THE HANGOVER PART II

THE HANGOVER PART II has been critically panned. No matter. The collective goodwill that bounced off the first, break-out, film, has enabled the sequel to smash box-office records. Not only is THE HANGOVER PART II the biggest opening on record for an R rated film, but it's also the biggest opening ever for a comedy. So, people are going to watch this flick AND, according to the IMDb ratings, a quarter are scoring it as a perfect ten, with nearly 60% giving it between 8 and 10. 

So, what's biting the reviewers?! I guess what disappointed me most about the sequel was its slavish replication of every key scene - every little surprise - from the first movie. This makes the sequel lead-heavy as we fall to checking the boxes from the original, and sucks the air out of every gag. The second problem is that Zach Galifianakis - the break-out star from the original movie - is given way more air-time in the sequel. This brings up a problem I have with a lot of movies - from Galifianakis' previous flick DUE DATE, to most recent movies starring Danny McBride. These guys are funny but in a kind of creepy way, and they work best when used in short cameo scenes to enliven broad comedy. When they move to centre-stage they shatter a movie's equilibrium and start to grate. 

The final problem is the movie's setting. Taking the flick from Vegas to Thailand radically changes the sleaze factor of the antics. After all, Vegas has done an amazing job over the past fifteen years, relabelling itself as a family destination and distancing itself from its criminal past. So when our clean-cut heros get into shenanigans, we don't seriously fear for their lives - it's all basically slightly naughty but fundamentally fine. Changing to Bangkok adds a level of grime, grit and stakes that sit at odds with the movie's comedy stylings. For example, in the original, Bradley Cooper's Phil gets tasered. In this flick, he gets shot. In the original, Ken Jeong's Mr Chow gets locked in a car boot. In this flick, he actually dies from a cocaine dose. In the original, Ed Helms' Stu loses a tooth and marries a stripper. In this flick, he gets fucked by a Ladyboy. Not that I'm against explicit material in general. But it just felt that time and again, this movie had moved beyond the same boundaries of the original - and for no real comedic gain. The upshot is that I had a lousy time watching THE HANOVER PART II. I was bored and unamused. The slavishly familiar plot. The lack of a cameo to rival Mike Tyson. The grimier, bleaker environment. It was all, basically, a downer. But what do I know? Director Todd Phillips is sitting on a cash-pile the size of my house. 

THE HANGOVER PART II is on release in the UK, USA, Belgium, France, Italy, Sweden, Argentina, Australia, Canada, Chile, Croatia, Denmark, Hungary, Ireland, Israel, the Netherlands, Peru, Slovenia, Thailand, Brazil, Bulgaria, Colombia, Estonia, Finland, India, Mexico, Norway, Paraguay, Venezuela and Armenia. It opens on June 2nd in Belarus, Greece, Germany, Hong Kong, Kazakhstan, Portugal, Russia, Singapore, Poland and Turkey. It opens on June 16th in Georgia; on June 24th in Spain and on July 1st in Japan.

The Ghibli Museum Library

As collectors of animation on DVD well know, Japan is one of the best countries in the world to find beautiful editions of rare world treasures. In fact, you are more likely to find more Eastern European animation on DVD in Japan than in the home countries of the artists themselves, let alone elsewhere in Europe or North America. The down side is that the Japanese releases tend to only have only Japanese subs or dubs, yet many fans of animation are simply so grateful just to be able to see these great classics at all that they collect these editions anyway.

One company that has been instrumental in giving new life to world animation classics is Studio Ghilbi. The animators at Studio Ghibli are known for their admiration of American, Canadian and European animators – in particular Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata are known to be big fans of the work of German-Canadian animator Frédéric Back (b. 1924) who won the Academy Award for Animated Short film in 1982 for Crac! and again in 1987 for The Man Who Planted Trees. You can read about Miyazaki’s views on other animators in my recent post Hayao Miyazaki’s Taste in Animation.

A number of years ago Studio Ghibli began a partnership with Disney and Cinema Angelica to create the Ghibli Museum Library (三鷹の森ジブリ美術館ライブラリー /Mitaka no Mori Jiburi Bijutsukan Raiburarī). They have used this label to release subbed/dubbed DVDs of world animation classics from Dave Fleischer’s Mr. Bug Goes to Town (USA, 1941) to John Halas and Joy Batchelor’s Animal Farm (UK, 1954). The label also represents modern animation classics including the works of Nick Park and Michel Ochelot. They event support theatrical releases of great world animation in Japan – most recently Sylvain Comet’s The Illusionist (UK/France, 2010).

Studio Ghibli has also acquired the distribution rights to anime classics that Miyazaki, Takahata and other Ghibli animators worked on before the formation of Studio Ghibli. Some of these feature on their Ghibli Classics label, but the Ghibli Museum Library umbrella includes the theatrical feature of  Anne of Green Gables and the first TV series of Lupin III.

Here are the highlights of the collection. Clicking on the images will take you to cdjapan where these titles are available for international purchase:

Japanese Animation

Anne of Green Gables - the Path to Green Gables

(赤毛のアン~Green Gables no Michi~, Isao Takahata, 2010)

American Animation

Mr. Bug Goes to Town

(aka Hoppity Goes to Town / バッタ君町に行く,Dave Fleischer, USA, 1941)

Russian Animation

My Love

(春のめざめ, Aleksandr Petrov, Russia, 2006)

The Little Grey Neck

(灰色くびの野がも, Leonid Amalrik/Vladimir Polovnikov, Russia, 1948)

The Humpbacked Horse

(イワンと仔馬, Ivan Ivanov-Vano, Russia, 1947/1975)

The Snow Queen

(雪の女王, Lev Atamov et al., Russia, 1957) 

Cheburashka

(チェブラーシカ, Roman Kachanov, 1969-83)

British Animation

Halas and Batchelor

Animal Farm

(動物農場, John Halas/Joy Batchelor, UK, 1954)

Nick Park

Wallace and Gromit: A Matter of Loaf and Death

(ウォレスとグルミット ベーカリー街の悪夢, Nick Park, UK, 2008)

Wallace and Gromit: 3 Grand Adventures

 

(ウォレスとグルミット 3 クラッキング・アドベンチャーズ)

•  A Grand Day Out ( チーズ・ホリデー, 1989）
• The Wrong Trousers (ペンギンに気をつけろ！, 1990)
• A Close Shave (危機一髪！, 1994）

Shaun the Sheep  

(ひつじのショーン, TV series 2007-2010)

French Animation

Paul Grimault

The King and the Mockingbird

(王と鳥 やぶにらみの暴君, France, 1948)

Sylvain Chomet

The Triplettes of Belleville

(ベルヴィル・ランデブー, France/Canada/UK/US/Belgium, 2003)

The Illusionist 

 Just opened in cinemas in Japan March 26

(イリュージョニスト, UK/France, 2010)

Michel Ochelot

Kirikou and the Sorceress

(キリクと魔女, France/Belgium, 1998)

Princes and Princesses

(プリンス&プリンセス, France, 1999)

Azur and Asmar
 

(アズールとアスマール, France, 2006)

Hayao Miyazaki’s Taste in Animation

 

Over the past couple of months I have been reading Hayao Miyazaki’s Starting Point, 1979-1996 (VIZ Media, 2009). It is the English translation of Miyazaki’s collected writings from this period. It includes magazine articles, speeches, production planning notes and memoranda, sketch diaries, and other items sure to delight Studio Ghibli fans.

I was surprised to discover how decidedly Miyazaki gives his opinions on animation and animators. Occasionally, his remarks are downright gossipy – such as when he relates the embarrassing drunken escapades of animator Yasuo Otsuka (The Castle of Cagliostro, Panda Kopanda) or calling Isao Takahata (whom he affectionately calls Paku-san) the "descendent of a giant sloth". In the afterword, Takahata admits to his slothful tendencies, especially when compared to Miyazaki who lives up to the meaning of his given name (ie. “fast”). Miyazaki’s criticism of others is counterbalanced by his acknowledgement of his own weakness, such as admitting that he left his wife to her own devices when it came to raising their children and that as a young apprentice under Yasuji Mori he could be “confrontational, impudent, and insolent.” (205)

Part of the reason for Miyazaki’s initial impudence towards Mori was that he felt that his style of animating was out of date. Mori, who was also a mentor to Otsuka, Norio Hikone, Reiko Okuyama, and Yoichi Kotabe, was a famed illustrator and during his time at Toei Doga he was responsible for many popular characters and beautiful animation sequences in films like The Legend of the White Snake (1958) and The Little Prince and the Eight-Headed Dragon (1963). Miyazaki writes that it took him many years to really appreciate what Mori had taught him and that his epiphany came during a screening of the final cut of Hols: Prince of the Sun (1968) – a film which moved him to tears.

The Astonishing Work of Tezuka Osamu (US)

Most startling are Miyazaki’s negative remarks about Osamu Tezuka which were published in Comic Box shortly after Tezuka’s death in 1989. Anticipating that the magazine would be full of praise for the “father of manga” and “godfather of anime”, Miyazaki voices his dissatisfaction with many of Tezuka’s animated works. While Miyazaki knows that Tezuka’s style – particularly his manga from the period 1945-1955 – influenced him greatly when he was a young artist starting out, he was not a fan of Tezuka’s animation. He found it too pessimistic and even expresses having felt disgust when he watched films like Mermaid (1964), The Drop (1965), Tales of a Street Corner (1962), Pictures at an Exhibition (1966), and Cleopatra (1970). Miyazaki even bemoans the fact that Astro Boy set the bar so very low in terms of cost – meaning that anime productions ever since have suffered from low budgets. He believes that TV anime was destined to start in Japan with or without Tezuka: “Without Tezuka, the industry might have started two or three years later. And then I could have relaxed a bit and spent a little longer working in the field of feature animation, using more traditional techniques. But that’s all irrelevant now” (196). I think Miyazaki’s main gripe is that the lower budgets meant artistic sacrifices and lowered the quality of the animation.

Osamu Tezuka was not the only animator to be criticized by Miyazaki. Here are some of the highlights of Miyazaki’s animation likes and dislikes:

On the endings of The Snow Queen (Lev Atamov, et al., 1957), La Bergère et le Ramoneur (Paul Grimault, 1952), and The Tale of the White Serpent (Taiji Yabushita/Kazuhiko Okabe, 1958):

I know I shouldn’t criticize others, but why do the final scenes of cartoon movies always have to be so ridiculous? This was true of The Snow Queen; its ending was that film’s greatest flaw. And the ending of La Bergère et le Ramoneur makes it look like the production staff went out to have a wrap party. Not only that, at the ending of The Tale of the White Serpent, Bai-Niang looks truly stupid. . . (118)

Mr. Bug Goes to Town

Studio Ghibli/Disney release

On Mr. Bug Goes to Town (Dave Fleischer, 1941)

“I like Fleischer works. And when I say “Fleischer”, I do not mean Dave Fleischer the individual, but the whole animation staff. . . In fact, I had a strong sense that Mr. Bug Goes to Town was a work that might not have even been created or animated by Dave Fleischer. This was the first of the problems that I had.”

“Several of the Popeye films are absolutely first-rate, whereas Mr. Bug Goes to Town is only second rate”

 “. . . Mr. Bug Goes to Town is both wonderful and incredibly stupid. People say Dave Fleischer created it, but I would like to extend my heartfelt greetings and congratulations to the nameless staff members who managed to crawl their way out of his control. . . I do wonder where they went. They probably scattered throughout the industry, lost their powers, and either went through a masturbatory period of creating Fleischer’s Superman, or disappeared into doing work on not particularly memorable films.” (115-19)

The Man Who Planted Trees - Works of Frederic Back

On Frédéric Back’s The Man Who Planted Trees:

“Even were I not involved in animation, I still would have thought I had seen something wonderful when I saw this film. This is a powerful work that couldn’t have been made halfheartedly. . . My hat goes off to Back for giving such a wonderful form to this motif by using such an expressive medium as animation. Even more, I offer my deepest admiration to those at the SRC/CBC who funded such an obviously non-commercial work.” (143)

“The first film that I saw was Crac! Isao Takahata. . . and I saw it on a double bill. . . It was a shock to both of us. As we trudged home, I remember saying to Takahata-san: ‘So, I guess we are failures, aren’t we. . .’” (144)

“In the cel animation production we are currently working on, we’ve found drawing plants to be very difficult. If we draw just the plants waving in the breeze, it looks so formulaic. Plants exist in the weather and light rays that surround them – wavering in the wind, shimmering in the sunlight. I am always puzzling over how to draw such things. I’ve given up and resigned myself to realizing that we can’t draw plants with our usual techniques. But Back has taken this problem head on and mastered it. . . His imagery is beautiful.” (144-45)

“I was moved when I watched this film. In the same way that I feel about Yuri Norstein.” (146)

Osamu Tezuka Jikken animation sakuhin shu

On pessimism in Tezuka’s work:

I found myself disgusted by the cheap pessimism of works like [Mermaid] or [The Drop], which showed a drop of water falling on a thirsty man adrift at sea. I felt that this pessimism was qualitatively different from the pessimism Tezuka used to have in the odl days, as in the early days of [Astro Boy], for example – but it also could have been that in the early days I felt great tragedy and trembled with excitement at Tezuka’s cheap pessimism precisely because I was so young. (194)

. . . I felt the same thing with Tezuka’s Tales of a Street Corner – the animated film which Muschi Pro poured everything into making. There’s a scene in the film where posters of a ballerina and a violinist of some such things are trampled and scattered by soldiers’ boots during an air raid and then waft into the flames like moths. I remember that when I saw this, I was so disgusted that chills ran down my spine. (194-5)

Now I’ll refrain from going into too much detail because I don’t want to belabour the point, but when I saw [Pictures at an Exhibition], I really wondered what the heck the film was all about. And in the last scene in Cleopatra, at the line, “Go home, Rome,” I felt disgust. They had spent so much effort trying to develop so many sexy love scenes that the final “Go home, Rome,” line was just oo much for me to take. that was around the time I really sensed the bankruptcy of Tezuka’s vanity. (195)

Hakujaden (JP)

On his first encounter with The Tale of the White Serpent (Hakujaden) when he was a secondary school student:

At the time I dreamed of becoming a manga artist, and I was trying to draw in the absurd style then popular, but Hakujaden made me realize how stupid I was. It made me realize that, behind a façade of cynical pronouncements, in actuality I was in love with the pure, earnest world of the film, even if it were only another cheap melodrama. I was no longer able to deny the fact that there was another me – a me that yearned desperately to affirm the world rather than negate it.

After that, I have always given a great deal of thought to what I should create. And at the very least, I can say that no matter how self-conscious and embarrassed I might feel, I also feel compelled to create something that I truly believe in. (70)

The Snow Queen (Yuki no Joo) (JP)

Studio Ghibli/Disney release

On The Snow Queen (Snedronningen) and The Tale of the White Serpent (Hakujaden):

Snedronningen is proof of how much love can be invested in the act of making drawings move, and how much the movement of drawings can be sublimated into the process of acting. It proves that when it comes to depicting simple yet strong, powerful, piercing emotions in an earnest and pure fashion, animation can fully hold its own with the best of what other media genres can offer, moving us powerfully. While Hakujaden might have its weaknesses, I honestly believe that it has this same quality. (71)

The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring

On the short-comings of live action models in animation in Cinderella (Disney, 1950) and The Lord of the Rings (Ralph Bakshi, 1978):

When using human actors as models, skilled teams of animators required a broad type of acting that mainly showed the human form in silhouette. They came to the conclusion that, rather than the style of acting developed for dramatic films, stage acting was more suitable for animated films. This is precisely the reason that the gestures used by characters in Disney’s animated films look like they come from a musical, and that [The Snow Queen] depends on movements like those in a girls’ ballet. there are many examples where using live-action models can result in disaster. Ralph Bakshi’s The Lord of the Rings. . . was doomed to failure because it relied on clumsy live-action sequences. Disney’s Cinderella. . . is living proof that modeling live-action images in the pursuit of realistic movement is a double-edged sword. In trying to achieve a sense of realism by using an average American young woman as a model, they lost even more of the inherent symbolism of the original Cinderella story than they did with their version of Snow White. (74-5)

This is just a small taste of Hayao Miyazaki’s thoughts on animation. To learn more, pick up a copy of Starting Point, 1979-1996.  To learn more about films loved by the animator's at Studio Ghibli, read about the Studio Ghilbi Museum Library.

Catherine Munroe Hotes

SENNA - a documentary worthy of Ayrton

Never has a movie inspired such tear-stained reminiscence among my close friends and family - some of whom worked in F1 racing - as Asif Kapadia's new documentary, SENNA.  For those of us who watched racing in the 80s and 90s, Ayrton Senna was an icon. Young, handsome, rich, for sure, but more than that -  brilliant at driving in wet conditions, and bold in exploiting a gap to take the lead.  He was everything a racing driver should be. 

Of course, at the time, as a kid, while I knew of his rivalry with the French incumbent world champion, Alain Prost, I hadn't realised just how poisonous that rivalry had been, nor the mechanics of their famous clashes in Japan.  Nor had I realised just how political FISA had been, with its French boss, Jean-Marie Balestre apparently hand in glove with Prost, the Sepp "Colonel" Blatter of his day. I hadn't appreciated how revolutionary the Williams' team use of electronics in the early 1990s had been, and that this had prompted Senna's move from Maclaren run by the true gent., Ron Dennis. I remembered the tragic build-up to race day at Imola 1994, but I had no idea how reluctant Senna had been to race that day.  The memory of that day is still with me. It's like remembering Hillsborough - one of those searing moments where you realise that you are watching tragedy unfold in front of you in real time, and feeling powerless but transfixed - that a young handsome boy who had so much talent had died on, of all things, the seemingly benign Tamburella turn.  

The brilliance of this documentary is twofold. First, that the director and producers managed to persuade the Senna family and Bernie Ecclestone to co-operate - giving them access to the home videos, their impressions of what Ayrton was thinking at crucial moments, not to mention the extensive F1 archives, with footage of everything from on-board cameras, to drivers' briefings, to conversations in the pit. This level of access is unprecedented and results in a documentary that has the freedom of a feature film in terms of camera placing and editorial choices. More importantly, it takes the movie beyond recreation of key races to the emotional state of mind of Ayrton - most crucially in interviews with his sister and team-medic.  

But access is a necessary but not sufficient condition for a great documentary. And SENNA *is* a great documentary. The reason for that is that it has a clear narrative arc (kudos to writer Manish Pandey) and some of the tropes of a classic fiction drama. This helps focus a film that could've been over-whelmed by the sheer weight of material, and become unbalanced by Imola.  Indeed, the wonderful thing about this doc. is that it focuses on Senna's life - gives you a sense of how important his faith was to him, reminds you of his charitable work, situates him within a loving but fearful family, and shows both sides of his character - both the integrity and humility but also the pride and fall from grace in Suzuka 1990.  

The resulting documentary is insightful, well-constructed and powerful.  I started crying at Interlagos 1991 - the sheer force of will that made Senna drive 10 laps with just sixth gear and to lift that trophy in front of his home crowd.  And when the race day at Imola began, it was game over.  That sense of anticipation - the directorial choice to keep us with the on-board camera - and Antonio Pinto's sensitive score....What can I say?  It all adds up to a documentary that is unmissable for F1 fans, but - and here I can speak to the experience of Doctor007 - a movie that works even for those who have never heard of Ayrton Senna.   For Doctor007, SENNA worked as a fascinating character study that gripped him on an almost Shakespearian level.  After all, is there anything more archetypal - more universally translatable - as the story of a young pretender facing an older incumbent - of a man of faith battling the corruption of the establishment - of the under-dog making good - of a good man dying young?   

SENNA opened in Japan and Brazil in 2010 and in Italy, Germany and France earlier this year. It played Sundance 2011 and opens in the UK on June 3rd. It opens in Australia on July 21st.

Ashes to Honey (ミツバチの羽音と地球の回転, 2010)

On the isolated heart-shaped island of Iwai-shima in Yamaguchi prefecture, the residents – the majority of whom are elderly – have been fighting the construction of a nuclear power plant for close to 30 years. Long before the disaster in Fukushima brought the danger posed by nuclear power facilities in Japan to the world's attention, director Hitomi Kamanaka has been documenting the grassroots efforts to put local communities and the environment ahead of political and corporate interests. Her documentary film Ashes to Honey (Mitsubachi no Haoto to Chikyū no Kaiten, 2010) is currently in hot demand around the world because of the issues it raises about Japan’s nuclear industry.

What is the issue?

The electricity company Chugoku Denryoku, with the support of government officials, has planned the building of a nuclear power plant on the shores of Tanoura, one of many islands in the Seto Inland Sea. This is a relatively poor area with an aging population and the power plant would bring jobs to the area. The residents of the other islands in the region have been coerced into agreeing to the building of the plant, but the people of Iwai-shima have refused to be paid off and are standing their ground in the face of immense political pressure. They argue that the nuclear power plant will destroy the unique local ecosystems and ruin the environment in a way that would make it impossible for them to continue in their traditional ways. This would not only be because pollution from the plant would destroy their organic farming status, but also because the land reclamation plans would destroy the bay and hot water that the plant would emit into the sea would destroy fragile sea life.

Who are the protestors?

The core group of protestors are local people who carry on family traditions of fishing and farming. Their efforts have been supported by environmental activists from around the country such as the Rainbow Kayak Squadron.

In Kamanaka’s previous film Rokkasho Rhapsody (2006), I was particularly struck by the apathy of a late middle-aged couple. When they were asked about their opinion on the building of a nuclear reprocessing facility in their community, they said that they didn’t care because they were old. Meaning that they would be long gone from this earth when the effects of the facility would be noticed.

In Ashes to Honey, the loudest and most dedicated voices in the anti-nuclear movement are those of elderly women. Like most rural communities in Japan, most of the young people have left their ancestral villages for urban areas leaving behind the elderly. The average age of the islanders on Iwai-shima is 75, and the vast majority of these are women. These are no ordinary women. They are a tenacious bunch who have carried on the fight against the nuclear plant for decades. It has been a difficult battle, but they have come together to support one another in their “Happy Grandmas Café”.

The younger generation is represented in the film by Takeshi Yamato, a young man who has returned to the community in order to carry on the traditions of living off the land and the sea. He is a reluctant hero in the documentary. He and his family did not ask for this attention, they are having enough trouble just trying to get by as it is. It is inspiring to see his commitment to his community and how this camera-shy man bravely stands up for what he believes in.

Why are their voices not being heard?

The better question is “Why is no one listening?” The simple answer is corruption and greed. For decades in Japan, government bodies at both a local and a national level have been coming up with radical schemes in order to stem the tide of young people abandoning the countryside for urban areas. Some have enjoyed a moderate success, while others have been doomed to failure. The most risky of these schemes have been the construction of nuclear power plants in remote coastal areas.

There are two really powerful scenes in the film that really shine the spot line on the corruption at work behind the scenes. The first is when the Kaminoseki town council meeting where they are to vote on whether or not the land reclamation for the plant should go ahead. More than 200 people come to participate in the process and are informed that only 20 of them can enter. The select few are chosen by a drawing of straws. They shout their protest, but their voices go unheard and the vote goes ahead with an 8-4 decision to approve the filling in of the bay.

The most powerful image in the film; however, is the sight of those elderly women sitting in boats in a stand-off with officials trying to start filling in the bay. The plan is to sit in the boats for 50 days.  At which point, the land reclamation permission granted to Chugoku will expire and they will have succeed in at least delaying the inevitable. A young man with a megaphone tries to make the protestors feel guilty (Why are you against something that will bring jobs to the region?) and false promises. The grandmas are not having any of it shouting back that they will never give up:  “We know what we are doing is right!”

What are the solutions?

For a glimpse of what life could be like in Japan if a concerted effort were made to support sustainable energies, Hitomi Kamanaka goes to Sweden to learn about their plans to become to first oil-free economy. Through the use of wind power, solar power, biofuels, and other inventive methods, Sweden has become a world leader in the movement towards a sustainable future. The biggest move that they made was to break up the electricity companies’ monopoly on the market. Swedish citizens can now choose the source of their electricity. By allowing consumers to decide the cheapest and most ethical energy company for them, companies have had to become more innovative in their approaches to energy.

The most amusing scenes in the film come when the Swedish interviewees express shock when they learn from Kamanaka about the more restricted situation in Japan. “You don’t have a deregulated market?” says one astonished man. Another says that there were warning signs many years ago and that even Sweden should have taken action sooner. He then looks straight into the camera and proclaims: “Japan! Start Now!”

The directness of the Swedes in the film is an amusing contrast to the Japanese politicians who avoid answering questions directly. Not only does this excursion to Sweden provide alternative solutions to Japan’s dependence on nuclear energy and foreign oil, it’s a stark reminder that the problem Japan is facing is not local, but global. My native country of Canada is also well behind when it comes to renewable energy because we have relied for so long on the exploitation of our natural resources and have allowed electricity providers to enjoy a monopoly on the market for too long.

What can you do?

Follow the Ashes to Honey page on Facebook to learn updates on the situation in Iwai-shima or to find out about upcoming screenings near you. (EN)

Follow the Ashes to Honey blog (JP)

Write to your local television broadcaster to recommend that they air this film.

The soundtrack can be ordered at itunes. (US link only)
 

I will update when the film becomes available on DVD on cdjapan. In the meanwhile, Hitomi Kamanaka’s other DVDs are available to order now:

Rokkasho Mura Rhapsody (English Subtitles)

Hibakusha Sekai no Owari ni

(May be Japanese only)

Nippon Connection 2011

© Catherine Munroe Hotes 2011

Midori-ko (緑子, 2010)

The grotesque, painterly animated works of Keita Kurosaka (黒坂圭太, b. 1956) unfold in surprising and unusual ways. The first surprise in Kurosaka’s long awaited film Midori-ko (緑子, 2010) is the cute, brightly coloured style of the opening scene. As if watching an NHK children’s animation, we are introduced to young kawaii Midori-chan and learn that she loves to eat vegetables. Meat repulses her, for she cannot bear to think of the suffering of animals.

Midori-chan wishes on a star to be transported to a land of vegetables, and soon the watercolour blue sky with yellow blotchy stars transition into a more ominous land of shadows. We are introduced into a kind of post-apocalyptic Japanese city where a now grown Midori sells vegetables from a stall and lives in a strange ramshackle residence inhabited by mutant people – some seem more human than others. Under her building runs a river of waste where manure is manufactured. The building also contains a sentō (public bath) which promises cleanliness and relaxation but often contains surprise visitors of an old man and a fish.

Other strange inhabitants of the building include a quartet of humanoid figures whose heads have been replaced by symbols of the five senses: a hand, an eyeball, an ear, a mouth, and a snout. They first emerge from their laboratory and are involved in the creation of an unusual vegetable shaped like nasu (Japanese eggplant).  In unusual circumstances, the nasu ends up being thrown through the window into Midori’s room. When she tries to examine it with a scalpel, it resists as if it were more animal than vegetable. She soon discovers that it has a face that resembles an infant, and soon it transforms into her nasu-baby: Midori-ko. Midori becomes quite protective of Midori-ko as it becomes clear that it is under threat from other residents of the building.

In terms of the storyline, the film suggests a theme of exploring the reasons for human existence. Humanity has long struggled with the question of what separates us from other forms of life on this earth. Now more than ever, we are re-examining our role of consumers of the wondrous bounty the planet earth has to offer us. Midori-ko offers a bleak perspective of human existence in a world in which one needs to consume or be consumed.

Midori-ko is much longer than Kurosaka’s earlier films, which is due in large part to the fact that the film has much more narrative and dialogue than these works. As Jan Švankmajer, who who was an early role model for Kurosaka, explained when speaking of his 132 min. long feature film Little Otik (Otesánek, 2000): 

Storytelling, whatever the story, has its own laws. It differs from recounting a dream (as in Něco z Alenky). Similarly, when you start using conventional dialogue, you've got to realise that the film will be longer. A film told through dialogue (without a narrator) always works in a roundabout way, which requires time; figurative speech—the language of pictures and symbols—is more direct and consequently shorter.” (Source: Kinoeye)

Concentrating too closely on the storyline while watching Midori-ko is a mistake for Kurosaka considers himself more of a painter than an animator. He studied figure and still life painting at Musashino in the late 1970s and upon graduation in 1979 spent two years in Paris at the École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts studying oil painting. For Kurosaka, animation has been a tool of adding motion to his paintings.

My biggest problem as an artist was finding a form of artistic expression that would have the same effect as music, but in the realm of painting - the impact of sharing the same time space and physical space among a large number of people. That just happened to turn out to be video, and in terms of specific technique within that framework, animation, but for me animation has never been anything but an extension of my painting work. My films started out abstract, but after a few films they began to evolve in a more concrete direction, until eventually there were even what you'd call dialogue and stories starting to appear in the films, and eventually even characters. So on the surface, my films began to look more and more like what you'd typically call 'animation films', but it feels really off and wrong when I hear people call me an animation artist.  (Kurosaka interviewed by Kiroki Kawa, 2006, Source: Anipages)

The grotesque recurs as a theme throughout Kurosaka’s work. In Midori-ko these takes the form not only of fleshy, unusually shaped characters, but also in surprising and often downright disgusting incidents. For example, after a choking incident, Midori comforts the nasu-baby, but the tender scene suddenly turns horrific as Midori-ko lets loose a torrential bowl movement. In interviews, Kurosaka has said that when he depicts something grotesque, that he doesn’t want the audience to be disgusting. The more revolting the image, the more beautifully he tries to render it (Source: Anipages). Depending on the scene, I found Kurosaka’s use of the grotesque by turns beautiful, horrible, and amusing.

Midori's face compared with a cropped image of  Girl at a Window (Rembrandt, 1645)

Some of the more beautiful moments in Midori-ko reminded me of famous works of art. When Midori is flying down the hill on a motorized contraption in an early scene, the close up profile of her cherubic face reminded me of a Rembrandt portrait, it was so finely rendered. In reading up on his career, I chanced to discover that one of Kurosaka’s early films Metamorphosis Works No. 5 (1986) is actually an exploration of the inner world of Rembrandt. (Source: AWN)

There are times in the film when Midori seems unsure of herself, but on the whole she is presented as a strong, assured female presence. Her strong, direct stare into the camera in one scene reminded me of the wary gaze of the painter Berthe Morisot in Édouard Manet’s portrait of her. The delicate use of shade and light on her face and her full lips only strengthened this impression.  While I do not know that these two portraits directly influenced Kurosaka, I believe that his education as a painter has strongly impacted his style as an artist.

Midori's face compared with a cropped image of  Berthe Morisot with a Bouquet of Violets (Manet, 1872)

Some of the most humorous moments in the film came when the 5 senses without their masks on, or the 5 senses with old man (Neptune?) and the fish wrestle orgiastically together. In each instance, there comes a moment when they stop suddenly and strike a pose reminiscent of the twisted tangle of limbs and snakes in the famous statue of Laocoön and His Sons.

Laocoön and His Sons comparison

Midori-ko is a multilayered film that requires multiple viewings to truly appreciate the details that has gone into it. After all, Kurosaka spend 10 years creating this masterpiece, one screening of the film can hardly do it justice. I've now watched it twice and feel like I am only scratching the surface of the depths of meaning in the film.  I do hope that Mistral Japan will take this opportunity to release a box set of Kurosaka’s complete works on DVD so that his fans can truly savour his oeuvre as a whole.

For more information, see the official website.  The only animation by Kurosaka that I know of on DVD is his contribution to Winter Days.

© Catherine Munroe Hotes 2011

Selected Filmography

1984 Metamorphosis Works No. 2 (変形作品第2番, 23’)

1985 Metamorphosis Works No. 3 (変形作品第3番)

1986 Metamorphosis Works No. 5 (変形作品第5番, 28’)

1988 Sea Roar (海の唄, 30’)

1989 Worm Story (みみず物語, 15’)

1990 Personal City (個人都市, 25’)

1991 Haruko Adventure (春子の冒険, 15’)

1992 Box Age (箱の時代, 26’)

1994 ATAMA

1997 Flying Daddy (パパが飛んだ朝)

2003 Winter Days (冬の日, Section 23)

2006 Agitated Screams of Maggots (Dir en grey music video)

2010 Midori-ko (緑子, 55’)

Nippon Connection 2011

I rarely say this pre-review but you MUST go and see SENNA

Whether or not you are a fan of racing. This is by far the best film I have seen all year. Review to follow...

Steps (Tochka, 2010)

The animation team Tochka (Takeshi Nagata and Kazue Monno) are famous for their PiKA PiKA or “lightning doodle” animation technique. In the course of their career they have actually practiced a wide range of stop motion animation techniques. In my review of their CALF DVD Tochka Works 2001-2010, I pointed out that the “Jumping” section of their film PiKA PiKA in Yamagata (2008) uses a pixilation technique similar to that used in Norman McLaren’s Neighbours (1952). It was with great delight that I discovered during the CALF Animation Special at Nippon Connection that Tochka was continuing to experiment with this technique.

Pixilation, a term attributed to NFB animator Grant Munro, is a technique in which live actors are animated frame-by-frame together with inanimate objects. Takeshi Nagata told me that for Steps (2010), they took their inspiration from the Norman McLaren and Claude Jutra film A Chairy Tale (1957) in which Jutra has an encounter with a chair that refuses to be sat upon.

Jutra and the chair in a stand off in A Chairy Tale

a similar stand off in Steps

In Steps, we are presented with an empty room with a checkerboard floor pattern and a lone bulb hanging from a cord on the ceiling. Slabs in the formation of steps slide out of the walls, through the room, and back out the opposite wall. The opening sequence ends with the door opening, the steps sliding in with PiKA PiKA lights spelling out the title in the air and a PiKA PiKA stick figure running through the frame.

A salaryman sleeping in his pajamas slides in through the open door and is soon resting on a bed of slabs, with his clothes on a rack nearby. The PiKA PiKA stick figure jumps on his face and soon the man and the stick figure are engaged in a slap stick routine in which the man’s clothes slide out of his reach, and the stick figure taunts him and they fight with each other.

In the next scene, the man returns, as if from work, into the empty room. The PiKA PiKA stick figure slides in slabs and shapes them into steps that the man climbs until he has to duck his head because he is too close to the ceiling. The stick figure first tries to knock him down, then shoves the man – still atop a pile of slabs – out the door.

Tochka’s Steps not only borrows the A Chairy Tale’s pixilation technique but also matches it in its playfulness and innovative design. There are some key differences between the films. In A Chairy Tale, the chair itself was given human attributes: provoking Jutra then later trying to win his affection back again. In Steps, the interplay is between the actor and an animated human stick figure drawn in the air with light. The inanimate objects such as the coat rack and the steps do not acquire any human attributes. Instead, it is suggested that their movement is manipulated by the playful, scalawag PiKA PiKA figure.

Ghostly form of an animator briefly visible

Another big difference is that in A Chairy Tale, the way in which the chair has been animated remains invisible to the naked eye. No matter how much the viewer strains to see if there are strings attached to the chair, the illusion of movement is so complete that it really does appear as if the chair has indeed come to life and is moving of its own volition.

Not so in Steps, where the careful spectator can see the ghostly black figures of the animators in some of the frames. This is characteristic of the PiKA PiKA films, which seek to demystify the art of stop motion animation. It’s a postmodern twist on the NFB style pixilation in which it is not just about the illusion of movement but about our awareness of the hand of the animator(s) in the making of a stop motion film.

This added dimension would have been much clearer in the original presentation of the film which was as part of a video installation.  Exhibition visitors would have watched the film standing in the same room and looking through peep holes on the wall.  See Tochka's Flickr stream to get an idea of the exhibition space at Aichi Triennale 2010.

A brilliant little film, which makes me excited to see what new projects Tochka have up their sleeves. To learn more about Tochka and their PiKA PiKA workshops read about my observations of their Nippon Connection workshop in Frankfurt. The Tochka Works 2001-2010 DVD can be purchased from CALF or within Europe via BAA.

© Catherine Munroe Hotes 2011

Nippon Connection 2011