Boston/Japan ’20: Killing

A little existential angst is understandable in a ronin (masterless samuai), but Mokunoshin Tsuzuki takes it to a whole new level. He has skills, but his hesitancy to take life will be interpreted as a weakness in cinematic madman Shinya Tsukamoto’s lean, minimalist samurai drama, Killing, which screens during the 2020 Boston Festival of Films from Japan.

Tsuzuki has been marking time as a seasonal laborer in a remote agricultural village and serving as its unofficial protector. He likes his hosts, particularly the sweet-tempered Yu and trains hard with her amiable brother Ichisuke, but he realizes he must eventually restart his career as a swordsman. Fate seems to intervene when Jirozaemon Sawamura passes through the village, recruiting ronin to fight on behalf of the Shogun, not unlike Takashi Shimura in the opening scenes of Seven Samurai. He will take Tsuzuki as a member of the core group and also Ichisuke as a reserve, neither of which sits well with Yu.

To make matters worse, a band of suspicious ruffians starts camping nearby. Yu fears they will pillage the village once the ronin move on, but Tsuzuki is convinced they are merely rowdy and a little rough around the edges. He holds fast to that hope, even after they badly thrash poor Ichisuke. However, that will be more than enough to convince Sawamura otherwise.

Arguably, both Tsuzuki and Sawamura are both partially right. The former correctly predicts violence has a tendency to beget violence, but as they say in Texas (with Sawamura concurring), some of these characters just need killing. Regardless, Tsukamoto’s Killing is a rather elegant meditation on the nature of violence that actually fits the bushido spirit quite well. Real trained martial artists always try avoid fighting outside of a controlled tournament setting, unless it is absolutely necessary. It is not just because their skills are so deadly (though that may be true). It is more about inner discipline and walking the humble path.

Silence: Scorsese Finally Adapts Endo

Shūsaku Endō’s classic 1966 novel was generally shaped by his Catholic faith and directly inspired by a visit to the monument for the Twenty-Six Martyrs of Nagasaki, who became canonized representatives of the hundreds of thousands who fell victim to 17^th Century Japanese Christian persecution. In the mid-1500s, there were thought to be upwards of 300,000 Japanese Christian converts, but most were ruthlessly exposed and subsequently forced to apostatize through torture during the early to mid-1600s. The missionary Father Cristóvão Ferreira really was among the Christians who was forced to renounce his faith.  The fragmentary news of Ferreira’s downfall is difficult for his young protégés to accept, so they follow their calling to Japan in Martin Scorsese’s long-awaited adaptation of Silence (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Portuguese Jesuits Sebastião Rodrigues and Francisco Garrpe naively assume news of Ferreira’s apostasy must be greatly exaggerated, but when they secretly arrive in Japan, the climate of fear and oppression is beyond their worst expectations. The Christian faith has been forced underground, much like the era of the Roman catacombs. Their guide will be Kichijiro, an apostatized Christian convert, who perhaps still believes. However, his frequent willingness to trample fumi-e, images of Christ and the Virgin expressly fashioned to smoke out secret Christians, makes him decidedly untrustworthy.

Desperate their perilous circumstances, the honesty and purity of the “hidden Christian” Kakure Kirishitan faith touches Rodrigues deeply. Unfortunately, it is only a matter of time before the priests are captured by the grand inquisitor, Inoue Masashige, who is confident breaking the last Jesuits in Japan will deal a decisive blow to the Kakure Kirishitan remnant. Father Rodrigues is a surprisingly tough nut to crack, even while undergoing an understandable crisis of faith, but Masashige has a nefarious trump card to play: the former Father Ferreira at his beck and call.

Scorsese’s Silence is easily one of the most challenging and uncompromising films about Christian faith produced in the last twenty years. Utterly free of triumphalism, it depicts the hair-raising brutality of martyrdom and forced conversion. Christianity is laid low over and over again, yet there is more concealed in the margins of this story. Much like Endō’s tonally dissimilar post-script, Scorsese’s long denouement holds the key to the entire epic tragedy. If you do not stay with it from start to finish, you will miss the whole point.

Scorsese’s rigorously austere aesthetic perfectly suits this harsh morality play. It is like nature itself serves witness to the atrocities meted out, thanks to cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto’s windswept vistas and co-composers Kathryn & Kim Allen Kluge’s naturally-derived ambient soundscapes.

Although he never really sounds Portuguese per se, Liam Neeson has the appropriately weighty presence for Ferreira. His sad eyes and slumped shoulders say everything he can no longer say. Sadly, Andrew Garfield is terribly miscast as Rodrigues. He just doesn’t seem capable of properly addressing the film’s profound questions. Adam Driver fares somewhat better (and looks more Portuguese) as the comparatively more dogmatic Garrpe. However, the real soul-searing devastation comes from Tetsuo auteur Shinya Tsukamoto’s visceral performance as Mokichi, a believer doomed to Masashige’s martyrdom. If you have anything left after his sacrifice, Nana Komatsu (from Bakuman and World of Kanako) will finish you off with her brief but devastating portrayal of naïve Kakure Kirishitan convert Haru (a.k.a. Monica).

Garfield’s relative weakness is problematic, but it opens the door for Yôsuke Kubozuka, who becomes the film’s de facto [anti-]hero as the morally unclassifiable Kichijiro, easily the film’s most complex character. Yet, nobody better personifies the existential dilemmas faced by Edo-era Christians. Silence is also well stocked with memorable antagonists, like the smoothly sinister interpreter icily portrayed by Tadanobu Asano. However, everyone pales compared to the crafty old Masashige, played with to-the-hilt flamboyance by Issei Ogata that is apparently historically accurate.

Despite its casting issues, Silence is worth the wait, which is frequently not the case with long gestating passion projects. It is a bracing film that offers precious little consolation, but it is a deeply sincere statement of Christian faith. The fact that nobody has re-released Masahiro Shinoda’s 1971 adaptation represents a bafflingly lost opportunity, but Scorsese’s take will be challenging enough for many fans of his gangsterish films. Highly recommended, warts and all, Silence opens today (12/23) in New York, at the Regal Union Square downtown and the AMC Loews Lincoln Square uptown.

FCS ’15: Fires on the Plain

Joseph Heller’s Yossarian has nothing on Private Tamura. He is caught in miserable catch-22 and the only thing that will dislodge him from his vicious cycle will be a further downturn in Japan’s fortunes of war. There is absolutely nothing heroic about combat throughout intense auteur Shinya Tsukamoto’s faithful but bloody remake of Kon Ichikawa’s Fires on the Plain (clip here), which screens during Film Comment Selects 2015.

Tamura is suffering from a nasty case of tuberculosis and maybe some mild shell shock. Deemed too sick to serve effectively by his arrogant commanding officer, Tamura is ordered to check into the nearest field hospital on Leyte. However, the medical staff refuses to admit him, considering him too healthy to merit a spot on their diseased floor.

Back and forth he trudges between the camp and the hospital, repeatedly turning away by each, until Allied attacks essentially eliminate either option. Receiving word the Imperial forces have been belatedly ordered them all to regroup at Palompon, Tamura falls in and out of small ragtag bands of retreating Imperial soldiers, but his increasingly desperate countrymen might represent a more immediate danger than the Yanks he is supposedly fighting.

The 1959 Plain has to be Ichikawa’s darkest, bleakest film. Tsukamoto does not exactly match its dour existentialism, but he certainly never whitewashes its atmosphere or implications. In terms of tone, the recent Plain could be described as one part Samuel Beckett and two parts Apocalypse Now, but with liberal helpings of severed body parts. Tsukamoto’s Plain is definitely not for the faint of heart, but it is considerably more accessible than the full-on assault to the senses delivered by his Tetsuo series.

It is safe to say vanity had nothing to do with Tsukamoto’s decision to direct himself as Tamura. He is never flashy, but it is grimly compelling to watch the soul steadily seep out of him. You absolutely believe his is just a shell of a person, which is certainly some kind of performance.

Plain is truly serious stuff, intended for discerning audiences, but there might be enough gore to placate his loyal cult-following. It covers all the bases Ichikawa did, nearly beat for beat, yet it is unquestionably and readily identifiably a Tsukamoto film. Together with his co-cinematographer Satoshi Hayashi, Tsukamoto gives his slow descent into tropical madness a distinctively sweaty, feverish, and slightly surreal look that is equally transfixing and disconcerting. One of the better remakes of a genuine classic you will see in sometime, Tsukamoto’s Fires on the Plain is recommended for those who appreciate uncompromising anti-war cinematic statements when it screens tomorrow (2/21) at the Walter Reade, as part of this year’s Film Comment Selects.

Tsukamoto’s New Tetsuo

Compared to Shinya Tsukamoto’s metalized humanoids, Iron Man is downright gentile. They also make the Marvel hero seem completely believable and multi-dimensional. Harsh and grungy, Tsukamoto’s Tetsuo series has a small but devoted cult following. To expand the audience, Tsukamoto filmed the latest in English. Yet, it is hard to imagine Tetsuo III: The Bullet Man (trailer here) expanding beyond the hardcore faithful when it opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Raised in Japan by his expat parents, Anthony now has a family of his own. Everything seems ideal, but premonitions of his young son Tom’s premature death are fraying his wife Yuriko’s nerves. When her dreams tragically come to pass, it profoundly threatens their union. Yuriko is particularly aggravated by her husband’s steadfast refusal to show emotion. However, when he finally gives vent to his anger, it is not pretty. In fact, it triggers a nightmarish metamorphosis.

Suddenly, Anthony is a hulking metallic humanoid weapon. Obviously, Tom’s death was no accident, but part of a deliberate plan to trigger whatever was hardwired inside his father, with our first clue being the renegade army trying to corral the metallic Anthony. It also quickly becomes clear this painful process somehow involves his father Ride’s dodgy arms research.

Frankly, there are long stretches in Bullet where it is truly impossible to tell wtf is going on. Tsukamoto’s shaky-cam action sequences are so blurry and disorienting they are likely to induce nausea and even seizures. They make the Transformers movies look like the opening tracking shot from Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil. Since it is often impossible to follow the chaos on-screen, viewers will find themselves worrying over the huge logical holes in the film’s plot. Like, wouldn’t it make more sense to kidnap Anthony first and then induce his transformation, rather than vice versa? Whatever.

It is hard to judge Eric Bossick’s work as Anthony, considering how much time he spends buried under bizarre prosthetics. At least, Akiko Monô provides a measure of humanity as Yuriko. In fact, Bullet features a few promising human villains, including the director reprising his role as the banally evil “metal fetishist,” as well as Stephen Sarrazin’s smart, sophisticated, and morally ambiguous Ride. However, too much of the conflict boils down to the new Anthony bashing faceless paramilitaries (if that is indeed what was happening).

Nearly a one-man band, Tsukamoto is most successful designing the cold concrete and steel environment of Bullet. Though shot in color, audiences may well remember it in black-and-white. It is also notable for the closing industrial theme composed by Trent Reznor, an odds-on favorite to pick up an Oscar for his score to the vastly dissimilar Social Network.

Bullet is a film in desperate need of clarity. Certainly, it reflects a distinctive aesthetic, but the execution is so problematic, it does not even earn a fanboy recommendation, not it matters to the diehards. Good luck to them when Bullet opens this Friday (1/21) at the IFC Center.

Japan Cuts ’10: Nightmare Detective 2

Kyoichi Kagenuma might not be much, but if you are terrorized by your dreams, he is the one person you can turn to. Of course, he would much prefer to be left alone, but one high school student is desperate for his help in Shinya Tsukamoto’s Nightmare Detective 2 (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2010 Japan Cuts Festival’s “Best of the Unreleased Naughties” focus on films from the last ten years that have yet to be picked up for American theatrical distribution.

Cursed with tremendous psychic sensitivity, Kagenuma can enter other people’s dreams to seek out and alleviate subconscious disturbances. Unfortunately, the Nightmare Detective cannot heal himself. Experiencing nightmares of increasing severity, Kagenuma simply wants to be left alone. However, Yukie Mashiro is persistent. Ever since a taunting incident went too far, she has been plagued by dreams that seem to have a frighteningly real effect on her waking life. When Kagenuma finally relents, it is for his own reasons, rooted in his traumatic childhood.

The second installment of what is considered the most conventionally commercial work of genre rebel Tsukamoto, ND2 is not nearly as graphic as one might expect. Given the subject matter, most viewers will be on-guard for plentiful scenes inviting the question: is this reality or is it still a dream? Yet, the themes of forgiveness and mercy lend the film unexpected depth.

Yui Miura and Hanae Kan are almost shockingly good as the sleep deprived Mashiro and her former victim turned tormentor. Miura covers a particularly wide emotional range as the not-so-innocent victim. Though not an electrifying screen presence, Ryuhei Matsuda also delivers quite effectively in the film’s quiet dramatic moments.

Rest assured, Tsukamoto certainly creates a moody atmosphere and supplies a number of creepy moments. Yet, there is a sense of restraint evident in ND2 deliberately shunned in his bizarre cult Tetsuo series. Frankly, the film is the better for it. While representing the high end of Japanese horror, ND2 should still satisfy fans of the first film and the genre in general. It screens at the Japan Society this coming Wednesday (7/14) as part of the 2010 Japan Cuts: Festival of Contemporary Japanese Cinema.