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10/10
The Dead Sun
30 September 2006
Warning: Spoilers
The main achievement of this film is that though racially unipolar, the film still manages to carve out a tableaux of war portrayals that leave a lasting identification with whoever may view it, and whoever was present at this time. Though good films may have the ability of universalizing their subjects, which is often a hard thing to do; great films have the ability of universalizing their unipolar subjects, which is what this film does.

Instead of carving a context of unity, the film depicts the Japanese in the sick finality of the Phillipines war-front in February, 1945, making signs for pacifism or war, but rather making signs of the feelings, death, destruction, victory and sickness of war with the bloody hands of the defeated. Far different, and superior, to films such as Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket, both which needed a satirical methodology of trivializing and depersonalizing the American troupes, and using all races as one struggle, which is fine, yet not as grand as a film that uses one race and view, which would look fascist if created in America, to convey the horror of war and show what it is really like.

The only way the main character makes it through this movie to the end, is by being sick, thence inedible; hence through this character, through his sickness, his saving face, we see the end of WWII in the Phillipines in February of 1945, and the way in which the Americans, Japanese and Phillipinians came together in bloody acts of warfare where you live to die.

The film is patently influenced by a neorealist way of filmic portrayal, which is original and beneficial to a viewer, whether then or now, for the neorealist techniques it employs conveys all the horrors of war in pictorial form, whether a showcase for pacifism or 'militaristic responsibility'. Like Germania Anno Zero, by Roberto Rossellini, a story emerges from the environment and the conditions associated with it.

The film's opening, with the two-way discussion between the two Japanese soldiers, prefigures and reechoes the events. Through this opening we feel that the struggle is human against human, and human with human; it shows that they relied on each other to face the enemy in the past battles, but now, in this opening, or 'pivot' of the experiences of the Japanese in the Phillipines, new information is relayed to the main character Tamura, giving a presentiment of a cannibal reliance on one another if they wish to survive.

The jungle is gritty, wet and thick, and the sky is not infrequently cloudy and pouring. We wade with the stragglers though puddles and marshes, as sick as the land around them. Nameless cadavers are strewn everywhere. Every now and then one can not tell if they are bodies, rocks or corn. Apparently there is no difference here, all is dead and sick. All is dying. All they have lest to feed upon are rare monkeys and dead bodies of fallen comrades and/or nameless enemies.

Often Tamura meets a fallen other near death. Though crushed in spirit, and crushing his, some offer up their bodies for him to eat, but he refuses; he still, like Hiroshi Kawaguchi as Nishi in Giants and Toys, will not droop into the death of dignity and Japanese morals; for this is all he really has to hold up for his survival, a dignity of self. Hence, when Nagamatsu is dissecting a soldier for consumption, he shoots him because of it. Tamura may be used to the killing, but to the sickness of killing and pillaging he can't decipher. He is neither a good man or a bad man. He wishes to survive, but will not go the extra mile beyond simple straight-war-killing. His self belonged dead on the battlefield, he isn't happy here to wade and wipe the weak for his survival.

The sickness he carrys he sees everywhere, in everyone; and sadly he lacks the ethical rationale of thinking either thinking entirely about others, since he can't give up his body for them since of his contagious malady, or thinking entirely about himself, since he sees the sickness in everyone, though still killing them even if they do no harm. Seen in his attack on the two Philippians's in the hut. He can't see anyone. No one can see anyone. The only see an aversion from malady and an adversion to health, the heart of survival instincts.

Often, an arm appears pointing to the left of the screen, towards what must be hope, for there, in that far Thule lies their freedom. Yet it is blocked by American soldiers, leaving the Japanese stragglers to slowly die in this disconsolate dirt. Even a church tower appears, reflecting the light off an unseen sun. But on closer inspection crows flutter wildly about it; religion too is an air of poison.

Nobi, the Japanese title of the film, gives more evidence to the themes, or feelings of the film: the servitude to fate, the heaviness of existence under leaders and lives controlled by others. Its proper Anglophone translation has a subject of heavy debate among historians, as non-Koreans translate it as "slave" and "slavery", while many Koreans argue that nobi was not a slave system, but a servant class system that does not meet the criteria for slavery. A way to typically to escape wrenching poverty. This improves upon the war theme, and symbolism of soldiery.

Isn't it important at the time period to ask ourselves what the purpose is of what will become our won history? Should we be comfortable of letting it unroll without conscious effort for change? Is it not who we are fighting, that age old history question, but rather why are we fighting? Fires on the Plain is with Eiji Funakoshi, Osamu Takizawa, and Mickey Curtis; based on a novel by Shohei Ooka. In Japanese with subtitles.
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Portrait of the inevitability of dreams
22 September 2006
Director Kinji Fukasaku was a champion for Japans post-war youth, posing and protesting why they were exploited so by business and government alike. It's easy to see the context in which the film is based. After WW2, Japan's youth were often disadvantaged in opportunities, whether in education, family or simply rootlessness; and from this felt discouraged. The government zoned in on this and ushered a lot of juveniles into cities such as Tokyo, where the film is based, to fuel the growing, yet still unstable economy. And so we have our context.

Imagine four Johnny Boys from Scorsese's mean Streets. Imagine them on a road to establish their own careers in what was still a fragile lower class and an envious one at that, especially if they were to establish their own independence. Would you think them to succeed? The economy dropped, and our flint five, jobless and impecunious, are hoarding themselves up in their old post-bust warehouse. They lack inspiration, they lack ideas. Their 'nook' in the workforce that was promised to them by the Government has morphed into a ditch. At this point, and since they are exited from their shanty condominium, we would expect them to become like the yakuzas of a Miike film, destroying themselves. And they do, yet they destroy themselves through their dreams. It's this that is the powerful theme that Fukasaku injects into our ruddy faces: that the impuissant, though they may dream of success, when on the road to it will destroy themselves inevitably and possibly only one will live the dreams of the outcasts he slipped from.

When one hits upon a plan- that they are able to create their own nook in the workforce by purchasing a truck if each of them labors for it, becoming their own bosses, deleting the dust around their trodden existence, we see hope with their eyes and wait for the purchasing of 'Independence 1' and ride with their eagerness.

But Johnny Boys they are, and their low brows are the voracious magnets for obstacles unhoppable: one falls into jail, another is cut-down by the police and the third becomes to much of a gynophiliac. Only two are left with their goal completed. Was all worthwhile? They dreamed. They tried. They faced adversity. They were willing to destroy themselves for one another. But is this what Fukasaku is aiming his camera for? To simply make a statement of will? No, in the end the two are weighed down by what has amounted to be their destiny from all their friends failings; they are left waiting for the tidal wave. The two do not jump for joy like the door-porter in Murnau's 'The Last Laugh', as he wears his suit which gives him worth, but simply feel destroyed and useless still.

He has made a statement about inevitability: it is not only that the youth should will, but that the government should be willing to help them, otherwise we are left 'with kids raised to die'.

Though Fukasaku is aligned in his film-making to the New Wave, with his editing styles, gangster stories and even Godardian tales of youth-here the cinematography of Takamoto Ezure, whether or not by order from Fukasuku, with it's jaunty angles, tempo-like movements and the montage and editing, reading like a New Wave piece, makes it unnecessarily seem like we are riding with their destruction for the Freanch pleasure of the site itself. This is wholly inadequate, for what Fukasaku seemed to really be trying to do was make a crashing impact of social brutality and lacrimation at what may be recurring social forces, how the failings repeat themselves, again and again. He fails here, and by watching it seems more like the crashing impact of the car crash at the end of Godards' Le Mepris, a statement about film. We can't get past the dolly droll of stylizations to the simplistic, raw statement that was so near to cinematic disclosure. Instead it reads like Pierre Belmondo and Anna Karenina in a Godard film, colorful sticky tape stuck upon the day with no mind for the day after tomorrow, holding up a line of stylized celluloid sunglasses for our pleasure.

However, it comes down to the viewer to gain something from a film, and if you watch this you will see and feel the social discussions I have talked about. They may or may not affect you strongly, since the film is muddled and confused, ununified- yet the story exists, it is strong. The celluloid exists, it is stylistic.
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Strike (1925)
7/10
An agitprop, art and directorial age-defining work.
31 August 2006
Warning: Spoilers
Highly Recommended

Strike was the first film of one of the early masters of cinema, Sergei Eisenstein, of the Russian formalist school. This film as a debut is as important as Citizen Kain by Welles, both featuring novel directorial methods. This film captures the soul in the world of pre-dictatorship Russia, portraying it in utmost experimentation with inter-cutting, expanded time sequences, editing and most especially, his montage techniques.

The story itself is basic in plot, yet of great magnitude in theme: the exploitation of hard workers by the lazy cigar-smoking bourgeoisie. The story is set in a pre-dictatorship town where, in a industrial factory, a man is accused of stealing a micrometer. The man, though innocent, is to be fired so he commits suicide out of escape from the stigma of being a thief, leaving a note behind to his fellow comrades declaring his innocence and also some deplorative statements about the ruling class. This sets off a few other incidents which lead to the inevitable slaughter of the workers at the hands of the police.

This film, though not tied together in as much unity as Battleship Potemkin(1925), with it's consistency of technique, purpose and vision, still shows unique signs of an original director and thinker of cinema, who was not concerned about the straight material that the camera received, but how it changes through a formulation process into parallel images, hieroglyphic symbols and conceptions themselves. Though living in the USSR and his themes being 'communist', or agitprop in nature, his techniques often surpass his material and make for necessary viewing to anyone who is a film buff, directorial hope-to-be-er, Russian historian or, activist.

A superb piece of theme depiction, directorial work, agitprop and art in general.
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Persona (1966)
Touches wordless secrets only cinema can touch
24 August 2006
Persona, the modern masterpiece, is quitessential to modern art and generic society, in rank with such modernist classics as Joyce's Ullysses and Picasso's cubist period. It is a film about film, a first person statement from film itself, made from the great Ingmar Bergman in his ivory tower and isolated country.

Though having no conventional plot and narration, their is at least an overlying subtext to go by. An actor, Elisabet Volget, while acting Electra in a play at once ceases to talk and respond to anyone, neither to strangers and to her husband, Mr Volget. The psychiatric ward of the hospital admits her in, though it is patent to the staff that she is not mentally deranged, but rather simply shutting off. A DoKtor asks a newly graduated nurse, Alma(Bibi Anderson), to take her to a beach house in the country, where she may be able to recuperate from the urban, psychological and compacted world from which she has fled into her inner self. There, they catch themselves in a web of themselves, and identity itself is questioned.
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