TIFF ’18: Legend of the Demon Cat

Kûkai was like the Japanese Xuanzang (of Journey to the West immortality). He really did travel to China in search of Buddhist teachings. As amateur sleuths go, he inspires a good deal of confidence. That is not necessarily true of the great Tang poet Bai Juyi, but Kûkai needs somebody familiar with all of the capitol city’s brothels. Together, they will solve a mystery with supernatural implications in Chen Kaige’s Legend of the Demon Cat (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Toronto International Film Festival.

Technically, it is not really a whodunit. The demonic cat did it—and he will do it a lot more. The question is why. Kûkai first finds traces of its nefarious activity when he is summoned to exorcise the emperor. Unfortunately, he arrives too late, but immediately suspects the furry demon. He also meets Bai Juyi, who is about to resign his post as the court recorder. It is from Bai that Kûkai hears gossip of a strange cat tormenting the household of the captain of the imperial guard. From there, they are off like Holmes and Watson on the trail of Captain Chen, which naturally runs through an elegant brothel.

In fact, it is fortunate they are there, so Kûkai can treat Chen’s former favorite, who is mysteriously afflicted with paranormal parasites. However, they really catch a break when they discover the diary of Nakamaro Abe, a Japanese expat, who watched the Emperor’s favorite concubine, Yang Guifei, meet her sad end. In an almost Shakespearean paradox, everybody at court loved her, especially including Abe, but she was doomed to die as a Marie Antoinette scapegoat. Of course, the cat is still rather ticked off about what happened, but to be fair, it did go down rather badly.

Frankly, it is hard to believe this is a Chen Kaige film, because it is relatively short on melodrama, but long on spectacle. It looks more like a Tsui Hark remake of Ghost Cat of Otama Pond. The fact that it is a Chinese-Japanese co-production is also a minor miracle. See, we can all get along after all. Regardless, it is a big film, with big sets, and big effects, and a weirdly idiosyncratic narrative based on Baki Yumemakura’s Japanese novel.

There are a lot of entertaining aspects to Demon Cat, starting with the laidback, unforced buddy chemistry that develops between Kûkai and Bai. Instead of bickering and bantering, they gently tease each other and eventually really start to open up and talk honestly. Shota Sometani is truly terrific as Kûkai, in a sly, understated kind of way. Huang Xuan plays off him nicely as Bai, but the character does not have the same heft and dimension.  Sad-eyed Hiroshi Abe radiates heartsickness as his morose namesake, while Sandrine Pinna is radiantly regal yet acutely tragic as Lady Yang.

Perhaps most importantly, Demon Cat vividly demonstrates how cool Buddhist monks can be. This is a messy, sprawling film, so it might be that sum of its parts is greater than its whole, but it would be a crying shame to miss those parts. There are at least half a dozen scenes viewers are sure to be talking about afterward. Highly recommended as a visually lavish jaunt into Tang-era intrigue and supernatural hijinks, Legend of the Demon Cat screens tonight (9/13) and Saturday (9/15) as part of this year’s TIFF.

TIFF ’18: The Sweet Requiem

They are the refugees that aren’t featured in music videos or fund-raising concerts. Although China has occupied Tibet for nearly fifty years, there is still steady stream of Tibetan refugees, braving the elements and Chinese border patrols to seek asylum in India. Those border guards will fire at will, as they did in September 2006, when they gunned down a seventeen-year-old nun. That incident was the seed that eventually germinated in the second narrative feature from the filmmaker tandem responsible for Dancing at Lhasa. Survivor’s guilt remains a potent force in Dolkar’s life, but even when they reach Northern India, Tibetan refugees like her are not safe from Chinese moles and spies in Ritu Sarin & Tenzing Sonam’s The Sweet Requiem, which screens during the 2018 Toronto International Film Festival.

With the Chinese encroaching on their traditional nomadic grasslands, Dolkar’s father decided he had to take her to India if she was to have any sort of future. She survived the trip, but he did not. Technically, he was shot by the Chinese, but she blames Gompo, the guide who abandoned their traveling party. Twenty years later (give or take), she is a poor but independent woman living in India. She is popular with the Tibetan expat community, but she has not seen her mother and sister since she left. It is a relatively simple life, but it is upended by the arrival of a supposed Tibetan activist, who happens to be a dead ringer for Gompo.

Dolkar starts following Dolkar out of anger and suspicion. As a result, she will witness the visit he receives from two thuggish agents of the Mainland government. However, there will be more to the story of the man who is probably Gompo than she realizes.

Sweet Requiem is one of the rare films that works equally well as a thriller, a tragedy, and an advocacy film. An enormous amount of credit goes to Tenzin Dolker, who is absolutely extraordinary as Dolkar. She lights up the screen, but she is also arrestingly vulnerable and messily complicated, in an acutely human kind of way.

Veteran Tibetan actor Jampa Kalsang Tamang is really just as haunting as Gompo in flashbacks and the guilt-wracked shell of a man Dolker intends to confront. It is not a flashy performance, but it connects on a gut level. Shavo Dorjee also helps keep the film grounded in reality as his namesake, a Tibetan refugee activist, who carries a torch for Dolkar.

Sweet Requiem is a story of human tragedy and suffering that incorporates some weighty Buddhist themes, but it also provides a wake-up call regarding China’s harassment of dissidents abroad. Clearly, the two spies (played chillingly by actors credited as Lhakpa Tsering) believe they can operate with impunity in India, because it is obviously true. Sarin & Sonam (the son of Tibetan refugees) also use the heartbreaking cases of Tibetan self-immolations to underscore the atmosphere of desperation, but they remain scrupulously sensitive (and never exploitative) in the way they address the phenomenon. Ultimately, the cumulative impact is deeply moving. Very highly recommended, The Sweet Requiem screens again tomorrow (9/11) and Saturday (9/15), as part of this year’s TIFF.

TIFF ’18: Endzeit – Ever After

During the interwar period, the National Socialists associated Weimar with weakness and decadence. The city of Goethe and Schiller refuses to make the same mistake during the zombie apocalypse. It follows a strict no tolerance policy. At the first sign of infection, it is Auf Wiedersehen. Weimar survivors boast that is why they are one of the only two cities still standing. The other is the more lenient Jena. Two young women will try to journey from Weimar to Jena, but zombies and allegorical figures keep getting in their way throughout Carolina Hellsgård’s Endzeit—Ever After (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Toronto International Film Festival.

Regardless of their respective policies, the Federal State of Thuringia appears to have been the place the weather the zombie uprising. Nevertheless, Eva and Vivi have some deeply scarring memories of Day Zero. Eva is the tough one, who has a high zombie-body count as an experienced member of the self-defense volunteers. Vivi is so damaged, she might be regressing back to a child-like emotional state. In theory, volunteering for the zombie defense force could be a healthy way to reassert herself, but she simply isn’t ready for that kind of stress.

After her horrible, no good first day, Vivi is ready to run-off, possibly as a more passive way to attempt suicide. Eva also has her reasons to leave in a hurry. Despite a lack of trust and mutual respect, the two women become traveling companions on the road to Jena, like Thelma & Louise, but with zombies instead of the Thunderbird and Brad Pitt.

If you pick up anything from Endzeit’s press campaign, it will be the film’s claim to fame as a modern zombie movie with almost an entirely female cast and women fulfilling every meaningful creative role behind the camera. Good for them for bringing in a highly distinctive film on a presumably limited budget. However, that might not help the cause with hardcore horror and zombie fans. Although there are some shuffling hordes, there is even more allegorical fantasy going on, which produces uneven results.

Frankly, the second to third act hinge gets bogged down with the appearance of “The Gardener,” an Earth Mother archetype with twigs sprouting out of her head, who remorselessly gloats about the rapid demise of humanity. Fine, if that’s her attitude, we’ll stop cutting up the plastic rings from six-packs before throwing them away. On the other hand, some really deep, intriguing stuff is suddenly revealed during the conclusion, which really elevates the film’s tragic gravitas.

One thing pops off the screen loud and clear: Maja Lehrer is absolutely terrific as Eva. She makes her a commanding, rebellious, and vulnerable figure, often all at the same time. Gro Swantje Kohlhof is appropriately withdrawn and childlike as Vivi, but she nicely hints at some character growth over time.

Obviously, Hellsgård is working with a lot of fairy tale themes and motifs, but she mostly makes it work (again, aside from the Gardener business). Viewers who only know zombies from the Walking Dead franchise (which transparently “stands on the shoulders” of Romero’s Living Dead films) will probably bored and confused by it, but fans who really appreciate the zombie tradition will appreciate the ways she stretches the genre. Granted, it does not have the emotional gut-punch of Sabu’s Miss Zombie, but nothing else does either. Recommended for its ambition and the talent that went into it, Endzeit—Ever After screens again tomorrow (9/9), rather ominously Tuesday (9/11), and Friday (9/14), as part of this year’s TIFF.