Directed by: Hayao Miyazaki
Country of origin: Japan
Music by: Joe Hisaishi
The school year is over. The summer of films has begun. After a long absence from blogging, leave it to a Miyazaki gem to wet my mouth once again. I have shouted Miyazaki praise far and wide, but believe it or not, I had never seen the film that sparked the legendary career. I had seen dozens of stills and famous screenshots like the one above. Viewed snippets, heard exerts of Hisaishi's score, but never actually sat down and watched the movie. It had been sitting untouched inside my external hard-drive for almost two years. It was time I changed that. All the thoughts that this film was "too naive" or not as intellectually intriguing than his later works couldn't be farther from the truth. My Neighbor Totoro is just as compelling and soothingly engrossing as any other film Miyazaki has ever graced us with. Made in the late eighties, the context has richened with age. These same elements of curiosity and bravery mixed concurrently with Japanese cultural undertones make you want and even need to be in this world. Miyazaki communicates to his viewer from the point of view of the child, whereas so many mature thematic elements are lingering within the story, yet never solidified. Like any Miyazaki film, there's just so much behind every scene, every shot, every second of detailed animation. Crafting such a specific tone is something no one else could ever do. Watching Totoro was refreshing, simple as that. It made me eager for more of the undeniable East Asian culture that is embedded within every Miyazaki film. It left me speechless, and wondering why I had never taking two hours out of my life to watch it. It was the perfect "welcome back" I could have received. It's going to be a great summer.
Following are some of the most important scenes from the most important films in East Asian cinema. These scenes have, in some cases, single-handedly had their influences on the cinematic language. Some establish a style or technique, others have simply become responsible for helping to cement their filmmaker's name into history. Famous or not, these scenes have left their mark on the medium and the millions of viewers that have witnessed them. As a filmmaker, a few of them in particular are some of the most beautiful and inspiring I've ever seen. Enjoy
1. JOURNEY TO THE WEST
I'm starting off with a scene from one of the first Asian films I was ever exposed to, Miyazaki's Princess Mononoke. A fan favorite, Mononoke is up there with Spirited Away in terms of the filmmaker's signature works. In this more mature film, Miyazaki took advantage of exploring more mature themes and showed audiences that he was capable of crafting a moving, beautiful story geared toward adults. Mononoke is stunning in its animation, and in this pivotal scene near the film's beginning, Miyazaki seems to boast the lengths of his talent and shows us the sheer depth of the capabilities that he possesses. From an animation standpoint, this is one of the most important scenes in the master's illustrious career. Up to this point, the viewer had been introduced to some typical feudal Japanese villagers and a somewhat overblown, giant black pig demon. The film feels somewhat typical of Japanese anime up to this point. But it is in this scene, "Journey to the West", that Miyazaki's film begins to break away from the rest. Hisaishi's score, one of the best in cinematic history (in my opinion) gives the scene a certain weight that helps us understand and empathize with Ashitaka. Every shot is calculated. The sweeping vastness of the landscapes down to the detailed glimmering of the water. Mononoke is not exactly a recent film, released in 1997. Techniques in computer and hand-drawn animation have advanced since then, yet we are still able to watch this film and be amazed. This scene proves why Princess Mononoke is a pivotal milestone in modern animation.
2. FAREWELL
Ang Lee moved millions with the neutral ending of his masterpiece Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, leaving many in wonder and others in tears. What he did with this scene was to help establish a new strategy of conclusion, in other words, trailblazing a very new way of ending a film. American audiences had seldom been exposed to this type of ending, where what happened is not completely drawn out for them. Yet, with this lack of concrete evidence (if you will) came this incredible feeling of satisfaction. We don't exactly know what happened to Shiao Long; she could have died, or the story of the old man could have been true. But the tie-in, the bring-around of that story at the films end, is so satisfying that it almost seems to not matter. This is an ending where the viewer itself is meant to make the final decision, and I believe it tells a lot about a person in terms of how they interpret this ending. Setting the element of the unknown aside, the scene is visually stunning, and the classical fluidity as well as the subtle crossfades conclude the film perfectly. With the slow, soothing tunes of Tan Dun and Yo Yo Ma, the viewer almost floats along with Shiao Long into the unknown. It is an incredibly moving and influential scene, and helped revive the presence of Asian cinema in the Western side of the world.
3. PAINTERS
This borderline surrealist scene from Takeshi Kitano's Hana-bi is one of the key elements that helped to establish him as Japan's modern auteur and the heir to Akira Kurosawa. The scene captures Kitano's motives and his mindset outstandingly, taking time to dwell on mysterious, thought-provoking visuals, drawing parallels of extremes between characters, and really (abruptly) diving deep into the mind of his viewer, all with the comfort of a moving Hisaishi score. The scene and the film are very personal to Kitano, documenting fictionally a period in his own life where suicide and painting were prevalent thoughts. This scene may seem confusing by itself, but it is absolutely pivotal to the film's significance, commencing the symbolism between so many of the films motifs, like flowers, gunshots, and the human eye. The scene has an immense presence of experimental ideals, and its the alienating sense that this montage provokes that houses the film's true meaning. I think of it as the heart of the film, and the origin of its many layers of meaning. Mesmerizing scene.
4. FALL OF THE POPCORN
Likewise, this scene from Korean blockbuster Welcome to Dongmakgol is the center of the film's narrative significance. On the outside, the film is just a typical war comedy with a varying tonal color and many moving moments. It's Korean New Wave melodrama at its best. But underneath lies so much subliminal meaning, and in a country where critiquing the tyrant to their north is so dangerous, it's easy to understand why the message is so subtle. It's a lot that I won't get into, but more or less what happens in the scene is a direct result of the mindless violence butting heads with the innocent denial. A grenade, a symbol of the murder and violence that these warring men impose upon the innocent town of Dongmakgol, explodes inside the town's food supply shed. But while this is a true travesty for the villagers, the ordeal just becomes another instance of curious beauty as the popped corn float down upon the village like snow. Instead of crying, they dance and laugh and grasp the moment, and the warring soldiers are lulled to sleep. This ceasing of unnecessary violence, this realization of the beauty surrounding you seems to be a motive that countless Korean films take on, and is noble enough to be called the alternative for what the situation in Korea should be like today. The scene says a great deal about war and the division of brothers, and it turns a new page within the film (afterward the North and South soldiers begin to respect each other. And with a moving Hisaishi score, you can't go wrong. Very moving scene.
5.THE SIXTH STATION
I saved the best for last... This is my favorite scene in cinematic history, bar none. It has influenced and moved me in ways that I cannot verbally express. It is one of, if not the most renowned scene Miyazaki has ever produced. It is one of the most important scenes in the history of animation, simply from a narrative perspective. If I can use one word to help me describe this scene, it would, again, have to be depth. Here we are, absolutely engrossed in this eerily beautiful world that Miyazaki has created for us, consisting solely of the bathhouse and its grounds. Despite the immense size of this building, and the variety of situations that Chihiro encounters inside of it, there is a certain sense of claustrophobia that is created. We feel stuck here with her, with nowhere to run. But then she gets on this train that seems to float on water and an entire world is revealed to us.The amount of elements in this scene that make is so fantastic is uncanny. Every shot reveals a story that could be told. We see villages in the distance, bright neon signs that suggest a city. Miyazaki just slightly hints at the existence of these things, and we do all we can to pounce on them. But the train keeps going, and these beautiful landscapes and locales that we see appear suddenly disappear, never to be seen again. Miyazaki could make entire films based on the ideas represented in this scene, alone. A sense of maturity wafts in and the tone becomes so contemplative and reflective as Joe Hisaishi's absolutely intoxicating melody pushes the train softly on. The floating village. The house on the island. The little girl at the train station. Who are these people? What's happened to them? Who lives there? These are all burning questions, ones we need to be answered. But they never are. It's truly a rollercoaster of emotions watching the stunning movement of this scene unfold. I have never been engrossed by anything so much in my life. This scene has changed my life, I can honestly say it... It seems to mean something different for everyone. To me, this is Miyazaki's imagining of the afterlife, of the new life we live in after this one has passed. It is quiet, and it is beautiful. These floating paradises and endless seas seem to beckon to the viewers. Miyazaki has created a sequence of images that truly transport us. The vastness of this spirit world is shown to us, but only in brief glimpses. It's a place I wish I could revisit again, perhaps maybe one day, in a dream. This is Miyazaki's most accomplished scene, and holds an unfathomable amount of untapped potential and significance. Crossing my fingers he revisits it...
Kitano's first and last directorial endeavor in the United States was the target of a lot of critical jest upon its release, something very atypical to the auteur's work. Roger Ebert praised Kitano as a director, but ultimately denounced the film, calling it "a miss". I can see how many people, many Americans, could watch this film and not like it. But the director does not stray from his typical strategies in this film. Brother is just like any other Kitano film, and it is by no means any "worse" than some of his other works. But because the film was produced under an American team, it does turn out completely different. The schemes and quirks that made Kitano's films significant did not translate over well from culture to culture. The iconic black comedy with hints of stoicism tend to come across as bad American acting. The filmmaker's trademark dead-pan feels awkward in a couple of places. The instances in the film where there are attempts at humor seem to be squandered. We think to ourselves, "Oh, well if he said it this way instead of the way he did it, I would have laughed." But the fact is, Takeshi Kitano was in a foreign place with a very different way of doing things. And although he did surround himself with the majority of his regular cast and crew, the film was going to inevitably be very different. Kitano is one of those complete filmmakers; things have to be specifically how he wants it, and this seems to be an obvious proponent toward his consistent critical success. But under these new constraints, that just wasn't possible.
I realized this, having seen a couple other films where cultural elements haven't crossed borders well. And I liked Brother just fine. The film was funny, had a nice pace, introduced some interesting relationships, all while incorporating some vintage Beat Takeshi. The instances where his comedy didn't convert well were still funny to me, simply because I saw what Kitano was trying to do and connected the dots. In fact, because most of the characters were American, (this sounds horrible) I had no trouble telling characters apart physically, so I felt like I got to know the cast well. Thus, when the film ends in tragic fashion (as most of his do), it was pretty moving. Brother was basically a half Japanese film, half Los Angeles film. The bits that took place in Japan we spot-on. They could have been mix-matched with clips of his other yakuza dramas and the viewer wouldn't be confused. But there was an obvious difference when switching between locales, a lapse. In general, the performances of the Americans felt, perhaps, a little more plastic. But regardless, I appreciated Brother as a film and don't hesitate talking about it among Kitano's other trademark yakuza films. Although he did verbally say he was not happy with the film, and would never film in America again, at least he tried, and now he knows. Hats off to the pioneer.
Directed by: Takeshi Kitano
Country of origin: Japan
Starring: Beat Takeshi, Aya Kokumai, Tetsu Watanabe, Ken Osugi
Music by: Joe Hisaishi
It was only appropriate for me to pair my viewing of HANA-BI with its sister film, Takeshi Kitano's subtle precursor Sonatine. The film is a very typical specimen of Kitano's signature works, involving many of the same themes, motifs, and techniques as most of his films, old and new. But Sonatine holds a special place in his filmography, marking the beginning of a new level of filmmaking that Kitano would begin to undertake. In his early films Violent Cop, Boiling Point, and even the atypical A Scene at the Sea, Kitano approached the very simplistic stories with very simplistic methods of editing and directing. Not to say that this was necessarily a bad thing; on the contrary, Kitano's earlier films were just as fresh to their audiences as his later gems were. But with those preceding three, in nearly all aspects of the film, Kitano took it easy, seeming to tread softly as he gained his footing in the world of screenwriting and directing. But in 1993, Sonatine debuted alongside a newfound sense of entitlement in Kitano's style. Sonatine had an intellectual story, one that relied less on surprising brutal violence and more on thematic methods of cinematic story telling. Although Kitano's signature touches (yakuza endeavors, established motifs, frequent comic relief) were still very much present, the film's purpose seemed more mature, in both its narrative and its general direction.
Innocent fun with an undeniably violent undertone
Sonatine is not a movie-goer's kind of movie. Like many of Kitano's films beyond Sonatine, the predominant message is not entirely clear. One would not necessarily understand the film if only the visuals and dialogue were taken into shallow account. Sonatine is not a Transformers or a Twilight; it's not a mindless film meant to thrill its viewers with cheap spectacles. It relies more on thematic elements like symbolism and subtle analogies to make its true points, and without the right approach, many may find Sonatine to be relatively bland. But on the contrary, the amount of meaning that exists behind those elements is astounding. Very much like HANA-BI, Sonatine has layers of possible interpretations. Words that best describe its approach may be ones like contemplative, methodic, and perhaps even avant garde. Sonatine has very little dialogue and relies more on quality acting and Hisaishi's score, which is like none other the master has ever composed. As seasoned yakuza Murakawa begins to tire of the gangster life, he takes advantage of a mission to Okinawa and decides to vacate his violent profession for the time being. Taking his men along with him, they settle down into a cottage on the beach and enjoy life for a few days. Sonatine is almost like a black comedy, Kitano reverting back to his gag roots. It seems to critique the lifestyle and morals that the yakuza practice by comparing them to childish games. Murakawa and the gang begin to have fun, playing with the frisbee, having a Sumo wrestling match, singing and dancing, and even having a Roman candle war. But amidst the obvious fun that the men are expressively having, there is an obvious presence of danger. A gun is nearly always involved in these games, typically being there for some sort of sadist, suicidal reason. The gunshots almost seem to act as music, as a different language. In the film's famous scene, Murakawa plays a game a Russian Roulette and beams as he pulls the trigger with the last chamber. There ends up being no bullets in the barrel at all, but he later dreamt about the ordeal, beaming as he pulled the trigger and killed himself. This sense of violence is present in each one of their childish games, but despite this, the audience laughs. Kitano masked this danger well, and because of that, something on screen that would normally make us cringe makes us smile. This is a feat that Kitano will continue to achieve in his films even today.
Sonatine's message seems very open to interpretation, and in the end I think the film means something different to each person. To me, the film was relaxing. With Hisaishi's child-like tone and the stoic jokes that make up the film's body, I found myself laughing and watching intently the entire time. But when the character that you grow so fond of are suddenly killed off, and Murakawa barely bats an eye, you and the protagonist are instantly transported back into the real, violent world. Kitano's Sonatine is eccentric, surprising, and new, and because of this it has become a cult classic in America, one of the 90's significant foreign arthouse classics. It seems to breathe a relaxed sense of life. It begins by establishing a tense tone of brutal violence and angry men seeking to vex their manliness. But upon arrival to the ocean, Kitano's ultimate signature motif, those inhibitions melt away and we are left with the mindset that is Sonatine. The word "sonatine" is itself a great definition of what the film stands for: "a piece of music containing shorter movements and demanding less technical aspects than a sonata". Sonatine is simple, and although its message will be vague for many, the film seeks to do nothing less than inspire its audience. The purpose is close to Kitano, the film seeming to be the incarnation of many deep thoughts of the auteur. Sonatine is a moving piece and the first great work of a master filmmaker.
Directed by: Takeshi Kitano
Country of origin: Japan
Starring: Beat Takeshi, Kayoko Kishimoto, Ken Osugi
Music by: Joe Hisaishi
Returning from my hiatus of college beginning once again, I thought it best to start out fresh with one of my favorite films, Takeshi "Beat" Kitano's HANA-BI, or Fireworks, as it was released in the United States. HANA-BI is considered the auteur Kitano's greatest film, covering a vast array of themes and conflicts and giving audiences the best showcase of exactly what "Beat" stands for as a director. Throughout his large list of works, Kitano has experimented with most mainstream Japanese genres; everything from dramas like HANA-BI and Kikujiro to art films like Dolls, and even verging to the avant garde with his "Existential Trilogy". Kitano is most known for his earlier films focusing on yakuza endeavors, which he, in one form or another, incorporates into each one of his movies. HANA-BI is no exception, only this time instead of playing a yakuza, Kitano plays the central role of a disgraced cop turned criminal, giving viewers something of an omniscient view over all of the films' context. HANA-BI is such a successful film because it delivers touches of drama, comedy, action, and a taste of Japanese values to a very unexposed American audience.
Shocked and bloodied Nishi
Kitano plays the central role of Nishi, a quiet retired cop with a troubled past. Violence and death have surrounded Nishi for his entire adult life, with regular violent run-ins with the yakuza, the murder of his old partner, the crippling of his best friend, and the sudden death of his five year old daughter. Needless to say, Nishi has much to be depressed about, and the once cool-mannered and just cop not only resigned his position as a policeman but also adopted a ruthless aggression. At the death of his partner, Nishi's stress overflowed and he emptied his gun into the corpse of the perpetrator. This sparked his downfall. On top of all of this, his wife is terminally ill and has only weeks to live. Nishi seems to contemplate this throughout the film, saying little to nothing but taking the time to stop and evaluate often, Kitano's trademark deadpan doing its trick. As we see this decorated retired cop involve himself with the yakuza, rob a bank, and brutally batter dozens of people, Kitano subtly asks us to decide whether Nishi is good or bad. Although his actions are shocking and immoral, he does everything for honest causes and consistently shows signs of the tenderness that he once possessed. He shares innocent jokes with the junkyard owner, his partner in crime of sorts. He stands up for his wife and tends to her in silent fashion. The audience cheers for the antihero Nishi, and we find ourselves laughing and empathizing with him even as he abruptly beats and kills people. In a nutshell, Nishi as a character is very complex, both intellectually and in regarding his past. We never really know what's going through his head, and even in the film's last seconds, when we think we have him figured out, the plot twists one last time.
One of many of Kitano's own painting featured in the film, symbolizing his real-life experiences
Like all of his films, HANA-BI is a very personal piece to Kitano. He wrote the screenplay while recovering from a traumatic motorcycle accident and also took up painting during his hiatus. The situation that the crippled detective Horibe finds himself in is in fact a parallel to Beat's own experience. The crash left half of his body paralyzed, thus leaving him trapped in a wheelchair for several months. When you look at the emotions that Horibe went through, you begin to realize how sad Kitano's life was at that point. Suicide was such a vivid motif throughout HANA-BI, and one can only come to wonder how prevalent the thought was inside Kitano's own head. But he did eventually rehabilitate and overcome his injury, and from it it seems as though he discovered one of life's true gifts, in his case his passion of painting. HANA-BI has such an array of symbols and hidden themes, critics could watch it time and time again and still find new layers of meaning. The gunshot resembling the sound of a firework, the firework resembling the shape of a vibrant flower, a flower symbolizing the purest, most beautiful form of life. The motifs go on, and dozens of conclusions can be drawn from the film's varied phases of emotions and particular visuals. Which is the right one? Well, perhaps none are wrong. After all, I firmly believe HANA-BI to be the direct translation of the mountain of thought and emotion that was built inside a lonely man. When Kitano was injured, people verbally doubted that he would ever return, but instead of an early retirement, he produced Fireworks. Like himself, Nishi was a broken man who was forced to act, and no matter the manner or consequence, he did what he had to do to meet his goals. This seems to be a motto to live by, and one that Takeshi constantly relies on throughout his works. To me HANA-BI is a veritable rainbow of messages and emotions and one of the finest pieces of modern Japanese cinema. I could sit here and write pages about what the film says and what it does to me as a viewer. Needless to say, Kitano's classic has reinvigorated me once again, and I'm all the more eager to jump back into some more spectacular cinema.
