DaViD´82

"Happiness is something anyone can have." Off the top of my head I can’t name any other film where the most depressing and darkest possible denouement is delivered as a beautifully lyrical wonder-not feel-good punchline. And this contrast of "uplifting chilliness" has bitten into me so much that I can't get it out of my head. Yet it's such a titanic detail, so much so that it's bullshit, you'd think. It trumps all other impressions. The positives (excellently constructed, enjoyably down-to-earth and subdued despite the gravity and magnitude of the themes, a phenomenal Sakura Ando) and negatives (especially the third part, which shuffles on its feet because you already know "where, who, why" by that point, and it's even clear what it's inevitably leading to). A traditional and yet in many ways different Kore-eda - maybe because this time he is not also the author of the script? As much as I wouldn't classify this as one of his best works, it's paradoxically the one that sticks with me the most, which I appreciate.

Laura initially mutters to herself to the nosy gossip, "I wish you'd stop talking." and I kept repeating the same thing to her in my head like a mantra. Her amazingly descriptive inner monologue is exactly the kind of book-radio-theatre redundant stuff that has no business on a screen where you're telling a story in pictures. It's an annoying element, not well-written, superfluous (Celia Johnson basically plays everything she says with her eyes anyway), and outdated by the time it was made. Add to that the fact that the uncharismatic Trevor Howard, here a seemingly charming individual, is rolled by Celia's acting in every scene like an ignorant pupil at the blackboard. Yet the film flows, looks good, and everyone else acts well, even if it doesn't work on an emotional level.

The coexistence of a quartet of (step)sisters, the veranda of their old wooden house as a cementing point between them, and two funerals. Kore-eda's inimitable talent for moving without even the slightest hint of any cheapness, pandering or emotional blackmail (and there are several scenes and themes that invite tear-jerking and would not have been avoided by other director or screenwriting aces) is felt here more than ever. No drama, no conflict, no great love or life twists, no plot. Only what more erudite reviews have aptly described as "the tired poetics of the everyday". It may not be to everyone's taste, and does run the risk of stretching two hours of "nothingness" into several interminable days, but I was totally won over. It was like sitting on that porch in the freezing cold, the spring thaw, while picking plums.

A few decades (starting in 1914) in a Japanese "silent household" where she would want him to take notice of her and not just be a kneeling subservient wife of reason in the corner. And he might secretly want that too, but he's building an empire for the family (how else) that she would want him to build on other more honorable foundations. But he must not lose face outwardly, and he cannot tolerate her defiance.... Add to that the intertwining of their fates of children, staff, neighbours, all against the backdrop of the Great Famine, the rise of the countryside, the feuds of the Yakuza clans, etc. If this seems like an overly melodramatic historical soap opera fresco for a filmmaker of Gosha's stature, you'd be right. However, the traditionally exemplary character detail and insight into ordinary life in that historical period elevates it to the status of a "great novel" (it's based on a novel, after all, and you can tell). That silent domesticity is not the result of arguments or raised voices, but instead of averted glances and the unspoken. Powerful, compelling, timeless, yet it stands in the shadow of many of Gosha's other films. Mainly because there are too many plot lines and character fates surrounding the central married couple. Thus, not all of them are given the necessary space (for example, it seems to turn into a full-blown yakuza flick in the middle, only to be abandoned altogether soon after), much of it seems lost or (thanks to the leaps in narrative by decades) feels unduly abbreviated. In that respect, it should have trimmed the source material more (I assume that wouldn’t be a problem), ditching characters and entire storylines, and just going to the marrow of the central supporting marital tension.

A disjointed collection of tele-variety singing and dancing numbers that don't quite fit together, though most of them are themselves excellent examples of Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor skills. But don’t expect any connection or relevance to the plot is in those numbers (led by "Broadway Ballet," a segment from both a completely different film and era); Kelly simply had an idea for another lavish number, so he forcefully incorporated it in this film. There are exactly two numbers in the entire film that develop the characters or advance the plot, the rest is pure "listen and see what I can do and how I can do it, and then we'll get back to the film" – and both Gene and Donald damn sure can. And so much so that poor Debbie Reynolds is outnumbered (except for "Good Morning"). The storyline outside of "stop the movie, now let's dance for a while" is a classically constructed screwball comedy. Unfortunately, it's woefully devoid of chemistry between Kelly and Reynolds (except for the opening scenes, where they sparkle appropriately). Jean Hagen serves purely as a caricature of a joke that stops being funny already the first time, and the viewer is treated to something like 1623 more of them. As dynamic, playful and imaginative as some of the numbers are (led by the grotesquely surrendering "Make 'Em Laugh"), there's also the tedious sonata "You Were Meant for Me", which feels like six hours long, though it lasts perhaps not even five minutes. The opening is long, with two short songs, incorporated into the plot like a theatrical or party performance, or pretending to be a musical that won't violate "reality", only to be followed by a segment where one number succeeds another, distorting "reality" as if it's not supposed to. Basically, every ten minutes it's a different stylization and a different stand-alone segment. Rightly timeless in its individual parts (is hard to find a better as a showcase of Gene Kelly as a dancer, singer, choreographer, stuntman, visionary), but as a whole a dysfunctional romance/musical/holdover to the early days of sound film... Well, just like a movie.

"Thick with irony." Peak Sorkin, with backstage politics, workplace relationships, snappy dialogue, constantly in motion. It stands and falls on the dialogue and characters, and fortunately, both meet the strictest standards without any reservations, and always do so in contrast (the political baring of souls during the nightly fridge raiding, etc.). The only issue is the central storyline, which is straight from the pen of a routine conspiracy thriller, and some (read all but the leading duo and their "marriage of convenience") superfluous relationship peripeties. It doesn't fit with the otherwise very well known diplomatic principle of we're talking about something, but what's important is what's left unsaid between the lines and real politics doesn't do itself without some of the cronyism and shady compromises behind the scenes. | S1: 4/5

It's as if the script for a Guy Ritchie film had been filmed by Hirokazu Kore-eda in his "human-assertive" style. The result is a sort of crime drama about members of the criminal underworld languishing on the lower rungs of the ladder. What hurts it the most is the ending, when after all the complicated entanglement, everything unravels all too easily, if not inadequately cheaply, considering the events that precede it.

The direction and the acting brilliantly build-up a mesmerizing sociopathic decadence towards... Well, that's really the only problem with the film. Towards what?

The rumours of the worst story in the series are not to be believed. It's the height of sophistication; time travel (without any rules or logic, just as it needs to be), dinosaurs being rescued, monsters mutating, fighting in the Pacific, a cringeworthy aliens, a "T-1000 would be a ragdoll against it" android, a cyborg three-headed golden dragon, and a Godslayer on a warpath. Okay, it's somewhat bloated, but it's not unintentionally ridiculous. It's charmingly stupid in all its guilelessness. The kaiju action is very good though, it's nicely swashbuckling and there is not shortage of destruction. A B-movie with one goal: to entertain. And it succeeds brilliantly.

The Polish Norsemen meet What We Do in the Shadows, or a proud, and above all accomplished addition to the mockumentary genre. | S1: 4/5 |