Tuesday 17 April 2012

A Japanese Double Take

I'm going to be discussing two Japanese films I've watched recently, although they are quite unrelated in genre and themes.


The first is Kakera; A Piece Of Our Life (Momoko Ando, 2009), which lives out the thought that must have occurred to every girl at some point in her life; wouldn't life just be easier if I was a lesbian?

Haru is a petite and peculiar girl, drifting through life forgetting to wipe her top lip after a particularly frothy hot chocolate. While stuck in a one way relationship with classic douchebag, Ryota, she meets the besuited Riko in a coffee shop. Or rather, Riko meets her. I have to say that I really enjoyed the scene of Haru and Riko's first encounter. It is as innocent as it is straightforward. There's a sense of bemusement on Haru's part, but there is no feeling of being threatened, as Riko acts as if she and Haru are old friends.

The first half of the film outdoes the second, the delicateness of their first meeting fades into obsession and possessiveness, while still remaining strangely innocent. They are like two jealous best-friends who do not like the other in the company of other children. There are moments when the brilliantness of Haru's character shines through, particularly the awkwardness of Tetsu as she sits next to him on a bench weeping hysterically.


For me, the ending was too abrupt. I can see that Haru matured and moved on from Ryota, which is a good thing. One could read the ending where both Haru and Riko are frustrated and alone as truly 'a piece of their lives', a fleeting connection that you learn from before it breaks.

Verdict: Slow paced, bordering on boring. Watch if you have a lot of time on your hands and don't mind missing conclusions. 



The second film in my Japanese duo is Sion Sono's Cold Fish (2010). I find the name of this film particularly clever, briefly and inadequately summed up; it captures both the Shamoto who we meet at the start of the film and the man he becomes at the end. He starts out an insipid, limp man, but one who loves his family and who has always toed the line. His demise sees a transformation into the complete opposite, in this sense, his sense of morality has "gone cold" as his former self dies. And also he owns a tropical fish store, duhh. 

Loosely based on the real story of a pet-shop owning married couple who killed at least four people, Sono's Mr and Mrs Murata own a larger and flashier fish store than Shamoto. They meet by chance after Shamoto's daughter is caught shoplifting, and Murata takes in Shamoto's daughter, as his fish shop is also a rehabilitation centre for distraught young girls. And so begins poor Shamoto's emasculation. Sono said he wanted to create a film that conveyed helplessness, and he has achieved it with terrifying consequences. Unknowingly, Shamoto is then used as an accomplice in a murder, and he becomes embroiled in the viscid and violent mucilage of the Muratas. 

Many of the reviews I have read think Cold Fish gratuitously bloody and venereal. I agree to some extent, but are they missing the point? It is so overly gory that just like Shamoto, I became somewhat desensitised. After watching the film, I switched on the television and saw an M&S advert of an idyllic summer, and I honestly expected someone to get out a knife. The bleak and bloodstained place that is Cold Fish's ending is hard to forget. 

I have tried to avoid giving away too much of the plot in this summary, because I encourage you to watch Cold Fish, but only if you have a strong stomach. Denden, the actor playing Murata, has been lauded for his performance, which I am inclined to agree with, while Shamoto's vulnerability has gone rather unnoticed. But you may never look at a tropical fish store the same way again.

Verdict: Great for Sion Sono fans and non-fans, if you can stand the gore. 

Thursday 5 April 2012

Underwater Love (Shinji Imaoka)


If ever the dilemma arises where you are torn between watching a musical, teenage mutant ninja turtles and soft porn, say hello to Underwater Love. Seriously.

So I was playing DVD roulette, to my surprise, I ended up watching Shinji Imaoka's 'pink musical'.

Japanese pink film, hentai and porn are rather well known for being, for want of a better word, 'tentacle-y'. The current interpretation of Article 175 of the Japanese Constitution translates to the prohibition of certain male-only organs. Underwater Love circumvents this, because the protagonist isn't technically a man; he's a zombie-mutant-turtle come mythical creature. Which means fellatio and intercourse with him is totally acceptable, even when he appears dead.

Apart from the stress of trying to explain the plot to my father who walked in mid-film, I can see the films admirable points. Then again, I rather enjoy being baffled, and I haven't been this baffled since Dasepo Naughty Girls. It sure blows Just Like Heaven's forbidden love boundaries out of the water. Moving past the musical elements, the cinematography in some places captures the stagnation is Asuka's life. She's surrounded by grey water that blends seamlessly into an equally grey sky, broken only by the small wooden piers that Aoki fishes on. The real-world becomes a dreary haze, contrasted by the remote forest world of the kappas. It is in this place that Asuka discovers her desire to live on and preserve her life, to the point of wrestling a Death God and putting the Anal Pearl... yea. You get the picture.  

There's something endearing about the kappa Aoki; he is peculiar, playful, and has a penchant for cucumbers. The awkward feelings he harbours for Asuka are naively touching and yet outside our grasp, as he says to Asuka's fiance, "I've died and come back and I'm not going to lose her to you" (or something to that effect). I'm a sucker for first love romance stories, although that would be one of the many genre labels you could apply to Underwater Love. Taking fairy tales for instance, imagine a horrible chimera of Snow White and the Princess and the Frog, and you get somewhere near the ending.

On the other hand, this could just prove the film is beyond my comprehension and I'm trying to piece it together using limbs of genres I am comfortable with, and joining them together to make a Frankenstein's Monster. Perhaps one day, the world and I will be able to appreciate Underwater Love for what it is, and not see it through our happy-genre-pigeonholing-tinted glasses.

Verdict: Watch it for the T-shirt, otherwise avoid.