Inoue at the Japan Society: The Eagle and the Hawk

A rusty slow boat is always a good noir setting. The crew and stowaways on the good ship Kaiyo Maru would not be so out of place in classics like Across the Pacific and Journey into Fear, but they sing more. It seems like a stretch to call it a musical, but there is still a fair amount of crooning and uke strumming in Umetsugu Inoue’s The Eagle and the Hawk, which screens as part of Japan’s Music Man, the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective of Inoue’s musicals.

First Mate Goro’s father was murdered shortly before he shipped out with Captain Onizame, his dad’s old sea crony. They both always assumed he would marry Onizame’s daughter Akiko, but she has him pegged squarely in the raised-like-siblings corner of the friend-zone. Rather awkwardly, she is more attracted to the rebellious new sailor Senkichi Nomura, who rather recklessly implies he is the murderer to Sasaki, another new crewman.

Frankly, Akiko was not supposed to join her father on this run to Hong Kong, but she decided to play stowaway. She is not the only one. The dysfunctionally codependent Akemi has also followed her contemptuous lover Nomura on-board, setting the stage for a four-way romantic conflict. In all fairness, it should be stipulated Nomura and Goro are quite civil towards each other, considering the former most likely killed the latter’s father and is definitely romancing his presumed fiancée. For a hot-headed rebel, Nomura also gets on quite well with Sasaki, whom he and Akiko suspect to be an undercover cop. That is all fine and reasonable, but somebody must be behind the mysterious accidents plaguing the ship.

Eagle helped launch Yujiro Ishihara’s career, along with Stormy Man, but the real star for contemporary noir fans will be Rentarô Mikuni as the often bare-chested Sasaki, out-Mitchuming Robert Mitchum, in a way that is both steely and laidback. Ishihara might be the brooding heartthrob, but Mikuni is just ultra-cool. Of course, he leaves the singing to Ishihara’s Nomura.

The ensemble is packed with colorful characters, but Tôru Abe is probably the saltiest as Matsu, the fugitive bosun, who doubles as the voice of the film’s conscience. Ruriko Asaoka is the picture of plucky purity as Akiko, but Yumeji Tsukioka is far more engaging and poignant as the defiantly lovestruck Akemi.

Inoue’s narrative starts out as a gritty revenge thriller, but evolves into an even darker B. Traven-style tale of high seas exploitation. Yet, the music and mismatched romance give it a deceptively light vibe. Once again, he shows a knack for slightly bittersweet endings that still satisfy, but could never be dismissed as cop-outs. Highly recommended as some good old-fashioned entertainment, The Eagle and the Hawk screens today (12/15) and tomorrow (12/16), as part of the Japan Society’s Inoue musical series.

Inoue at the Japan Society: The Winner

What do a boxer and a ballerina have in common? They both understand the importance of footwork. In this case, they also have the same patron. Both will pursue their ambitions, even if it means deferring questions of love in Umetsugu Inoue’s The Winner, which screens as part of Japan’s Music Man, the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective of Inoue’s musicals.

Eikichi was a contender, but he could have been a champ had he not allowed himself to get distracted by his love for Natsuko. He now manages her father’s Ginza nightclub and tries to mold professional boxers on the side. The palooka who just got knocked out by the rank amateur Shuntaro Fuma was supposed to be his last fighter, but he signs up Fuma instead. Natsuko is not thrilled about it, but she continues to patiently wait for their long-promised marriage. However, Eikichi will have a harder time explaining why he impulsively decides to sponsor Mari Shiraki’s ballet studies, after he was forced to fire her from the club’s floor show.

The truth is, Shiraki’s relationship with her “sensei” is strictly chaste, even though she might have mixed feelings about that. Inevitably, she also meets the surly Fuma, who falls head-over-heels. So yes, it gets really complicated, but Eickichi sort of simplifies matters by insisting neither of his protégés can act on their feelings until they have achieved their goals. Cue the training montages.

Despite the Ginza setting, it would be a stretch to call The Winner a musical without the ballet sequence directly inspired by The Red Shoes. Obviously, there is a strong Venn diagram overlap between fans of the Powell & Pressburger ballet fable and boxing movies like Rocky, because The Winner was a big hit in 1957. Frankly, the tone is decidedly Runyonesque, as boxers and dancers mingle and the smart set rubs shoulders with low life thugs.

Yûjirô Ishihara turns on the punky charm as Fuma and develops some endearing chemistry with Mie Kitahara’s Shiraki. Kitahara exudes waifish vulnerability and aptly looks the part of a classically trained prima ballerina throughout the slightly surreal ballet fantasia. Yoko Minamida also brings sophistication and attitude as the chic Natsuko. Yet, it is Tatsuya Mihashi who holds it all together as driven, world weary Eickichi, boosting everyone around him. In terms of tone, think of Harrison Ford in the Sabrina remake, but with more hardbitten cynicism.

The screenwriting battery of Toru Kino, Toshio Masuda, and Isamu Onoda devise an ending that is messier and more bittersweet than the standard big title fight ending (although that is still definitely part of the mix). Of course, Inoue marinates it all in post-war style. Highly recommended, The Winner screens today and tomorrow (12/15 & 12/16), as part of the Japan Society’s Inoue musical series.

Inoue at the Japan Society: The Stormy Man

It is hard to imagine a jazz critic appearing on American television to discuss rival drummers in a national jazz poll, but it certainly is fun to imagine. On the other hand, Jazz has had considerably more mainstream commercial acceptance in Japan during the immediate post-war years. It is still a bit of a stretch, but we can suspend our disbelief as bad boy drummer Shoichi Kokubu becomes a media sensation in Umetsugu Inoue’s The Stormy Man, which screens as part of Japan's Music Man, the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective of Inoue’s musicals.

“Charlie,” the current #1 drummer, just broke up with his manager, Miyako Fukushima, both professionally and romantically. That leaves a vacant chair her band, the Six Jokers that needs to be filled pronto. Taking a chance, Fukushima bails out disorderly Kokubu, taking him directly from the overnight lock-up to the bandstand.

Of course, Kokubu rises to the occasion, really surprising everyone with his teen heartthrob vocals. He also makes quite the impression on Mary Oka, a nightclub dancer, who happens to be Charlie’s girlfriend. Inevitably, they become bitter rivals. Kokubu has all the initial advantages, including greater energy and talent. He also strikes a Faustian bargain with slimy jazz critic Toru Sakyo, who will champion his career in exchange for help wooing Fukushima. However, Sakyo will turn on the drummer when he starts his own relationship with Fukushima, threatening to sabotage the premiere of his virtuous little brother Eiji’s symphonic jazz tone poem (clearly based on Rhapsody in Blue). Yet, if you think Sakyo is mean-spirited, wait till you meet Kokubu’s ultra-judgmental mother, who thinks very little of his career choices.

Stormy is a delightfully lurid melodrama filled with music, gangsters, and angry young man angst. In many ways, it is an ode to the sights and sounds of Tokyo’s Ginza district, which looks like a total blast, but also more than a little dangerous, in an old school kind of way. This is definitely a jazz film, even though Shoichi’s vocals venture into the realm of jump-blues and Eiji’s composition approaching the sounds and textures of Stan Kenton’s progressive third-stream explorations.

This is also the film that launched Yûjirô Ishihara as a James Dean-esque teen idol, who relentlessly rages and seethes as the resentful drummer with mother issues. Ironically, he looks much younger than Kyoji Aoyama, portraying the unshakably sensible Eiji. Mie Kitahara is terrific bringing the sly attitude and show-stopping glamor as Fukushima, like a femme fatale, without the fatalness. In contrast, Nobuo Kaneko makes quite a slimy, clammy, forked-tongue impression as the manipulative Sakyo. You can think of him as a combination of the absolute worst traits of Tony Curtis’s Sidney Falco and Burt Lancaster’s J.J. Hunsecker in The Sweet Smell of Success.

There is a lot of violent gangster business going on in Stormy Man, but somehow Inoue still manages to keep it bopping along quite buoyantly. It looks colorful and splashy, whole sounding swinging and modern. The Ginza jazz life was probably never really like this, but it is fun to think that it was. Enthusiastically recommended for hip audiences, The Stormy Man screens this Saturday and Sunday (12/15 & 12/16), as part of the Japan Society’s Inoue musical series.

Meiko Kaji at Japan Society: Female Prisoner Scorpion—Beast Stable

Even Tarantino will readily admit Kill Bill was transparently inspired by/ripped off from Meiko Kaji’s Lady Snowblood released thirty years early. However, Kaji’s signature series came right when all the women’s prison films starring Pam Grier just started to take off. By the time of the third film, Nami “the Scorpion” Matsushima has escaped from prison and she will not be recaptured cheaply, as Det. Kondo learns the hard way in the first five minutes (worth the price of admission right there) of Shunya Itō’s Female Prisoner Scorpion: Beast Stable (trailer here), which screens as part of the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective, Cruel Beauty: A Romantic Weekend with Meiko Kaji.

If you plan to corner “Sasori,” the Scorpion on a subway car, you’d better bring back-up, plenty of ammunition, and maybe an extra arm. Needless to say, when Matsushima hacks her way free, it is a painful failure for Kondo, leaving him more embittered and obsessed than Inspector Javert. Matsushima heads underground, but she is hardly living a carefree life. Instead, she works in a backroom garment sweatshop and befriends Yuki, a freelance prostitute who must tend to her brain-damaged brother’s every need (including sexual).

Inevitably, Matsushima draws the attention of the lecherous yakuza in the flat beneath her. However, when she takes care of him, his gang comes calling for reparations. It turns out the boss’s lover is Katsu, an old prison rival of Matsushima, who has plenty of ideas how the Scorpion can work off her “debt.”

If you want lurid, Beast Stable is definitely your huckleberry. Even the Roger Corman chicks-behind-bars movies wouldn’t go where it goes. It also delivers the stone-cold payback in spades. The morale could not be more clear: do not screw with the Scorpion. However, one wonders how many so-called feminists could really handle this kind of empowerment. Forget “equal pay for equal work,” this is kill or be doped into sexual slavery (by a sister, no less).

As Matsushima, Kaji is all kinds of fierce. Yet, there is still something tragically human about her as she jealousy guards the freedoms she still has. Mikio Narita nearly matches her ferocity step-for-step as the driven Kondom which is saying something. Yayoi Watanabe is arrestingly open and vulnerable as the much-abused Yuki, while Reisen Lee is just eerily creepy as the Lady Gaga-looking Katsu.

This would be it for Kaji playing Sasori, but the franchise would continue and spawn multiple reboots. Frankly, it was a good way to hang up her wide-brimmed hat and scalpel, because it actually ends on a note that suggests closure, albeit after a deceptively surreal fever dream of an epilogue. All things considered, this one pretty much has it all, but it is most definitely for mature audiences. Keep in mind it is all based on a hit manga series, which shows how far ahead of the curve Japan was in treating comic art as a viable medium for grown-ups. Highly recommended for appreciative cult audiences, Female Prisoner Scorpion: Beast Stable screens tonight (2/12) at the Japan Society, as part of their Meiko Kaji celebration.

Meiko Kaji at Japan Society: Blind Woman’s Curse

When it comes to hacking and slashing, Japan has long been a progressive nation. They brought us Zatoichi the blind swordsman and followed up with this sightless vengeance-seeker. Her sad fate is all the fault of Akemi Tachibana, played by Meiko Kaji. However, Tachibana is not just a fierce killer. She is also the leader of the most virtuous of the rival yakuza clans. Regardless, the bodies pile up quickly in Teruo Ishii’s Blind Woman’s Curse (trailer here), which screens as part of the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective, Cruel Beauty: A Romantic Weekend with Meiko Kaji.

Ostensibly, Curse was part of Rising Dragon historical yakuza franchise, but you would be hard-pressed to explain how it was related to previous films, aside from a handful of thematic commonalities, even if you were intimately familiar with the series. Frankly, that is probably for the best. As the film opens, Tachibana is about to slice through a rival clan, who presumably had it coming, but she inadvertently blinds Aiko Gouda while the young girl was trying to protect her thuggish brother. We then flashforward a few years to see Tachibana released from prison and Gouda working as a blind knife-thrower in a traveling sideshow.

The dastardly Dobashi clan leader has been trying to instigate a war between the Tachibanas and the Aozoras, but thus far neither has been willing to bite. However, the tide turns in his favor when the mysterious swordswoman offers her services. Soon, she is hunting down Tachibana’s clan sisters and carving off their dragon tattoos. The bloody carnage rather delights the spectral black cat who accompanies her, as well as Ushimatsu, the sideshow’s hunchback.

Curse is a wonderfully weird cocktail of genre elements, including hints of the supernatural and plenty of macabre stylings, but swordplay is always the first order of business. Some touches are downright bizarre, such as Aozora, who looks like he could feel at home in A Clock Work Orange (which would release the following year), given his foppish western silk shirts and distressing butt-cheek revealing loincloth.

Kaji is terrific as Tachibana, projecting as the resolute conviction and mother hen protectiveness you would want from your yakuza leader. However, jazz singer and wife of Henry Miller Hoki Tokuda makes an even deeper impression as the eerily unsettling Gouda. Makoto Sato adds plenty of zest and energy as Tani, a stout-hearted freelancer who often throws in his chips with the Tachibana Clan. Yet, even if you try, you can’t unsee Ryôhei Uchida’s Aozora and the loincloth stuffed up his backside.

So yes, Blind Woman’s Curse pretty much has it all. Kaji wields a sword with authority and Ishii keeps the mayhem coming fast and furious, building up to some Grand Guignol-worthy set pieces. That all makes it perfect for Valentine’s viewing. Highly recommended, Blind Woman’s Curse screens this Sunday (2/12) at the Japan Society, as part of their Meiko Kaji celebration.

Meiko Kaji at Japan Society: Stray Cat Rock Sex Hunter

She dressed like Zorro and she might cut you if provoked. She is the leader of the Alleycats, an all-girl motorcycle gang, who should not be trifled with. Her impotent street gang lover will find that out the hard way in Yasuharu Hasebe’s Stray Cat Rock: Sex Hunter (trailer here), starring Meiko Kaji, which screens as part of the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective, Cruel Beauty: A Romantic Weekend with Meiko Kaji.

This is the third of five Stray Cat Rock movies, so the characters are well-established by now, but not yet stale. As the film opens, Mako and her running mates are rolling any square lech with money foolish enough to buy them drinks. However, during a rainy interlude, Mako meets and flirts with the mixed race Kazuma. Much to her surprise, she genuinely likes the earnest lug, which automatically provokes the ire of her pseudo-boyfriend, Baron, the anti-social leader of the Eagles gang.

Unfortunately, Baron is a fighter, not a lover. Frankly, he is suspiciously undemanding of Mako, preferring to spend his time bashing mixed race Japanese (whom he blames for his sister’s assault years prior to the film), while reading lurid press coverage of the Vietnam War. Baron will beat the snot out of Kazuma several times during the course of the picture, but he never succeeds in running him out of town. It is not Mako that makes him stay. Kazuma is looking for his long lost little sister Megumi, who may or may not be a member of the Alleycats.

The title is a bit overstated, but Sex Hunter is definitely a ruckus little exploitation time capsule, fueled by Kaji’s badassery as Mako and the groovy sounds of Hajime Kaburagi’s soundtrack and frequent musical performances by the chart-topping girl group Golden Half. It is definitely sleazy, but also politically informed—though not necessarily in a way that aged well. Frankly, Baron’s anti-American-anti-imperialist-rooted hatred of mixed-race Japanese now looks like psycho-jerky behavior with a little distance and time (which is indeed a cautionary warning for our own rhetorically overheated times).

For a stone-cold street fighter, Kaji’s Mako is surprisingly sensitive and vulnerable. She also rocks the black cape and wide-brimmed gaucho hat, while developing some messily ambiguous but potent chemistry with Rikiya Yasuoka’s Kazuma (whose incomparable credits include Tampopo and Toxic Avenger Part II). Completing the isosceles love triangle, Tatsuya Fuji plays Baron with such cold clamminess, viewers will start to eagerly anticipate his death.

Cinematographer Muneo Ueda makes it all look trippy and disorienting, as so befits its era. A wild ideological muddle redeemed by its unapologetic payback violence, the third Stray Cat Rock outing is an effective representative of the franchise and Kaji’s career. Enthusiastically recommended for exploitation fans, Stray Cat Rock: Sex Hunter screens this Saturday (2/11) as part of the Japan Society’s Valentine’s Day weekend tribute to Meiko Kaji (you won’t find any grey ties here).

Meiko Kaji at Japan Society: Lady Snowblood—Love Song of Vengeance

The late Meiji Era was a good time to be a bourgeoisie Zaibatsu, unless you happened to provoke Yuki Kashima, a.k.a. Lady Snowblood. Kashima consummated her vengeance in the first film, but she is still out there (despite the serious injuries she sustained in the previous climax). Instead of killing to fulfill her blood pact for payback, she now dispatches running dog flunkies of the corrupt ruling class that rub her the wrong way. That is all fine and good, but is nowhere near as satisfying. Even with a moderate case of sequelitis, the title character remains iconically awesome in Toshiya Fujita’s Lady Snowblood: Love Song of Vengeance (trailer here), which screens as part of the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective, Cruel Beauty: A Romantic Weekend with Meiko Kaji.

The four thugs who killed Kashima’s father and brutalized her mother are now deader than dead, but that does not mean the cops are willing to let things slide. After enduring the spectacular opening beatdown, they finally capture Lady Snowblood and quickly convict her in a kangaroo court. However, the foppish civil servant Seishiro Kikui offers her a reprieve from the gallows if she will assassinate anarchist rabble-rouser Ransui Tokunaga. Kashima agrees because what does she have to lose, but double crosses Kikui as soon as she takes Tokunaga’s measure.

Briefly, Lady Snowblood takes on the role of bodyguard, but she is a much better assassin. When Kikui launches a full-scale attack, Kashima barely escapes with her life and Tokunaga’s incriminating documents. Fortunately, Tokunaga’s estranged brother Shusuke practices medicine in one of the slum’s no-go zones. Shusuke Tokunaga’s animosity for his brother and sister-in-law-ex-wife remains unabated, but he isn’t about to turn away Lady Snowblood, because obviously.

The biggest problem with Love Song of Vengeance is Kashima’s less proactive role. It is not that she is passive, but she is reactive, deciding who to align with and then killing off the other side accordingly. It is still beautiful to watch her do her thing, but it doesn’t resonate in your gut like the original film. Also, the depiction of the corrupt, war-mongering Meiji government as a stand-in for Vietnam-era capitalism now looks like a clumsy relic of the past.

On the other hand, Fujita stages two of the franchise’s best action sequences, both featuring Lady Snowblood (naturally) hacking and slashing her way through crooked coppers as she walks down narrow pathways towards the camera. The blood still flows a bright crimson red, liberally pooling as the result of Kashima’s handiwork. Kikui is also a suitably odious villain, who even weaponizes the plague virus in his scheme to bring down the Tokunagas and Kashima.

The camera still loves Meiko Kaji’s Lady Snowblood, whose action chops are arguably even stronger the second time around. As Kikui, the preening Shin Kishida absolutely gorges on the scenery. Jûzô Itami (now better known for directing crossover hits like Tampopo) also plays Ransui Tokunaga with all proper dignity and even a little edge. However, the blustery Shusuke Tokunaga inexplicably lurches all over the map to serve the whims of the narrative.

There is plenty of betrayal and blood splatter in Love Song, but the grafted-on social conscience is awkwardly superfluous. Needless to say, the sequel works best when Fujita allows Lady Snowblood to be Lady Snowblood. The original Lady Snowblood is an exploitation masterwork every cineaste should catch up with. Lady Snowblood: Love Song of Vengeance is a pleasing diversion, especially as part of an apt mini-binge for Valentine’s Day when it screens this Saturday (2/11) at the Japan Society during their Meiko Kaji tribute.

Kadokawa at Japan Society: W’s Tragedy

As early as the Elizabethan era, the play within the play has been a postmodern device for meta-truth-telling. Such is particularly the case for the ingénue actress toiling in a thankless supporting role in a stage adaptation of the Shizuko Natsuki mystery novel published in America as Murder at Mt. Fuji. The events on-stage add ironic resonance to the backstage intrigue of Shinichirō Sawai’s W’s Tragedy (trailer here), which screens as part of the Japan Society retrospective: Pop! Goes Cinema: Kadokawa Films and 1980s Japan.

“I’ve stabbed Grandpa to death” is the familiar opening line of the many television adaptations of Natsuki’s Daburyū no Higeki. Unfortunately, Shizuka Mita will not be reciting them—at least not yet. She auditioned for the role of apparent murderess Mako Watsuji (the “W” of the tragedy), but the company cast her as the maid, while also assigning her prompter and wardrobe duties. The early out-of-town try-out performances are often demeaning, but her former actor suitor tries to buoy her spirits—even while encouraging her to withdraw from show business.

However, Mita gets the kind of big break that could easily ruin her when Sho Hatori, the production’s grand dame leading lady asks the innocent girl to cover for her. Hatori’s rich married patron dies in the saddle so to speak, so she convinces Mita to dress the body and pretend he had been her caller. The resulting publicity will be a double-edged sword, but Hatori will keep up her end of the bargain, elevating Mita to the prime featured role of Mako.

At first, Sawai keeps the production of W’s Tragedy very much in the background, which must have baffled audiences already familiar with the novel and television adaptation just one year prior to the film’s release (at least four more TV miniseries would follow). In fact, the first act almost has a vibe like Fame, even including an ultra-1980s aerobics sequence.

References to Mita’s supposed plainness are a little baffling, given she is played by former idol and Sailor Suit and Machine Gun star Hiroko Yakushimaru, but she is terrific expressing all the aspiring actress’s insecurities and self-doubt. She is openly vulnerable, yet there is a dark edge to ambitious resolve. Yet, nobody upstages Yoshiko Mita, who commands the screen as Hatori, like Lauren Bacall in her Queen of Broadway days.

By today’s standards, Sawai is quite restrained with the self-referential business, obviously trusting in his mostly original screenplay and first-rate ensemble. W’s Tragedy has an ambiguous vibe that is sometimes reminiscent of Day for Night, which is high praise indeed. As dark as it gets, it is also reassuring that the show still must go on. Very highly recommended, W’s Tragedy screens this Saturday (12/17) at the Japan Society, concluding their edgy yet nostalgic Kadokawa retrospective.

Kadokawa at Japan Society: The Little Girl Who Conquered Time

Yasutaka Tsutsui’s 1965 time travel novel has inspired at least three features and one television series, but each one is substantially different. That seems oddly appropriate, given the space-time continuum issues involved. While Mamoru Hosoda’s anime film is the most acclaimed, Nobuhiko Obayashi’s original 1983 adaptation is a sentimental favorite, largely thanks to former idol Tomoyo Harada. She is a teenager rather than a little girl and it would be a vast overstatement to call her a conqueror, but her earnestness perfectly suits the nostalgic charm of Obayashi’s The Little Girl Who Conquered Time (trailer here), which screens as part of the Japan Society retrospective: Pop! Goes Cinema: Kadokawa Films and 1980s Japan.

This is Onomichi in the early 1980s, so Kazuko Yoshiyama and her friends still have class on Saturday mornings. Traditionally, it is a day of service, which is why Yoshiyama was cleaning the chemistry lab. Unfortunately, a weird lavender smelling concoction knocks her unconscious before her two loyal guy pals, Kazuo Fukamachi and Goro Horikawa arrive to help.

The good news is her fainting spell gets her out of gym. The bad news is she starts repeating fragments of the next two days, sort of like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day (but not to such an absurd degree)—and oh what fraught days they are, featuring earthquakes, fires, collapsing roof tiles, and teen angst.

Granted, the special effects look hopelessly dated, but Obayashi conveys a wonderfully vivid and wistful sense of Onomichi’s seaside hills and winding pathways. You can practically smell the lavender, which plays a significant role in the narrative. It starts to feel like the home you never knew but always missed.

In her feature debut, former idol (and coincidentally the star of the early 1980s Sailor Suit and Machine Gun TV series) Tomoyo Harada is just terrific as Yoshiyama. She portrays the time-jumping teen with tremendous sensitivity and pluck, yet she also coveys the girl’s stubbornness and even a little flakiness. Likewise, Toshinori Omi is shockingly poignant as the torch-carrying Horikawa. Poor Ryôichi Takayanagi often gets dissed for his awkward stiffness as Fukamachi, but you could argue it is perfectly justifiable—even necessary—within the film’s dramatic context.

Regardless, TLGWCT is intoxicatingly bittersweet, similar in spirit to Peggy Sue Got Married (which it pre-dates by several years, unlike Goodbye Mr. Loser), except everything does not work out so neatly perfect. Still, it is hard to beat its eighties nostalgia goodness, right down to the inclusion of the music video for Harada’s theme song before the closing credit. Incredibly sweet but still a lot of high school genre fun, The Little Girl Who Conquered Time is very highly recommended when it screens this Tuesday (12/13) at the Japan Society, as part of their ongoing Kadokawa retrospective.

Japan Society Monthly Classics: Paprika

If you are being tormented by your subconscious, she is far more willing to help and much more pleasant to be around than Shinya Tsukamoto’s Nightmare Detective. Ironically, she is the avatar of the brusque but still attractive Dr. Atsuko Chiba. Unfortunately, the technology that allows her to visit other people’s dreams falls into the wrong hands in Satoshi Kon’s animated new classic, Paprika (trailer here), which screens this Friday as part of the Japan Society’s Monthly Classic film series.

As Paprika, Chiba has been counseling hardboiled police detective Toshimi Konakawa, who is plagued by visions of an ill-fated shooting and a mystery man from his past. Konakawa only knows her as Paprika, but that is enough for him to be smitten. Technically, she is Chiba’s alter-ego, but she seems to exhibit some level of her own free agency. Nonetheless, Konakawa still immediately recognizes Chiba in the real world when he meets her during the course of a case.

Rather inconveniently, the DC Mini, the device that allows Chiba and her colleagues to monitor and interact with patients’ dreams has been stolen. The assistant of the device’s inventor has also gone missing and the project director has suffered a psycho episode as a result of a dream-based attack launched by the thief. Initially, all patients and doctors hooked up to a DC Mini are vulnerable to this dream terrorism, but eventually everyone’s sub-conscience (or perhaps the collective unconscious) will be at risk.

Based on a novel by Ysautaka Tsusui, Paprika neatly balances the science fiction of films like Inception and Dreamscape with the psychological intrigue of thrillers like Hitchcock’s Spellbound. It will probably frustrate the pedantic because the nature of Paprika and the powers of the DC Mini are rather slippery and constantly evolving. However, it is a consistently provocative film, especially when drawing parallels between the dream world and cyberspace.

Paprika is chocked full of wild visuals, including a dreamland parade of subconscious hang-ups that looks like it could have influenced Mamoru Hosoda’s Summer Wars. It also boasts some unusually well-delineated characters for an animated film, especially Konakawa and Chiba (and maybe Paprika too). Frankly, it holds up pretty brilliantly nearly ten years after its initial American release, even though Inception subsequently poached on its subconscious terrain. Every science fiction and animation fan should catch up with it and they will have a chance to do so on the big screen when the Japan Society projects it this Friday (10/7), as this month’s classic.

Obayashi at the Japan Society: Reason

It was a multiple murder New Yorkers can well understand. It directly involved the struggle to buy and keep possession of an under-valued luxury condo. However, darker, more passionate motives also contributed to the deaths of four unrelated people in unit 2025. Eventually, an intrepid writer will mostly reveal the truth in Nobuhiko Obayashi richly complex mystery Reason (a.k.a. The Motive), which screens during the Japan Society’s Obayashi retrospective.

As the super explains during his many interviews, the unit in question always had high turnover. On the night in question, they assumed the rather unsociable Koito family were the victims, but they had secretly moved out. Suspicion therefore focused on Naozumi Ishida, who had purchased the condo through a repossession auction. We know from the in media res opening, the weary Ishida will eventually turn himself into the authorities. At his request, Nobuko Katakura, the daughter of the innkeepers reluctantly hosting the fugitive will bring the disbelieving local copper.

Throughout her investigation, the journalist will piece together a deliciously complicated story, enveloping the Koitos, the Ishidas, several sets of neighbors, and even the Katakuras. Of course, there are four dead bodies to explain: one who fell from the balcony of number 2025 and three others found brutally murdered within. Yet, aside from the crime scene, there is no obvious link between the apparent strangers. This is all quite disturbing to the residents of the two-tower complex, but despite his own family’s growing notoriety, young Shinji Koito is inexplicably drawn back to his former home.

Reason is a wonderful rich and methodical film that takes its time to build a remarkably full picture of residents and the people in their orbits. Although rarely seen, Yuri Nakae selflessly holds the film together as the journalist, much like William Alland in Citizen Kane, except she actually gets the answers she is looking for. Reason probably has thirty or forty meaty roles, each of which is memorably executed. Terashima Saki is terrific as the empathic Nobuko Katakura and Ayumi Ito is desperately haunting as Ayako Takarai, a mysterious teenaged mother who eventually crosses paths with Ishida and company. However, Ittoku Kishibe really provides the film its reflective soul as the building super, who is constantly re-interviewed to give us more context.

Obayashi and Shirȏ Ishimori’s adaptation of Miyuki Miyabe’s novel gives us enough answers to satisfy according to mystery genre standards, but leaves enough messy loose ends to remind us truth is problematic in an era of uncertainty. The story also takes a cautiously metaphysical twist in its closing sequences, wholly in keeping with Obayashi’s oeuvre. In many ways Reason is a dark film, but it is just a joy to watch him construct layer on top of layer. It is also a good value for you ticket dollar, considers it runs a full one hundred and sixty minutes. Cineastes and mystery fans of all stripes who will be in New York this weekend should make every effort necessary to see Reason when it screens this Sunday (12/6) as part of the Obayashi retrospective at the Japan Society.

Obayashi at the Japan Society: The Discarnates

Hidemi Harada’s childhood years in Tokyo’s Asakusa neighborhood were pleasant while they lasted. The shops close early, but there are still enough fine sushi restaurants that a chef like his father can easily find a job, even though he has been dead since Harada was twelve. The middle-aged scriptwriter will enjoy a haunted summer, but the nature of the supernatural powers afoot is the big question in Nobuhiko Obayashi’s The Discarnates, which screens during the Japan Society’s Obayashi retrospective.

Harada is feeling a little alienated from people. He lives in one of two residential apartments in what is otherwise a commercial office building. He has just divorced his wife, only to learn his longtime producer and friend Ichiro Mamiya intends to go beyond torch-bearing and ask his ex out. Rather confused by the supposed betrayal, Harada subsequently rejects the champagne-fueled late night advances of his sole neighbor Kei Fujino.

Frankly, Harada is at risk of becoming of full blown misanthrope, albeit one who can write treacly sentimental television melodramas, until he impulsively returns to his old Asakusa neighbor. There he mysteriously encounters his father, looking just as he did when Harada last saw him. Naturally, the good natured Hidekichi invites Harada home, where his mother Fusako starts fixing him food. Harada cannot explain it, but he is not inclined to question the opportunity to feel like he is part of a family again. He also commences a relationship with Fujino, despite her hang-ups. Most notably, she refuses to let Harada see her naked chest, due to extensive scars. Frankly, Harada is emotionally happier and healthier than he can remember, but something seems to be depleting him physically.

Discarnates is the sort of film that makes you wonder why it is not more widely renowned. It is usually categorized as a horror film, but it really has a vibe similar to the more poignant Twilight Zone episodes, like A Stop at Willoughby and Kick the Can, which is high praise indeed. However, Obayashi still creates an ominous vibe of foreboding. Harada’s hugely atmospheric office/apartment building is particularly effective at setting the unsettling mood.

Tsurutarō Kataoka and Kumiko Akiyoshi are wonderfully warm and engaging as Harada’s parents, while Yûko Natori is powerfully seductive as Fujino. Harada is an awkward, mopey cold fish, but Morio Kazama somehow manages to convey a sense that he has more going on inside than meets the eye. His stiff persona also plays with and against the more outgoing Kataoka and Akiyoshi quite well.

There are serious stakes involved in Discarnates, but it leaves viewers feeling satisfied in a bittersweet kind of way, instead of wrung out by its thrills and chills. At times, Obayashi intentionally echoes the devices of Harada’s potboilers (Puccini soundtracks being his favorite cliché), but once again the auteur shows a knack for making potentially bizarre and artificial stylistic choices work rather well in practice. It is a rare paranormal drama that is distinguished by its heart and maturity, somewhat akin to Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Journey to the Shore. Very highly recommended, The Discarnates screens this Saturday (12/5) at the Japan Society in New York.

Obayashi at the Japan Society: Sada

She was sort of like the 1930s Japanese Fanny Hill and Lorena Bobbitt all rolled into one. To say Sada Abe’s murder conviction became notorious would be an understatement, given the nature of her surgical cuts. She inspired several motion pictures, including Nagisa Oshima’s nearly equally notorious In the Realm of the Senses, featuring unsimulated sex scenes. That might sound like a tough act to follow, but Nobuhiko Obayashi’s distinctive aesthetics and deep empathy for Abe led to a radically different cinematic take. Of course, there is still plenty of sex in Obayashi’s Sada (trailer here), which screens during the Japan Society’s Obayashi retrospective.

Abe’s initial introduction to sex is not pleasant. A privileged student lures her to an inn, where he “ravages” her, to use a more delicate, bodice-ripper turn. However, some good comes with the bad when the innkeeper’s nephew Masaru Okada comes to her aid. She immediately falls for the medical student, but he has been consigned to a life of sequestration after contracting leprosy. Abe will never see him again, but she will always chastely love him.

Unfortunately, since Abe has been corrupted by the student, she resigns herself to working first as a geisha and then as a prostitute, the latter being less hypocritical. Still, she does not consider this a tragic fate since she genuinely enjoys the work. Nevertheless, she nearly reinvents herself in respectable fashion, thanks to the politically connected Sanosuke Tachibana. Intending to set her up in a cozy restaurant of her own, Tachibana arranges an apprenticeship with the very married Tatsuzo Kikumoto. Their subsequent affair will end badly for both (especially Kikumoto), but at least the sex is great while it lasts.

Although technically a period piece, Obayashi is not overly concerned with recreating vintage 1930s details. Instead, he is more concerned with enhancing and exaggerating the Abe legend through wild flights of stylization. The film starts with a fourth wall breaking Shakespearean prologue from Takiguchi, Abe’s brother-in-law and sometimes pimp cautioning the audience to expect scandal, while knowing full well that is what we came for. Obayashi frequently switches from black-and-white to color and playfully adjusting his film speeds. Takiguchi also pops up here and there to give more on-camera commentary and to engage in some old school physical comedy, thereby re-establishing the carnivalesque atmosphere.

Nevertheless, Sada is often quite serious and unremittingly frank when it comes to sex. In all likelihood, Sada just wouldn’t have worked without Hitomi Kuroki’s unclassifiable lead performance. As Abe, she manages to be naively innocent and ferociously seductive, simultaneously. She is in nearly every scene and she commands each and every one of them. However, Kyusaku Shimada is also bizarrely charismatic, in a rather sleazy way, as Takiguchi, the pimp and master of ceremonies. He even scratches out some unexpectedly touching moments during the long denouement.

In many ways, Sada feels like a precursor to Tetsuya Nakashima’s Memories of Matsuko, except it is less acutely tragic. Both are sweeping tales of corrupting sex and a yearning for redemptive love. Yet, one of the cool things about Obayashi’s take is Abe’s refusal to be a victim, despite being victimized (and arguably psychologically scarred) by men. There are plenty of reasons why it might put off conventional viewers, but the adventurous will find it fascinating and maybe even cathartic. Recommended for fans of intense auteurs like Oshima, Nakashima and of course Obayashi, Sada screens tomorrow (11/22) as part of the Obayashi retrospective at the Japan Society in New York.

Obayashi at the Japan Society: I Are You, You Am Me

It came nearly six years after the original Freaky Friday, but the body-switch comedy was far from the acknowledged comedy sub-genre it is today. In fact, Nobuhiko Obayashi got into the game early on and he delivered exactly what people wondered about—the experience of suddenly having different private bits. Teenagers Kazuo and Kazumi Saito (no relation) are about to experience the switcheroo and quite a difficult transition it will be for them in I Are You, You Am Me (a.k.a. Exchange Student), which screens during the Japan Society’s Obayashi retrospective.

Obayashi’s picturesque home town, Onomichi was probably a pleasant place to grow up, because he has frequently returned to shoot films there. Kazumi Saito spent her early girlhood years there and has recently moved back with her family. On her first day of at her new high school, she is delighted to recognize her old playmate Kazuo Saito. However, she inadvertently embarrasses the teen meathead. That will lead to serious bad karma for her when a freak accident somehow causes a body swap. The not particularly introspective Kazuo will make the best of things in her body, but she has a much harder time adjusting to a boy’s life. At least Kazuo’s grades will improve.

It is strange I You, You Me has not been more aggressively marketed as a vintage rediscovery, because it would have been perfect for the body-switch craze of the late 1980s, but also speaks to more contemporary issues of gender identity and sexual orientation. Not surprisingly, during the switch-off, Kazuo is frequently taunted for his supposed homosexual mannerisms, while Kazumi’s mother is frustrated with her sudden tomboyisms.

Satomi Kobayashi is pretty incredible playing both Kazumi as Kazumi and Kazumi while Kazuo is stuck inside her body. She nails the body language of a goony-ish teen boy and just generally radiates energy. It is easy to see why she won best newcomer at the Yokohama Film Festival. On the other side of the coin, Toshinori Omi deserves credit for projecting what must have been a socially risky persona for 1982 Japan (but presumably less so for his successor when Obayashi remade it in 2007). Together, they play off each other in the various personas with real gusto. They largely carry the film, sharing both co-lead parts, but Masae Hayachi is also rather charming as Kazumi’s science fiction reading friend Akemi Yoshino, an all too brief supporting role.

Onomichi looks like the definitive coastal Japanese town, which it sort of is. After all, parts of Ozu’s Tokyo Story and Oshima’s Boy were filmed there. Yet, it still brings back nostalgia for the teen American 1980s, when the best way for parents to understand their kids (and vice versa, so to speak) was to spend time in their respective bodies—even though Obayashi takes it deeper and franker than Hollywood ever did. Recommended as another strangely distinctive coming of age tale from the under-heralded master, I Are You, You Am Me screens this Saturday (11/21) as part of the Obayashi retrospective at the Japan Society in New York.

Obayashi at the Japan Society: Bound for the Fields, the Mountains and the Seacoast

It is like the Little Rascals, but with white slavery. Although best known for the lunacy of House, Nobuhiko Obayashi can do it all, but he puts his unique stamp on whatever genre he takes on. On the surface, this film might resemble a shomin-geki (“home drama”) much like Ozu’s I was Born but . . ., but the primary school students eventually band together in hopes of saving the village bully’s stepsister from being sold into prostitution. Imperial pre-war societal values take it in the shins during Obayashi’s Bound for the Fields, the Mountains and the Seacoast, which screens during the Japan Society’s Obayashi retrospective.

Sudo Sotaro is the sort of annoying brat who always encourages mischief, but always manages to look innocent when their teacher eventually tries to re-establish some discipline. Transfer student Sakae Ohsugi isn’t having any of it. He intends to make Sotaro pay for all the trouble he causes. However, the older boy’s beautiful step-sister Shoucho takes a shine to Sotaro and tries to broker peace between them. It will take quite a while and an extended sequence of war games before the two rivals finally bury the hatchet. Eventually, they will make common cause when Ohsugi’s sleazy parents sell Shoucho to the local brothel.

Naturally, Shoucho is quite popular in town. The local recruiting officer has his own designs on her, but she has fallen for the village’s conscientious objector. Unfortunately, the two of them do not exactly make a power couple. That is why Sotaro must take matters into his own hands.

Bound functions quite well as a coming of age story most viewers will easily relate to, even though few of us ever prosecuted a war against a mobbed-up bordello when we were ten. Obayashi occasionally gives the film a wild stylistic twist, but he is always scrupulously restrained compared to the bedlam in House. Still, Bound never looks like the work of a shy filmmaker, especially down the stretch. Nor is he subtle in his critique of imperial militarism or the middle class timidity he clearly blames for allowing its rise.

There is no doubt Obayashi came to play, as did the wildly charismatic Yasufumi Hayashi, who brings boundless energy to the wide-eyed Sotaro. Isako Washio is not exactly the dead ringer for Setsuko Hara some descriptions suggest, but she has a similarly radiant warmth on-screen. She makes the tragedy of Bounds exquisitely so. Jun’ichrȏ Katagiri’s Ohsugi slow burns impressively for his age, but he is no match for either Hayashi or Washio, who have him bookended on both sides of the acting spectrum.

It is impossible to imagine a coming of age film like Bound getting produced in 1980s Hollywood. The general tone is not unlike Lord of the Flies, but with clueless John Hughes adults ineffectually wandering about. Yet, it is an oversimplification to argue the children should be in charge, because they do not do much better amongst themselves. Darkly distinctive and compelling, yet always strangely entertaining, Bound for the Fields, the Mountains and the Seacoast is a rather amazing film. Very highly recommended, fans of House (which duly kicks off the series this Friday) should see it while they have the chance. It screens this Saturday (11/21) at the Japan Society in New York.

Japan Society Monthly Classic: Paradise View

The Vietnam War is winding down, which some would say is good news, but not necessarily on Okinawa. The separatist rebels should be pleased, but they have been quiet lately. The snakes in the jungle are as deadly as ever, but the greatest danger is losing one’s soul to the rainbow pigs secretly marauding through the rain forest. On paper, it looks like absolutely bedlam, but for the most part, the days are pleasantly languid in Go Takamine’s Paradise View, which screens tomorrow as part of the Japan Society’s Monthly Classics series.

Okinawan is spoken throughout Paradise, making it one of the few Japanese films that required Japanese subtitles when it opened domestically. Like the periodic Welsh language film produced in the UK, it was intended as an act of Okinawan cultural affirmation and defiance. Yet, it is hard to imagine getting too worked up in this island village. Granted, nobody is happy per se, but the heat and the spirit-infested air have an anesthetizing effect. Goya Reishu is a case in point. He was once a busy musician working the American military bases, but now he just lays about, gluing teeny-tiny numbers on the ants that fascinate him.

On this island, outsiders like the ethnic Japanese botanist Ito, are almost considered foreigners, even though the Japanese government is about to reassert political control of the island. However, he is still a good catch, at least according to Nabee’s mother, who happily arranges their marriage. Unfortunately, all her plans come crashing down when she deduces Nabee is pregnant with Goya’s love child. The shy Chiru is not too happy about it either, considering the torch she has been carrying for Goya. The resulting scandal is bound to end in tears, especially considering the regularity people in the village misplace their souls, becoming extremely apathetic mabui.

With its eccentric vibe and unhurried pace, one might also diagnosis Paradise with a persistent case of indie-itis, but it never feels self-indulgently twee. Everyone is just too hardscrabble to be cutesy. Although Takamine’s strict budget constraints start to show down the stretch, he still transmits a vividly pungent sense of Okinawa as a specific place and a Shamanistic state of mind. Frankly, there is something seductive about the ebb and flow of the first two acts. You can feel the humidity clouding into your perception, while Takamine takes his time slowly implying bits and pieces of his undisciplined plot. Yet, that elliptical suggestiveness is part of the charm. When things finally start to happen definitively, it rather breaks the spell.

Kaoru Kobayashi makes an appealingly low key anti-hero as the ant-obsessed slacker, while Jun Togawa is quite touching as the lovelorn Chiru. In fact, the entire ensemble looks appropriately rugged and slightly sunstroke-addled.

Paradise View is the sort of film that insists viewers acclimate themselves to its rhythms. It really transports the receptive viewers to Okinawa, as it was prior to the Japanese Reversion. Even those who cannot synch up with its mysterious atmosphere should still appreciate the novelty of it as an example of rarely seen Okinawan cinema. Recommended for those who appreciates mystical folklore, Paradise View screens tomorrow (10/2) at the Japan Society as their classic of the month.

Japan Society Monthly Classic: Carmen Comes Home

It will be a clash of small town and big city values—and boy, will the small town enjoy it. The prodigal daughter once known as Kin Aoyama apparently found fame and fortune dancing in Tokyo under the name Lily Carmen. She is an artiste, but her art involves G-strings. That does not mean she and her comrade Maya Akemi can’t be scrupulously serious about their dance. They are indomitably upbeat, but their visit might be more than her staid father can handle in Keisuke Kinoshita’s big screen musical Carmen Comes Home (trailers here), the very first Japanese color feature, which screens this Friday at the Japan Society, as part of their newly re-launched Monthly Classics series.

Even if Carmen/Aoyama has not amassed a fortune per se, she has made enough of a go of it to periodically send money and gifts home to her family. Her loyal sister Yuki is in awe of her, but old man Shoichi Aoyama instinctively distrusts the modern western influences she has no doubt absorbed. However, thanks to the intercession of the school principal, an ardent advocate for Japanese culture, he reluctantly consents to her visit. Nobody could miss Lily Carmen when she arrives. She is the one wearing the bright red dress. Clearly, Kinoshita was going to get his color film’s worth from the wardrobe and spectacular mountain scenery.

Naturally, Carmen and Akemi attract all kinds of attention in town, including the leering local mogul. Yet, the two women are more drawn to more plebeian townsmen, like the young school teacher Akemi impulsively falls for. Similarly, Carmen admits she still carries a torch for the now married Haruo Taguchi, who was blinded during the war. As the composer of dirge like odes to his small town, Taguchi is more in line with the Principal’s idea of a real Japanese artist. Unfortunately, Carmen and Akemi’s va-va-voom will inadvertently disrupt Haruo’s grand premiere performance, causing no end of angst.

Hideko Takamine was one the greatest screen actresses in the history of cinema, but she is best known for achingly tragic films like Mikio Naruse’s When a Woman Ascends the Stairs and Yearning, as well as Kobayshi’s The Human Condition, so it is nice to see her get the chance to kick up her heels a little. She is utterly charming as the bizarrely naïve Lily Carmen. Yet, underneath the goofy joy, she gives the subtlest hints of sadness. Nobody else could have pulled that off.

In a way, Carmen Comes Home is like a cross between Oklahoma and Gypsy, with all their slow or maudlin parts discarded. Still, it is clear Carmen and Akemi can never really go home again. The men will only see them as sex objects and the women will fear them as rivals. Despite their pluck and verve, it is ultimately quite a bittersweet film, but that is what makes it so distinctive, along with Takamine’s endearing performance. Recommended for fans of Takamine and movie musicals, the freshly restored Carmen Comes Home screens this Friday (9/4) and look for Go Takamine’s Paradise View in early October (10/2), as part of the Japan Society’s Monthly Classics series.

Tribute to Donald Richie: After Life

Eventual all film critics will go to the great screening room in the sky. According to Hirokazu Kore-eda, there really will be screenings for those who have shuffled off their mortal coils. Whether or not it takes place among fluffy clouds hardly matters. It is really about the process of taking stock of the lives the recently deceased led and choosing the best part to hold onto for the rest of whatever.  Fittingly, Kore-eda’s modern classic After Life (trailer here) screens on the one year anniversary of Donald Richie’s death, as part of the Japan Society’s tribute to the highly influential film scholar, who indeed championed Kore-eda at a crucial point of his career.

When you die during earthly winter, you will find it is still winter when you arrive at After Life’s processing center, which is a shame, because the cherry blossoms are lovely there during the spring. Regardless, recently departed souls will only spend one week there.  Counselors Takashi Mochizuki and Satoru Kawashima will help them chose the one memory they wish to retain and oversee its production on film. At the end of the week, everyone will gather for the screening of their group’s memories and then continue on their cosmic ways with their sole designated memory preserved.

At least that is how it is supposed to work. Some souls cannot or will not choose.  They are known as difficult cases.  Several are on the docket this week. However, Mochizuki and his trainee Shiori Satonaka cannot judge them too harshly.  They too were unable to chose, which is how they came to be employed at the celestial halfway house. Presumably their earthly lives were somewhat disappointing, but Kore-eda will only reveal so much—that is until a chance connection sneaks up on everyone.

The spiritual element of After Life might sound out of place in Kore-eda’s work, considering his reputation for gently mining the terrain of family dysfunction and drama, in the tradition of Ozu. Yet, his subsequent films, like Still Walking and I Wish are very much about observing those small but tellingly significant moments the souls in After Life struggle to remember. In a sense, it is like a summation film that came early in his career.

Of course, there are no floating clouds in After Life (well, actually there are, but they are merely special effects for one of the memory films. Kore-eda deliberately keeps everything low-fi and low key to emphasize the basic humanity of the characters and the memories that mattered to them. For added realism, many of the sessions involve real people relating their own memories.  They are often quite moving, especially those of an elderly lady, who still fondly remembers dancing for her doting brother as young girl. Yet, perhaps the most powerful element of the film is the sad and touching way the pseudo-romantic relationship between Mochizuki and Satonaka never comes together.

In his first big screen role, Arata (Iura) is quite impressive slowly establishing Mochizuki’s angst and regrets. It is a role that gets progressively trickier with each reveal. Likewise, Erika Oda is extraordinarily moving as Satonaka. The way their performances evolve and deepen is also a tribute to Kore-eda’s firm but nearly invisible directorial hand. Indeed, he shows a knack for dispensing necessary information in a way that is unobtrusively organic.

There is no cheap melodrama in After Life.  Kore-eda does not set out to play on viewers’ emotions. Yet, by treating his characters’ afterlives with such respect and gravity, he lowers a mighty boom in third act.  Highly recommended, Kore-eda’s After Life perfectly concludes the first part of the Japan Society’s tribute to Donald Richie when it screens this Wednesday (2/19) in New York.