Neil Gaiman’s Sandman is my favourite comics work of all time, so when I say Bernhard Pucher’s short, not-for-profit film Black Sand, adapting some story elements from the early Preludes and Nocturnes, where the Dream Lord’s bag of dream-sand is in the possession of a drug-user, taking the sand like a euphoric. There’s a lovely appearance by the beautiful Michelle Ryan as Dream’s big sister, Death (her cheeky wink and smile to the lead is quite in keeping with the comics character). It’s only a dozen minutes or so long, but lovely work:
Directed by Matt Schrader
Music and cinema, two of my favourite things in life, and when combined those visuals flickering on the screen, the narrative, the actors, the dialogue and the music create something which is, when it really works, far greater than the sum of its parts. Can you imagine Star Wars without John Williams’ score? Or the magic he brought to Jaws (Spielberg often remarked with all the effects problems with the mechanical shark models Williams’ iconic theme became the shark the visual effects couldn’t give him)? Or that Superman theme, that dum de de dum dumm dumm building rapidly to that triumphant, suitably heroic theme that makes you want to “do the Superman”, rip open your shirt to show that big S, so empowering, magical, inspiring, so perfectly in symbiosis with the visuals. Just a few bars from any of those themes is instantly iconic, we hear it and the magic of that film moment fills us. A few notes of it added to a comedy sketch works the same magic, it’s instantly recognisable and comes with a built-in recognition and series of memories and emotions.
And that’s only three examples from one – albeit masterful – composer. Score talks to, well a score or more (sorry) of contemporary composers, and this includes a large number of have worked on some of our favourite sci-fi, horror, fantasy and comics-based movies, from Bear McCreary to Hans Zimmer, about their work, their inspirations, how they collaborate with directors and other musicians, from rousing themes like Gladiator or Pirates of the Caribbean to musicians who are generally seen as working outside the soundtrack composition world but who have been invited in, like Trent Reznor, bringing fascinating new ideas, rhythms, energies and passion to the world of film music, to its betterment.
(Hans Zimmer discussing his craft in Score)
That notion of change and evolution is strong in Score; while much of the running time, understandably, talks to contemporary composers – John Williams, Danny Elfman, Trent Reznor, Quincy Jones, Rachel Portman and many more – about their craft, and commenting on the works of others they admire, past and present, the film also takes in the ever-changing nature of film music. From the mighty King Kong in the 1930s, a pioneer not just in visual effects but in using a full symphony orchestra to score the movie (that fabulous music as Kong scales the Empire State Building) – bear in mind at that point the “talkie”, the sound movie, was only a few years old, this was inventing new ways of storytelling for a new medium (although as the film also points out, even the preceding “silent” movies were never truly silent, there was always at least a piano playing along to them, or the famous Wurlitzer organ, or a small chamber orchestra in some cinemas, while some silent films had visual cues for those musical accompaniments – think Buster Keaton in Steamboat Bill Jr, for example).
Like many things today we are so used to the notion of a film with carefully composed music being part of its fabric that it is easy to forget someone had to come up with these ideas originally, then others developed them, they became the standard approach. Then others would come along and shake that approach up with something new and fresh – that fabulous, then contemporary jazz score for A Streetcar Named Desire replacing the notion of the symphonic suite to huge effect, a burning, modern, sexual, jazz that went with the story and visual so perfectly evoking and enhancing the mood, the feeling on levels that work beyond those paired with the visuals.
(the Air Studio in a converted London church)
The methods used for inspiration, for creation and recording are discussed, from hearing natural sounds and wondering how they might translate into music for a piece to feeling their way through how to translate that sound in their head into something tangible, experience and artistic intuition telling them how to continue, be it a simple, short piece that may be best on a solo piano to some great, iconic theme that requires a full orchestra (and then how to set up and record that orchestra, which space to use, how to deploy it, the changes in post production, so many choices that can make totally different sounds and feeling to the resulting music), or something new, digital electronica or contemporary jazz or rock or dance beats. There’s technical discussion, but mostly what comes across from all of these musicians is passion for their work, for what it adds to the cinematic medium, and the respect and admiration many of them show for the work of other musicians, contemporary and those who went before.
(Bear McCreary experimenting with different instruments and sounds)
This takes in a huge swathe of film music history, and of course it includes many of our beloved fantastical genres that have featured score which have become iconic – think on that intricate music for Inception, the big, brassy, sassy, swaggering music for James Bond, that Jaws theme, Mad Max, Close Encounters, Psycho, the Avengers movies, that great, swelling Lord of the Rings theme (and all the smaller character themes that weave through key moments). I play a lot of soundtracks when working in the Blogcave, and even divorced from the film they still inspire me, enthuse me, play with my emotions and the best ones, even played on their own, evoke memories of some of my favourite film moments, from Star Wars to Dunkirk. Score captures that feeling the music creates in us as the audience, how the finest soundtracks live in our heads afterwards, and that wonderful magic that happens when amazing musicians and remarkable film-makers come together.
I could easily have sat through much more of this, Score is by turns fascinating and inspiring, a glimpse into some of the creative processes that bring out favourite films to life, to the power of music to enhance the emotional experience.
Score: a Film Documentary is out on DVD and available via Video on Demand from Dogwoof on April the 2nd
This review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog
Directed by Ceyda Torun
I’ve been waiting to see Ceyda Torun’s Turkish documentary about some of the many feral cats in Istanbul for some time, and finally caught it this evening, my end of the work week treat on the way home after work. The film follows a number of local characters in an old neighbourhood in Istanbul, although the legions of cats living wild in the city goes way, way back, well before Istanbul, before Turkey was Turkey, when this was Constantinople, the continuation of the Classical Roman world. As one local comments, ships have always visited this great crossroads city between East and West, even centuries ago, from as far as Scandinavia; many of those ships carried cats, popular with the sailors for both their company and their rodent-cleansing skills, meaning the city’s wild feline population includes a variety of breeds, even Norwegian forest cats.
The film talks about how many of these cats live in this region of Istanbul, each with their own characters, as all animals have, interacting with their chosen humans but still mostly living free and wild. Some come right into human homes and businesses for periods, for food treats, for company and attention and affection, then back out on their rounds across streets and rooftops. Others obviously don’t mind people but don’t get too close, like one who turned up at a seafront restaurant one day and settled in, taking care of any rat problems at night. Another regularly attends a pretty upmarket deli/cafe, but he knows his bounds (he has manners, the cafe owner says), he doesn’t come inside, doesn’t bother the customer for tidbits, he waits and then puts his paws up on the glass to draw attention to let them know he is hungry.
The amount of people who interact with the cats is huge, from just giving them some attention and under the chin scratches to those who go out with bags of food to feed them, seeking out their regular spots, looking out especially those mama cats with young kittens (or in one touching scene a man feeds abandoned kittens milks with a syringe, no idea where their mother is, but he has help, a large Tom who tries to look after the kittens after finding them). Most of them talked about how the cats made them feel, how the interaction with the animals helped them, brightened their day and made it better, more than a few who had suffered some crisis in their lives found interacting with the animals healed them inside, which will surprise no-one who has ever lived with animals. Cats, dogs, horses and more, they touch a part of us deep inside, even when we’re badly hurt; there’s a reason why therapists often recommend living with animals to those with emotional trauma, and more than a few PTSD sufferers are on record as saying that the companionship of an animal saved them from the black pit when they were at their worst.
But this isn’t just a film for moggy lovers like me, it’s as much about the people and the place and the community. The camera moves around in drone shots over the roofs (where the cats walk as they please as easily as they do on the ground, for a cat’s paths around a city are whichever it chooses, not restricted to mere human passageways like us clumsy upright apes) and down at cat-eye level too. Around this old neighbourhood, as in many cities around the world, the movers and shakers are building towering bland palaces of glass and steel, structures on an inhuman scale, built on the cleared remains of communities like this, and they worry that their old neighbourhood will be next.
Where will the people go, where will the cats go in such an environment? What will happen to the community felines and homo sapiens share so beautifully there? Cleared in the way of “progress” (normally defined here as giving rich speculators more room and power at the expense of regular people), a way of life and community scattered to be replaced by isolated high-rise blocks for the rich, the houses, small businesses, cafes and flats and people and cats all gone? It’s a pattern familiar from many cities over the last century, here given added pathos because of the animal element.
The roving cameras following the cat also give a flavour of the city – not the tourist parts, the real city, where people live and know one another, in their local cafes, fishing by the seafront, the bustling local markets (a regular haunt for many of the cats!) and lets you feel something of the beat of the city, its rhythms and life, in a place which has been a bustling hub of life for so many centuries of history, a history the cats have shared with them; empires have risen and fallen, religions come and gone and been replaced, new countries born, and the cats have been there through all of it, happily training the local humans as cats do.
One local comments cats are aware of god, dogs are not, they think humans are god, cats know better, humans are perhaps middlemen. Actually I suspect cats don’t see us even as middlemen to god, they may be aware of god, but they probably don’t care, because they know that they are the centre of all things in the universe (gods included, excepting perhaps the lady Bast, since she is a feline goddess) and god is just someone else they can get a tummy tickle from, and perhaps a bit of ham or chicken.
Overall it’s a charming, funny, warm film though, smiling humans and purring pusscats, it’s touching, inspiring and lightens the soul, god knows something we could all do with.
Yuki-onna / Snow Woman,
Directed by Kiki Sugino,
Starring Kiki Sugino , Munetaka Aoki, Mayu Yamaguchi
Another of the films I caught during the recent Edinburgh International Film Festival was Kiki Sugino’s hauntingly beautiful film from Japan, Snow Woman. Drawing on an ancient folkloric tradition of the Yuki-onna, a spirit, almost ghostly being who, like the vampire, has had many variations in the telling and re-telling of her tale across the year. Here director Sugino takes the eponymous role, first appearing in an opening prologue, shot in a silvery black and white as a pair of hunters struggle through heavy snow on the mountains around Hiroshima, the elder male clearly losing the struggle, his young companion aiding him into the relative shelter of an old hunting cabin.
Awoken in the middle of the night, the younger man, Minokichi, is frozen by terror as much as the bitter cold, for their rough shelter has been invaded silently by a pale woman with piercing eyes and long, dark hair, crouched over his companion, and as her chill breath passes over his face the older man dies. Turning her attention to Minokichi the Snow Woman looks as if she is about to do the same to him, but then she tells him she will take pity on him because of his youth, and spare his life, on the condition he never tell another person what happened (a detail nicely lifted from one of the more popular versions of the many stories of the Snow Woman in Japan).
Moving to colour, it is now much later, the winters have departed the mountains, and Minokichi is returning from a hunting trip when he finds a beautiful woman alone on one of the paths. She asks the way to the ferry, and he takes her, inviting her to spend the night in the home of he and his elderly mother. The woman, Yuki, is beautiful but quiet and mysterious – she seems not to know where she came from, or of any family, but she is pleasant and both Minokichi and his mother are happy for her simply to stay with them, Minokichi slowly falling in love with her and asking her to become his wife. And for many years they are quite happy – Minokichi is curious about his strange wife, but as they live and love together and even have a child – a girl, Ume – he swallows this curiosity and seems content to live his life with wife and daughter in their small, barely changing village.
Of course it can’t last – Yuki has a familiar look to her and it is clear Minokichi has wondered if she is related to the Snow Woman he encountered (but if so how can she be here living as a human wife outside of her winter season?). He bites back his curiosity, partly perhaps because the Snow Woman warned him never to mention what happened on pain of death, but mostly, one feels, because he loves her and his daughter. But as the years pass – Yuki looks no older than the day she arrived – and their daughter starts to grow up, events start to happen around the village and mountain, strange deaths, the victims frozen…
This is such a beautifully crafted film – despite the supernatural elements and the folklore it is based on, it avoids the route of J-horror, instead creating a more chilling atmosphere in some places (no pun intended), like a Victorian ghost tale, perhaps. But mostly this is less a tale of strange spirits and more a tale of love and people and men and women, and how they can love one another truly but still sometimes simply cannot share a life, or at least not always, and sometimws can’t even communicate properly to one another (“husbands and wives are strangers to each other” Minokichi’s mother once tells him), a theme of Sugino’s other works too – she explained in a Q&A after the film that as a Korean-Japanese the idea of the outsider and not quite understanding one another is one she is very familiar with, while the tale itself reminds me of elements of the Selkie wife from my own country’s folklore tradition.
Snow Woman is a work of beauty though, the slow pacing and the almost timeless setting (a few items, like electric lights, hint at mid-20th century, but the village and clothing could be almost any time in the last few hundred years) allowing the audience to sink into the pace with the nature the villagers live closely to, and there is a real feeling of the turning of the seasons here (appropriately enough as some versions of the Yuki-onna associate her with seasonal spirits), the feeling of the village life in the shadow of the mountains and forest, the closeness of the natural world (and the supernatural Other World), told in some luscious cinematography and clever, precise use of soundscape until it feels less like watching a film and more like walking slowly through a dream. I can see why Sugino is making a name for herself in Asian cinema.
This review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog
I’ve been pretty busy watching lots of different types of movies during the Edinburgh International Film Festival over the last few days and it hasn’t left me much free time to pen some reviews, so apologies in advance for bundling one of the feature length animated films with a quick selection from some of the short animation programmes.
My Entire High School Sinking into the Sea,
Directed by Dash Shaw
Starring Jason Schwartzman, Lena Dunham, Reggie Watts, Maya Rudolph, Susan Sarandon
When I saw this appear in this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival programme I must confess I was minded to book it just on the strength of that title alone – I mean, come on, how could I resist a film with a title like that? Then I found out it was from US comics creator Dash Shaw, so I was doubly determined to go and see it while I had the chance.
Dash and Assaf are best friends at school – in fact the don’t really have any other friends, although Dash, now growing out of his teen acne years, is trying to be more positive about the start of their sophomore year and with big plans for what he and Assaf will do on the school paper. Except Dash is a terrible writer and happy to make up screeds of nonsense flavoured with liberal amounts of purple prose. When the school paper’s editor Verti assigns Assaf a solo writing job it becomes clear that, in that ancient rights-of-teen-passage, two best friends are about to be parted by a woman coming into the lives of one of them, and Dash isn’t happy about it.
In fact Dash is so angry he concocts another of his fake news stories, but this time full of accusations about Assaf, hurtful and quite nasty stuff, which not only hurts their friendship, it earns Dash a visit to the office of Principal Grimm and a note on his permanent record. Still hurt and petulant, Dash sneaks into the archives – a rat-infested basement of cardboard boxes full of school records and confiscated cellphones – to grab his records, but when he does so he also finds some hidden documents about the new senior school auditorium which is about to open on the top floor of Tides High. And among them he finds paperwork from the state surveyor saying the building is already structurally unsound and the new addition will add to that, especially as the school sits above a fault line, right on a cliff by the ocean. Given the location and the film’s title (it really does do what it says on the tin!), I think you can see where this is going…
Dash finds that the principal has forged papers saying the building is sound – finally he actually has a real, important, powerful news story for the school paper. But in classic boy who cried wolf mode, nobody believes him even though this time he has a real story and even the documentary evidence. But events are about to prove him right, although too late for many, and crunch and splash, the school is indeed in the sea, and it is sinking. Cue survival time as former friends and mis-matched students and staff – including the formidable Lunch Lady Lorraine (played by Susan Sarandon, no less!) – choose their paths, some leading to watery death, some a possible, desperate way out.
This was huge fun – sure the animation is pretty basic, guessing executed on a really small budget, it’s kind of Daria-level animation, but Shaw and company don’t let that hinder then, in fact they seem to glory in it, delighting in using odd combinations of colours and perspectives so that, although fairly basic animation, visually it all works nicely, keeping the eyes interested while the story hooks the brain. And yes, the story is essentially mashing a bunch of 1980s high school movies mashed up with The Poseidon Adventure, but it really doesn’t matter, it’s just a great ride as the kids have to make hard decisions and work together to try and survive, all handled with some out-there artwork and perspectives. Inept teachers, a cool lunch lady, lost juniors, jock-like seniors, gruesome deaths, sinking high school and even sharks, plus friendship and romance and comedy, I mean what else do you need??
The McLaren Animation Awards
I always make a point of going to the annual McLaren Animation strands at the Edinburgh International Film Festival – there are so many interesting short animation works being produced and yet we so rarely get to see them properly, on the big screen in a cinema, so I usually try to get to both strands of the McLaren, which celebrates and promotes new and emerging UK-based animation talent, and, rather pleasingly I think, the awards are voted on by the actual audiences, so it is the people who came along to watch, enjoy and support the works who get to cast the votes which determine the winner.
This year’s McLaren Award for British Animation went to Paloma Baeza for Poles Apart, which was a lovely piece of stop-motion work in which a back-packing grizzly bear arrives in the Arctic, and meets a starving polar bear. Using humour and friendship this short story gently raises the increasingly dire spectre of climate change and the human impact on the natural world, without getting on a soap box – in fact at at Q&A after the screening Paloma noted she wanted to say something about this global problem, but not in a way that may put people off or come across as lecturing, and she succeeded admirably in this (and also raised smiles into the bargain, it is a lovely wee work),and kudos to her for getting a major actor like Helen Bonham Carter to voice the polar bear:
There are a good couple of dozen short animation works shown across the two annual McLaren screenings at the film fest, and there isn’t really space or time for me to mention each of them, and, as with any collection of quite different works (very different approaches in subject matter, style, execution and so on), some are going to appeal more to some viewers, while others may appeal more to different viewers. But there were so many interesting works that I have to pick out a few that struck me personally.
Will Adams’ Nothing to Declare starts as a warm, inviting piece – a young man off on his travels before he settles down to life, sends back a package for his little sister from South America. A little after this, right before Christmas, he returns back to chilly Scotland from Brazil, the family flat is warm and inviting, Christmas music plays, the windows glow with that warm, cosy glow that looks so inviting from a winter street. But when he gets inside it takes a very dark, actually quite gruesome twist that wouldn’t be out of place in an old EC Comic – I didn’t know until afterwards that the story here was from Scottish comics legend Frank Quitely. Will spoke at the Q&A afterwards and said he and some of those involved used to share space in the famous Hope Street studios in Glasgow with Frank and other creators, and when asked if there may be future collaborations between the animation team and Scottish comickers, he said they hoped to do more (although given the time even short animated films take, it could be a while before we see any new fruits of such collaborations, but fingers crossed!)
(home in time for Christmas – a scene from Nothing to Declare)
Elizabeth Hobbs’ G-AAAH was an utter delight. Elizabeth celebrated the epic solo flight from Britain to Australia by Amy Johnson in 1930 (the title refers to the plane’s call sign), and she does it all using an old Underwood Typewriter (Amy was a typist before she was a famous flyer). ASCII characters from the old typewriter come to life on the paper, taking the shapes of the aircraft, the stars in the skies, the seas below, it’s a beautiful example of the ways in which a talented animator can use almost any medium to create the sense of something vibrant and living.
Jack Newman’s Escape From Syria – Faiza’s Story, was based on the testimony of a young mother, Faiza, who saw the slow disintegration of Syria, from their comfortable home to a place of horror and terror; by the time her brother is kidnapped the family realises they, like so many others, cannot stay any longer in their own land and have to flee – the artwork is based on drawings by Faiza’s own children, who have seen things no child should, and it gives an added power and emotive blow when watching the film. Jennifer Zheng’s Tough explored both the generational and cultural gaps that can happen in immigrant families, her parents Chinese who fled to Britain, the daughter considers herself British through and through, but as she gets older she starts to realise she has a whole cultural heritage she hasn’t explored. Sam Healy’s Wires (A Cyber Fairy Tale) was only four minutes, but managed to combine both comedy and tragedy as two small robots break the continual loop of their fellows’ existence, but find a price to pay.
I loved Lila Babington’s Tunnel Vision, a mixture of stop-motion, live-action and puppetry, in which the protagonist chases her errant shoelaces, which slip away in the woods like a writhing worm and burrow underground – on chasing them she finds a strange chamber and an odd creature under the earth, in a short that has a pleasing nod to the great Jan Svankmajer (and perhaps to Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth as well). Daisy Jacobs’ The Full Story uses mixed media animation and live action as a man is showing an estate agent his family home, in preparation for selling it, triggering flashbacks to his childhood and the magical happiness of being a kid slowly being pulled apart as his family breaks up; it’s very effective in the different styles used through the short film, and delivers a good emotional wallop. Karni & Saul’s Perfect World is an enchanting fairy tale of a mother and child told in a world made from the sugar granules on the kitchen table; it was made for Katie Melua’s album In Winter.
This review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog
Directed by Bong Joon Ho,
Starring Tilda Swinton, Paul Dano, An Seo Hyun, Byun HeeBong, Steven Yeun, Lily Collins, Yoon Je Moon, Shirley Henderson, Daniel Henshall, Devon Bostick, Giancarlo Esposito, Jake Gyllenhaal
Bong Joon Ho brought us the brilliant monster movie with a twist, The Host and the film adaptation of the Snowpiercer graphic novels, so when I saw his latest film, Okja, was due to make its bow at the Edinburgh International Film Festival, I had to grab myself a ticket. A Korean film in both Korean and English – and boasting a nice bonus in the form of the great Tilda Swinton – Okja sees a huge multinational attempting to rebrand itself away from its toxic image, with new CEO (Swinton) waging a PR blitz to try and make the company look warm, eco-friendly and fuzzy after the reign of her father (who even his own family admitted was psychopathic). And the main plank is the superpig, which, over the next ten years, as well as being studied by their own scientists, will be given to traditional farmers in different parts of the world to raise for ten years.
Following the slick (and sickeningly obviously fake) PR launch (riffing nicely not just on how heartless corporations try to hide their agendas with a feel-good PR blanket but also the way so many super-rich CEO seem to desperately want the public to love them), we move to the mountains of Korea and meet Seo-Hyun Ahn’s Mija, who loves with her grandfather and Okja, their now fully adult superpig. Okja is less farm animal and more family member/pet (let’s be honest, to most of us pets are family members), and we get to see Mija walking with him through the woods, playing with him, tapping the sleeping giant animal so he rolls over on his back and she can sleep on his tummy. It’s all quite adorable and I take my hat off to the very young Seo-Hyun Ahn for being able to give such a convincing and emotional acting job to a CG creation she couldn’t see when the film was shooting, it’s a terrific job for such a young actress, and it isn’t long before the audience totally buys into their relationship.
But the day is coming when the corporation wants to pick up Okja and take him back to their American facility, hold their even bigger publicity show and then… Well, gigantic or not, what usually happens to farmed pigs sooner or later? Mija is heartbroken at Okja being taken away from their hillside farm, this is her best friend in the world, and the animal is so clearly bonded with her too. She decides to set off to Seoul after Okja, in what could, in other hands, have become a clumsy Disney-esque “incredible journey” type tale, but fortunately never does. Enter some comedic light relief in the form of some animal liberation activists, apologising to everyone for any harm as they try to free Okja. They have a longer term plan though, and Okja and Mija become a part of it – and of course the corporation too has plans to use both superpig and adorable young girl for their own ends, and the pair are caught between them.
This was such an utter delight – adorable and emotional in places, often wonderfully funny in others, and with some deliciously satirical barbs, especially for giant corporations, the spin doctors who spend vast sums trying to persuade the public how nice they are (really, we are not evil, honest!), and most especially on the way humans treat animals, especially food animals. I don’t think the film is trying to persuade anyone to become a vegetarian (although some scenes made me glad that I am), but certainly to think about the mass-production of animals for food and the appalling way thousands of animals are treated every day so we can buy cheap food from the supermarket and not bother our consciences by thinking of what sort of life the animal that ended up on our plate had before its demise.
The story moves from sweetly emotional to gleefully satirical, with swipes at Almighty Power and healthy doses of our old friend The Absurd, saving perhaps for a later scene where we see what is to happen to the animals, which is just horrifying. The CG for Okja is terrific, the animated animal coming across much more like a giant, good-natured Labrador than pig, and young Seo-Hyun Ahn’s acting with this creature added in post-production totally sells the relationship and is the heart of the film, while Tilda Swinton’s increasingly deranged CEO steals scenes left, right and centre. This is an absolute gem.
This review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog
In This Corner of the World,
Directed by Sunao Katabuchi,
Starring Non, Megumi Han, Yoshimasa Hosoya
This animated film, based on the manga by Fumiyo Kōno, has been huge in Japan, and I’ve been eager to see it, so when it appeared on the programme for this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival I booked myself a ticket right away (for those not lucky enough to get to the festival, it is getting a limited UK release over the next couple of weeks, so check your local listings). I was not disappointed; this is a beautiful piece of animation, and quite emotionally satisfying too.
The story is set in 1930s and 1940s Japan, and although the Second World War will be an important part, this is not a war movie. At least, not in the usual sense of a war movie – this is a slice of life, following a young woman, Suzu, from childhood through to early adulthood and marriage, and the wartime years give us a view of the conflict from the perspective of the home front, of civilians who don’t really know what it is all about (only what strictly controlled propaganda the Japanese government give out) and are, basically, increasingly caught in the middle of this titanic struggle, some of them paying the price for events they never instigated or had any real say in, just like untold legions of ordinary civilians through every war in history.
But the war, while important and having lasting ramifications for Suzu and her family, is only one part of the tale here – this is Suzu’s story of her life, not of the war, we concentrate on her and her family, and that gives the whole film a huge amount of emotional resonance. We see her as a little girl, helping her family to collect and dry seaweed, the story littered with loving little details of a bygone era, such as their family, on one special day of the year when the tides are exceptionally low, able to walk right across the now waterless bay to visit their relatives on the other shore (and rush back before the tide returns), a reminder of a time when most ordinary people rarely moved much further than their own small town (trains are pricey and cars very rare). This is a time not really that long ago – we’re talking about the sort of world many of our own grandparents would remember.
We see Suzu as a girl, a bit of a daydreamer, and an artist – a good one, at that. And she has an affinity to often see the art in many situations, although this often means she loses focus on the here and now (in one scene during an air raid the puffs of smoke from the anti-aircraft fire become a beautiful Impressionist painting to her eyes – gorgeous but it also means she is too mesmerised to take cover…). Her family lives in Hiroshima, but when she turns eighteen Suzu is offered marriage to a young man she doesn’t know. It’s not an arranged marriage, as such, the families discuss it, and it is clear she can say no, but although allowed, it’s not really the done thing. And so she goes to live with her new husband and his family in Kure, some distance from Hiroshima (again, like her family across the bay it isn’t that far, not to us with cars and fast trains, but back then it’s a big wrench).
Kure is a major naval base, and as Suzu settles into her new life the ships of the Imperial navy are a backdrop – her husband is a civilian navy worker, and her adorable little niece Harumi loves looking at the ships and telling her new aunt which ones are which, while she sketches (this leads to an ugly scene where the military police almost arrest her as a spy for sketching the ships in the bay – this was a time where Japanese citizens could be arrested and disappeared for anything that might hint at questioning the wartime government). And of course as the years roll on the war draws closer – and a naval base like Kure is, inevitably, going to become a target. And such are the horrible fortunes of war that we know it won’t just be the military or industrial targets which end up in the bomber’s crosshairs, it will be the town, the people, including women and children.
In This Corner of the World powerfully illustrates the indiscriminate horror of mass bombing – this is Japan (at this time “the enemy”, as if that makes it any better), but it could have been Clydebank, Coventry, London, Dresden, Guernica or the cities of modern Syria, or anywhere else where civilians are seen as “collateral” damage, and the film shows this both on the personal scale for her family and friends, and on the wider scale (those classical wooden Japanese buildings razed to the foundations by fire-bombing, street after street gone). The atomic bombing of her hometown is, understandably, a major moment, and one we, with the benefit of historical hindsight, know is coming closer and closer, until the day we see that huge flash in the sky, and the awful blastwave that follows.
But while the film shows the hideous aftermath of this first use of nuclear weapons, it doesn’t just show Horishima as the city that the Bomb was dropped on, it shows us the city in the years before, a real, living place and people, and brings it to life, based on the memories of some older survivors and on period photographs, the now iconic Genbaku Dome – the Atomic Dome, one of the few structures close to the blast which survived, and is now a symbol of both the horrors of warfare and the need for peace – clearly visible as tram cars and people pass in the streets, then again in the irradiated ruins afterwards, but then there it still is, after all this passes and the city is reborn.
In This Corner of the World brings us happy moments and very sad ones, some utterly beautiful scenes and some steeped in sorrow; despite the intrusion of the huge, global-altering events of the war, it is, at heart, a family story, a story of a life, with the ups and downs, the moments that we all get, the moments where we feel life has broken us beyond repair but then the moments that make our souls sing with joy, and make it all worthwhile. This is an utterly gorgeous work, and one best seen on the big screen.
This review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet International Blog
The box office opened for the world’s oldest continually running film festival on Friday, the Edinburgh International Film Festival, which I usually take a week off to enjoy every year. Normally they send me a programme but nothing arrived this year, so on my day off, which coincided with the box office opening, I took myself off to the Filmhouse (long a second home for me in Edinburgh), grabbed the programme, parked myself in the cafe-bar (one of my favourite spots to relax in the city) and worked my way through it, circling the ones I most wanted to see, then checking them against the calendar section to see which ones conflicted with others and then back to the box office to book a whole block.
I’ve got a good mix, as usual, foreign language, animation, drama, documentary. I’ve got both strands of the McLaren Animation Awards, which celebrate the best in new animation talent, with the audience voting for the films showing, so the award goes to the one the actual film fest audiences think best deserves it. I often see some of the McLaren films turn up months later in the BAFTA and Oscars short animation nominations, which is always satisfying. Sadly the festival is about the only place I get to see these shown on the big screen – it’s a pity the tradition of showing a short before the feature film died out long ago, it would be nice if some of these short works got a few screenings in mainstream cinemas, would be a nice way for them to support new talent, even if they only did, say, one month a year where they had them as shorts before the main programme (and since it is all digital now it isn’t like they need expensive prints made and transported to the cinemas). Also on the animation front I’m really looking forward to In This Corner of the World, which the gravepine has been saying is one of the best Japanese animated movies in years.
When I saw Emer Reynolds’ The Farthest in the documentary section, I knew I had to put that one on my slate as well. The Farthest follows one of the greatest journeys of discovery in human history, the magnificent Voyager missions. Rushed into being when astronomers realised that a rare upcoming alignment of many of the planets would give them a unique opportunity, two probes were crafted in quite a short period, incredibly complex courses worked out for something never attempted before, sending a craft on a multi-planet mission. And all of this with early 1970s technology.., Technology which is still working.
After planetary encounters and sending back huge swathes of data on our neighbouring worlds that kept scientists busy for decades, following remarkable courses which used the gravity wells of the planets themselves to alter their routes, Voyager 1 and 2 both then took on a new mission, hurtling outwards to the final frontier, still sending weak signals home, searching for the point where the sun’s influence fades and interstellar space begins. Even then, once all power is gone, they still have on final mission, each carrying a gold disc with multiple-languages and music of the Planet Earth on them, just in case by some astonishing chance they are ever found by another species. A little snapshot of human life and culture that will, most likely, drift forever throughout the universe…
I claimed a bit of owed time back and left work slightly early to catch a classic screening of one of my favourite movies at the Filmhouse on the way home from work, Woody Allen’s 1979 film Manhattan. I have it on DVD at home in my (probably way too large) film collection, but it’s a different experience watching a movie in the cinema than it is at home. Not just the obvious screen size difference – you concentrate more on the film in the cinema, you’re there in the dark, with an audience all reacting to the scenes alongside you, not at home, pausing the DVD to go and put the kettle on or check your Twitter feed.
And it was still wonderful after all these years – I think Manhattan has one of the greatest openings in cinema, Woody’s dialogue, his writer trying out lines “he adored New York, he idolised it…” over a montage of all sorts of views of the city, from the expensive fashion stores to the family neighbourhood, that iconic skyline and then, as the Gershwin soundtrack soars that skyline erupts with fireworks, all of this in glowing black and white cinematography. New York has rarely looked more beautiful on film, it’s a magical movie moment (what I call a Triple-M, just perfect scenes in a film that live in your mind’s eye ever after and always raise that reaction no matter how often you see it). And then there’s that perfectly composed scene of Woody with Diane Keaton, sitting by a bench by the river next to the Queensboro Bridge, as dawn starts to break. Sublime.
I had a little time before the early evening showing, so I parked myself in the Filmhouse cafe-bar for some food and drink before the screening. The Filmhouse is one of my “happy places”, it’s been a second home for me since I moved to Edinburgh as a student a long time ago, and being there for a movie, the film fest or even just in the cafe-bar makes me content. As I was having my drink I was, of course, reading (always a book in my bag), in this case Simon Garfield’s On the Map, a history of cartography which I picked up in a charity store recently. And right before it was time to close the book and head up to the auditorium what do I read but a paragraph on the first appearances of America on world maps, and the first mention, in the mid 1600s, of Manhattan on a map, here referred to as “Manhattes”, just as I was about to go in to see the film Manhattan. I love little meaningless coincidences like that…
Directed by John Ainslie
Starring Tianna Nori, Mark Matechuk, Krista Madison
You could be forgiven for thinking the story concept for The Resident (also known as The Sublet in the US) sounds not unfamiliar – a mother and young child mostly alone in a new apartment with odd noises and things happening, it does stir memories of Dark Water and other such offerings. But Canadian film-makers Black Fawn are getting themselves a bit of a rep in horror circles (they also did The Bite which Garth reviewed on here last year), and there was something about this that sparked my Spidey-sense and told me this was going to be worth checking out, and so it proved, for while the main idea of mother and child in possibly haunted new home is far from new, The Resident plows a different furrow from others in that field, offering up a genuinely creepy, psychological approach.
Joanna (Tianna Nori), her husband and her new baby have to move into temporary lodgings for his new job, and right from the start this is an apartment block that just screams out that there’s something wrong. It takes several attempts buzzing the intercom just to get into the block, then on schlepping up the stairs (just what you want with a baby stroller) to the apartment for rent they find no-one there, no sign of the landlord. But the door opens and there’s a not telling them to look around but if they don’t like it then pretty much leave and don’t let the door hit you on the butt on the way out. Not exactly a warm welcome. Oh, and there is a locked room in the apartment. Which hubby surmises must be where the landlord stores his personal items, but which you just know is going to be something else…
There’s a palpable sense of unease right from the start, just viewing the apartment, but once they move in the sense of disturbance grows. Much of the increasing sense that things just aren’t right comes from Joanna basically being at home by herself with the baby, day after day, in a strange city while her husband is out at his new job. She doesn’t know anyone here and, mysteriously, she never seems to bump into anyone from the neighbouring apartments coming or going. But she does hear them. Sometimes. A banging, banging, banging on the walls and other sounds.
And this is where The Resident takes a different tack from some haunted apartment tales – director Ainslie wisely uses the more mundane, everyday elements of Joanna’s life as a new mother in a strange city to both heighten her feelings of isolation and dislocation and yet at the same time also make you second guess her state of mind. Like many new mothers she’s already dealing with major life changes – the physical and emotional sides of pregnancy and giving birth, then finding yourself now mostly at home on your own during the work day, totally cut out of your previous routines. That is a difficult thing for most first-time mothers to adjust to, and here in a new city she doesn’t even have friends or relatives to come round, take them out, babysit or help out, increasing her isolation, and it doesn’t help that her husband is busy with his new job and his stress there means he is less than supportive even when he is at home…
And I found this was the element that really made The Resident work for me – that real-world side of things, of Joanna trying to cope with her new life and baby and new home is something that is very easy to empathise with, and grounds the spookier aspects. In fact, it not only grounds them it also offers the viewer a dilemma – how much of the increasingly strange things that seem to be happening are real? And how many are the products of a woman in a heightened emotional state? And that really helps drive The Resident into a much more psychological level as the viewer is left wondering what is real and what is not – and realising that even if it isn’t real, the effect is the same on poor Joanna. And what if it is real, what are those noises from neighbouring apartments where nobody every seems to be home, what’s in that locked room, what happened here before… With a lean running time The Resident builds atmosphere right from the start and increases the psychological pressure throughout, not outstaying its welcome, so keeping the tensions nice and taught.
The Resident is released on DVD, on-demand and download by Second Sight from May 22nd; this review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog
During the Edinburgh International Film Festival last week I saw a film called Cinema, Mon Amour, a documentary about a group trying to save an old cinema in Romania. Afterwards the Filmhouse very kindly gave us a short tour of the main projection booth – we had to be quiet and I couldn’t use the flash as another festival screening was going on below us (we could see it through the wee rectangular window in the booth). The pair of decades old cine projectors are named Kenneth and Sid – even in this bastion of arthouse and international film, the Carry On movies have influence!
Quite nostalgic for me to see these and hear them – the whirring sound of anaologue projectors is part of my childhood memories of cinema, and at home we had a Super 8mm cine camera as well as our 35mm still cameras, and we screened them quite often on long winter’s nights for the family. There’s something satisfying about old analogue tech like this, you can see it moving, see how it works. The Filmhouse must be one of the last cinemas in the city that retains the ability to show actual film prints as well as digital and properly trained projectionists. They were telling us about their skills, from being able to change from one projector to the other seamlessly mid-film, fixing broken celluloid to adjusting focus, ratio and even speed for different formats and eras (early films shot on hand-cranked cameras require a lot of skill to adjust the film speed, since their shooting rate varied as cameramen’s arms got tired. Lovely to see these magic lanterns which paint stories on a screen using nothing more than light…
I’m enjoying a few days off for my annual Edinburgh International Film Festival fun. Last night at the Traverse Theatre as part of the film fest they had an “in conversation” with French actor Dominique Pinon, who has appeared in a number of my favourite films over the years. One of those evening that reminds me one of the reason I love living here so much is that with our festivals everyone comes to Edinburgh at some point, writers, directors, actors, musicians, they all come here. I took a few photos with the new camera – sitting several rows up and back in a theatre so not the best place for taking photos, but out of the batch I shot a handful came out passably.