Two film reviews

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07/04/2013

Two film reviews

This week, I opened a bottle of wine, kicked back and watched Black River (newly available in a Criterion Eclipse DVD set of director Masaki Kobayashi’s 1950s movies). Right from the jazzy, Saul Bass-esque opening credits, it was fresh and thrilling: a young Tatsuya Nakadai smouldering charismatically as a small-time yakuza; the fascination of its sleazy setting outside a post-war American army base. The script was superb: unlike most genre film, I had no idea what the characters would do next as the story developed apace. I was elated by both cinema artistry and alcohol when “The End” came up on the screen.

Last night I watched it again sober. Except for the setting, it was vastly ordinary, by turns shrill and turgid, borderline overacted, and directed with zero inspiration. Nakadai was still great, but his character is despicable. Although there were familiar points in the story, it turned out that I hadn’t registered many of the intervening scenes, including the cliché set-piece ending.

Watching films sober has to be better then watching them drunk. Except when it isn’t.

--Julian

Posted at 11:04 PM in Film, Japan, Memory Loss, Reviews | Permalink

Comments

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Some reviewers write their reviews drunk (or so I am told).

Robert Anton Wilson used to rewrite his books several times, once high, then straight, then high, then straight . . . rinse, lather, and repeat.

I have a hard enough time staying awake for most movies sober.

David

Posted by: David Cozy | 07/05/2013 at 09:44 PM

Might you have had the same reaction to watching a movie that is not on the level of, say, Tokyo Story, twice in such a short space of time even without the wine?

Posted by: Only a Blockhead | 07/06/2013 at 05:44 PM

You may have something there. But I was amazed by the difference in my reactions, and that it was almost as if I'd seen different films. I've never had such an experience before.

I remember now that there are cult movies that people went (still go?) to see stoned. Those films were usually less than stellar, but they had something. "Black River" has something. Perhaps I had a stoned-on-alcohol reaction to it the first time.

Julian

Posted by: Julian Bamford | 07/07/2013 at 03:03 PM

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Books David Finished in 2024

Pollack, Neal: Open Your Heart
This is the second, but I hope not the last, in Neal Pollack's Matt Bolster, yoga detective series. Now two out of the five yoga books that I've read are certifiably funny. If things keep going this way my whole image of yoga might change.
Conrad, Joseph: Outcast of the Islands
This is Joseph Conrad's second novel and the second in the Lingard trilogy. He's still finding his way to the power he displays in Heart of Darkness, but some of the tropical landscapes he paints in Outcast of the Islands are stunning.
Pollack, Neal: Downward-Facing Death
I've only read maybe three books about yoga in my life. Neal Pollack's Downward-Facing Death is by far the funniest. Okay, it's also the only one that was funny, but I enjoyed it so much that I look forward to the next installment in the series. Another plus for me is that it's set in Los Angeles, and I do have a thing for LA-based detective novels. (Pollack is funnier than Michael Connelly, too.)
Moore, Alan: The Great When: A Long London Novel
Alan Moore is best known and universally respected for his comic books. The movies made from his comic books have been successful and influential. He no longer writes comic books and has disavowed all the movies. His name has been removed from the credits and he has refused payment from the studios for some of them, so filthy does he view that lucre. With comics and movies largely off the table, he has turned his talents to fiction, and his writing is simply brilliant. Jerusalem remains his magnum opus and, really, one of the great novels of our time. His most recent, The Great When, the first of a trilogy, is also tremendous, though perhaps less ambitious. An analogy might be drawn with Thomas Pynchon's work: huge and hugely ambitious genre-defining and busting works interspersed with that Graham Greene might have called "entertainments." Like Pynchon, in all his novels of whatever scale, the play with language, the knowledge of history, the analysis of society, the humor, and sheer intelligence are always at the forefront. Who needs comics or movies when we have fiction like this? I'm looking forward to the rest of the trilogy.
Bioy-Casares, Adolfo: The Adventures of a Photographer in La Plata
I guess because the author is Latin American, readers and critics have felt compelled to invoke magical realism when discussing this novel, but the term is really not applicable, or if it is we would have to apply it to Candide as well. Like Voltaire's satire, this is the story of a young innocent making his way in the world. In this case, the world is La Plata, where the protagonist, a young photographer, is on assignment photographing the city. Adventures ensue. We read about them in short chapters, many of which would make fine short stories on their own. They are simple, but taken together amount to something more, just as the mirrors in a kaleidoscope, when the kaleidoscope is rotated, form themselves into new and ever-changing patterns. Did I mention that at novel's end the protagonist is presented with a kaleidoscope?
Connelly, Michael: The Narrows
The Poet, a set-up for The Narrows, was less than riveting but was necessary, I guess, for me to enjoy The Narrows as much as I did. The Narrows is one of the best in Connelly's Bosch series and ends with a cliffhanger in the long arc of Harry Bosch's life: Will he rejoin the LAPD?
Kang, Han: Human Acts
When a book wins a big literary prize, that pretty much guarantees that I won't read it, or at least that I won't read it until long after the hubbub around the prize dies down. Somehow, though, the things I heard about our newest Nobelist, Han Kang, and her work got me interested. Human Acts is the only one of Han Kang's works that I have read so far, so I have no idea if it is representative, but it falls so squarely into the category of littérature engagée (excuse the pretentious French, but the English version of that, "committed literature" just seems so clunky), that it's hard to believe that her other novels could be unengaged. The novel is about the Gwangju Massacre, when more than 2000 Koreans protesting were killed by the South Korean military while demonstrating in that town. In the wake of the killings, of course, the horrors didn't end: torture, rape, and further killings ensued. (Note that the number of those killed remains contentious in Korea, and those on the Korean right even deny that the massacre took place.) Han Kang's account of this, told from different perspectives and in different voices is a masterful reminder of these horrors. But is it just a novel about an atrocity that took place decades ago? As Kang writes: "'Gwangju' had become another name for whatever is forcibly isolated, beaten down, and brutalized, for all that has been mutilated beyond repair," for, that is, all the isolation, beating, and brutalization that is still going on. Given the state of the world today Han Kang has declined to take part in any celebration around her being awarded the Nobel Prize.
Ducornet, Rikki: The Monstrous and the Marvelous
I have long loved Rikki Ducornet's fiction. I now know that I am not so fond of her essays. Getting through these was a bit of a struggle, and involved some skimming here and there. And yet, in her essays, she is capable of passages like this: Great poetry has the ability to pare language down to the bones and to crack those bones wide open. What is revealed is the marrow of language, the Adamic clay of Dreamtime which when formed into words, spells worlds into being. Poetry is slaughter too: tender slaughter. It reaches for the palpitating heart of things, it seeds our dreams with a bloody hail.
Stevie Smith: A Very Pleasant Evening With Stevie Smith: Selected Short Prose
Like everyone else who's read it, I've always loved Stevie Smith's much-anthologized poem, "Not Waving but Drowning," but for some reason, that was all I'd read of Smith's work. I'm glad now to have spent a very pleasant evening—well, really a couple of commutes made very pleasant by her work—with a selection of Smith's short prose. Quentin Crisp describes Smith as a woman full of sweetness but without mercy," and that seems apt. She writes so appreciatively of the world—cats, childhood, suburbs, beaches—but her enjoyment includes their darker sides. She is funny, but often my reaction was, did she really just write that? Was I supposed to laugh there? Readers who like surprises that sneak up on them will enjoy Stevie Smith.
Connelly, Michael: The Poet
I've been reading my way through Michael Connelly's Harry Bosch series. Connelly also has a couple of other series going, and every so often, they intersect with the Bosch books. I picked up The Poet, which features a Colorado journalist, because it is, apparently, a prequel to the next book in the Bosch series. I didn't love it, and I won't read any non-Bosch-related books in the series. I look forward to getting back to Harry.

Books Julian Read Recently

Haruki Murakami: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Reading this, I learned that some people who run, cycle or swim competitively have elations, satisfactions and frustrations at the cost of excruciating pain in the striving to beat themselves and others. I enjoy cycling enough to average 600 benign kilometers a month, but the training for marathons and triathlons that Murakami describes is another world, alien and too often horrific: leg cramps, inability to walk, lingering depressions…. Ouch, no thanks! How different we exercise-seeking humans can be from one another! (**)
Marjane Satrapi: Persepolis
This powerfully illustrated graphic novel set in 1980s Iran is an account of growing up in a war-torn country, and, as a girl, under religious fundamentalism. And then, in a long coda, trying to navigate life in Europe as a young woman. The whole is devastating and moving. At the same time, it’s a truism that honesty unlocks hilarity, and there is rich humor to be found here in some of the darkest places. (***)
Alice McDermott: Absolution
In this absorbing novel, the wife of a US engineer dispatched to Vietnam in the Kennedy/Diem early 1960s recalls expat life centering on various attempts at altruism. It is masterful storytelling with vivid characters, inviting us to make up our own minds about how cynical or otherwise is one character’s description of that altruism as “a disappearing generation’s efforts at inconsequential good.”. (****)
Anne Enright: The Wren, The Wren
Why didn’t I get into this portrait of an Irish family/celebration of nature? The scattered structure: first person/third person? The dark places it sometimes went: self-harm; child abuse; animal abuse? Because it seemed the author was clearing a bunch of disparate good ideas out of her notebook? For this reader, in spite of its verve and sensitivity and surprise, it didn’t hang together or really go anyplace. (**)
Paul Lynch: Prophet Song
I don’t note books I don’t finish, but here’s an exception: a finely written account of a family facing totalitarianism and war. It was relentless: I continued reading as a training in empathy, but it was finally too upsetting to continue. The horror is knowing the events of the story are being lived in Ukraine, Palestine and anywhere migrants are in flight.
Chris Broad: Abroad in Japan
A serviceable entry in the foreigner-fish-out-of-water/my-adventures-learning-to-love-Japan genre. The UK author gives it a high taboo-word-per-page ratio, with some variants that must have arisen since I lived there ("Double fuck!"??). (**)
Barbara Kingsolver: Flight Behavior
An absorbing novel about an east-coast rural family and a surprise ecological event. Mesmerizing, entertaining, thought-provoking. (****)
Junot Diaz: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
A thrilling balls-to-the-wall account of a Dominican family in the US, and their prior life and later returns to the homeland, which – in its agony and ecstasy – is the real star of this tale. Laid back and electric, both. Superb. (First read 9 years ago, and almost totally forgotten.) (****)
Barbara Kingsolver: Pigs in Heaven
What a surprise: here are characters from Kingsolver’s debut "The Bean Trees," developed, deepened, facing life’s challenges, with the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma as a backdrop. A glorious marriage of hyper-realism and outrageous coincidence, this is top-notch socially conscious storytelling. (****)
Elizabeth Chatwin & Nicholas Shakespeare (Eds.): Under the Sun: The Letters of Bruce Chatwin
Letters carefully linked with background comment as necessary. There are also footnotes, sometime by the person addressed in the letter, expanding, explaining, and occasionally – when his wife Elizabeth – contradicting what was in a letter. Chatwin, gifted and complex, was a hard-working and compelling correspondent. The result here is a sensitively edited, enlightening account of a life both awe-inspiring and tragic. (***)

Books Mark read recently

Scanlan, Kathryn: The Dominant Animal: Stories
This is a book of super-short fiction. Of the 40 or so stories, most are less than two pages. Nothing in the writing here is beautiful or kind, but somehow I whizzed thought it all. Some stories leave out points that would have made them more accessible. What the heck happened? A lot of the stories end on a sudden whim of observation and leave one wanting to read more. Most of the stories focus on a negative experience with a male, with strange detail, and after finishing a story, I often wanted to take a hot shower to get clean. I did enjoy "Design for a Carpet" and "Mother's Teeth." (**)
Woodrell, Daniel: Woe to Live On: A Novel
Confederate soldiers on a journey to fight Yankees in Missouri and Kansas. Woodrell's voice in this novel is similar to Cormac McCarthy's. Lots of brutal killing and torture and the story seems to float along on southern dialog and an internal monologue of fear by the speaker. There are moments of occasional humanity, but for the most part the plot is a thin gruel of spilt blood, wandering, waiting, and revenge. (***)
Munro, Alice: Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage
There are three standout stories in this very fine collection by Alice Munro. She has a real knack for creating a variety of believable characters. The title story was my favorite: two teenagers pull a sour trick resulting in a surprising ending. In the story "Queenie" we see a young woman scrambling to make her way in the world, using a bad marriage as a way to make some progress. The final story, "The Bear Came Over the Mountain" veers off into occasional long-winded reflection, as one man struggles with the loss of his wife to Alzheimer's. Munro is a master story teller. (*****)
Waters, Sarah: Fingersmith
Sarah Waters: Fingersmith Such a good story: the get rich scheme of a handsome scoundrel twists and turns into... Two women in the story are quite duped into role playing. A lot of playful sex is talked about, but not much happens in the way of happiness or fulfillment. As always, Waters is right on target with the voices and the atmosphere in this London area thriller. (*****)
Barry, Sebastian: The Temporary Gentleman: A Novel
What a sad story. This novel takes place on the Gold Coast in Africa, where an Irish soldier/engineer recounts his life growing up near Galway and Sligo. Back and forth we go between Ireland and Africa. Like an unseen shadow, in Ireland, what slays the characters in this novel is alcohol. Back in Africa, the memories of the homeland, and the attempt at living again are equally daunting foes. Excellent story telling. (****)
Donna Tartt: The Little Friend
Donna Tartt's second novel does not disappoint. The story of a young girl, Harriet, who seeks to revenge the death of her brother, Robin. The backdrop is a small town in Mississippi, and the goings on of 4 or 5 sisters, whose lives all changed with the murder of young Robin; hung from a tree. Harriet wants to solve the mystery. Who killed him? She gathers clues, and encounters the wrath of the local druggies. Quite a page-turner, and like Tartts' other two novels almost nothing is left out or glossed over. There were times in the novel where I felt her writing fell short; places where I couldn't actually see what was happening from the writing, as is the case when she encounters the villainous brother, Danny Ratliff on top of the water tower. The writing perspective seemed off (who was where and when?) as a battle ensued. But one is so caught up in the narrative we read on and on. Also, who is the little friend who is suggested in the title? Harriet? Hey? Robin? I don't think it is the best title she could have thought of for such a wonderful and awful story. (****)
Strout, Elizabeth: Olive, Again: A Novel
A wonderful sequel to an earlier collection of stories, Olive Kitteridge. Clearly, Strout is a masterful writer; each of the characters in her stories I can see clearly in my mind. These stories span Olive's life from middle-age to old-age, with thoughtfulness, kindness, reflection, and regret. In a general way of summing up, this collection tells us that life sends us problems that are most times not of our own making-- and that we do our best with what we have to work with, and what we think is best to do at the time. The prevalence of loneliness that comes with old age is a dominant theme in the later stories here. Read this book. (*****)
Strout, Elizabeth: Olive Kitteridge
It's been more than a few years since I first read this wonderful collection of stories. As a prelude to reading her next collection, Olive, Again, I read these stories again. Wonderful insight into a community in Crosby, Maine and how they encounter each other. Henry and Olive Kitteridge function as the main characters, and each story includes them if in even a small way. Prior to my second reading, my favorite story was The Piano Player, but this time I enjoyed Incoming Tide most. Her stories can veer into a local gossipy mode, yet there is always tension lurking in the next sentence. (*****)
Alan Hollinghurst: The Folding Star: A Novel
Edward Manners goes to Belgium to teach English to two boys who are getting below average marks in high school. When not teaching, he helps out at a museum focused on a Jewish painter who was hidden from the Nazis during WWII. Manners falls in love with one of his students, and a lively adventure ensues as Manners undertakes to seduce him. The narrative is fun, at times cynical of gay life, and there is a lot of sex. One also learns a good deal of personal history of growing up in post-war England and Belgium. Hollinghurst is a brilliant writer, and I learned many new words. (*****)
Alison Moore: The Pre-War House and Other Stories
After reading the Booker Prize nominated The Lighthouse, I was excited to read this earlier collection of 24 short stories from Alison Moore. They are a little underwhelming; as if written by a grad student. Moore is great at creating tension and awkward scenes. She is an artist when painting a picture of place and atmosphere. Some stories are creepy, and one longs for a hot bath. However, I found them to be a bit formulaic. By the third or fourth story, I was keeping my eyes open for the one clue in the narrative that I would return to in climactic ending sentences. I like Moor's sparse style, and I will read more of her work (written after The Lighthouse) in the future. (***)

Films Julian Watched Recently

The Great Escaper
An aged veteran makes his way to a WWII remembrance ceremony in France, while his wife relives her own traumatic wartime on the home front. This modest film -- acted with commitment -- builds toward the suggestion that war is a tragic waste. Humanitarian propaganda of the best sort. Tissues mandatory. (Theater) (****)
d: Tran Anh Hung: The Taste of Things (2023)
France, the late 1800s: food is prepared in a manor house kitchen to the level of art. It’s a look – awe-inspiring and sometimes amusing -- into the world of the gourmand, set in the context of a bracing love story. Just as cooking can’t be rushed, the movie takes its time, but -- in editing, camerawork, soundtrack, dialog, performances -- it mesmerizes. (DVD) (****)
d: Wim Wenders: Perfect Days
This tale of days in the life of a Tokyo blue-collar worker makes a credible stab at the perhaps impossible task of depicting the extraordinary within the ordinary. Rich. Insightful. Life-affirming. And I learned to empathize with people and places I normally ignore, so there was that, too. (*****)
Killers of the Flower Moon
The 1920s: the oil-rich Osage Nation Reservation in Oklahoma is awash with con-artists trying to grift a piece of the action. And the murders begin... The acting is powerful: De Niro and Lily Gladstone are effectively subdued, leaving the histrionics to DiCaprio. Every frame of the bloated running time adds to the atmosphere, but a more disciplined director than Scorsese could have brought this story in at a reasonable 2 hours, saving the excess for a director’s cut or TV version. As it is, the initial horror is unrelenting and exhausting, making you wonder if you want to continue through the 206 (count ‘em; we did) minutes. (Streaming) (***)
Oppenheimer
This story of the man and the weapon is told with flair and imagination. It’s shattered into fragments of time and space for added mystery, suspense, impact and sometimes irony. Surprising and sometimes shocking. (I avoided the 3hrs-no-intermission at the theater, so was glad to see it on DVD.) (***)

Things NC Consumed Recently

F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Great Gatsby
More than forty years on since my last reading, this classic novel is remarkable not so much for its romantic longings as for its emphasis on American violence, its depiction of a country in which California hardly matters and its meeting of the Mid West and East Coast. Plus its succinct nine chapters, its elegant prose and its almost noirish tone: Tom breaking Myrtle's nose would seem to foreshadow Lee Marvin throwing hot coffee in Gloria Grahame's face in The Big Heat - and the use of flashbacks helps too. I'd like to thank the publicity for the recent film version and my current cold for sending me back to the novel (and my young self).
Isabelle Eberhardt
In 1904, Isabelle Eberhardt drowned in the desert, leaving behind, among other things, various writings in French (a novel, travel notes, a journal, short stories), Islam, Lake Geneva, a husband, debauchery in kif, sex and alcohol, and a small collection of male clothing, which she wore habitually, along with her man's name. The lazy say she was an early hippie, because of her nomadic, hedonistic life, and being the first one to die at 27. Lindqvist has her in a line from Villon, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Celine and Genet. Her story can only get stranger and more fascinating. "In The Shadow of Islam", "The Passionate Nomad", "The Oblivion Seekers" and Annette Kobak's biography are one way in. You'll find there an apt fatal romanticism for vast desert spaces and a depiction of Islam to ponder. Among other things.
Listen to Britain - Humphrey Jennings
Terence Davies is surely right to say Listen to Britain is in part an attempt to define the nation on the eve of its being invaded. But that invasion never came. A little prematurely, Humphrey Jennings's film records what left later, with something messier, less defined usurping through the back door. Terence Davies is surely right to say Listen to Britain is one of the greatest things these islands have produced.
Patience (After Sebald)
Grant Gee's documentary uses a palette of pale black and white, maps and talking heads to comment on W.G. Sebald's The Rings of Saturn, an account of his walk through Suffolk. Unlike the book, where a variety of genres (and photographs) coheres to make a recognisable whole, the film suffers slightly from a lack of direction. It is too specific to serve as an introduction and lacks an overriding arc that might describe a thesis. However, with its archival footage, interviews with the author and shots of the route taken, it is essential viewing for those already in thrall to all things Sebaldian - even if the ending, alas, veers close to Conan Doyle and fairies-in-the-garden territory.