Why Don’t You Play In Hell? (2013)
Dir: Sion Sono
SIFF 2014 Film #3
I find it hard to believe Sion Sono’s claim that Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is based on a 15-year-old screenplay, which would originate it in 1998. There are so many parts of Why Don’t You Play in Hell? that steal from other films that came in the 2000s, to the point that it’s hard to believe they weren’t influences on even the first draft.
Why Don’t You Believe in Hell? is divided into three sections: about 10 years ago, the present, and the finale. About 10 years ago, we’re introduced to The Fuck Bombers, who are a bunch of teens whose dream in life is to make movies. They film using 8mm, and happen upon a fourth friend who liked to play as the Yakuza. But, they make him into a Bruce Lee story. We’re also introduced to Mitsuko, the daughter of a major Yakuza boss, Muto. Muto has been targeted by a competing boss, but all the assassins were foiled by Muto’s wife. The wife is jailed for killing the assassins and creating chaos, while Muto kills the competing Yakuza boss, letting a younger assassin take over.
In the present, Muto is trying to get Mitsuko into the movie business, while the competition is trying to assassinate Muto (again) and The Fuck Bombers haven’t become a success, and Mitsuko runs away and gets a guy to be her pretend boyfriend for the day. All these stories interweave in a way that can easily be imagined, but is still fun to play out, and ends with an anarchic blowout that is amazing!
The main problem with Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is that it is 127 minutes long, and completely drags in the middle acts of the film. The tangles of the movie just get overbearing with scenes that ultimately don’t even matter, and the film could stand with 20-30 minutes of the movie being chopped, easily. As a 90-100 minute grindhouse explosion, this would be a blast. But, at the full 127 minutes, the movie just has too heavy a middle, and cannot sustain its established pacing.
The minor problem is that Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is a complete ode to Kill Bill and the movies of Takeshi Miike. There are fountains of blood, beheadings, dismemberment, and various other fun bits of ultraviolence. It’s very self-conscious about it too, with the score taking a lot of themes from the other movies, especially that of Santa Esmerelda’s “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” which played so heavily a role in Kill Bill Vol 1. Sion Sono is doing nothing interesting with the references, and is merely stealing the scenes and themes outright.
That being said…Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is really fun when it is fun. For all it’s pacing problems, and even in spite of (or because of) the rip off elements, Sion Sono knows how to turn on the insanity and make a compelling image. His visuals are frequently stunning (even when they’re ripped off from Tarantino and Miike), and the movie is completely hilarious. It feels like a snotty punk riff on the genres which while not entirely fresh is still fun as hell.
Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is recommended for a lot of Japanese insanity reasons, but you may need to keep the fast forward button handy in order to skim past the scenes that don’t matter, of which there are plenty. In fact, just watch the opening act, and the final sequences and trust that the middle was middling.
Showing posts with label Japanese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japanese. Show all posts
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
House (1977): When the Kitchen Sink technique works
House (aka Hausu) (1977)
dir: Nobuhiko Obayashi
In a traditional sense, nothing about House should work. It's a horror movie for kids that is all about love, loss and vampirism. As a film, it uses every single technique that had been invented by that time, and created new ones just for its own humor. It never really holds its attention on any one topic for any length of time, yet creates a hallucinatory throughline story. Yet, House is one of the craziest, most entertaining, balls-out films that works on weird hallucinatory levels as well as ridiculously high camp.
House tells the story of Gorgeous, whose father is about to remarry years after her mother passed away. Because he botched the introduction of his daughter and new wife, his daughter rebels and decides to spend her vacation with her aunt in some far off town. Her 6 friends have also recently learned they cannot go to a training camp due to a pregnant innkeeper, and choose to go with her.
Her aunt, living all alone in the middle of the country, greets them with open arms. Except that she is a vampiric witch, and employs both the house and all of the objects within it, in order to kill any unmarried females who dare to step within its walls. Auntie feeds off their life, and exchanges bodies and spirits so that she has possession of their identity as well.
What would normally be a relatively straightforward story of girls in peril, with a tragic backstory, turns into a child-like hallucinatory horror movie that comes off like a nightmare version of Sesame Street on acid. Much like Sesame Street's shorts, Obayashi uses everything under the sun to convey a child's heightened emotionality as well as blunter sense of the world. There's split frames, frames within frames, irises, deep focus, natural settings, matte backgrounds, blue screen, silent film, black and white, stop motion, practical effects, frame coloring, drawing on the frame, animation, slow motions, speed-ups, smash cuts, musical numbers...the list of everything that is in House is practically a compendium of cinematic techniques that were available at the time. A use of a few of those techniques go a long way, but House dares to include all of them.
That's not to say that the effects were all successful. Obayashi intended for the movie to look like a child's playtime machinations, with a sense that this isn't a mature adult making mature a movie for adults but a child communicating a child's experience. This child is explaining that she has a fear of a variety of things, including futons, pianos, clocks, reflections, cats, adults, and watermelons.
In order to properly enter this world, and take it as it wants to be taken, the viewer must turn himself into a child and turn off their preconceived notions of what a film actually should be like. Watching the film as an adult expecting a straightforward horror movie filled with adult creeping terrors around the corner is quickly obliterated by the opening, where a blue line outlines a box in the frame, and the cartoonish title treatment speaks the name "House" before eating you.
This type of whimsy continues through an opening scene where our heroine, Gorgeous, meets her stepmother. The scene seems like it is in the balcony of a spacious and stylish apartment with a matte painting backdrop of a setting sun makes it more 1980s Moonlighting than actually resembling a realist movie set. Any pretense at being realistic is dropped soon after when her new stepmother floats in from the side, with an invisible wind making her hair and her scarf trail her. It's heightened drama and setting, but it's so effective at setting a dreamy atmosphere that when we get to the schoolyard scenes that follow, the realism is drastically jarring. The school scenes are filmed in a style most reminiscent of any 1970s back to school special.
Given Obayashi's background in advertising, it's no surprise that House is as impeccable as it is inconceivable. The framing of the scene from the left with a giant pair of lips haunting the girls is stunning and amateur both. It's just off center, with the lips being the center of a frame that seems to have moved off to the left. The various odd sources of lighting are too hot in certain areas (notably the girl's butt), but still dramatic and creepy in the realm of the classical noirs. Compare that to the earlier frame of the head in the well, where the matte painting background gives everything an illusion of deepest focus, and the whole frame is lit and filmed like a classical watercolor painting. Which looks completely different to the neo-realist schoolyard scenes which feature no matte paintings and seem to even use a different film stock. Etc. But, they're all impeccably used, in an amateurish manner.
House doesn't have any pretense about being anything other than a film about 7 young girls in danger. Sure, it has some cultural allusions WWII and the bomb, and how the older generation is trying to cope with a younger generation who knows absolutely nothing about that earlier war and the destruction that was wrecked upon Japan as a result. From a child's perspective, though, that means nothing and the real source of fear are in the odd objects of the house. This is an art object. It's an experience. You're meant to laugh with it, and be scared by it. It's comedic, horrific, childlike and silly. But, most of all, it's different. This is primarily for experiencing something you haven't experienced since Sesame Street, put into a horror movie. It's an astounding film.
dir: Nobuhiko Obayashi
In a traditional sense, nothing about House should work. It's a horror movie for kids that is all about love, loss and vampirism. As a film, it uses every single technique that had been invented by that time, and created new ones just for its own humor. It never really holds its attention on any one topic for any length of time, yet creates a hallucinatory throughline story. Yet, House is one of the craziest, most entertaining, balls-out films that works on weird hallucinatory levels as well as ridiculously high camp.
House tells the story of Gorgeous, whose father is about to remarry years after her mother passed away. Because he botched the introduction of his daughter and new wife, his daughter rebels and decides to spend her vacation with her aunt in some far off town. Her 6 friends have also recently learned they cannot go to a training camp due to a pregnant innkeeper, and choose to go with her.
Her aunt, living all alone in the middle of the country, greets them with open arms. Except that she is a vampiric witch, and employs both the house and all of the objects within it, in order to kill any unmarried females who dare to step within its walls. Auntie feeds off their life, and exchanges bodies and spirits so that she has possession of their identity as well.
What would normally be a relatively straightforward story of girls in peril, with a tragic backstory, turns into a child-like hallucinatory horror movie that comes off like a nightmare version of Sesame Street on acid. Much like Sesame Street's shorts, Obayashi uses everything under the sun to convey a child's heightened emotionality as well as blunter sense of the world. There's split frames, frames within frames, irises, deep focus, natural settings, matte backgrounds, blue screen, silent film, black and white, stop motion, practical effects, frame coloring, drawing on the frame, animation, slow motions, speed-ups, smash cuts, musical numbers...the list of everything that is in House is practically a compendium of cinematic techniques that were available at the time. A use of a few of those techniques go a long way, but House dares to include all of them.
That's not to say that the effects were all successful. Obayashi intended for the movie to look like a child's playtime machinations, with a sense that this isn't a mature adult making mature a movie for adults but a child communicating a child's experience. This child is explaining that she has a fear of a variety of things, including futons, pianos, clocks, reflections, cats, adults, and watermelons.
In order to properly enter this world, and take it as it wants to be taken, the viewer must turn himself into a child and turn off their preconceived notions of what a film actually should be like. Watching the film as an adult expecting a straightforward horror movie filled with adult creeping terrors around the corner is quickly obliterated by the opening, where a blue line outlines a box in the frame, and the cartoonish title treatment speaks the name "House" before eating you.
This type of whimsy continues through an opening scene where our heroine, Gorgeous, meets her stepmother. The scene seems like it is in the balcony of a spacious and stylish apartment with a matte painting backdrop of a setting sun makes it more 1980s Moonlighting than actually resembling a realist movie set. Any pretense at being realistic is dropped soon after when her new stepmother floats in from the side, with an invisible wind making her hair and her scarf trail her. It's heightened drama and setting, but it's so effective at setting a dreamy atmosphere that when we get to the schoolyard scenes that follow, the realism is drastically jarring. The school scenes are filmed in a style most reminiscent of any 1970s back to school special.
Given Obayashi's background in advertising, it's no surprise that House is as impeccable as it is inconceivable. The framing of the scene from the left with a giant pair of lips haunting the girls is stunning and amateur both. It's just off center, with the lips being the center of a frame that seems to have moved off to the left. The various odd sources of lighting are too hot in certain areas (notably the girl's butt), but still dramatic and creepy in the realm of the classical noirs. Compare that to the earlier frame of the head in the well, where the matte painting background gives everything an illusion of deepest focus, and the whole frame is lit and filmed like a classical watercolor painting. Which looks completely different to the neo-realist schoolyard scenes which feature no matte paintings and seem to even use a different film stock. Etc. But, they're all impeccably used, in an amateurish manner.
House doesn't have any pretense about being anything other than a film about 7 young girls in danger. Sure, it has some cultural allusions WWII and the bomb, and how the older generation is trying to cope with a younger generation who knows absolutely nothing about that earlier war and the destruction that was wrecked upon Japan as a result. From a child's perspective, though, that means nothing and the real source of fear are in the odd objects of the house. This is an art object. It's an experience. You're meant to laugh with it, and be scared by it. It's comedic, horrific, childlike and silly. But, most of all, it's different. This is primarily for experiencing something you haven't experienced since Sesame Street, put into a horror movie. It's an astounding film.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Paprika (2006): A Tale of Two Cities, With a Little Bit of Spice
Paprika (2006)
Dir: Satoshi Kon
The final finished movie of the late, great, Satoshi Kon was 2006's Paprika, a film exploring the space between what are considered to be polar opposites: reality and dreams. It was a continuation of Kon's fascination of the spaces between, as well as what perception is to reality, as he previously explored in Perfect Blue and Millennium Actress. Kon, as always, is also fascinated with the exploration of film itself, and the storytelling devices within, including meta-filmmaking, and what it means to make a meta film.
The title character Paprika is a dream-world alternate persona created by the psychiatrist Dr. Chiba for use during dream sessions with her patients. Where Dr. Chiba is a serious woman with black hair and a stern, professional demeanor, Paprika is a redhead with bright clothing and a chipper demeanor. Using a new device called the DC Mini, Dr. Chiba is able to insert herself into her patients' dreams to analyze them and to create a deeper connection.
Somebody has stolen a few extra DC Minis, and is using them to start penetrating even the waking conscious of anybody who has used the DC Mini at any point to pull them into a singular dream world. That dream world is a chaotic parade of toys, technology, and symbols marching to...somewhere, absorbing and destroying any and all of the participants that it brings into its reality. Now, Dr. Chiba, her boss, and Dr Tokita, the inventor of the DC Mini, must figure out who stole the DC Minis, and stop them from taking over the minds of the world.
Of course, that description barely even scratches the surface of what Paprika does, which is float in between reality, dream world, the internet and cinema with a reckless abandon that is breathtakingly fluid. The relative straightforwardness of the plot is just a device on which Kon hangs his favorite obsessions. He opens the movie with a dream collage based in several different movies establishing a detective character and patient through his recurring nightmare. Then, it flows right into a dream-like reality opening credits sequence where Paprika breaks all the laws of reality as the credits are projected onto the reality of the buildings.
Kon's obsessions with where real life ends and our perception begins causes the worlds to beat and bash at each other throughout the movie, creating an almost hallucinatory sense of what is actually being put on screen. Which is exactly what the medium of animation should be used for: to create a fully integrated world where reality isn't what it could be. Like Spirited Away, the animation used in Paprika creates a fictional world where it feels like anything can happen.
Kon's intentions is purely to have fun and a nightmare world is part of that fun. If you're frightened, grossed out, offended...it's all part of the game that Kon plays with his audience. Those feelings are the opposite of the light-hearted, carefree feeling that much of the film creates. All of this adds to the themes of opposites - old vs young, new vs old, technology vs luddite, dreams vs reality, man vs woman, good vs evil, fat vs skinny, mental vs physical, life vs death, etc. - that Kon injects throughout Paprika. Even in the parade, old fashioned Japanese toys mix with robots, and refrigerators lead the dolls. Kon seems to be calling for the new Japanese culture that has been brewing since before the '00s to not completely reject the old Japanese culture it seems intent on ousting. What Kon wants is a culture that is based in the new but doesn't forget the old, and has a bit of a twist to it all in order to make things original.
Paprika is a movie to obsess over. There's a lot of information to process the first time through as you're being pulled in and out of the various worlds that Kon creates. It's a hell of a lot of fun too. It's only flaw is a single use of bizarre sexual violence to create a feeling of violation, but even that seems to be about emotional wreckage more than evil dudes just being evil. Leaving that little bit out, it is an excellent mind trip of a movie that remains Kon's most accomplished work.
Dir: Satoshi Kon
The final finished movie of the late, great, Satoshi Kon was 2006's Paprika, a film exploring the space between what are considered to be polar opposites: reality and dreams. It was a continuation of Kon's fascination of the spaces between, as well as what perception is to reality, as he previously explored in Perfect Blue and Millennium Actress. Kon, as always, is also fascinated with the exploration of film itself, and the storytelling devices within, including meta-filmmaking, and what it means to make a meta film.
The title character Paprika is a dream-world alternate persona created by the psychiatrist Dr. Chiba for use during dream sessions with her patients. Where Dr. Chiba is a serious woman with black hair and a stern, professional demeanor, Paprika is a redhead with bright clothing and a chipper demeanor. Using a new device called the DC Mini, Dr. Chiba is able to insert herself into her patients' dreams to analyze them and to create a deeper connection.
Somebody has stolen a few extra DC Minis, and is using them to start penetrating even the waking conscious of anybody who has used the DC Mini at any point to pull them into a singular dream world. That dream world is a chaotic parade of toys, technology, and symbols marching to...somewhere, absorbing and destroying any and all of the participants that it brings into its reality. Now, Dr. Chiba, her boss, and Dr Tokita, the inventor of the DC Mini, must figure out who stole the DC Minis, and stop them from taking over the minds of the world.
Of course, that description barely even scratches the surface of what Paprika does, which is float in between reality, dream world, the internet and cinema with a reckless abandon that is breathtakingly fluid. The relative straightforwardness of the plot is just a device on which Kon hangs his favorite obsessions. He opens the movie with a dream collage based in several different movies establishing a detective character and patient through his recurring nightmare. Then, it flows right into a dream-like reality opening credits sequence where Paprika breaks all the laws of reality as the credits are projected onto the reality of the buildings.
Kon's obsessions with where real life ends and our perception begins causes the worlds to beat and bash at each other throughout the movie, creating an almost hallucinatory sense of what is actually being put on screen. Which is exactly what the medium of animation should be used for: to create a fully integrated world where reality isn't what it could be. Like Spirited Away, the animation used in Paprika creates a fictional world where it feels like anything can happen.
Kon's intentions is purely to have fun and a nightmare world is part of that fun. If you're frightened, grossed out, offended...it's all part of the game that Kon plays with his audience. Those feelings are the opposite of the light-hearted, carefree feeling that much of the film creates. All of this adds to the themes of opposites - old vs young, new vs old, technology vs luddite, dreams vs reality, man vs woman, good vs evil, fat vs skinny, mental vs physical, life vs death, etc. - that Kon injects throughout Paprika. Even in the parade, old fashioned Japanese toys mix with robots, and refrigerators lead the dolls. Kon seems to be calling for the new Japanese culture that has been brewing since before the '00s to not completely reject the old Japanese culture it seems intent on ousting. What Kon wants is a culture that is based in the new but doesn't forget the old, and has a bit of a twist to it all in order to make things original.
Paprika is a movie to obsess over. There's a lot of information to process the first time through as you're being pulled in and out of the various worlds that Kon creates. It's a hell of a lot of fun too. It's only flaw is a single use of bizarre sexual violence to create a feeling of violation, but even that seems to be about emotional wreckage more than evil dudes just being evil. Leaving that little bit out, it is an excellent mind trip of a movie that remains Kon's most accomplished work.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Strange Circus (2005): The Circus of your Mind
Strange Circus (2005)
dir: Sion Sono
Readers of Japanese Manga should be used to the type of subject matter contained within this film. Watchers of Takeshi Miike might even be used to it. But, Strange Circus will be no less shocking to those who think they should be accustomed to the content.
What is in Strange Circus? Incest, rape, murder, violence, dismemberment, paralysis, and psychosis. You know? Disney fun for the whole family. And, it's handled with all the subtlety and sensitivity that any Japanese over-the-top movie brings to the screen.
Strange Circus opens with a carnival/circus where a drag queen invites a 14 year old girl to be executed on the stage guillotine. The girl accepts his offer, and comments, in voice over, that she thinks this is where she was born. But, the carnival is only a metaphorical framing device of the story within the film. The story is about a daughter who accidentally sees her parents having sex, gets caught by her father, then is molested, and raped by her father. Her father grooms her in grotesque ways, like locking her in a cello case with eyes cut out to watch her father have sex with her mother.
The story is disconnected and dreamy, with the mother and daughter frequently interchanging positions. The mother is jealous of the daughter's new sexual position in the family. The daughter accidentally kills the mother during one of the mother's jealous rages over an earring.
But, all of this is the latest manuscript of an author, played by the same actress who plays the mother in the stories. In this reality, the author is attended by a new editor from her publishing house who waits on her hand and foot while also reading through her manuscript.
You'd be more than a little forgiven if you thought this has the same types of themes as Miike's Audition, which is also about a father figure who auditions young girls to be his lover, only to be tortured for his abuse of the system and falling into the lamentable pattern of seeing women as objects for his sex or love. And, really, that movie was one of Miike's first films that seems to be a nuclear weapon aimed by the new generation of Japan at the old cultures of Japan. It seemed to rip open the old school ideas of sex and dominance, while forcing its own values on the screen.
Sono's Strange Circus, participates in the same knee-jerk cinema that also seems to be about how the old customs of Japan fucked up the new generation. Especially with it's conclusion, which doesn't exactly come out of left field but reaches a fever pitch normally seen in anime and manga. Sono seems to be saying "look at how you raped and fucked up Japan, assholes." Though, at times, one also checks in with the Natural Born Killers-esque question of "Can you condemn without also indulging?" Sono lingers over the various sexual abuses quite frequently and, while not completely and penetratively graphic, still graphic enough to be disturbing. It's still almost on a Showgirls rape scene level graphic. Which led to the question, is he indulging as he's condemning, or is he only indulging for entertainment, or only condemning? And, does it even matter?
The long form continuation of rape in this movie is really squeamish, and also leads to one wondering if this is almost a normalization of rape. Even if it is disturbing, the sheer amount of it almost has a numbing effect, even if Sono ultimately condemns it.
As a piece of shock cinema, however, Strange Circus certainly is shocking. It is also a frequently beautiful film. Sono makes the film look as lush and gorgeous as he can. The lushness takes away from the impact that a more raw, less stylized film would take, for better or worse. If you like shock cinema, this is one of the entries that you may need to watch. But, it will push your buttons, and maybe for no real reason.
dir: Sion Sono
Readers of Japanese Manga should be used to the type of subject matter contained within this film. Watchers of Takeshi Miike might even be used to it. But, Strange Circus will be no less shocking to those who think they should be accustomed to the content.
What is in Strange Circus? Incest, rape, murder, violence, dismemberment, paralysis, and psychosis. You know? Disney fun for the whole family. And, it's handled with all the subtlety and sensitivity that any Japanese over-the-top movie brings to the screen.
Strange Circus opens with a carnival/circus where a drag queen invites a 14 year old girl to be executed on the stage guillotine. The girl accepts his offer, and comments, in voice over, that she thinks this is where she was born. But, the carnival is only a metaphorical framing device of the story within the film. The story is about a daughter who accidentally sees her parents having sex, gets caught by her father, then is molested, and raped by her father. Her father grooms her in grotesque ways, like locking her in a cello case with eyes cut out to watch her father have sex with her mother.
The story is disconnected and dreamy, with the mother and daughter frequently interchanging positions. The mother is jealous of the daughter's new sexual position in the family. The daughter accidentally kills the mother during one of the mother's jealous rages over an earring.
But, all of this is the latest manuscript of an author, played by the same actress who plays the mother in the stories. In this reality, the author is attended by a new editor from her publishing house who waits on her hand and foot while also reading through her manuscript.
You'd be more than a little forgiven if you thought this has the same types of themes as Miike's Audition, which is also about a father figure who auditions young girls to be his lover, only to be tortured for his abuse of the system and falling into the lamentable pattern of seeing women as objects for his sex or love. And, really, that movie was one of Miike's first films that seems to be a nuclear weapon aimed by the new generation of Japan at the old cultures of Japan. It seemed to rip open the old school ideas of sex and dominance, while forcing its own values on the screen.
Sono's Strange Circus, participates in the same knee-jerk cinema that also seems to be about how the old customs of Japan fucked up the new generation. Especially with it's conclusion, which doesn't exactly come out of left field but reaches a fever pitch normally seen in anime and manga. Sono seems to be saying "look at how you raped and fucked up Japan, assholes." Though, at times, one also checks in with the Natural Born Killers-esque question of "Can you condemn without also indulging?" Sono lingers over the various sexual abuses quite frequently and, while not completely and penetratively graphic, still graphic enough to be disturbing. It's still almost on a Showgirls rape scene level graphic. Which led to the question, is he indulging as he's condemning, or is he only indulging for entertainment, or only condemning? And, does it even matter?
The long form continuation of rape in this movie is really squeamish, and also leads to one wondering if this is almost a normalization of rape. Even if it is disturbing, the sheer amount of it almost has a numbing effect, even if Sono ultimately condemns it.
As a piece of shock cinema, however, Strange Circus certainly is shocking. It is also a frequently beautiful film. Sono makes the film look as lush and gorgeous as he can. The lushness takes away from the impact that a more raw, less stylized film would take, for better or worse. If you like shock cinema, this is one of the entries that you may need to watch. But, it will push your buttons, and maybe for no real reason.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Rashomon (1950) and Vertigo (1958): Using and abusing the first person narrative
Rashomon (1950)
dir: Akira Kurosawa
Vertigo (1958)
dir: Alfred Hitchcock
There are two movies whose long long shadows have been looming over this week's posts, which I have been completely avoiding to wrap it into this post. Both have had many articles written about them, and even specifically about the issue of perspective that all of the movies this week have utilized in their own way. One has an effect specifically named after it, and the other was used in a feminist article about cinema coining a separate term which became influential, even as it was wrong.
The first is Rashomon, which has had The Rashomon Effect named after it.
The second is Vertigo, which Laura Mulvey used as an major example of The Male Gaze, a concept she developed in her essay Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.
Each of the preceding four movies rolled around, toyed with, and otherwise came face to face with both of these concepts, which I think are worth diving into here.
RASHOMON
Rashomon is a major work of Japanese cinema, and the first film of Akira Kurosawa to gain attention around the globe. In 1950, Rashomon won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film, amongst other film festival awards. That it was more poorly received in Japan itself is of interest.
Rashomon is based on the short story In A Grove by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, first published in 1922. Both the short story and the film concern a thief spotting a samurai and his wife, and then the thief having his way with the wife and the husband ending up dead. Both media tell the story of what happened through four completely contradicting stories with 5 plot points remaining consistent:
1) A thief spotted a samaurai and his wife
2) The thief rapes the wife
3) The husband dies
4) The thief and the wife depart separately
5) A valuable dagger from the scene is missing
Everything between those plot points is negligible and up for debate in the trial. There are four witnesses in the trial - The Thief, The Wife, The Dead Husband (through a medium), and A Woodcutter - and all of their stories are completely different with matters of ego and plainly coloring their tale. In the end, there is no truth other than the five undeniable facts.
The thief told the story that he fought the husband for the right to have the wife, then the wife tried fighting the thief and lost. And, in his finale, the wife begged him to fight the husband, as only one person could know her shame. And, the winner could keep her.
The wife told the story that the thief tied up her husband, and had his way and left. But, then the husband judged her, even as she begged him not to. Then she took the dagger, and fainted...and somehow the husband was stabbed.
The husband told the story that, after the rape, his wife told the thief to kill her husband. The thief then asked the husband if he wanted the wife dead. The thief released the husband, left the grove, and the wife leaves. The husband then kills himself.
The woodcutter told the story that, after the rape, the thief begged the wife for marriage. But, she refused. The thief then freed the husband, who sulked because his wife was now spoiled. The wife, enraged, then calls the husband and the thief not real men and they should fight for her love. In the end, the thief wins the fight by accident, and flees.
The trial is then RETOLD by the woodsman and a priest to a commoner while they are taking shelter in the city gate called Rashomon. Meanwhile, they're tearing down the city gate for warmth and survival to create a fire to dry out while waiting for the torrential downpour to stop.
The idea of using four unreliable narrators to tell the same story over and over again is called The Rashomon Effect. It obviously was developed before 1950, as it was used in the 1922 short story. It was a technique developed by modernist authors in the 20s and 30s, at minimum. Notable literary examples of unreliable narrators include Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and The Sound and the Fury.
In cinema, The Rashomon Effect is relatively rare, though not altogether unheard of, with one of my favorite examples being the deconstructionist method of it in Reservoir Dogs and One Night at McCool's. It is far more used in television, having been used in a wide array of sitcoms and dramas from All in the Family to The Simpsons. The use of a single unreliable narrator is slightly more common in cinema, with two key recent popular movies being The Usual Suspects and Memento.
Vertigo
Vertigo is about one of Hitchcock's favorite subjects: voyeurism. In 1954, Hitch directed Rear Window, a movie about the assembling of a story which you are only given one perspective on. In Rear Window, we're given the story of L.B. Jefferies, who is busy assembling a story of backyard detective work where he suspects a neighbor killed his wife.
Vertigo is considerably more complex. It is two completely different movies that are experienced completely differently from the first viewing to the subsequent viewings.
The first viewing: In Vertigo, John "Scottie" Ferguson is an out-of work officer following an accident where he fell from a roof. He is hired to follow Madeline, an old friend's wife, whom the friend has claimed to be haunted. Madeline and Scottie fall closer together, but Madeline then kills herself off a roof. Scotty falls into a depression, and is hospitalized for awhile. When Scotty gets out, he meets a woman, Judy, who reminds Scotty of the long lost love, Madeline. He makes up Judy to look like Madeline to ease his soul. In the end, Scotty figures out that Judy was the woman he had been following, and had set him up to fake the suicide of Madeline.
The second viewing: The second viewing, if you're watching more holistically (against the first person perspectives), Judy is hired to pose as a man's wife to set up Scotty. Judy is hired to wander around San Francisco as Madeline, and pose in various spots related to Madeline's story. Judy as Madeline falls in love with Scotty, but must finish the ruse and fake Madeline's suicide, because Madeline has already been murdered. Much later, Judy changes her appearance, and runs into Scotty again. Still feeling in love, and feeling pity for his loss, Judy deigns to have Scotty dress her up as the lost wife again, until he figures the story out. And, she dies.
The beauty of Vertigo, and what makes it a masterpiece, is that these two separate movies exist through the one perspective of Scotty. Every time you watch Vertigo, after the first, you can transpose between the two movies and have to marry together the two realities. The audience watches Scotty watch somebody who is watching Scotty watch her.
The Male Gaze, as Laura Mulvey wrote about it, regards the protagonist of the film as being male and the director being male as well, which was the vast majority of the movies in her time, and is still the vast majority of the films being made now. The theory says that the audience is forced to watch the stories trough the eyes of both the male director and the male protagonist, and we are thus defaulted to male, even if the viewer is a female. The theory also sets the woman as usually a fetishistic object of the director and the protagonist.
Laura Mulvey then expounds on Vertigo as though she had only seen the movie once. She later admitted that she was wrong about her interpretation of the movie, but her misinterpretation of Vertigo is fairly fascinating as it is the interpretation we are told to watch on the surface. Mulvey writes about Judy only performing for Scotty's pleasure in the second half of the movie when Scotty is recreating Judy in Madeline's image. And, she draws a parallel from that scenario to actresses performing for the scopophilic voyeuristic pleasure of the audience. Mulvey has, in turn, missed half of the movie, in which Judy is actively working to gain Scotty's attention, and actively working to get Scotty to look at her in order to manipulate Scotty. For good reason, as that is the movie that is told in a post-modernist way by telling it at the end or through the sides.
The Effects
Obviously, the four movies discussed earlier this week have ways of manipulating the first person narrative nature of cinema. Schizopolis, Triple Fisher, Bibliotheque Pascal and Tucker and Dale Vs Evil are all related, in theory, to the narrative manipulations that were encapsulated by Rashomon and Vertigo. This may be to varying results and with varying techniques, but I think its interesting to at least see how they relate to these two earlier classics.
Schizopolis used a Rashomon like effect by telling the story of the same day from three different perspectives. Rashomon was completely all about lies, even as Kurosawa refused to tell the actors and actresses what the true account was because he was exploring the nature of multiple realities. Schizopolis, however, accomplishes the result that Kurosawa was trying to accomplish by having multiple realities overlapping in sequential order. Schizopolis' effect was having every one of its narrators telling the truth, but it is their version of the truth. And, in turn, this makes it a stronger concept for differing perceptions and overlapping realities.
Schizopolis also makes the Vertigo used of multiple layers plain and visible. Much like Judy's story of being hired as a Madeline look-alike completely affects Scotty's story, Mrs. Munson's affair with the dentist is totally affecting her perspective of Mr. Munson's story, and how that whole story is working out. Unlike Vertigo, Schizopolis lays that second and third layer out explicitly, even though it isn't overlapping the original story. Whether it makes it easier or harder to figure out what exactly Soderburgh is trying to accomplish is determined on how dedicated you are to Schizopolis, but its usage is reminiscent of Vertigo.
Triple Fisher, like Rashomon, is a story told by multiple narrators, all of whom are lying. The main difference is Triple Fisher's used of montage compared to the retelling of the narrative from each different narrator as Rashomon did. Some people accuse Rashomon of trying to get at a deeper truth that can't be told with a single camera, but Rashomon is full of liars and unreliable narrators. Triple Fisher, however, is trying to balance three unreliable narrators who may or may not believe that what they are telling is the truth. Or it might just be sensationalist lies. Either way, Triple Fisher and Rashomon are intrinsically tied through technique. And, yes, Amy Fisher, Joey Buttafuoco and Akira Kurosawa are now in the same damn article. You're welcome. Please don't haunt me Mr. Kurosawa. Quick research shows I'm not the first to make this connection, which makes me happy to no end.
Bibliotheque Pascal is also directly related to Rashomon, but only in so far as it has an unreliable narrator. Both Rashomon and Bibliotheque Pascal have constructed whole movies out of lies and fabrications from the characters. Both movies were also constructed out of stories told out of ego and the urge to save face. All of the stories in Rashomon are told because the storytellers had something to hide, or wanted to be proud of something. Bibliotheque Pascal's narrator tells her story because she wants to disguise her past into something more than what it was. And, Vertigo's influence can be seen in the knowledge that there is a second movie underlying the first. But, where Vertigo's film is from a different character, Pascal's other film is just a boring film that needn't be told, again.
Tucker and Dale vs Evil is Vertigo ineloquently reused. Vertigo hammered two movies into one movie, but was able to make it slick enough to tell it through the one narrative. Tucker and Dale has the two movies but explicitly tells the two movies by splicing them together. Much like the later horror comedy, Cabin in the Woods, Tucker and Dale intercuts between the two movies to chop at each other's roots. But, Vertigo slickly and slyly told you that one was an incomplete story without showing it as incomplete in an explicit manner. Tucker and Dale, to its credit, is a b-movie that its creators may have thought it was lucky to be watched once, and was trying to tell you everything in the first viewing. It is a b-movie, after all.
With this week's look at the manipulation of narrative in the modern indie, foreign, and b-movie, I hope to show how sometimes the movies that may seem to be trashy or stupid might have something more going behind its wheels. It isn't all surface for some of these b-movies and they shouldn't be dismissed straight off. Are they classics like Rashomon and Vertigo. Probably not. Only Schizopolis and Triple Fisher is pushing the elements of what cinema actually is, but Triple Fisher is probably inessential viewing. The classics are casting shadows on the modern b-movie, and this is why even a b-movie lover should be watching and educating themselves on the classics.
dir: Akira Kurosawa
Vertigo (1958)
dir: Alfred Hitchcock
There are two movies whose long long shadows have been looming over this week's posts, which I have been completely avoiding to wrap it into this post. Both have had many articles written about them, and even specifically about the issue of perspective that all of the movies this week have utilized in their own way. One has an effect specifically named after it, and the other was used in a feminist article about cinema coining a separate term which became influential, even as it was wrong.
The first is Rashomon, which has had The Rashomon Effect named after it.
The second is Vertigo, which Laura Mulvey used as an major example of The Male Gaze, a concept she developed in her essay Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.
Each of the preceding four movies rolled around, toyed with, and otherwise came face to face with both of these concepts, which I think are worth diving into here.
| Even this image is a lie |
Rashomon is a major work of Japanese cinema, and the first film of Akira Kurosawa to gain attention around the globe. In 1950, Rashomon won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film, amongst other film festival awards. That it was more poorly received in Japan itself is of interest.
Rashomon is based on the short story In A Grove by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, first published in 1922. Both the short story and the film concern a thief spotting a samurai and his wife, and then the thief having his way with the wife and the husband ending up dead. Both media tell the story of what happened through four completely contradicting stories with 5 plot points remaining consistent:
1) A thief spotted a samaurai and his wife
2) The thief rapes the wife
3) The husband dies
4) The thief and the wife depart separately
5) A valuable dagger from the scene is missing
Everything between those plot points is negligible and up for debate in the trial. There are four witnesses in the trial - The Thief, The Wife, The Dead Husband (through a medium), and A Woodcutter - and all of their stories are completely different with matters of ego and plainly coloring their tale. In the end, there is no truth other than the five undeniable facts.
The thief told the story that he fought the husband for the right to have the wife, then the wife tried fighting the thief and lost. And, in his finale, the wife begged him to fight the husband, as only one person could know her shame. And, the winner could keep her.
The wife told the story that the thief tied up her husband, and had his way and left. But, then the husband judged her, even as she begged him not to. Then she took the dagger, and fainted...and somehow the husband was stabbed.
The husband told the story that, after the rape, his wife told the thief to kill her husband. The thief then asked the husband if he wanted the wife dead. The thief released the husband, left the grove, and the wife leaves. The husband then kills himself.
The woodcutter told the story that, after the rape, the thief begged the wife for marriage. But, she refused. The thief then freed the husband, who sulked because his wife was now spoiled. The wife, enraged, then calls the husband and the thief not real men and they should fight for her love. In the end, the thief wins the fight by accident, and flees.
The trial is then RETOLD by the woodsman and a priest to a commoner while they are taking shelter in the city gate called Rashomon. Meanwhile, they're tearing down the city gate for warmth and survival to create a fire to dry out while waiting for the torrential downpour to stop.
The idea of using four unreliable narrators to tell the same story over and over again is called The Rashomon Effect. It obviously was developed before 1950, as it was used in the 1922 short story. It was a technique developed by modernist authors in the 20s and 30s, at minimum. Notable literary examples of unreliable narrators include Faulkner's As I Lay Dying and The Sound and the Fury.
In cinema, The Rashomon Effect is relatively rare, though not altogether unheard of, with one of my favorite examples being the deconstructionist method of it in Reservoir Dogs and One Night at McCool's. It is far more used in television, having been used in a wide array of sitcoms and dramas from All in the Family to The Simpsons. The use of a single unreliable narrator is slightly more common in cinema, with two key recent popular movies being The Usual Suspects and Memento.
| The audience as Scotty looking at Madeline who is making sure that she is performing and that Scotty (and, thusly, the audience) is watching. |
Vertigo is about one of Hitchcock's favorite subjects: voyeurism. In 1954, Hitch directed Rear Window, a movie about the assembling of a story which you are only given one perspective on. In Rear Window, we're given the story of L.B. Jefferies, who is busy assembling a story of backyard detective work where he suspects a neighbor killed his wife.
Vertigo is considerably more complex. It is two completely different movies that are experienced completely differently from the first viewing to the subsequent viewings.
The first viewing: In Vertigo, John "Scottie" Ferguson is an out-of work officer following an accident where he fell from a roof. He is hired to follow Madeline, an old friend's wife, whom the friend has claimed to be haunted. Madeline and Scottie fall closer together, but Madeline then kills herself off a roof. Scotty falls into a depression, and is hospitalized for awhile. When Scotty gets out, he meets a woman, Judy, who reminds Scotty of the long lost love, Madeline. He makes up Judy to look like Madeline to ease his soul. In the end, Scotty figures out that Judy was the woman he had been following, and had set him up to fake the suicide of Madeline.
The second viewing: The second viewing, if you're watching more holistically (against the first person perspectives), Judy is hired to pose as a man's wife to set up Scotty. Judy is hired to wander around San Francisco as Madeline, and pose in various spots related to Madeline's story. Judy as Madeline falls in love with Scotty, but must finish the ruse and fake Madeline's suicide, because Madeline has already been murdered. Much later, Judy changes her appearance, and runs into Scotty again. Still feeling in love, and feeling pity for his loss, Judy deigns to have Scotty dress her up as the lost wife again, until he figures the story out. And, she dies.
The beauty of Vertigo, and what makes it a masterpiece, is that these two separate movies exist through the one perspective of Scotty. Every time you watch Vertigo, after the first, you can transpose between the two movies and have to marry together the two realities. The audience watches Scotty watch somebody who is watching Scotty watch her.
The Male Gaze, as Laura Mulvey wrote about it, regards the protagonist of the film as being male and the director being male as well, which was the vast majority of the movies in her time, and is still the vast majority of the films being made now. The theory says that the audience is forced to watch the stories trough the eyes of both the male director and the male protagonist, and we are thus defaulted to male, even if the viewer is a female. The theory also sets the woman as usually a fetishistic object of the director and the protagonist.
Laura Mulvey then expounds on Vertigo as though she had only seen the movie once. She later admitted that she was wrong about her interpretation of the movie, but her misinterpretation of Vertigo is fairly fascinating as it is the interpretation we are told to watch on the surface. Mulvey writes about Judy only performing for Scotty's pleasure in the second half of the movie when Scotty is recreating Judy in Madeline's image. And, she draws a parallel from that scenario to actresses performing for the scopophilic voyeuristic pleasure of the audience. Mulvey has, in turn, missed half of the movie, in which Judy is actively working to gain Scotty's attention, and actively working to get Scotty to look at her in order to manipulate Scotty. For good reason, as that is the movie that is told in a post-modernist way by telling it at the end or through the sides.
The Effects
Obviously, the four movies discussed earlier this week have ways of manipulating the first person narrative nature of cinema. Schizopolis, Triple Fisher, Bibliotheque Pascal and Tucker and Dale Vs Evil are all related, in theory, to the narrative manipulations that were encapsulated by Rashomon and Vertigo. This may be to varying results and with varying techniques, but I think its interesting to at least see how they relate to these two earlier classics.
Schizopolis used a Rashomon like effect by telling the story of the same day from three different perspectives. Rashomon was completely all about lies, even as Kurosawa refused to tell the actors and actresses what the true account was because he was exploring the nature of multiple realities. Schizopolis, however, accomplishes the result that Kurosawa was trying to accomplish by having multiple realities overlapping in sequential order. Schizopolis' effect was having every one of its narrators telling the truth, but it is their version of the truth. And, in turn, this makes it a stronger concept for differing perceptions and overlapping realities.
Schizopolis also makes the Vertigo used of multiple layers plain and visible. Much like Judy's story of being hired as a Madeline look-alike completely affects Scotty's story, Mrs. Munson's affair with the dentist is totally affecting her perspective of Mr. Munson's story, and how that whole story is working out. Unlike Vertigo, Schizopolis lays that second and third layer out explicitly, even though it isn't overlapping the original story. Whether it makes it easier or harder to figure out what exactly Soderburgh is trying to accomplish is determined on how dedicated you are to Schizopolis, but its usage is reminiscent of Vertigo.
Triple Fisher, like Rashomon, is a story told by multiple narrators, all of whom are lying. The main difference is Triple Fisher's used of montage compared to the retelling of the narrative from each different narrator as Rashomon did. Some people accuse Rashomon of trying to get at a deeper truth that can't be told with a single camera, but Rashomon is full of liars and unreliable narrators. Triple Fisher, however, is trying to balance three unreliable narrators who may or may not believe that what they are telling is the truth. Or it might just be sensationalist lies. Either way, Triple Fisher and Rashomon are intrinsically tied through technique. And, yes, Amy Fisher, Joey Buttafuoco and Akira Kurosawa are now in the same damn article. You're welcome. Please don't haunt me Mr. Kurosawa. Quick research shows I'm not the first to make this connection, which makes me happy to no end.
Bibliotheque Pascal is also directly related to Rashomon, but only in so far as it has an unreliable narrator. Both Rashomon and Bibliotheque Pascal have constructed whole movies out of lies and fabrications from the characters. Both movies were also constructed out of stories told out of ego and the urge to save face. All of the stories in Rashomon are told because the storytellers had something to hide, or wanted to be proud of something. Bibliotheque Pascal's narrator tells her story because she wants to disguise her past into something more than what it was. And, Vertigo's influence can be seen in the knowledge that there is a second movie underlying the first. But, where Vertigo's film is from a different character, Pascal's other film is just a boring film that needn't be told, again.
Tucker and Dale vs Evil is Vertigo ineloquently reused. Vertigo hammered two movies into one movie, but was able to make it slick enough to tell it through the one narrative. Tucker and Dale has the two movies but explicitly tells the two movies by splicing them together. Much like the later horror comedy, Cabin in the Woods, Tucker and Dale intercuts between the two movies to chop at each other's roots. But, Vertigo slickly and slyly told you that one was an incomplete story without showing it as incomplete in an explicit manner. Tucker and Dale, to its credit, is a b-movie that its creators may have thought it was lucky to be watched once, and was trying to tell you everything in the first viewing. It is a b-movie, after all.
With this week's look at the manipulation of narrative in the modern indie, foreign, and b-movie, I hope to show how sometimes the movies that may seem to be trashy or stupid might have something more going behind its wheels. It isn't all surface for some of these b-movies and they shouldn't be dismissed straight off. Are they classics like Rashomon and Vertigo. Probably not. Only Schizopolis and Triple Fisher is pushing the elements of what cinema actually is, but Triple Fisher is probably inessential viewing. The classics are casting shadows on the modern b-movie, and this is why even a b-movie lover should be watching and educating themselves on the classics.
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