Black Gate

On Monday, July 22, I was back at the Hall Theatre for one of the movies I was most anticipating. It was a new live-action manga adaptation from Hideki Takeuchi, director of the Thermae Romae films: Fly Me to the Saitama (Tonde Saitama, 翔んで埼玉). The script by Yuichi Tokunaga adapts the comics from the early 80s by Mineo Maya, although apparently the filmmakers had to finish the last two-thirds of the story for themselves.

The film tells a story inside a story. In the frame tale, a family drives from Saitama, a prefecture on the outskirts of Tokyo, to a party in the heart of Japan’s capital where the daughter is to be engaged. On the way, the radio tells a peculiar story about a fabled time when the people of Saitama were oppressed by their metropolitan overlords in Tokyo. They had to obtain special visas to enter; armoured police used facial-recognition technology to pick out any residents of Saitama who snuck through the massive border fences. The good folk of Saitama were second-class citizens at best, exploited labour for the greatness and glory of the glittering city of Tokyo. In this dystopia Momomi (Fumi Nikaido, Inuyashiki), son of the governor of Tokyo, is president of the student body of an elite academy; enter new student Rei Asami (Gackt), just back from studying in America. Momomi falls for the charismatic Rei, but Rei’s hiding a dark secret: he’s actually from Saitama, and is plotting the downfall of Tokyo. This is exposed surprisingly early, setting Rei and Momomi off on a journey that might change the world.

A couple quick notes about the actors mentioned above. First, Gackt is the professional name of a singer who the IMDB assures me is “the most successful male soloist in Japanese music history.” He’s in his 40s, and playing a teenager. Fumi Nikaido is a woman playing a male role; the manga was a boys’ love story, and the movie does faithfully (if briefly) refer to Momomi as male, and keep him in male dress. I have no idea how this plays out in the context of Japanese gender roles, but the point I want to get at is that you don’t wonder about either this or Rei’s age, because this movie gives every impression of being completely, utterly, joyfully uninterested in any of these details. The actors act, as theatrically as possible, and they are committed to their roles, and nobody mentions age or gender, and so we are pulled along into the berserk strangeness that is the story.

…

Read More Read More

My last screening of July 21 brought me back to the De Sève Theatre for a showcase of animated short genre films from China, Taiwan, Korea, and Japan, a grouping titled “Things That Go Bump In the East.” 11 films in a range of visual styles promised variety. I’d been having good luck with short films at the festival so far, and settled in eager to see what would come now.

First was a 6-minute stop-motion story from Japan’s Shinobu Soejima, “The House Rattler” (“鬼とやなり”). It’s based on Japanese folklore, telling a tale of a spirit who makes the mysterious sounds with no obvious source that you sometimes hear in an old house. In this case, the little demon comes into conflict with the modern world in a surprising fashion. The film makes strong use of sound cues, as you might expect, and the setting of the house haunted by the tiny dweller-in-wainscots is a wondrous mix of shadows and rich gold-brown hues. It has the feel of age and of a place lived-in, and that helps bring out the modern twist at the end.

Next was “The Girl and the Serpent,” directed and written by Wan Jinyue and Du Jinzhi. It’s also 6 minutes long, but has a much faster pace than the atmospheric “The House Rattler.” A snake-demon demands a village produce a maiden sacrifice, but ends up with an unexpected fight. The story’s a striking mix of 2D and 3D animation, with colour being used as a major element in the storytelling. The imagery’s fluid, shifting swiftly as the demon works against the girl both physically and psychically. Nevertheless, she finds the strength to resist. It’s a stunningly designed battle, and an entertaining short.

“Rainy Season” (“장마”), by writer-director Kim Se-yoon, brought a noirish horror-inflected feel to seemingly hand-drawn animation. It’s an intensely atmospheric 4-minute piece about a woman in an apartment during a storm. She’s shooting up, but is interrupted by a flash of lightning and something eerie in the tall building across from her. Alone in her apartment, she grows increasingly paranoid — but then, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean something isn’t out to get you. It’s a well-done piece of suspense.

The 17-minute “Gold Fish” (“Kim-hi,” 金魚), written and directed by Taiwan’s Fish Wang, is the story of a boy in a weird dystopia, slightly steampunk and more than slightly supernatural. The inhuman masters of a a sprawling, bleak city are drinking the dreams of children. Elderly adults are all but immobile, enslaved to inhuman masters. Except one boy has a chance to fight back, and topple the whole of the corrupt society. It’s an expressionistic story with some deliberately crude designs and some excellent colour work. Cool, dark tones contrast strongly with unexpected moments of eye-popping colour. It’s not a complex story, but the scenes that illustrate the different movements of the tale are very well-done, and the tale builds nicely through a series of increasingly surreal images. I felt the ending lacked a little, but it was on the whole a solid and surprising short.

…

Read More Read More

For my third movie of July 21 I wandered back to the Fantasia screening room. There, I settled in with a movie from the Philippines: Ode To Nothing. Written and directed by Dwein Ruedas Baltazar, it follows Sonya (Marietta Subong), a woman no longer young who owns her own funeral home in an unnamed town. Alone except for her father, Rudy (Joonee Gamboa), Sonya tries to keep the funeral home going despite debts to local loan shark Theodore (Dido Dela Paz). Then a body is brought to her for burial under suspicious circumstances. Rather than bury the corpse, though, Sonya begins to speak to it, and comes to think that the body of the old woman is bringing her luck — even to treat the body as her surrogate mother. Is the corpse responsible for the sudden influx of business to the funeral home? And even if it is, can you trust the gifts of the dead?

Ode to Nothing is a fascinating film that continually does things you don’t expect, quietly and slowly. That quiet and slowness is a key part of how it works. It’s shot beautifully, in long lingering takes and wide shots, with muted colours dominated by a dull green. A character takes a flight of stairs out of frame, and rather than move or cut to follow the camera stays where it is, focussed on the stairs; and you can tell the movie works because by that point the audience is invested enough to stay focussed on the stairs as well, waiting for the character to return.

Worth emphasising the visual power of the film, because it is so static for so long. I noted the first camera move at about the 19-minute mark, just after the corpse is brought to Sonya, meaning the dead body paradoxically seems to give the film a new kind of life. But Ode to Nothing always gives us interesting things to look at, things for the camera to linger on. Sonya rarely leaves the funeral home, or at least we don’t follow her outside except once, so the massive building becomes a key part of the film. To call it a character in its own right isn’t quite correct; it’s a corpse in its own right, old and slowly rotting away in tropical heat and humidity, every piece of flaking paint caught in deep focus. But it is also a literal home, with odd knickknacks and embalming paraphernalia and floral arrangements Sonya can’t sell and tape players which produce echoes of a Chinese pop song Sonya loves to listen to. And at no point is the place spooky or horrific. Merely sad, and quietly run-down.

Dialogue is minimal — the first word is spoken 9 minutes into the 92-minute film — but movies the story forward nicely. If the film allows things to happen for reasons that are at first obscure, before long it becomes clear who’s doing what why, and it always makes a kind of character-based sense. The story is not especially complex, but is based in character, and those characters are engaging enough that we follow them even when they seem to be doing nothing in particular. We get to know them deeply, without dialogue or particularly dramatic action, just by the way they go about their day, staring out a window or doing dishes.

…

Read More Read More