Japan Cuts ’20: Labyrinth of Cinema

Usually, when characters fantastically enter classic cinema, it is to find comfort and sanctuary, as in The Purple Rose of Cairo, but nobody would want to magically travel inside a film like Hideo Sekigawa’s Hiroshima. Three Japanese film buffs find themselves in that position when they are sucked into a marathon screening of vintage Japanese WWII movies during Nobuhiko Obayashi’s final film, Labyrinth of Cinema, which screens as part of the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

Sadly, this is the final night of business for a quaint little neighborhood movie theater in Onomichi, Obayashi’s hometown and the setting of many of his favorite films. They are going out in high spirits with an all-night screening of WWII propaganda films (an odd choice, but its Obayashi’s world). Mario will miss the theaters because of Noriko, a young teen employee, as much as the movies themselves. When she gets vortexed into a jazzy musical (the innocuous kind allowed by Imperial censors), it is all well and fine, but when the films start depicting combat, Mario goes in after her. Reluctantly, Hosuke (a diligent film student) and Shigeru (an aspiring yakuza) go in with him.

Despite the wartime themes and the shifts from the Edo era to the Great Pacific War, the three audience members-turned-participants navigate the film landscape fairly easily. Yet, they are always powerless to save Noriko in her various film guises. However, the stakes really go up in the film’s final hour (out of three), when the three film-lovers befriend a travelling drama troupe visiting Hiroshima in early August, 1945. Now they want to save all their new friends from what they know is coming.

Labyrinth is probably not Obayashi’s best film, but it might be the ultimate Obayashi film. Here he combines the breakneck pacing and surreal wtf-ness of House with the wistful nostalgia of his coming-of-age films, like I Are You, You Am Me and Bound for the Fields, the Mountains, and the Seacoast. The general anti-war sentiments and specific anger regarding Imperial militarism he expressed in Hanagatami (and the documentary Seijo Story) is here in spades, but he also evokes memories of his “school girl” films, like The Little Girl Who Conquered Time.

The deliberately fake-looking aesthetic (reflecting the 1940s era) takes some getting used to and the tripped out interstellar prologue will be a stumbling block for some. However, Obayashi builds to a real smack-down of an emotional payoff. Granted, it takes three hours to get there, but the film is never boring along the way. In fact, it is one weird episode after another, including a meeting with Yasujiro Ozu, discussing his wartime compromises.

No matter how adventurous they might be, viewers need to fortify themselves before starting Labyrinth, because it is a three-hour visual barrage. It is also truly distinctive auteurist filmmaking. In Seijo Story, Obayashi seemed to be constantly editing this film—and now we can see why it was such a painstaking process, but his efforts with cinematographer-co-editor Hisaki Sanbongi bear considerable fruit. Every character call-back and each narrative parallel reverberates with significance (and there are many).

Japan Cuts ’20: Seijo Story

Nobuhiko Obayashi was the mad genius behind House (and the sensitive auteur who helmed many other great Japanese films). Kyoko Obayashi is the producer (and den mother and caterer) who helped make them possible. As their names suggest, they were also happily married for over sixty years. Isshin Inudo & Eiki Takahashi profile the Obayshis and document the post-production work on their final ambitious collaboration in Seijo Story: 60 Years of Making Films, which screens as part of the Japan Society’s Japan Cuts Festival of New Japanese Film (all virtual this year).

Seijo is to Tokyo a lot like what Studio City is to Los Angeles, but it is also home to a first-class university. That is where the Obayashis met as undergrads and collaborated on their first 8mm films. He somewhat logically decided his emerging talents as novelist and musician made him best suited to be a film director. She used her organizational skill to support his films. At first, she refused all credit, but eventually she has been duly recognized as a top producer.

As a filmmaker, Obayashi has helmed celebrity commercials, experimental films, coming-of-age dramas, and unclassifiable genre films. Initially, House was a flop, but in recent years, it has become a smash hit at midnight screenings. If you haven’t seen it yet, go watch it now. Yet, he is the first to admit their films have been a team effort.

Beyond Godzilla: School in the Crosshairs

Millions of Japanese students have suspected cram schools are evil, but it took a maverick like Nobuhiko Obayashi to conclusively prove it. In this case, the elite Eiko tutorial school is secretly coopting brainy but pliable students to become the brown-shorted advance team for the impending alien invasion. Fortunately, a teen idol with telekinetic powers will defend her high school and planet Earth in Obayashi’s School in the Crosshairs (trailer here), which screens during the Japan Society’s new film series, Beyond Godzilla: Alternative Futures & Fantasies in Japanese Cinema.

Yuka Mitamura is at the top of her class (no cram school for her), but she is still popular with the rest of the slackers. This definitely includes her ambiguously platonic guy pal, Koji Seki. Studying really isn’t his thing. He is the star of the school’s kendo team, but he still isn’t very good. However, a little help from Mitamura will make him a hero at an important meet.

Obviously, if the tightly wound new transfer student Michiru Takamizawa wants to win the hall monitor election as the first step towards global domination, she will have to go through Mitamura. In terms of psychic power, they are rather evenly matched, but Takamizawa has more back-up, including Kyogoku, the evil overlord from Venus, who has been trying to lure Mitamura to the dark side of the Force for several weeks.

It probably goes without saying when it comes to Obayashi making high school movies, but School in the Crosshairs is really and truly nuts. Like his mind-melting House, Crosshairs features Obayashi’s hand-crafted analog special effects, but this time around they are even more defiantly cheesy looking. On the other hand, the student morality patrols Takamizawa organizes and decks out fascist uniforms are maybe even creepier today than when Crosshairs was originally released in 1981, thanks to rise in campus speech codes and thought policing.

Yet, Crosshairs is really just amazingly sweet, thanks to the appealing almost but not quite ready to be boyfriend-girlfriend chemistry shared by Mitamura and Seki. Teen idol Hiroko Yakushimaru (a Japan Society favorite from Sailor Suit and Machine Gun) is unflaggingly plucky and charming, but also disarmingly self-effacing, while Ryôichi Takayanagi plays Seki as a big old likable lug of a guy. However, it is strange Masami Hasegawa did not go on to greater teen stardom, because she is terrific as the uptight, glowing-eyed Takamizawa.

There is so much random weirdness in Crosshairs Obayashi practically creates a trippy new standard for normalcy. Regardless, it is all good, virtuous fun. There is a real story in there too. In fact, it is based on a YA novel by Taku Mayumura that has also been adapted for television and anime. It is easy to see why viewers would enjoy weekly visits with characters like Mitamura and Seki, as well as even their boneheaded but free-thinking gym teacher. Honestly, this film is the reason Edison and the Lumières invented moving pictures (they just didn’t realize it at the time). Very highly recommended, School in the Crosshairs screens this Friday (3/31) at the Japan Society, as part of Beyond Godzilla.

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.

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 Cuts ’15: Seven Weeks

In early September of 1945, most Japan thought WWII was over, but not the residents of Karafuto (now Sakhalin) Island. They were still being razed and rounded-up by the marauding Soviets. That grim historical episode played a pivotal role in the history of the Suzuki family, in ways that are only now coming to light as they gather to mourn their patriarch in Nobuhiko Ôbayashi’s Seven Weeks (trailer here), which screens during Japan Cuts 2015, the Festival of New Japanese Film in New York.

At ninety-two, Mitsuo Suzuki had quite a run, but it was not always a bed of roses. Due to random post-war tragedies, the doctor-turned-local-cultural-curator survived all of his sons and daughters-in-law. He had already lost his great love during the war, through circumstances that will be revealed over time. Still, he was never lonely, having personally raised his granddaughter Kanna and third grandson Akito, with the help of his nurse, Nobuko Shimizu, whose position in the household is ambiguous but significant.

Following his death, Kanna plans the traditional seven seventh day mourning rituals, along with Suzuki’s grandsons, his sister, and his great-granddaughter Kasane, but most of the work falls on her, until Shimizu mysteriously reappears. As they pay their respects, Suzuki’s spirit offers his own running commentary, seeming to inspire flashback reveries for most of his family.

Eventually, we learn exactly how the Suzuki family reached this point in time. Yet, Seven Weeks is more than just a family saga. Ôbayashi essentially turns the Japanese national psyche inside out, making connections between the Suzukis and the Soviet occupation of Karafuto (still going on, by the way), the fall of Imperial militarism, the bust and boom of the Japanese coal industry, and the Fukushima nuclear crisis.

If you only know Ôbayashi as the mad man responsible for the utterly insane cult classic House (Hausu), you don’t know the half of him, at least not anymore. Seven Weeks is an achingly sensitive work, yet there is a symbol stylistic boldness—a willingness to go for broke—shared by the two films. Ôbayashi restlessly segues between point-of-views, throwing realism to the wind with frequent fourth wall breaches, some stunning super-imposed visuals, a Greek chorus of strolling troubadours, and a substantial element of magical realism hiding in plain sight. Yet, he maintains a visceral connection to the Suzuki family’s raw and formerly repressed emotions. If you cried during Departures, Ôbayashi will probably get you misty-eyed too, even though he breaks every possible rule of tear-jerking melodrama, several times over. To that end, he gets a critical assist from Kôsuke Yamashita’s unclassifiably mournful theme.

Seven Weeks is generous with its large ensemble, giving just about every character of standing an opportunity for a grand, telling moment. However, the film is anchored by the trio of Toru Shinagawa, Saki Terashima, and Takako Tokiwa, as Old Man Suzuki, Kanna, and Shimizu, respectively. You will be hard-pressed to find three performances of such mature reserve and expressive power in another film. However, Hirona Yamazaki might just provide the film’s X-factor as young Kasane, who is shallow and self-centered, but also so much fun she energizes and elevates all her scenes.

Frankly, it is exhilarating to see a film that is so big in its conception and so intimate in its execution. Somehow, Ôbayashi reconciles the micro with the macro, offering a very personal and idiosyncratic perspective on some profoundly turbulent national history. When it is all said and done, you really feel like you understand this family and share its grief. Very highly recommended, Seven Weeks is the absolutely-can’t-miss film at this year’s Japan Cuts. It screens this Saturday (7/11) at the Japan Society.

Obayashi’s House

There is no need for drugs in a world with this film. Frankly, watching it under the influence sounds like a mind-shredding experience, but viewers will have another chance to find out for themselves this coming Friday and Saturday when Nobuhiko Ȏbayashi’s indescribable 1977 “horror” film House (trailer here) returns yet again to the IFC Center, where it melted the screens and blew the doors off the joint last year when it finally had a legit American theatrical release.

Based on the story and concepts of Ȏbayashi’s daughter Chigumi, it is hard to believe the young girl had this is mind exactly. Straight from the first frame, House is a trippy, stylized kaleidoscope of otherworldly imagery. Only the mild yuri-style Japanese schoolgirl fetishism has recognizable antecedents from more conventional sources. Gorgeous (as her friends call her) is rather put out by the notion that her widower father plans to remarry. Bailing on their longstanding vacation plans, she invites herself, her BFF Fantasy, and five of their mutual friends to spend their school break at her old spinster aunt’s remote mansion. Sounds lovely, right?

Dear old Auntie has changed since Gorgeous last saw her. Though she is all sweetness and light when receiving the girls, her crack about wanting to eat up Mac, Gorgeous’ gluttonous friend, has a real ominous ring. Things get bat-smack crazy fast, leaving the girls to cling to the hope that Mr. Tôgô, Fantasy’s school girl crush, will finally find his way there in his lowrider, fulfilling his promise to join them in a way Auntie’s intended never did. Unfortunately, he is kind of an idiot.

House is conclusive proof anything could be realized on film, even in the pre-CGI era. Previously known as an established commercial director, Ȏbayashi used every trick in the book, including in-camera distortions, jump cuts, animation, matte paintings, and probably witchcraft. Although some of the animated effects are not much more sophisticated than the campy 1960’s Batman series’ onomatopoeic fight scenes, many of Ȏbayashi’s visuals are decidedly eerie, like the film’s crimson skies, reminiscent of the traditional cover art for vintage western paperbacks. Indeed, House is a Grand Guignol-inspired production, set in a spooky old mansion, with plenty of bright red blood flowing freely.

Through Ȏbayashi’s bizarre mash-up of styles and shameless exploitation of horror movie tropes, House inspires a schizophrenic response. One is constantly aware of the over-the-top visual techniques, but on some level we still respond to its girls in jeopardy story. Kumiko Ȏba is appropriately sweet and sympathetic as Fantasy, while Miki Jinbo adds an element of female empowerment (and charisma) as Kung Fu, the butt-kicking member of the Fab Seven.

Though it might be tempting to describe House as Hello Kitty meets The Evil Dead, words truly fail to describe this film. There is a reason why it keeps coming back for midnight screenings. Weird in nearly every possible way, Ȏbayashi’s feature debut is one of a kind, well worth seeing on the blood spattered big screen this Friday and Saturday (2/25 & 2/26) at the IFC Center.