Mark Lee Ping-Bing at MoMA: The Vertical Ray of the Sun

Lien and her two sisters never made a fuss over their parents’ birthdays while they were living, yet they will prepare lavish feasts for the memorial anniversaries. The irony is not lost on the sisters, because in most respects they embrace life in the moment. However, their romantic entanglements become distractingly messy in Vietnamese-born French-naturalized filmmaker Tran Anh Hung’s The Vertical Ray of the Sun (trailer here), which screens as part of Luminosity, MoMA’s retrospective tribute to cinematographer Mark Lee Ping-Bing.

Vertical is sort of like the lushest, most sensual film Yasujiro Ozu never made. You might say “nothing happens,” but the truth is an awful lot of life transpires for the Vietnamese sisters. However, that late summer vibe will lull viewers into a sort of listless bliss, just as it does to the characters. That would be Lee at work.

Lien’s parents died one month apart. That should be romantic, but the circumstances were complicated. Lien and her married sisters, Suong and Khanh have mostly come to terms with it. As a result, the family café bustles with activity as they prepare for the first feast. As usual, they tease and cajole their reluctant young brother Hai into helping. That is especially Lien’s M.O. She and Hai are roommates who always start they day together bantering, exercising, and dancing to Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground.

Frankly, Lien and Hai might be so close, they could be crowding out potential romantic interests. Still, their mornings certainly look like a lot of fun. In contrast, Suong and Khanh must manage highly imperfect spouses and suspicions of infidelity. In one case they are justified, but not the other. Some viewers might be frustrated with the lack of closure for these subplots (as well as others), but Vertical is rather scrupulously focused on the period between each memorial feast. It is a somewhat arbitrary time frame, but a significant one.

Good golly, just about every aspect of Vertical is visually arresting, starting with Lien and her ridiculously photogenic family, but also most definitely including Lee’s rich, verdant cinematography. It is the sort of film you just want to soak in, like a hot tub. Consequently, viewers face the potential danger of losing sight of Tran Nu Yên-Khê’s acutely sensitive and utterly seductive performance as Lien. Likewise, Nguyen Nhu Quỳnh and Le Khanh have moments of pure beauty as Suong and Khanh, respectively.

For those who find Vertical uneventful, we just don’t know what to tell you. The truth is you will be hard pressed to find another film that is this emotionally mature and yet so sexually charged. If that bores you, you’re on your own. Highly recommended for sophisticated viewers, The Vertical Ray of the Sun screens this Sunday (6/19) and Tuesday (6/28) as part of Luminosity at MoMA.

Tran Anh Hung’s Norwegian Wood

It is the 1960’s, but Toru Watanabe hardly notices. Better suited to the brooding Romantic era, he is too preoccupied with his ardor and the death that haunts the object of his affections to throw bombs at the police. Lushly adapted from the celebrated Haruki Murakami novel, French Vietnamese filmmaker Tran Anh Hung’s Japanese language Norwegian Wood (trailer here) opens this Friday in New York.

Watanabe’s deep abiding feelings for his best friend Kizuki’s beautiful and sensitive girlfriend will be a constant throughout his formative years. Frankly, Naoki is a bit too sensitive. When Kizuki inexplicably commits suicide, they both take it hard. As they try to support each other in their grief, Watanabe falls profoundly in love with her. Unfortunately, her bereavement gives way to acute depression.

Even though the fragile Naoki cloisters herself in a remote mountain sanitarium, Watanabe remains devotionally faithful to her. He largely sleep-walks through his day-to-day life, only seeing Naoki during brief but intense visits. Then he inadvertently catches the eye of Midori Kobayashi. She is bright, vivacious, and outgoing—all of which Watanabe is ill-equipped to deal with.

While Murakami’s love story is often described in terms of its passion, it is just as much about longing. Tran vividly captures the pattern of tension and release that defines Watanabe’s existence. His screen version also stays faithful to the author’s ambivalence to 1960’s radicalism, privileging the personal over the political. Still, Norwegian capitalizes on the splashy look of the era, featuring Yen Khe Luguern’s mod costumes and distinctive period decors.

Despite her beauty and standing as Japan’s only living Academy Award nominee (for Babel), Rinko Kikuchi had to hard sell Tran to be cast as the fractured Naoko. Yet, she is exquisitely devastating, defining the film with her poignant presence. A big step up for Kenichi Matsuyama in terms of prestige, the Death Note franchise star is also quite convincing, if a bit chilly, as Watanabe. Appealingly saucy, Kiko Mizuhara’s Kobayashi always brings a refreshing dose of energy to the film, while Reika Kirshima provides an engaging grounded center as Naoko’s fellow patient friend, Reiko Ishida. Yet, perhaps the film’s purest emotional turn comes from Eriko Hatsune in a near-cameo as the tragic lover of Watanabe’s elitist former friend.

An unusually refined production, Tran and cinematographer Mark Lee Ping Bin’s arresting use of light and rich, warm hues of color is a pleasure to luxuriate in. Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood’s chamberish string score lacks a distinctive melodic identity, but it nicely suits the film’s spirit (Kirshima’s rendition of the titular Beatles song is also respectably presentable). Forthrightly addressing emotional fervor and loss, Norwegian is a genuinely beautiful film. Highly recommended, it opens this Friday (1/6) in New York at the IFC Center.