150W: X-Men

Short reviews for clear and concise verdicts on a broad range of films...

X-Men (Dir. Bryan Singer/2000)

Patrick Stewart narrates “Mutation: it is the key to our evolution”, in a role he was born to play as telepathic teacher, Professor X. His ominous voice-over, beginning X-Men, reveals mature and relevant themes, raising the film from action-shlock to an exploration of discrimination. Boldly using extermination camps of Nazi Germany (where McKellan’s ‘Magneto’ learns of his powers) to ground the film in “reality”, X-Men has no problem taking itself seriously – and indeed it should. This particular tale follows Wolverine (Jackman) and Rogue (Paquin) as they realise they’re not alone in their skillsets of adamantium-claws and power-borrowing. Singer directs this epic-story, complete with Statue of Liberty finale, with tact, homing in on personal relationships between the ensemble cast, including Storm (Berry), Cyclops (Marsden) and Jean-Grey (Janssen). Other than one politician, humans are outsiders; powerless to the mutant war. For an action-movie, these are audacious, ground-breaking themes making X-Men a must-watch.

Rating: 8/10

My Neighbours the Yamadas (Isao Takahata, 1999)

Rather than the bold and bright animation of Pom Poko, Isao Takahata’s My Neighbours the Yamadas is a collection of short stories celebrating family. Indeed, the anime style of Studio Ghibli is considered a defining element of the studio itself. The watercolour, pastel-coloured animation of My Neighbours the Yamadas combined with the flippant, YouTube-like length of each episode, separates this film from the others.

We observe the trials and tribulations of the small Yamada family. Mum, Dad, teenage son, a (roughly 5 years old?) young daughter and Grandma. Stories range from family-engagements as they return from shopping realising they’ve lost the daughter to duo-plays between Father and Son, or Mother and Grandmother. There is no narrative that runs throughout the entire film and, between the larger-scale bookends of the film (a toboggan race to represent married-life and a final flying-on-umbrellas musical number), it is merely comedic vignette’s shrewdly observing the highs and lows of this family life.

Isao Takahata, director of Grave of the Fireflies (heart-breaking wartime animation, told from the perspective of deceased children) and Pom Poko (a retelling of the magical tanuki who can morph into humans and use their testicles as parachutes) manages to reinvent his approach to storytelling – and changes the definition of what animation should be. His films couldn’t be more different and shows how he himself can morph between artistic styles for the sake of story. In comparison, Hayao Miyazaki clearly showcases a more consistent and definitive style.

But it is Takahata’s sense of detail that is so engrossing. The family dog, whose apathetic eyes seems to capture his I’ve-seen-it-all-before mood. The father, Takashi, shifting gears as he speeds back to collect his daughter. The briefest of brush strokes and minimal lines that manage to capture the humour, tone and attitude of this clearly loving family. Each character is shown to have many more sides to read too. Takashi’s laziness is offset by his keenness to bond with his Son, Noboru. The put-upon Mother Matsuko, who endlessly prepares food but has to contend with her own forgetful Mother, Shige, throughout the day.

Clearly, My Neighbours the Yamadas will never be considered a masterpiece, as Spirited Away and Grave of the Fireflies is, but it is unique. The wry jokes that capture the atmosphere and truth in every family, shows a sharp script. The animation may provide a limited visual palette for our attention, and after an hour of mini-movies, this can get tiresome. But like many Studio Ghibli films, My Neighbours the Yamadas offers a different meaning to feature-length filmmaking. Cartoons are not necessarily for children, and they can be a moment to laugh and relate to the trials and tribulations of all families. The father slowly considering his sanity when forgetting an umbrella; a son who realises family-inheritance will surely, inevitably, involve him; the family-member whose timing of a family-photo is at the most inopportune time. My Neighbours the Yamadas speaks to the heart – something many blockbuster, computer-cartoon behemoths of Hollywood often miss.

This was originally written for Flickering Myth on 19th May 2014

An Autumn Afternoon (Yasujirō Ozu, 1962)

Capturing the calm and thoughtful manner of a father, reflecting on his duty to his daughter, is a moment rarely seen on film. Director Yasujiro Ozu though, is a filmmaker who has effortlessly caught this type of moment throughout his career. From the generational divide seen in the family in Tokyo Story (widely considered one of the Greatest Films of All-Time) to the widowed men in An Autumn Afternoon, it is clear that reflecting on your life in your twilight years is a rite of passage. An Autumn Afternoon was Ozu’s final film - and his sixth in colour. Considering he remained single his entire life, living with his mother during her final years, it is perhaps surprising that he manages to capture the sense of family so well.

An Autumn Afternoon tells the story of Hirayama (Chishu Ryu), an older man, who has three children. His eldest son, Koichi, is married and lives away from home, while his daughter Michiko and college-son Kazuo remain at home. He works within a factory and meets with his friends Kawai and Horie over sake and . The three friends spend a night with a former teacher, referred to as ‘The Gourd’, who lives alone with his daughter. ‘The Gourd’ works in a noodle shop, his daughter is older now and will clearly not marry as she has dedicated her life to look after her father. Kawai tells Hirayama that this could be him and his daughter. This becomes the drive of the story as Hirayama has to release his daughter from the boundaries of home, and marry into another family – as Hirayama will have to learn how to look after himself.

Ozu’s unique direction is apparent within An Autumn Afternoon, as it would be within the majority of his films. Indoor locations, low-framing and static shots are part and parcel of his oeuvre. The style of filmmaking makes you analyse and hone in on the characters emotion. A final shot of Hirayama sipping tea switches our thoughts – we wonder what he is thinking. Indeed, a calm and slow structure forces a viewer to work harder at considering the purpose of each sequence. This isn’t a flaw in any respect, merely an observation from a viewer who is fed on the fast-paced, urgency of modern filmmaking.

Ozu ranks amongst the very best filmmakers of all-time, alongside Welles and Hitchcock. His inspiration reaches to Jim Jarmusch, Claire Denis and Wim Wenders. An Autumn Afternoon balances the personal story of Hirayama against the larger context of the change in tradition within Japan. While the arrangement of marriage is an important role for parents – something Hirayama holds dear, it is clear that the traditional role of husband and wife is vastly different within the younger marriage between Koichi and his wife, Mariko. He helps with the chores and food-preparation, literally wearing the apron, while Mariko is happy and content to dictate where the finances will, and will not, go. This larger context provides a fascinating angle to the story – and something that a small, domestic story rarely demonstrates.

Ozu, for many years, was considered “too Japanese” for Western audiences. The year his films were screened at the Venice Film Festival, was followed the following year by his death. International films, and especially Ozu, are a great example of watching a film that in every respect is rooted in Japanese culture and tradition. But what is clear about An Autumn Afternoon, is how themes still resonate with Western audiences. Caring for parents may not be as traditionally expected as it is in Japan – especially in 1960’s, but our duty to our family against our own ambitions and aspirations, for a family or otherwise, can often be a conflict. This tender story, though distant, is recognisable and will remain relevant for as long as family exists.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth on 15th May 2014

Pom Poko (Isao Takahata, 1994)

"Testicles play an important role in tanuki mythology” writes Colin Odell and Michelle Le Blanc when discussing Pom Poko. Directed by Isao Takahata, this is a far call from the deeply serious war story of Grave of the Fireflies. Rather than humans, Pom Poko tackles morphing racoons. These creatures, along with foxes and cats, have a long history in Japan whereby they’re playful, mischievous transformations is merely one trick, alongside their ability to expand their balls into enormous parachutes or rugs to sit upon. Studio Ghibli always manages to inform us of the fascinating stories embedded in Japanese culture – but, until a tanuki (the accurate name for these magical racoons) reveals that his entire tanuki-class is sitting on an outstretched scrotum, you never realise how culturally different it truly is.

That’s not to say that this is a problem as Pom Poko is a joyous celebration of nature and life. Introducing two tribes of racoon’s as they fight each other for territory, the tanuki realise their true enemy is man as Tokyo’s outskirts are expanding the city limits, decimating the area known as Tama Hills. The racoon’s feverishly try tactics to scare off the construction workers – from creating ghost-like apparitions and parades through to perfecting their morphing technique to become human. Despite these efforts, the expansion continues and esteemed Masters, and non-morphing tanuki, die in the attempt at holding them back. The final moments are undercut as they change their way of life – tanuki scavenge for food in waste bins while others, who transform into humans, desperately reminisce of the time that once existed whereby forest, lakes and green, green grass was all that dominated the Tama Hills.

Pom Poko manages to tell its ecological tale in no uncertain terms. Humans are destroying the landscape irreversibly. Released in 1994, it seems to tell a similar tale to BBC’s Animals of Farthing Wood, a TV-series running briefly between 1993 and 1995. The dangers of busy roads, in both animations, is a tale often told. As I recall, the Farthing Wood creatures were escaping the industrial deconstruction of their natural habitat – and this is the same conflict that forces tanuki to fight humans. But Pom Poko has a mysterious, yet plucky tone that seems to make light of the earnest tale it tells. The multiple characterisations of the tanuki is deftly edited and effortlessly realised. Considering the characters change between five different forms, each tanuki has specific characteristics that are clearly realised. When we meet a sneaky, money-driven human it becomes apparent that he too is kitsune (a transforming fox) and this is clear from his animated human features from the outset.

This charming tale has only heightened my appreciation of Studio Ghibli. In the final moments of Pom Poko we see what the tanuki want to create – and it’s not a world without humans. It is furosato (meaning ‘homeland’) whereby humans live alongside the tanuki. Small, but comfortable houses and clearly marked water pockets surrounded by lush, overgrown forest and plants. It is beautiful, and it’s not the first time that Studio Ghibli has made me wonder what a world would be like with more time aside for wildlife. The two girls running free to find a spirit in My Neighbour Totoro. The two children on the beach, even for a moment, in Grave of the Fireflies to take their mind of the horrors of war.

Spinning his tail, *poof*, Mario would transform into tanuki in Super Mario Bros 3 – and this was my first introduction to the term. Now, Pom Poko has told me how tanuki represent so much more.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth on 14th May 2014

Revealing the Truth behind Star Wars

In 2011, for website Man, I Love Films, I wrote a short essay on each Star Wars film. Connecting the dots between the contemporary influences that impacted on the prequels and noting the influence of Tintin in the original trilogy, small nuggets of information that, prior to writing, I was unaware of was brought to the forefront of my mind. Not only did I appreciate the prequels more, but the original trilogy held a deeper, and more profound meaning. I have brought all the articles together, with sample quotes, and if you wanted to explore a little more of the writing -as I thoroughly enjoyed writing them - you can easily click on the appropriate links.

"On the opposite side of the spectrum, we have Qui-Gon Jin. The Japanese influences stem right back to A New Hope as C3PO and R2D2 clearly represent the two characters than feature in Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress. But this is established further as Qui-Gon Jin maintains a buddhist-belief system."

Read the full review here: http://screeninsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/star-wars-episode-1-phantom-menace.html

"Attack of the Clones features a stunning sequence through Coruscant - the Blade Runner urban-planet - that, through the yellow-spaceship and chase-sequence, seems to vividly recall Besson's The Fifth Element."

Read the full article here: http://screeninsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/star-wars-episode-2-attack-of-clones.html

"In The Phantom Menace we discussed the 'duality' of life, whilst in Attack of the Clones we are presented with confusion and corruption.Revenge of the Sithcategorically fights the definition of good and bad. Despite all the corruption in the senate, the ignorance of a the majority is what gives Palpatine strength. As Padme stated: "So this is how liberty dies - to thunderous applause""

Read the full article here: http://screeninsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/star-wars-episode-iii-revenge-of-sith.html

"Lucas feeds into this world droids which hark back toMetropolis - which, as a silent film of 1927, it managed to communicate it's message to the world: language was no barrier. C3P0 is a droid who is "fluent in over six million forms of communication"... much like the film itself was. Luke, Obi-wan, C3P0 and R2D2 set forth to fight the Empire on the basis that Luke's family are murdered - much like in The Searchers, whereby the film opens with the murder of the entire household of Ethan's (John Wayne) brother Aaron - this set Ethan, amongst others, to search for the two missing children."

Read the full article here: http://screeninsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/star-wars-episode-iv-new-hope-george.html

"But the galaxies themselves remain intact and ensure that the established worlds all represent different meanings. The release of The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn in Europe coincides nicely with this analysis as I believe the story Tintin in Tibet, may have influenced The Empire Strikes Back."

Read the full article here: http://screeninsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/star-wars-episode-v-empire-strikes-back.html

"To close these essays, it is worth highlighting how the final film reveals a recurring theme of incompletion. The Death Star itself is incomplete, both Vader and Luke are physically incomplete as they both have missing hands whilst Luke is expected to only "complete" his training as a Jedi by defeating Darth Vader.This could relate to a number of interpretations - the idea that everyone has a spiritual and emotional need that requires 'filling'."

Read the full article here: http://screeninsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/11/star-wars-episode-vi-return-of-jedi.html