.
Michôd’s use of slow motion seems to be an attempt to wring emotion and gravity out of scenes that are already heavily populated with both, and, at these times, it can feel a little melodramatic, but overall this is a powerful and effective film, superbly acted and written, and one which deserves high standing in the genre. His use of colour, or lack of it, gives the film a look of cold, hard reality, but not one that is instantly recognizable, increasing the gap between the characters and the audience. Likewise, the lack of gangster cliché set-pieces, such as actual armed robbery (glimpsed only in beautifully grainy stills over the opening credits), and the swift but brutally restrained violence adds to the sense that what we are seeing is not something we are supposed to immerse ourselves in or identify with, but something we should observe and learn from.
Strong performances and outstanding direction make Animal Kingdom a must for fans of the genre, but there is more to it than the standard formula. Michôd has crafted an effective look at the destructive nature of crime and the toll it takes on families, showing us a world where basic laws of survival rule and only the strong survive. Taut and gripping, it is a standout entry in a crowded genre and a welcome relief from the usual clichés. RM
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Film: Cross Of Iron
Year of production: 1977
UK Release date: 6th June 2011
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 18
Running time: 133 mins
Director: Sam Peckinpah
Starring: James Coburn, Maximilian Schell, James Mason, David Warner, Klaus Löwitsch
Genre: Action/Drama/War
Format: Blu-ray
Country of Production: UK/West Germany
Language: English/Russian/German
Review by: Ken Talbot
Sam Peckinpah’s unforgiving depiction of German soldiers struggling to survive on the Russian front remains one of the most potent anti-war films of all time. Now, with a stunning re-mastered print on Blu-ray, newcomers will have a chance to experience the maverick director’s vision of the World War II conflict from the perspective of the downtrodden German infantry.
Captain Stransky is a German aristocrat who requests a transfer to the failing assault on Russian forces, in the hopes that he can obtain the prestigious Iron Cross. Sergeant Steiner is a decorated soldier, whose guerrilla methods and unit of hardened veterans may be turning the tide of the conflict. They meet in the battle worn trenches of the Russian front, as the German forces are on verge of a full retreat.
Steiner takes an instant disliking to the pampered, inexperienced Stransky, as does his commanding officer, Colonel Brandt. After a surprise attack, Steiner spends some time in hospital and, after sparking a short-lived romance with his nurse, he promptly returns to the front. On his return, he discovers that Stransky has lied about leading a counter attack to the surprise Russian assault and has asked Steiner to vouch for him. When Steiner declines, Stransky attempts to dispose of him by any means necessary…
A small boy in uniform is killed amidst a flurry of gunfire, a rapist is left to a pack of bloodthirsty women, and a petulant officer orders the execution of his own countrymen to serve his vanity. Sam Peckinpah’s vision of war from the point of view of German soldiers is bleak and confrontational, presenting a soldiers-eye view of the senseless slaughter.
At its very core, it is a portrait of two very different men, James Coburn’s world weary career soldier, Steiner and Maximilian Schell’s cowardly, yet glory-hungry Stransky. Both are hopelessly flawed human beings, both are cogs in the war machine, separated only by experience and social status.
Coburn excels in his role as a stoic veteran who despises the war, yet refuses to leave it behind, instantly dismissing his promising romance with Sister Eva when the chance to return to the fray appears. Steiner is a man hardened by the horrors of war, yet he still manages to retain some semblance of humanity. Stransky wishes only to make his family proud by obtaining an Iron Cross (Germany’s equivalent of the medal of honour) and he is prepared to obtain this reward by any means necessary, even if it means murdering his own countrymen.
Schell portrays Stransky as a complex villain; he displays menace when goading his subordinates to admit their homosexuality, yet cowers under a table when signs of battle draw near. Schell makes Stransky menacing and pathetic in equal measure and it’s a shame he isn’t given enough screen time to let the role breath. This isn’t just a two-hander, however; solid support comes from the regal James Mason as Brandt and David Warner as the exhausted Captain Keisel.
Cross of Iron’s star is undoubtedly Peckinpah, who took a break from revisionist westerns (and Hollywood) to make his second and last war film (the first being 1965’s Major Dundee). The auteur’s visual signature is all over the film; slow motion, freeze frame and jump cuts - he shoots the battle scenes like devastatingly beautiful ballets of death, and frames his ‘heroes’ with reverence. Yet, crucially, Peckinpah understands the irony of idolising characters like Steiner - men whose glory on the battlefield belies their tainted soul off it.
As with most Peckinpah productions, the film is technically brilliant. Cinematography, editing and sound design create a constant sensory assault. Battles are teeth rattling experiences, replete with haunting imagery (a battalion of Russian tanks emerging from fog is a standout sequence). What little music that is present in the film is often drowned out by persistent explosions or the distant cries of dying infantry. Only ‘Hanschen Klien’, the eerie nursery rhyme that bookends the film, offers any sort of musical signature.
The conclusion is as bleak and nihilistic as one can expect from Peckinpah. Like the ageing outlaws of The Wild Bunch, Steiner and Stransky end their story in the heat of battle. Steiner leads his terrified captain to the place “where the iron crosses grow.” The final freeze frame, as the sound of maniacal laughter bleeds into that unsettling children’s song, is surely the most cheerfully negative conclusion in the history of war films.
Peckinpah’s downbeat war film displays the director’s signature visual flair and penchant for extreme (for the time) violence. A scathing attack on the machinations of war, the film remains an often overlooked masterpiece. KT
Film: Julia’s Eyes
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 20th May 2011
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 15
Running time: 112 mins
Director: Guillem Morales
Starring: Belén Rueda, Lluís Homar, Pablo Derqui, Francesc Orella, Joan Dalmau
Genre: Horror/Thriller
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Spain
Language: Spanish
Review by: Dave O Butnu
The return of giallo to the international film circuit will be just the thing many horror fans have been waiting for, and with recent successes like Amer, we can only wait with baited breath for the next crazy European psycho killer to mess with our brains. New Spanish thriller Julia’s Eyes could well be the next big thing. Anyone that’s seen The Orphanage will certainly have high hopes, given that it is made by the same team, but can such a mainstream aesthetic live up its more visually flamboyant predecessors?
The story follows Julia, who has a degenerative condition which leads to blindness. Her twin sister has the same affliction and is found hanged in a basement soon after losing her sight. The verdict is suicide, but Julia suspects something more sinister at play.
As she begins to unravel her sister’s personal life, she finds herself in a losing battle for her own eyesight. However, her growing obsession drives her on to continue hunting for the person that she is convinced has killed her sister.
The trail of clues leads to a nail biting conclusion, as Julia discovers how her sister died…
Just in case you’re not too sure what giallo is, it’s a genre that was popularised by some legendary filmmakers, such as Mario Bava and Dario Argento. Most giallo movies were made between 1960 and 1990, but in the last two decades, the genre has been something of a rarity in cinemas. It is a type of thriller/horror which originated in Italy. They are called gialli (plural), which simply means ‘yellow’, because many were based on detective novels which came with a yellow cover. Generally, giallo involves a number of characters who are all killed off one by one by a mysterious gloved/masked killer.
There is usually a strong psychological element, as well as sexual themes and a lot of focus on style and fashion. Julia’s Eyes features just about all of the tell-tale signs of giallo, with numerous plot twists and mind games at play. For most of Julia’s Eyes, we find ourselves frequently changing our minds about if there really is a killer and who they might be. In terms of its script and story, this film is a meticulously constructed rollercoaster of fear and suspense.
It may be obvious, but the dominant theme of Julia’s Eyes is vision and voyeurism, which is always a subject close to the heart of cinema. The power of the gaze is often regarded as a metaphor for sexual and physical dominance; however, when the gaze is taken away, we are infinitely more vulnerable and impotent. These concepts all manifest through Julia’s struggle to keep her vision, which is cleverly used to take us to some very dark places indeed. It is said that the most frightening films place the horror off camera, but Julia’s Eyes actually puts it in front of the camera and keeps us from really being able to see it. It’s almost as if this approach makes the most of both displaying and concealing at the same time, creating a whole new perspective on fear and edge-of-your-seat suspense.
This theme is explored through the dialogue and events, but, most strikingly, through the visuals. Unlike the vibrant, colourful imagery of Amer, and many other gialli, Julia’s Eyes mostly presents us with shades of gloom and grey. Many of the sets use very low key lighting and restrict what is visible, using what we can’t see to create tension and suspense. It also implements a lot of out of focus shots and shadows, further obscuring what can be seen.
Starring in the title role is Belén Rueda, who also played the lead role in The Orphanage. Belen seems to have an amazing talent for playing the distressed, as once again we see her as a character that is quite literally on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She conveys this distress so well that it envelops the audience in her hysterical panic.
Julia’s husband, Isaac, is played by Lluís Homar, who also appeared in the Pedro Almodovar film Bad Education (incidentally Almodovar produced Guillermo del Toro’s The Devils Backbone). Homar plays the role of Isaac brilliantly, with a thoroughly believable performance. His role in Julia’s Eyes is not an easy one. Isaac is a husband whose wife is apparently going crazy and blind, but his ability to adapt to each new twist in the story, with just enough restraint to make us question his virtues, is a truly uncanny ability.
One other notable element of this movie is the use of flash bulbs to blind people in the dark. This echoes perfectly the voyeuristic Hitchcock classic Rear Window, both visually and thematically. This light bulb homage is a very fitting reference, considering that Rear Window and Julia’s Eyes share a lot in terms of the themes that they both tackle, since both films feature amateur sleuths with not just disabilities, but restricted viewpoints.
Julia’s Eyes is a more subtle giallo than most, offering all the usual giallo hallmarks, but in a much more conventional and mainstream package. The plot will keep you guessing from start to finish and may also deliver a few (un)pleasant surprises, which makes Julia’s Eyes a must for any fan of European slashers and gialli, but perhaps, more importantly, a very accessible introduction for anyone new to it. Julia’s Eyes is an all round pleaser, ticking all the boxes and offering the occasional bit of gore as a bonus. DOB
Film: I Saw The Devil
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 9th May 2011
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 18
Running time: 140 mins
Director: Kim Jee-woon
Starring: Lee Byung-hun, Choi Min-sik, Jeon Gook-hwan, Jeon Ho-jin, Oh San-ha
Genre: Crime/Drama/Horror/Thriller
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country of Production: South Korea
Language: Korean
Review by: Mark Player
With an increasing string of high-profile and well regarded releases under his belt – A Tale Of Two Sisters, A Bittersweet Life, The Good The Bad The Weird, etc. – Korean director Kim Jee-woon is quickly becoming one of the country's best known filmmakers; rivalling the likes of Bong Joon-ho (who helmed The Host and Mother) and Park Chan-wook (the 'Vengeance' trilogy and most recently Thirst). Kim's latest opus – I Saw The Devil – sees him pitting his regular leading man Lee Byung-hun up against the irrepressible Choi Min-sik, star of Park's infamous Oldboy.
Lee Byung-hun plays Kim Soo-hyeon, a detective who plans to marry the retired police chief's daughter Joo-yeon (Oh San-ha). One night, Joo-yeon is stranded out in the snowy countryside, whilst Soo-hyeon is busy working. Whilst waiting for a tow-truck to rescue her vehicle, Joo-yeon encounters Kyung-chul (Choi Min-sik), a school bus driver and total psychopath. He smashes his way into the car, dragging Joo-yeon through the snow and taking her to his secret workshop where he proceeds to mutilate and kill her. Remains of her body are soon discovered in a nearby river.
Soo-hyeon is devastated and is given leave from the force. However, Soo-hyeon wastes no time in finding the man responsible, quickly working his way through the police's list of suspects. Eventually, he finds Kyung-chul, arriving just in time to prevent another death; one of the school girls who regularly rides Kyung-chul's bus. Soo-hyeon overpowers Kyung-chul; however, he lets him not only live, but escape.
Kyung-chul feels he's had a lucky break, but as soon as he feels safe to resume his old tricks, Soo-hyeon appears to administer further violence. With the hunter now becoming the prey, Kyung-chul is continually at the mercy of Soo-hyeon and his plans for the perfect revenge...
It’s strange to think that I Saw The Devil is the product of the same directorial hand as the energetic, colourful and all-round fun that was The Good The Bad The Weird. This effort feels like a very different breed; it also feels like it has arrived about six or seven years too late. Had I Saw The Devil been released around the mid-2000s, its content and subject matter would've likely felt far more innovative, but, as it stands, its sadistic torturings and vicious exploits feel rote and somewhat obsolete.
The main problem is that fellow director Park Chan-wook – after his Vengeance trilogy – pretty much has the monopoly on Korean revenge melodrama and, as a result, other ruminations feel like tired retreads and appropriations of the conventions, character dynamics and narrative arcs explored in Park's Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance (2002) and Oldboy (2003). Like the latter, Soo-hyeon turns his quest for revenge into a sick game of wits. It also doesn't help that Oldboy's protagonist and I Saw The Devil's mass-murderer-turned-victim are played by the same actor, creating further stylistic parallels.
On that note, Choi Min-sik does turn in a good performance as the film's psychopath, resisting the temptation to chew scenery and, instead, offering a rounded and humane portrayal of a man that, at the same time, isn't too serious. He clearly enjoys the role; going absolutely nuts in a taxicab with a screwdriver, repeatedly stabbing the driver and a fellow passenger who, amusingly, later turn out to be murdering car-jackers themselves. Lee Byung-hun is also impressive as the detective who gets so caught up in orchestrating the perfect revenge that he is blind to the damage it causes around him, leading to further loss of life.
Director Kim Je-woon allows enough screen time for his two leads to blossom; the downside being that the film feels a little too long, with some sequences feeling loose when they should feel tight. Another disorientating factor is the overall structure and pace of the narrative. Soo-hyeon finds his man well within the first hour, preventing further murders, as well as exacting some personal and physical justice by beating Kyung-chul to a pulp. But by the point where other films would normally end, I Saw The Devil carries on for another ninety minutes. Soo-hyeon gives Kyung-chul a wad of cash and allows him to escape only to track him down and beat him again and again, prolonging the thrill of the hunt. It’s an interesting idea, but one that starts to grow weary; culminating to the point where you'd think Soo-hyeon would just kill the guy, or at the very least place him in some sort of confinement where the torture could continue without chaos spilling out onto the streets. This would then remove the need to have Kyung-chul unknowingly ingest a rather dubious GPS tracker/microphone device in order for Soo-hyeon to keep tabs on him as he roams freely within the city.
The violence, even though Kim Jee-woon is wise enough to cut away or not show the most barbaric of moments, is still not for the squeamish. Fans of fellow Asian shock-masters such as Takashi Miike will revel in the frequent and over-the-top, Ichi The Killer-esque bodily mutilation steadily dispersed throughout, but some – even those accustomed to extreme Asian cinema – may still find the tone to be overly sadistic or even unnecessary, and may dismiss the ensuing carnage as little more than button pushing (I Saw The Devil has received various cuts by many international censorship boards, but is allegedly uncut for this UK release).
But, as suggested by his past features, Kim Jee-woon is not afraid to experiment with genre conventions and limitations, creating an entertainingly savage ride (for those who can stomach it) in the process. Korean cinema's knack for having humour hidden in the most strange and the darkest of places is also present: one of Kyung-chul's friends (who is also a mass-murderer) finds himself pinned to a table via a screwdriver through the centre of his hand. He tries to yank it out of the wood, only for the plastic handle to detach and fly off, leaving the rest of the screwdriver still through his hand and the table.
Ultimately, while I Saw the Devil disappointingly fails to live up to past Korean dalliances with similarly grim, revenge-centric subject matter, it still makes for a fun yet grisly experience. Lee Byung-hun and Choi Min-sik's performances are strong enough to glaze over some of the film's weaker elements, whilst the copious violence flows freely and will undoubtedly keep gore-hounds enthused. I Saw The Devil is certainly worth a look. MP
Film: Rashomon
Year of production: 1950
UK Release date: 13th October 2008
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 12
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Akira Kurosawa
Starring: Toshirô Mifune, Machiko Kyô, Masayuki Mori, Takashi Shimura, Minoru Chiaki
Genre: Crime/Drama/Mystery
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Colin-John Gardner
The amalgamation of two of prominent writer Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s short stories, Rashomon is perhaps the greatest and most influential piece of work by the grand doyen of Japanese filmmaking Akira Kurosawa. The film was an international triumph, and helped usher Japanese cinema onto western audiences, as well as gaining Kurosawa worldwide recognition.
Rashomon opens during a heavy storm at the forbidding and damaged remnants of Rashomon Gate in 11th century Japan. As the rain pounds away, a priest (Minoru Chiaki) and a woodcutter (Takashi Shimura) sit in utter distress, pondering the horrors they have just witnessed. Soon enough, a commoner (Kichijiro Ueda), running into the ruins for cover from the violent conditions, approaches the men and queries them on their troubles. The woodcutter divulges that he had recently found the body of samurai (Masayuki Mori) who was supposedly murdered by a bandit (Toshiro Mifune), and that he and the priest had just returned from the murder trial in relation to it.
The film then cuts to the inquest, where the bandit Tajomaru recites his version of the events leading up to the samurai’s death through a subjective flashback. Following his testimony, the wife of the murdered samurai (Machiko Kyo), as well as the samurai himself, albeit through the use of a medium, deliver their accounts of the story to the court, again shown through biased flashbacks. Each story presented is exceedingly different except for the rather decisive point of the person in question admitting to committing the murder, or in the case of the samurai, committing suicide.
However, despite admitting to ultimately being responsible for the crime, each character has a somewhat explicit reason for wanting to deceive the court. After the testimonies are heard, the story cuts back to Rashomon Gate, where the ostensibly objective woodcutter gives his versions of the events. However, even his truth may be apocryphal…
The idea of subjectivity is the most important facet of Rashomon. As each version of the tale is told, the viewer is presented with the character’s skewed truth in the form of a flashback. In the context of the time, this was a truly remarkable and astonishingly original innovation to put into a film, as questioning the verisimilitude of a scene would be thought of as unimportant or utterly superfluous. In essence, Rashomon showed that the camera was not inerrant, and that it too could present a falsehood or be the victim of circumstance. The film’s main purpose, then, is to question the veracity of statements as it furiously dissects the nature of communication.
The acting performances within the film are, at times, somewhat extraordinary. During the flashback scenes, the performers play their characters in a rather eccentric way and their behaviour is often analogous to that of silent film acting. The idiosyncratic touching and perpetual frenzied gaze of the bandit Tajomaru, as well as the animated movements and outlandish howls of laughter by the wife of the samurai, are just some of the examples of the radical facial movements and exaggerated gestures employed in the performances within the film. This makes Rashomon beautifully expressive and is a testament to Kurosawa’s direction.
Despite not being one of Kurosawa’s most extravagant films in its appearance, the film still possesses some striking cinematography, as well as exotic locations and mise-en-scène. Kazuo Miyagawa, the film’s cinematographer, is one of the chief reasons for this. Some of the shots used in the film are truly wonderful; the desolate ruins of Rashomon Gate being pounded by the power of the rain at the beginning of the film is a specific example that creates an immediate atmosphere of intrigue. One of the most unforgettable aspects of the film is the woodcutter’s walk through the jungle in the first flashback. Here, Miyagawa points the camera into the sky as the woodcutter moves. The sun, shining through shrubbery and high trees above, is a marvellous aesthetic thrill that stands to be the most memorable sequence in the film for its subtle beauty.
Despite moderate domestic success at the time, the film was never seen as anything close to a revelation until it was shown overseas. Winning the 1951 Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival cemented its critical achievements as it was the first non-European film to win the award. Rashomon also paved the way for western audiences to experience Japanese films and allowed Kurosawa the freedom to create more influential pieces of work in the future as well as giving the auteur international prominence.
Technically proficient and beautiful in its aesthetics, as well as intelligent and profound in its story, Rashomon is genuinely a cinema classic and is Akira Kurosawa’s magnum opus. Showcasing a narrative style that would go on to influence cinema to the point of being to some extent common, Kurosawa’s film asks a universal question to which we are challenged to query the very nature of the truth. CJG
Film: He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
Year of production: 2002
UK Release date: 28th April 2003
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 12
Running time: 92 mins
Director: Laetitia Colombani
Starring: Audrey Tautou, Samuel Le Bihan, Isabelle Carré, Sophie Guillemin, Clément Sibony
Genre: Romance/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France
Language: French
Review by: Samuel Clifton
The first feature from French director Laetitia Colombani is also one of compatriot Audrey Tautou's first appearances following her international breakthrough in Jeunet's Amélie. Together they tackle the thorny issue of 'erotomania' in an unconventional love story filled with twists and told in a non-linear narrative.
Matters of the heart abound as cardiologist Dr. Loïc Le Garrec (Brotherhood Of The Wolf's Le Bihan) unwittingly becomes the focus of attention for art student Angélique (Tautou). New neighbours after she begins house-sitting for a family on vacation, Angélique embarks on what she believes to be an affair with the married, expectant father.
Things start innocently enough as she surreptitiously sends the doctor flowers at his office and dedicates works of art to him. The affair soon turns sour, however, when Le Garrec's wife (Carré) suffers a miscarriage and the marriage breaks up. Learning of this, Angélique excitedly plans a trip to Florence with her newly available love. Of course, Angélique's dreams are dashed when Le Garrec leaves her stranded alone at the airport. So begins Angélique's inevitable descent into depression, delusion and obsession..
In quick succession she loses both her job and a prestigious art scholarship. Already at her nadir, Angélique sees a news broadcast telling of Dr. Le Garrec's arrest for the assault of one of his patients. A tumultuous sequence of events quickly unfolds and comes to a head with Angélique's life hanging in the balance.
It's at this point that the story rewinds itself to make a point of divergence when Angélique sends a single rose to Dr. Le Garrec. From here, we see the affair from his perspective and his is a story that differs greatly from the version of events told from Angélique's point of view. Angélique's fragile state of mind is further illuminated by the realisation that events seemingly so important to her were not what they at first appeared to be. In the final passage, Angélique is afforded the opportunity for recovery and redemption but an ominous conclusion suggests that she might not take it…
Writer/director Colombani is possibly her own worst enemy in her début feature. Whilst her examination of the psychological phenomena of 'erotomania' is confidant and daring, her execution is sadly lacking. The problem is that her addition to the 'woman scorned' genre brings little new to the table besides a thin intellectual examination of the psychology of obsession and even this feels a little tacked on. The film consistently tries to be new and unpredictable, but it fails in most of its attempts. For instance, there is a scene within Angélique's half of the film in which she catches Le Garrec in an embrace with his wife. Whilst she is shocked at this discovery, we are not. Colombani's script can't help but hit all the familiar plot points that we've seen time and time again: The fragile, naïve waif who falls for the strong, stern professional; the marriage that breaks down over trauma and mistrust; the inevitable violent conclusion. All are present and correct.
The script's dialogue does feature some memorable moments when you feel a real sense that Colombani has lent an introspective and delicate touch to her film, but these are sadly few and far between. What's more, these genuine moments in the script are negated by Colombani's juvenile visual devices which only serve to betray her youth and inexperience. In the midst of Angélique's downfall, we witness the wilting of a rare plant placed into her care by the family whose house she is sitting. This visual metaphor for life and love dying may have been poignant in Disney's Beauty And The Beast some twenty years ago, but here it just seems trite.
Colombani's lack of originality extends also to the decision to present her début in the popular non-linear style. In Twyker's Run Lola Run, the simple story was greatly enhanced by the replay of a single day's events, whilst Nolan's tale of an amnesiac in Memento necessitated that it was told in reverse. He Loves Me... does not benefit in the same way from using this device. This is partially because it's unnecessary. The revelations unveiled in the second half are not as shocking or surprising as the filmmaker would have us believe. The predictable script cannot bear the weight of suspense that a non-linear narrative carries. More disappointing, however, is the feeling that the film may well have been better without the leap backward. The jump creates a strict dichotomy between the two protagonists that robs the film of any moral or emotional complexity. If the film had unfolded itself in a more straightforward fashion, Angélique's descent into mania may have been more immediately engaging and relatable. As it is, we are given perhaps a little too much objectivity on events. Tellingly, one of the few true moments of pathos in the film only occurs towards its conclusion when Angélique finally gets a kiss from her object of desire. By this point, the non-linear portion of the narrative has already been resolved.
Where Colombani must be commended is in her direction of the cast and their performances. Tautou is admirably committed to her role; especially given stardom must have beckoned following a star turn in Amélie. She lends the best parts of Colombani's script the lightness of touch and introspection it deserves. As the beleaguered Dr. Le Garrec, Le Bihan's understated performance is watchable and believable. Equally, the supporting cast of Carré and Sibony are well measured in their roles as Le Garrec's wife and Angélique's admirer respectively. Credit is also due for the inclusion of Nat King Cole's L.O.V.E. as a recurring musical motif throughout the film. It plays as a soundtrack over a montage of Angélique's supposed moments of happiness with Le Garrec and serves as one of the films truly surprising, humorous and ironic aspects.
Colombani's treatment of the subject of 'erotomania' is undeniably brave and well examined. However, Colombani's final product fails on many counts to avoid the pitfalls of its genre. The script can't help but feel derivative and the direction speaks of someone who's searching for their own distinctive voice. Ironically, it's the peculiarly French sense of detachment from its subject matter that denies the film of any real emotional impact. Some respite is to be found in the excellent cast and their superb reading of the highlights of the script, but the film still struggles to satisfy or leave a lasting impact. SC
Film: Azumi
Year of production: 2003
UK Release date: 2nd August 2004
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 18
Running time: 123 mins
Director: Ryûhei Kitamura
Starring: Aya Ueto, Kenji Kohashi, Hiroki Narimiya, Takatoshi Kaneko, Yûma Ishigaki
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama/Fantasy/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Japan
Language: Japanese
Review by: Anastasia Catris
Based on the popular Japanese manga series by Yū Koyama, Azumi has been adapted into two feature films, a video game and even a stage play. The first film, Azumi, directed by Ryuhei Kitamura, has proved popular amongst audiences at home and abroad, having received the Audience Award at the Philadelphia Film Festival in 2004 and the Popularity Award at the Japanese Academy Awards in 2003. Kitamura is best known in Japan for his work on the TV drama Sky High, as well as branching into cut scene direction for the popular video game series Metal Gear Solid.
The film centres on the title character, Azumi (Aya Ueto), a female assassin raised and trained by her idealist master, Gessai (Yoshio Harada), in the isolation of the Japanese mountains. She is one of ten young assassins being trained to fulfil Gessai’s ‘mission’ to eradicate war through the assassination of war mongers and warlords. The ten assassins are whittled down to five: Hyûga (Kenji Kohashi), Nagara (Yûma Ishigaki), Ukiha (Hiroki Narimiya), Amagi (Takatoshi Kaneko) and Azumi in the opening of the film, and they proceed on their mission alongside their master.
As they pick off their enemies one by one, morals are brought into question and we follow Azumi as she begins to debate her role as a woman, an assassin and a murderer. The remaining warlord, Kato, dispatches a number of mercenaries to stop the assassins, including Saru (the ‘monkey face’) and a group of three inept brothers. The young assassins stop in a small village and befriend a troupe of acrobats, including the beautiful Yae who Hyuga falls for.
When the travelling performers leave the village they are met along the way by the gang of three brothers, who mistake them for the assassins and attack them, leaving Yae alone. After the three brothers fail to kill the young assassins, Saru is saddled with the task of negotiating with an insane and notorious criminal, Bijomaru (Jô Odagiri) to eradicate Azumi and her compatriots. Upon escorting Yae back to the main road, Hyuga is attacked by Bijomaru and Yae is once again left alone.
Meanwhile, the master, Nagara and Ukiha set off to kill Kato and the master is captured in the process. The mission shifts as the remaining assassins set off to rescue their master. Yae joins Azumi and acts as a feminine influence on her as Azumi has never known female companionship. After attempting to feminize Azumi through dressing her in a kimono and make up, Yae and Azumi are once again attacked by thugs on the road. Azumi realizes that she can never escape violence and returns to help Nagara and Ukiha save their master. The film reaches its climax as Azumi faces off against Bijomaru, Saru and an entire army of mercenaries and soldiers, to rescue her master…
As we join Azumi and her associates, it is striking that the costume and make-up seem modern and stylised. From the short, colourful tunics to the ‘Tokyo Pop’ hairstyles of the young men, it is evident that this is an action film for a younger audience. This is not surprising given that the source material is a popular manga series.
Many of the performances are heightened and melodramatic, especially Odagiri’s Bijomaru, who dons long black hair, a white kimono, red and pink eye make-up, and the prop of a single red rose. Utilising manga tropes, exaggeration and costuming may be accurate to the source material but does not seem to translate well to live action. Instead, the performances become comic and pantomimic. This is notable in scenes such as the rogue brothers’ attack on the acrobats. Due to their ‘over-the-top’ performances, their attack becomes comedic and unthreatening. Despite the horrific ways they treat the acrobat troupe - especially the female performers - we remain unaffected by their actions. Such performances make it difficult for an audience to connect to the characters and their activities.
Contrary to this, we have the performances of Aya Ueto and her young co-stars. Their characterization is far more subtle and emotional, allowing us to follow their journey more carefully. The direct opposition of the subtlety of the heroes and the melodrama of the villains creates an obvious directorial intention: to de-humanise the villains and allow us to empathize with the heroes, who are still essentially murderers themselves. At times, this opposition acts against the ‘heroes’, however, whose low-key performances get lost amongst the colour and harshness of the supporting cast.
The battle scenes are beautifully choreographed and dynamically shot with some standout stunt performances. It is the opening scene, however, which stands out the most. Azumi and her friends must face an emotionally and morally difficult decision in order to continue their mission alongside their master. Character direction aside, it is evident from the opening sequences that these young actors are friends and enjoy each other’s company. Such friendship makes the opening scene heart-wrenching after only a minimal amount of character development and screen time.
Sadly, the film degrades into a sensationalist display of choreography and stunts after this early moment of sensitivity, and the performances are lost to poor dialogue, as well as black-and-white character roles. We are led to believe that Azumi is battling with the moral quandary of murder over killing for a cause, yet this is washed over by the large performances around her, masking the subtlety of her emotion.
Overall, the feel of this film is cartoon-like with its exaggerated performances and simplistic oppositions. By relying on live-action human performances, the director is asking us to familiarise more with the characters, however, this is not achieved. We are distanced from the emotion of the protagonists and the actions of the antagonists through the animated and melodramatic performances, which begs the question whether or not Azumi would be better presented as an animation rather than a live action film.
Despite its positive reception, Azumi remains a hollow film. Largely style over substance, it relies on the popularity and modern appeal of its young cast to reel in a young audience, ignoring the difficult themes and moral debates of its source material. ANC
Film: The Little Norse Prince
Release date: 17th October 2005
Certificate: U
Running time: 82 mins
Director: Isao Takahata
Starring: Yukari Asai, Mikijiro Hira, Etsuko Ichihara, Masao Mishima, Hisako Ohkata
Genre: Anime
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
One of the great advantages to the success of Studio Ghibli films such as Spirited Away and Howl’s Moving Castle is that it has ignited Western interest in many of Hayao Miyazaki’s earlier films and that of his colleague, Isao Takahata (Grave Of The Fireflies). The Little Norse Prince (or Hols: Prince Of The Sun) was Takahata’s directorial debut in 1968 and follows the folk tale style of its later ancestors.
The Little Norse Prince is set in Iron Age Scandinavia and follows the quests of Horus (or Hols in alternative translations). The story begins as Horus (Hisako Ohkata) fights off a pack of silver wolves with a small hatchet. During this battle, he accidentally wakes a stone giant named Mogue who is bothered by a ‘thorn’ in his shoulder. Upon offering to extract the ‘thorn’, Horus discovers that it is in fact the ancient ‘Sword of the Sun’. The giant tells Horus that should he re-forge the battered blade he will forever be known as the ‘Prince of the Sun’.
Horus is soon summoned by his friend, Coro (Yukari Asai), a small talking bear, who tells him that his father is on his death bed. Upon returning to his father, Horus is told of how they used to live in a sea-side village which was attacked by a wicked sorcerer known as Grunwald and that the fisherman and his son were the only survivors. Before his death, Horus’ father urges him to return to the village and avenge its devastation.
On his journey to find civilisation, Horus encounters Grunwald (Mikijiro Hira) who urges him to serve him as his ‘younger brother’. On refusing, Horus is pushed from a cliff, but survives and is rescued by the villagers of a local fishing community.
Horus soon becomes renowned among the villagers when he destroys a large pike that had been afflicting the local fishing supply. It turns out that the pike was a ploy of Grunwald’s to starve the village and, in his rage at the pike’s death, he sends a pack of silver wolves to attack the village. Whilst chasing the wolves, Horus comes across a mysterious girl named Hilda (Etsuko Ichihara) who lives in a deserted village and sings haunting songs whilst playing her harp. Horus returns to the fishing village with Hilda and she is welcomed. However, the chieftain of the village, urged on by his deputy Drago, grows jealous of Horus’ popularity. Drago conspires with Hilda, who is actually Grunwald’s sister, to destroy Horus’ reputation and together they frame him for the attempted murder of the chief.
After his consequent banishment from the village, Horus and Hilda confront one another and Horus is plunged into an enchanted forest from which there is apparently no escape. Meanwhile Grunwald attacks the village with the spectral silver wolves and a giant icy mammoth, which brings frost and snow to the land. During this time, Horus receives visions of his father and the villagers and soon realises the only way that he can escape the wood is if he re-forges his sword and becomes the ‘Prince of the Sun’…
Despite its age, The Little Norse Prince still holds much of the charm and beauty of modern Japanese animation. The background detailing and painterly landscapes are forerunners of the Oscar nominated films we see from Studio Ghibli today. Miyazaki, who worked on this film as an animator, was obviously inspired by the mixtures of the classic realism of natural scapes and the stylized cartoon of the manga human figure.
The Scandinavian influence is well portrayed, from the language of the names, e.g. ‘Grunwald’ (from the German for ‘green forest’); to the artwork of Mogue, who resembles a Scandinavian troll or Earth Spirit with his large nose, obscured eyes and mound of foliage for hair. The colours are fresh blues and greens, depicting the cold environment of its setting, often acting as juxtaposition to the reds and blacks of the evil sorcerer’s spells and manifestations. The juxtaposition between the ‘Prince of the Sun’ hero and the sorcerer of ice and snow likens it to a traditional folktale of summer versus winter with ancient elements such as the warrior; feats of bravery; the bardic element of Hilda and legendary weaponry.
Even with its simple plot of a young hero versus an evil sorcerer, the film is rich with character. This is most notable in Hilda, who struggles with her desire to live forever through the evil power of her brother or to live a mortal, human existence. During a scene where the women of the village are preparing for a wedding, Hilda is affected by the importance they lay upon one day, having no concept of love or living for every moment. Due to her immortality, she cannot see the importance that humans place on the little things in life, such as children playing, making a beautiful piece of craft or celebrating a wedding, as she does not need to live every day as if it is her last. This is beautifully highlighted when the village is attacked by rats and the injured bride requests that her husband take her to their marital home so that she can at least see her final moments as a wife.
Despite its fast paced and dynamic opening scene, many of the action sequences in this film are muted by the fact that they are portrayed through montage. The rats attacking the village, as well as other battle scenes, are shown through a series of stills which jars the flow of the film and disconnects the audience from the action. Although the stills themselves are beautifully drawn, it can seem a shock to a first time watcher when the beautiful flow of the film is interrupted in such a way. The final action sequence, however, is breathtaking. The animation of Grunwald’s ice mammoth, as well as the addition of Mogue to the battle, adds an epic scale to the final scene.
Many of Takahata’s later full-length animations, such as Grave Of The Fireflies, Pom Poko and My Neighbours The Yamadas, deal very much with Japanese life, tradition and folktales. The Little Norse Prince, however, seems to compare more to Miyazaki’s forays into cinema, which take elements from other country’s lore and history to create a world that is essentially his own.
Despite the fact that the animation may seem old fashioned to some, this is a beautifully crafted film with a surprising amount of depth and character. Though it may be perceived as a children’s story, the action and themes are universal and thoroughly entertaining with a mature edge that makes it enjoyable for adults whilst not patronizing children. ANC
Film: Ponyo
Release date: 7th June 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 97 mins
Director: Hayao Miyazaki
Starring: Yuria Nara, Hiroki Doi, Jôji Tokoro
Genre: Animation
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Japan
Hayao Miyazaki’s eighth film for Studio Ghibli, and his tenth overall, Ponyo is perhaps his most successful export to the West. Eschewing the now almost ubiquitous CGI, Miyazaki instead concentrates on the (almost lost) art of hand drawn animation and, at 76, shows no sign of slowing down.
Ponyo, a Princess goldfish born from a union of sea wizard Fujimoto and Earth queen Gran Mamare, has one dream – to be human. Escaping to the surface atop a jellyfish, she becomes trapped in a bottle and is rescued by Sōsuke, a 5-year-old boy who lives on the coast with his seafaring father and harassed mother.
Instantly smitten with each other, Ponyo is quickly returned to her father by powerful wave spirits he has summoned. Undeterred, she uses her father’s magic to transform fully into a human and escape once more, unwittingly releasing these powers into the ocean. This magic has a dramatic effect, summoning monstrous prehistoric creatures to swim the waters once more, the moon to move closer to the earth and tsunamis with their resulting floods to swamp the area…
For those of you not familiar with Japanese animation in general or the revered Hayao Miyazaki in particular, Ponyo is the perfect jumping off point. For children brought up on a diet of CG nonsense at the multiplex on a Saturday morning, it is much more. A welcome return to ninety minutes or so of magic, wonder and the experience of being totally immersed - it provides for kids what a little studio called Disney used to churn out on a regular basis.
That’s not altogether fair. Disney turned a corner some time ago, emboldened somewhat by the success of Pixar, which it purchased in 2006. And perhaps the biggest recommendation for Miyazaki virgins is that John Lasseter, long time Pixar head honcho and now Chief Creative Officer for both them and Disney animation studios as a whole, is the man who personally oversees Studio Ghibli’s output for a Western audience, attracting top drawer voice talent for the English dubs.
Ponyo is, point of fact, the most accessible of Ghibli’s films, but it still appears a strange tale on paper. A magical fish who turns into a girl; mysterious, humungous sea creatures reappearing in the oceans; sea wizards and Earth queens commanding tidal magic and potions, waves, floods...oh, and an old peoples’ home does not sound like a promising mix. But the scope and wonder of the animation is more than matched by the imagination. Supporting characters are given more depth and snappy dialogue than in many a mainstream, adult release (a crotchety resident of the old peoples’ home springs to mind), there’s a real sense of danger with the boiling ocean racing toward and attacking the island (more than a little prescient, unfortunately, given recent events in Japan) and Sōsuke has his toy boat turned life size by the ever wondrous Ponyo. In fact, should you mention the film to any boy child, mention that fact and miss out the phrase “princess goldfish” and you’ll have ‘em hooked. But it’s not only the young who can become lost in this world. The depth of the animation is simply breathtaking, and far more impressive than simply wondering at how long it must have taken. Everything is either hand drawn (most of the backgrounds) or painted with a real cinematic depth. The coastal town depicted is in fact real and little ones may demand a weekend trip to Tomonoura should you let this slip.
The real reason Ponyo works so well is that it follows classic, storytelling structure that’s far older than celluloid. The journey of Sōsuke, through danger, abandonment and adventure, results in redemption after a tricky moral dilemma is dealt with. True love wins in the end. It’s all terribly clichéd, but plays so well precisely because of this. Miyazaki has said that he drew inspiration from The Little Mermaid, citing the original Hans Christian Anderson tale in particular and the eponymous Disney cartoon as a staring motivation to begin work on Ponyo. Some have described this and his other features as Disney on acid and you can see where they’re coming from, even if comments like this completely miss the point. One only has to look at Spirited Away, an earlier feature that has, amongst other things, the parents of our child hero transform into gluttonous pigs at the beginning. Miyazaki might be a little leftfield, but his tales are as old as, well, the sea.
Beautiful, charming and ever-so-quirky, this should be a must have on the shelves of any self-respecting, movie watching family. And if you don’t have kids, either borrow one or two to share the magic with you, or simply borrow their copy and watch it anyway. JMB
