Happiness of Us Alone (Matsuyama, 1961)

A real shame this isn't as recognized as a classic of Japanese melodrama and post-war cinema. This re-watch revealed several aspects that I can't say I picked up on my first watch years ago. 

Perhaps principally, Matsuyama, as a writer, wrote many great scripts for a variety of filmmakers prior to making this work, perhaps most notably Kobayashi's The Human Condition trilogy and Daughters, Wives and a Mother for Naruse, and the influence of both the subject matters that were covered in those films, as well as the director's approaches, can be seen and felt in this work. Matsuyama's penchant for melodrama and emotional resonance, as well as the connection of Takamine (perhaps a career best performance?), can be seen as an influence from Naruse, while the more realist settings and lingering effects of trauma and the aftermath of the war would come from Kobayashi. It's a clashing that many a filmmaker has struggled to connect, reality to the overwrought. It's difficult to wield such emotional/explosive performances and contain them within a world that's not just as designed, for lack of a better word. 

Much of the film, especially in its first third or so, demonstrates Matsuyama's influence from silent cinema as well. The score sounds like something Chaplin would've used in A Woman of Paris or something. It's simplicity in images, of two people using sign-language to communicate, their faces effectively saying everything we need to understand. It's in this early part of the film that the film shines brightest because of it's simplicity and effectiveness at getting us onboard with the central couple without succumbing to trite narrative beats, more often than not subverting said beats through it's use of framing and structure. But it's also important to note just how much of this relies on the the performances of the central couple as well (I came back to writing this after everything else). This wouldn't work if the central couple were not portrayed by as skilled actors as Takamine or Kobayashi. While this is certainly Takamine's show and she gets arguably the more showy role here, it's important to also not fail to notice just how much Kobayashi does with a silent role here. His scene on the train when he goes after Takamine and his signed words to her, when he's on the brink of tears - no words, just devastation (which could be said of many moments in the film to be honest). 

But the trick I think Matsuyama managed to do here is allowing in acknowledging and allowing us as an audience in on the "happiness" that the central couple are allowed to have. It's exaggerated for the sake of allowing this couple some sense of uplift from what could have very easily been misery-porn. I think of the quick turn-around that results from the couple's first child, which, if played in a realist context, would have been an unbearable decision that could have sunk the film as a whole, but allowing as the audience to access these bigger emotional trauma in shorter bursts makes the loss (and eventual recovery) more manageable. 

It's also worth noting just how the film is presented from a clear working-class perspective throughout. The central couple, as well as Takamine's mother, are never not in need of money. There are scenes throughout of the couple working together or arguing over funds. In one of the more insightful scenes, Takamine's mother goes to a pawn shop in order to sell some trinkets so that the couple can stay afloat. Even as the years move on and people get older, the central family are never able to escape from living near the poverty line no matter how much they work. It also touches upon a kind of resentment that can breed within children that is rarely touched upon in films. Takamine and Kobayashi's child is ashamed not just of his parent's deafness but from their lower class - his violence is born from being unable to cope with both and an inability to articulate this within himself. It's only when he gets older that he begins to understand their struggle and learns to assist in the fight to stay afloat and confront the oppression that keeps his parents down.

Actress (Ichikawa, 1987)

To a certain extent I agree with the critique that as a "biopic" of Kinuyo Tanaka, this falls well short of really capturing her or her life. But I also don't think that's really the point, or at least was Ichikawa's intention while making this. It may have been Kaneto Shindō's intent (though if it was he did a far better job in his own documentary on Mizoguchi a decade earlier). I'm more likely to buy into this being his own obsession and idea of Tanaka, and later Mizoguchi.

I'm more struck by the significance of the title "Actress". Ichikawa seems less interested in capturing the essence of Tanaka and more in the idea of how people play roles, whether that be as an actress, or as a director, a wife, etc. The entire film is a work of anachronisms. Whether it be the overly synthetic score, the overly stagy direction and staging techniques, or even the performances - which feel less like attempts to draw the audience into a period work than it is to make them overly aware of the falseness of it. None of the actors here (assuming this matters) look like the people they're playing - though I will say, the balls to cast Bunta Sugawara as Kenji Mizoguchi is something else - but that really doesn't matter. It's the attempt at presenting them in roles, the act (or art) of "acting", making you confront the illusion that we are so often forced to buy into in order to "believe" a role.

Ichikawa is also far more interested in charting the history of Japanese cinema of the period. From the silent period into the sound, the influx of foreign cinema, and the influence of the American occupation (though the war is almost never explicitly brought up). His use of clips and stills/images from other films and publicity photos from the period makes this clear. It's as much an essay as it is a work of dramatic construction.

And even then we're not meant to simply view this as a "biopic", a work which attempts to entertain an audience via cheap shortcuts of a person's life/people's lives, but as an assembly which attempts to make us question our own perception and conception of "film". At several points throughout, Ichikawa deliberately turns the camera onto us, the audience. Actively confronting us, as if he wasn't making obvious throughout the rest of the film with the artificiality of his presentation.

It's arguably a work which also denies its audience the pleasures and resolutions they would expect from a work like this. We are denied the satisfaction of witnessing Tanaka bloom into her own director or (if this was a more convention work) Mizoguchi getting "what's coming to him", or the maybe romance that the movie only suggests. The pleasure comes from seeing how Ichikawa is constantly offsetting the expectations of a work like this and instead of abiding by genre(?) conventions, turns this into a wholly rewarding and moving piece of cinematic representation.

Too Old to Die Young (Refn, 2019)

There's a lot to say in regards to NWR's newest piece of neon-coated exploitation, much of which will be said better than I will, but after having watched all 13 hours of this thing, there was much that floated through my mind. Admittedly, I'm no Refn stan. I've liked several of his films in the past (haven't re-watched anything in a while so I may view them differently now) but I wouldn't have ever gone out and said he was a favorite. For as much of an eye as I think he does have, I do find much of his work rather silly despite how deadly serious it's presented as. In that regard, this series is in much the same vein, in some ways for the better, in a lot of ways for the worse. 

I think in all fairness, there are several things I was rather impressed with throughout the series. I think, like his last few films, this is nothing if not directed to the nines. There's never an instant in watching this where you feel as though it's ever out of the director's control. Some have called it Kubrick-ian, and while that is certainly a touch point for Refn, there's very little in here that actually made me think of that seminal filmmaker. It's a work wholly of his own making. 

I also have to single out praise for both cinematographers (Darius Khondji & Diego García) and Cliff Martinez for his score. Whatever you think of the quality of the show itself, I think it's pretty undeniable how well shot it is. Both cinematographers, one an old pro and the other a seemingly great up-and-comer, light and frame this immaculately. It's one of the best looking things I've seen this year bar none. And while I think Martinez's score isn't really anything new for him or for his collaborations with Refn, I think that especially during the first half of the series, it's really one of the only things that propels it forward. 

Now, for as much has been said of how empty this, and a lot of Refn's work in general, is, there was a very clear delineation in the types of images that were made here in contrast to all of Refn's films. Whatever one thinks of those films, they had a very clear line of reference back into other films (Lynch, Argento, Kubrick, Jodorowsky, etc.), whereas throughout this series, the main point from which I believe the images are drawn from are comic books. Perhaps not surprising given that the co-writer is comic-book writer/cartoonist Ed Brubaker. But whether the camera is static or performing a long lateral tracking shot, every image is composed as though it is an individual panel in a comic book. This isn't meant as a criticism but more of a clear difference in the aesthetic of the images here that struck me. 

The influence of comic books is also felt in the (minimal) dialogue throughout. A lot of it is pretty bad. If it isn't bland exposition, it's attempting to be edgy. But none of it would feel out of place in a comic-book strip. It's concise and minimal, which allows Refn to dwell and linger on each image instead of the words that come out of the mouths of his "actors". Frankly, if you're coming to a Refn film for the dialogue, you've been misled as to the kind of filmmaker you're engaging with. 

As for the actors themselves, for as much leeway as I'm willing to give the likes of Gosling or Fanning or Reeves for their anti-performances in the likes of Only God Forgives or The Neon Demon, if only due to the fact that it's clear they can act and are imbuing the films a kind of inexplicable presence despite their blankness, I'm not willing to give most of the acting in this series the same credit. Miles Teller, God love him in Whiplash, just is not good here. Someone compared him in another review to a knockoff Gosling in regards to his work here, and it isn't hard to see why. Unlike Refn's previous muse, there's little that he does here that couldn't be done by a literal no-name. He brings no tangible qualities to this non-character that in any way make him engaging to watch. I don't really care whether he's "sympathetic" or "relatable" as much as whether someone is watchable in these kinds of films, and he simply isn't very interesting. While Jena Malone brings some semblance of "fun" to her performance, once again, it's just not at all interesting to watch her here. Really, the only two performance here that were in any way worthy of the time invested in them were James Urbaniak (who is only in episode 5 - really the highlight of the entire series) who is the only character in this series that brings any kind of menace to what's going on and Cristina Rodlo, who less for her character than for the confidence she imbues a nothing character. 

There's a lot of talk from several of the critics and writers on here who's opinions I respect that call, more rightfully than not, Refn a troll filmmaker. Someone who basically gets his rocks off by being provocative and making the kinds of films meant to push the buttons of "civil society", in a sense. Often mentioned along the likes of von Trier, Iñárritu, and a couple of others, I think what separates Refn from those other directors is that Refn, for all his arty pretensions, is ultimately an exploitation filmmaker. He's making schlocky genre films - action movies, horror films, crime films. If you took away all the gloss, the material itself isn't that different from what you might see on a straight to dvd genre movie. I don't see him so much as trying to "class up" or "elevate" the material he's making as much as grafting his own house style onto whatever the script entails. He has a house style, and whether he was making The Shining or Troll II, it would still wind up looking like one of his films. 

His troll-ish nature, comes through here in perhaps the most cad and clearly meant-to-be-edgy ways. Whether it's the violence, the pedophilia, the frankly odd Orientalism and take on class politics/warfare - it's done with an eye to be provocative. It's done to make the audience turn away and wag their fingers at him, all the while he sits in his chair looking at them with all the smugness of a teenager who likes to constantly bring up death and murder in conversations just to show how dark and twisted they are. It's all empty though. There's nothing there. Honestly the linking of underworld syndicates just struck me as bizarre more than anything else here (yakuza and neo-nazis are brought up for one scene each and then are apparently never referenced again). The final two episodes highlighting the attempt to poke the audience being the most eye-rolling moments in the entire series. I can't even call it laughable, though I'm sure Refn is having a good laugh to himself.