Author: calvinschaafsma

It all started with German director Wim Wenders being invited to Japan to look at Toilets. Specifically, the seventeen toilets created through the Tokyo Toilet Project. In 2018, Sixteen creators from around the globe came to Japan to redesign public restrooms in Shibuya. In turn, the German filmmaker was tasked with making a short film, or even a series of short films involving the project.

This idea is the seed that eventually blossomed into the feature-length film Perfect Days (2023), a Cannes Film Festival Award for Best Actor, and even an Oscar nomination. All of these accolades and this massive global collaboration were in service of just a few public restrooms. Perfect Days itself is a celebration of the mundane; taking a slow and methodical look at the day-to-day life of Toilet cleaner Hirayama.

At first, I was apprehensive about viewing this film. Not out of any negative assumptions regarding the premise, but rather out of concern about the language barrier. This blog started as a celebration of appreciating Japanese cinema without the guide of subtitles. However, I feared this film might prove to be an insurmountable challenge. After all, unlike previous reviews, Perfect Days is a straight adult drama with no source material or direct inspiration.

Thankfully, within the first 20 minutes, it became apparent this was a comically misguided worry. Not only was there no impenetrably difficult Japanese; the film contained barely any dialogue. Our main character is a kindly old man, but a bit of a recluse.

Much of the runtime is spent quietly observing his routine as he cleans toilets, shops for books, goes to the bathhouse, and goes to dinner alone. Other characters will try to engage Hirayama in conversation but he rarely does more than return a smile.

Perfect Days is far from the first project to portray the monotony of everyday life through purposefully slow and repetitive filmmaking. There is Sights & Sound’s “Greatest Film of All Time” Jean Dielman 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels (1975), or even this year’s The Zone of Interest (2023). However, Perfects Days’s filmmaking has vastly different motivations than those films (to put it mildly).

Perfect Days tries to show the calm and even therapeutic nature of routine. Throughout the film, repeating scenes and moments give us a thorough understanding of a day in Hirayama’s life. Like his daily habits, the camera and editing often mirror themselves. Each day begins with near identical shots of Hirayama walking out into the sun and ends with a variation of the same black-and-white dream sequence. We come to peace with it the same as the character.

This is why it hits us like a ton of bricks when even inconsequential changes in the routine start to pop up. For example, every day Hirayama goes to the same restaurant, sits at the same seat, and is greeted the same way by the owner. Until one evening this same restaurant is packed. Hirayama has to find a new seat, and the owner barely has time to greet him before moving on to other customers.

On its surface, a scene like this would not have much of an emotional effect. However, because we have spent so much time engrossed in this routine, we intensely feel the surprising weight of all these slight inconveniences.

Like this, each aspect of Hirayama’s life slowly forms into small vignettes, with subtle arcs and conclusions. It’s obvious this project was conceived as multiple short films. The sections don’t always tie into each other, but they all support the picture as a whole. Maybe we’re seeing a short film about a weeklong tic-tac-toe game between Hirayama and an anonymous bathroom goer, maybe we’re following the love-life Hirayama`s irresponsible assistant, or maybe just the “story” of Hirayama going to the bar every time he has the day off. All of these are given the same precedence for the audience, so we connect with them all.

All of this would not be possible without Koji Yakusho’s subdued performance. At this point, Yakusho has earned praise front and back for his turn here, and I will not be the exception. Hirayama was not an easy role; relying mostly on facial expressions while not being allowed to go BIG with any of them.

Most character studies at least focus on a very eccentric or flamboyant personality, but Perfect Days is about a man who has both appear complex while remaining wholly average. That is essentially the driving force of the film, not only in its main character but also in its conception, its creation, and the filmmaking itself.

This has been a bizarrely apt year to discuss the morality of beloved animation Icon Hayao Miyazaki, hasn’t it? By extension, this also means it’s prime season for one of anime fanatics’ favorite topics; the long term health (or lack thereof) of the industry as a whole. I am, of course, mainly referring to Miyazaki’s recently released The Boy and the Heron. The film was initially sold as the final outing of the world renowned animation director. He has said it before, but this time, it was certain. This was it. Final. Finito. 終りです。No more Miyazaki movies for you.

Ghibli later announced he was working on a new project at The Boy and the Heron’s premiere.

But the man is 80. Not to be morbid, but it’s certainly not out of the realm of possibility that we have seen his final piece. Anyone paying attention to pre-release interviews or who watched the film itself can tell that it’s not so subtly a partial commentary on Miyazaki’s mortality and even what the future of what he created will be like when he’s gone. Ghibli has left such a cultural footprint that it certainly doesn’t seem totally irresponsible to ask where this type of animated film will come from, in the future.

This leads us to the actual topic of this review, Studio Ponoc, and their new feature The Imaginary. Perhaps it was unfair to preface this review with 2 paragraphs about a completely different animation studio, but it is not like anyone is trying to hide the comparison. Studio Ponoc was founded by former Ghibli animators (in fact, the film was delayed a year while many went back to help old Hayao with The Boy and the Heron.) Their character design and art style is reminiscent of Ghibli’s from the early 2000s. Moreover, both of their feature films have been adaptations of Western children’s novels with magical overtones. (similar to films like Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle, The Secret World of Ariety, or The Tales of Earthsea.) There is nothing wrong with these similarities of course; it’s not like it’s a case of stolen identity. They’re the ones who made those films in the first place. However, this lifted identity is certainly relevant to the types of projects they have made so far, especially The Imaginary.

Like their previous work Mary and the Witch’s Flower, the film is based on a fantastical Children’s book, in this case, A.F. Harold’s The Imaginary. Having read the book before I saw the film, I can say it sticks remarkably faithful to the original story. However, visually the depth of influences balloons up to include films like Spirited Away, Ponyo, and even Pixar films such as Inside Out.

The story of the novel and film revolves around Rudger, an Imaginary friend. We follow Rudger’s adventures with his real life friend Amanda, and later other imaginary friends he meets in a mysterious Library. Reading through the children’s I was torn in two by just how perfectly lined up down the middle the story was for a Ghibli-esque adaptation, with how fundamentally the tones differ in execution. Watching the final product ended up with this exact dichotomy, that makes it both a bit awkward but undeniably fascinating.

The main tonal difference comes in terms of narrative scale and an overall melodrama. The novel can be quite dramatic when it wants to be, but overall there is a more lackadaisical tone to the proceedings. It does dive into the expected ruminations on childhood innocence, imagination, and growing up, but it next dips into melodrama. The film on the other hand plays its hand pretty a bit much at points. This is where the Pixar comparison comes in. There are some weepy moments here, and the filmmakers know what they are and are not in the least bit afraid to take advantage of them.

One of the key scenes in the film is directly about Amanda’s deceased father. We get a flashback, sad music plays, and many tears are shed on screen. In fact, the role of the father is expanded greatly, in that is the key emotional crux of all the core protagonists’ relationships. Compare this to the original novel, where the dead father is mentioned, but only once, and used as background information. Any pathos or emotional motivation is left purely to interpretation. This isn`t the only scene. Throughout the film, there are these moments that probably should have remained understated, but are given an underline and three exclamation points on screen.

This tendency to go BIG is not strictly an issue though. Especially when it comes to the presentation. The book had a very Shel Silverstein style of creativity. There was a matter of fact mundanity to it. For example when Rudger enters a magical “Imaginary friend library” the artwork and descriptions still show it as a normal public library. Just with Imaginary monsters walking around. In the film, on the other hand, the library becomes a huge Italian city when the lights go out. With big buildings, shops, and thousands of fantastical creatures. It is very reminiscent of the bathhouse in Spirited Away.

Whenever the “imaginary” world is on display, it becomes a true talent showcase for the animators involved. The ordinary world shifts into the extraordinary before your eyes, and the level of ingenuity and expressiveness is awe inspiring at times. The film is also very good at building a creepy atmosphere with the antagonist Mr. Bunting. Critiques of style aside, this is a hyper-competent piece of family entertainment that is bound to surprise and delight you quite often. It is maybe a shame it comes on the heels of The Boy and the Heron because that does put into stark contrast the few issues the film has. It does sometimes come across as a Ghibli light; but let’s be honest, that’s a pretty impressive silver medal to have.

The warring states period, more specifically the campaign of Oda Nobunaga, is no stranger to adaptation. In anime, video games, literature, and film, you won’t have to look far for fantastical depictions of Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Tokugawa Ieyasu, Akechi Mitsuhide, etc; and it’s not hard to see why. There is the obvious historical importance of the unification of Japan but beyond that the romance of the story and the larger than life reputation of the figures that makes it so intoxicating to creators.

There is the stern and ambitious military leader, the man who would be king if he was not struck down right on the brink of his final victory. Then there is his unshakably loyal vassal. A poor peasant who came from nothing, but through his military prowess, was able to distinguish himself. Finally, we have the treacherous retainer. The vile cretin who killed his master and tried to usurp his power, only to be killed for his barbarous ways.

Obviously, this is a bit ahistorical and melodramatic, but you can see, at least on the surface, why this period appeals to storytellers. This makes it somewhat bizarre that it took this long to get a film of this level of interest depicting the events of the Honnoji incident. What makes it all the stranger is the adaptation is being handled by such a provocateur as Takeshi Kitano.

Kitano is a true Renaissance man, but at least in the film space, he is distinguished for violent, off-putting, and darkly comedic yakuza films such as Hanna-bi, Sonatine, and Outrage. However, before any of those films were released, Kitano had the idea for Kubi. A bloody, over the top, and comedic retelling of the Honnoji incident. An iconoclastic take on one of the preeminent stories of Japanese history.

The most apparent divergence is the characterization of Japan’s favorite murderous warlord, Oda Nobunaga. Nobunaga is one of, if not the most utilized Japanese historical figures in modern popular culture. There are real-time strategy games about him, he has appeared in multiple anime and TV dramas, and He is even the main antagonist in a Pokémon spin-off game. While his characterization has not become standardized, (he falls into the Napoleon trap of whether to portray him neutrally or as a cold villain) interpretations do maintain certain common traits. He always has an exceptional military mind and a focused demeanor.

In contrast, Ryo Kases portrays Nobunaga as an unhinged psychopath. A sexual deviant who can only speak in crow-like screeches. A man who will execute you with little to no provocation and operates purely off the human id as opposed to any forethought. Though he is used sparingly, he provides most of the slapstick comedy, with him bullying and otherwise abusing his loyal retainers. He also grants a boisterous attitude to the proceedings along with his 2 young male servants. Both of whom he has unconcealed and exuberant sexual relations with. This is the most confident rejection of the typical retelling of events. A billboard sign for the movie to plainly state its subversive intentions. One scene near the beginning, involving a katana, a fruit, and the traitorous general Araki Murashige, is bloody, gross, and delightfully silly.

The real traitor of the film is Akechi Mitsuhide, portrayed by the always talented Hidetoshi Nishijima. Usually portrayed as a self-serving parasite; a disloyal villain, Mitsuhide is paradoxically the emotional lynchpin of the piece. One of the only romantic relationships that is not played as farce is his with Murashige. We get far more glimpses into his deeper psyche as opposed to Nobunaga or Hideyoshi. This does not mean his sections are purely dry. At times, he serves a Saleri type role in the film. The man just as ambitious as his colleagues, without the cunning to build up the same legacy as them. Some of the funniest scenes in the film involve Mitsuhide’s schemes going awry and then him being violently punished by Nobunaga.

However, the obvious standout of the film is Hideyoshi, portrayed by Kitano himself. Unlike his typical image the just and loyal retainer that went on to fully unite Japan, Kitanos Hideyoshi is schemer. A backroom politician versed in sabotage and cheap tricks. He is also the funniest character in the film. He and his two servants Mosuke and Kanbei spent much of the running time bouncing off each other with hilarious commentary and quips. Despite the real Hideyoshi being younger than Nobunaga, Kitano plays him as a wizened old veteran. Someone who has little respect for his younger peers.

This mismatch of character and legend results in a film whose tone is all over the place. At once a raucous comedy, a tragic melodrama, and a bombastic action film. The swordplay is ostentatious and clashes severely with the rest of the picture. This is a tough tonal tightrope to trudge. It’s impressive the film succeeds as much as it does. If any one aspect was severely weaker than the rest, the entire pace would feel lopsided and off. Luckily the melodrama is powerful, the comedy is funny, and the action is dynamic. The mixture can be off, especially in the third act, but the final product never sags for more than a few minutes.

Beyond the performances, the period accurate sets and costumes are also a joy to behold. There is a real lived in quality and specific observations that make everything feel more authentic than many other contemporary Japanese period pieces. Compare this to Godzilla Minus One (a film I quite enjoyed) and the differences are stark. One feels like a soundstage, with characters who look like models, while Kubi is genuinely transporting.

Despite its dalliances from modern pop culture interpretations, in many ways, Kubi may be more historically accurate. In real life, Oda Nobunaga was known to have a short fuse and regularly threw tantrums. Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide were certainly more 3-dimensional figures than any legend could convey. On the other hand, the film does not swing too far the other way into severe realism. This is not a Ridley Scott historical epic that traffics on being the real history. It’s a hard film to place. It is in equal parts a faithful retelling and a purposefully deconstructive recounting of history.

One scene that stuck out was an action set piece near the end of the film. For the first half, that action has been at least somewhat grounded. It’s stylized with a martial arts picture choreography but is at least in the realm of theoretically possible. Sometimes discarding any basis in style and becoming brutally realistic. That is except for one single shot. A shot where two characters shoot into the air, their swords colliding, like anime protagonists. The clash is not just Kubi’s strangest moment, but also its biggest laugh.

That moment serves as a microcosm of the final product. A strange alchemical mixture of Throne of Blood, Death of Stalin, Braveheart, and Kitano’s own comedies. If not always relatable the film is immensely watchable and thoroughly engrossing.

(Warning: slight spoilers ahead.)

What to do about Godzilla? It is a question that has haunted more than a few military commanders as well as film executives the world over. Ishiro Honda’s 1954 Classic remains one of the most beloved, Kaiju, monster, horror, maybe even Japanese films ever shot. That’s not even much of a controversial statement anymore. In years past, you would certainly find fans of the series, and even academics willing to shower praises on “the silly monster film with a guy in a rubber suit”; with that said in terms of your average’s Joes and plain Janes, the perception of the series did not rise much beyond late-night b-movie fodder. A Godzilla film was more likely to be found in an episode of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 than on Turner Classic movies.

That is certainly not the case anymore. With the eventual release of the original Japanese version in the early 2000s, came an ever-increasing line of critics waiting to give their take on the film’s relevance, importance, themes, and place in history. In 2004 San Francisco Chronicle writer Mike LaSalle venerated the film as “a collective metaphor and a collective nightmare, a message film that says more than its message, that captures, with a horrified poetry, the terrors that stomped through the minds of people 50 years ago.” The Guardian critic Peter Bradshaw said of the film “Godzilla’s killing looks movingly sacrificial, a renunciation of violence. The sheer fervency of this film takes it beyond the crash-bang entertainment of most blockbusters, ancient and modern.” 

Empire Magazine called it the 31st “Best Film Of World Cinema’. Slant Magazine named it one of the 10 “best science-fiction films ever produced”.In 2019 All the Showa era Godzilla films received a Criterion release. Etc., Etc. and this only includes the film’s Western accolades; the famous Japanese cinema magazine Kinema Junpo listed it as one of the 20 best Japanese films of all time and a 1998 survey of 370 Japanese film critics saw it land as the 27th best Japanese film ever made. In summary, the original Godzilla is now as legit as a film can be. 

This naturally leads to the problem alluded to in the opening of this review. You see for all the prestige and honors Godzilla has received over the years it’s still a 37-film-strong mega-franchise. A very profitable mega-franchise, in dire need of exploitation. In the past this was easy; both the Heisei and Millenium eras could content themselves with being crowd-pleasing blockbusters. Retreads of earlier triumphs with more gloss and special effects. This is not to say they lack artistry (far from it), just that their critical appraisal was destined to be the responsibility of the nerds and freaks of the world. There was no need to be seen as high art.     

The central predicament of the modern Reiwa-era of the franchise is how to accommodate these two almost diametrically opposed goals. How do you be an off-the-wall popcorn-eating crowd-pleasing mainstream blockbuster with the thoughtful thematically rich needs a “piece of cinematic art?”

Obviously. I’m being a bit disingenuous here; this has been done quite successfully before by many a blockbuster franchise (Batman, Matrix, Wolverine, Batman again, etc.) With that said, it’s still a tricky needle to thread, and modern results have at the very least been quite fascinating. It seems the original game plan was to leverage that other piece of Japanese pop culture that Westerners love to get pretentious about, Anime. Legendary Neon Genesis Evangelion director Hideaki Anno was brought to write and direct Shin Godzilla. After that equally renowned anime writer Gen Urobuchi was given the reins of his own animated Godzilla trilogy. Lastly, Toho enlisted legendary anime studio Bones to give their own crack at the King of the Monsters in the animated series Godzilla: Singular Point. All of these projects received their own degree of acclaim and success, but none quite set the world on fire as I assume Toho wanted. 

This leads to the newest contender, Godzilla: Minus One. The one to finally enter the ring and knock out the philosophical and financial dilemma facing the franchise, and to boot it has a killer pitch.  Let’s bring Godzilla back to his roots, with a period piece set a few years after WWII. A good section of the runtime will be set to the human melodrama like the best entries in the Showa era. Get current Japanese film industry superstar Takashi Yamazaki to supervise special effects, and write and direct the film. All the pieces are in place. So can this film recapture the lightning in a bottle of the original?        

Absolutely! (but also meh if you want to be a wet blanket about it)

As a piece of effects-driven blockbuster entertainment, this is about as good as you’re gonna get. The pacing is slower when it needs to be, but the film does not skimp on the action. Obviously with Yamazaki at the helm, the scenes of wanton destruction and cosmic horror vs military might are as exciting as ever. This is especially welcome in an era where the current crop of studio CGI sludge blockbusters have lost much of the dynamism and kinetic energy, that can be found here. It is amazing what was done with the film’s $15 million budget, as whenever the monster is on screen it looks as real as one can imagine, and it’s always edge-of-your-seat stuff.  

The human drama also certainly isn’t bad. The story of a WWII pilot suffering from PTSD while raising a family in post-war Japan is quite wholesome and effective. However, in the end, the human drama and period aesthetics serve mostly to add flavor to the final piece. It’s effective and I cared about the lives of the characters only so much as is necessary for this type of disaster flick. Everyone does a nice even if the main couple looks a bit too much like pretty J-pop stars to sell the timeframe and poverty they are supposedly living through. The setting certainly adds some unique charm. There is also much more tension given the state of Japan and the types of weaponry available at the time. However, it doesn’t go far beyond that. These characters are not going to sit with me for long, and the postwar setting does not have much to say about Japan or that history as a whole. 

In fact, contrasting this with the original certainly reveals a much less poignant subtext. In the original, we had a story of political inefficiency leading to the suffering of the underclass. Politicians ask if Godzilla is simply the natural fallout of Japan’s recent history and new man-made weapons like the atomic bomb. It’s a film very much of its time, being made 9 years after the drop of the atomic bomb and the end of WWII. That’s certainly all here in Minus One. However, at its core, this is a film about bravery. It’s a story of soldiers and a beaten-down Japan regaining their pride by coming together to defeat an existential threat.

In the first film, Godzilla is defeated by the sacrifice of one scientist. At the heart of the sacrifice was the moral dilemma to use his new weapon (the Oxygen Destroyer) even if that meant it may mean the weapon would be exposed to the public and may fall into the wrong hands. In Minus One, The Monster is defeated through teamwork and the combined effort of Japanese civilians and veterans.

Now to be clear, there is nothing wrong or morally dubious about this. It’s the tried and true Independence Day formula, with the spectacle and craftsmanship on par with if not far exceeding that film. I must admit, in the theater, I find it difficult to care much about these issues. When that classic Godzilla theme plays, I could not ever possibly hope to fight off cracking a smile. With the climax being one of the most exhilarating cinematic experiences I had all year, this is certainly a capital M Movie. Pure entertainment from start to finish.

However, once in a blue moon a Wet blanket I must become, and I wonder if the use of Godzilla’s main theme is a bit of a cynical nostalgia play. If the grand spectacle finale, for how well shot and beautifully crafted it was, is not a bit of a bastardization of the ideas original film. The other Godzilla movies were able to easily avoid this feeling, but I think Minus One runs into issues with just how much of a homage it is. Oh well. At the end of the day, Godzilla is many things, but most importantly Godzilla is Godzilla, and Godzilla is generally a pretty good time at the movies.   

 

Work Cited              

1. Bradshaw, Peter (October 13, 2005). “Godzilla”. The Guardian. Archived from the original on July 25, 2020. Retrieved November 19, 2023.
2. Green, Willow (June 11, 2010). “The 100 Best Films Of World Cinema”. Empire. Archived from the original on December 25, 2020. Retrieved Novemebr 19, 2023.
3. LaSalle, Mick (May 7, 2004). “Godzilla”. San Francisco Chronicle. Archived from the original on July 25, 2020. Retrieved November 19,, 2023.
4. Ryfle, Steve (1998). Japan’s Favorite Mon-Star: The Unauthorized Biography of the Big G. ECW Press. ISBN 1550223488.  
5. “The 50 best monster movies”. Time Out. October 8, 2019. Archived from the original on July 25, 2020. Retrieved November 19, 2023.

It has been exactly a decade since famous Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki released his 11th and “final” film The Wind Rises. Set during World War II the film followed real-life Fighter jet designer Jiro Horikoshi. The film is a melancholy and beautiful look at the artistic process filtered through the lens of that horrific conflict; Serving both as a tribute to the kinesthetic and mechanical process of engineering, while also serving as a tragedy for when such passion eclipses one’s ability to see the human element of one’s artistic obsession. The movie was somber and self-reflective and all around the perfect swan song to this legendary filmmaker’s storied career.

So imagine everyone’s shock, when at the spry young age of 82, Miyazaki embarked on a new cinematic journey, resulting in the newly released 君たちはどう生きるか (How Do You Live?) or as it is beginning localized to in the West as The Boy and the Heron. Throughout this review, I will begrudgingly refer to it as the English title for clarity’s sake.

Also in regards to spoilers. I will try to maintain some degree of secrecy however the marketing for the film (or lack thereof) makes this a tad difficult. Ghibli came to the bizarre but interesting decision to not give any plot summary or release any trailers for the film beforehand. While this has created an engrossing sense of mystery around the project, it has left me with a not-insubstantial conundrum.

For this review, I have decided to talk about the film as if it did have a trailer, and only speak on the matters I believe would have been shown within. I’ll also vaguely discuss other elements of the picture, without diving too deep into serious plot details. However, if you wish to go in completely blank like I did, here is the station to disembark at. Just leave the trolley knowing that this is a very good film, well worth anyone’s time. 

The Boy and the Heron is the story of a young boy named Masato. Masato’s mother is killed during the Tokyo firebombings, and his father and he relocate to a wealthy villa in the Japanese countryside. There his father remarries his dead wife’s sister Natsuko, and the two expect a baby together. 

What initially appears to be a grounded coming-of-age tale, soon morphs into something more frightening and fantastical. At first subtle with the appearance of the unsettling eponymous Heron, the film balloons in scope and magical wonder in ways I dare not fully give away here. Just know that if you love Ghibli for its creative fairytale words and endless visual ingenuity, you will not be left wanting by this picture. 

The film is in many ways defined by its influences as much as it is by itself. The film’s Japanese title is based on a book of the same name. The book How Do You Live? plays a minor role in the story of the film itself, however, its main contribution is to serve as a parallel to the tale unfolding. The novel was written on the eve of World War II, during Japan’s imperial rise to prominence. The novel’s author, Genzaburo Yoshino, was arrested during this time for being associated with known socialists. After over a year in prison, he had had his release secured by a friend. He then went on to work with said friend on an ethics book for young readers.   

This book is what eventually became the narrative story How Do You Live? The book follows a young boy named Copper who abandons his life in Tokyo when his father sadly passes away. During this time he forms a bond with his Uncle as he learns life lessons about growing up and different ways one can choose to live. It was a controversial book that was meant to teach kids self-reflection empathy, during a time when the nation was drifting further and further into extreme nationalism.    

The similarities between the novel and the film are undeniable, while not a direct adaptation, the film hits on many of the same characters and story beats plus the inclusion of more fantastical Ghibli moments. Like the novel, the film is the story of how a young boy learns to come to terms with the world and its many complications through the death of a parent. Both works also can be quite episodic at moments, involving our main character meeting someone new and learning where they exist in the vast ecosystem of the world and their way of life.

There are many times in the film where characters are presented as antagonists, but after learning of the characters’ circumstances Masato is forced to develop empathy for them and understand their philosophy. The climax of both the film and the novel is understated in that they revolve around our character’s internal conflict, as their final decision involves the characters needing to come to terms with their own failings and learn who they are and how they want to live their life.    

There is another, much more pressing story that runs parallel to the movie. That being Miyazaki’s own childhood. This is by far the most autobiographical entry of his filmography, with many aspects of Makoto’s life mirroring Miyazaki’s. For example in the film Makoto’s father is an airplane engineer, like Miyazaki’s own father. While not directly about the war, the film still inseparably takes place during the war, with the opening scene being a harrowing portrayal of the Tokyo fire bombings. Portrayed in a scratchy rough art style not seen in the rest of the film. In real life, Miyazaki recounts how his earliest memories were that of bombed and destroyed cities.   

Now this is not like say Spielberg’s The Fabelmans. It is nowhere close to a one-to-one retelling of Miyazaki’s life, and I don’t want to get overly Freudian with this analysis and say the main character is supposed to represent him. With that said, These details certainly can’t be ignored. Miyazaki surely meant it when he said he planned to retire after The Wind Rises, but he came back for this film. and the reasoning is quite touching. In an interview with the film’s producer Toshio Suzuki, Suzuki said 

“Miyazaki is making the new film for his grandson. It’s his way of saying ‘Grandpa is moving on to the next world, but he’s leaving behind this film.”

Toshio Suzuki

You can see how this is a very personal project. Encapsulating aspects of the man’s own life, of the works that inspired him, and even some of the works he himself has made. The proverbial Heron here can be seen as a bizarro reflection of staple Ghibli characters like Totoro. 

Trying to nail down a precise allegorical equivalent is impossible. Of course, you can see Makoto as a director stand-in, but there is another character in the film constantly referred to as “grandfather” who is also clearly meant to stand in for Miyazaki. the characters and motifs bleed into each other, mixing and matching into an endless array of readings. The film borrows from so much Japanese, folklore, national history, and art history and recontextualizes it into its kind of fairytale. Far from being a greatest hits collection, the movie’s greatest strength is how it complicates its own history and symbols to force the audience to decide for themselves what they want to take from it. 

Regardless, the soul of the film remains the same. This a film about taking in all these possibilities, all these life philosophies, and finding your own way. Learning who you are, and deciding for yourself how you are going to live your own life.

The very foundation of this site was always meant to be a study in adaptation. When deprived of the basest form of communication, (language) can the “magic” moving images prevail. How much can one intuit and understand about a film solely from non-verbal storytelling? I proposed it could take you pretty far and so far I have not been relieved of this notion. Even when jumping into the complex sci-fi nonsense of “Shin Kamen Rider”, I stood resolute and was able to (for the most part) fend off the confusion and follow what was going on, if only in broad strokes. 

However, it strikes me in recent weeks that every idea needs a stretch test. An upper limit needs to be established if I am to truly see just how far an understanding of basic cinematic language can take me. So I devised an experiment; a wickedly morbid and vile experiment. One that would send shivers down the spine of even the most intrepid of letterboxd users. I would view the latest entry in the Fast & Furious Franchise … in Japanese. *pause for dramatic effect*.

Ok, obviously this is not the herculean quest into the abyss I’m selling it as, so let me explain my process. In my life, I have only seen 3 entries into Vin Diesel’s fabled Fast saga. I have seen 1st and 3rd entries, which as far as I can tell, have essentially no bearing on the current storyline. The only tangentially relevant Fast film I have seen would be Furious 7. This of course being the final entry featuring the series co-lead Paul Walker. I remember enjoying it, but beyond one or two exceptional set pieces, nothing about the film felt inclined to stick around in my long-term memory. 

What I mean to say with all this preamble is that I am almost completely disconnected from the comings and goings; the triumphs and the heartbreaks of the Fast Family. It never concerned me. This disconnection made it the perfect testing bed for my purposes. I would be fairly lost by this picture if I viewed it in my native tongue, much less in a language I’m still in the early stages of learning. I knew I was going to be, at the very least, some degree of confused throughout the entirety of the film. I just needed to see how much.

With my target set, I quickly went to work, planning my experiment. First, I made vitally sure to avoid as much marketing as I could. I closed my eyes when previews popped up online or before other movies I was seeing; Second, on the day before I would purposefully get as little sleep as possible, without dying at work the following day. This was to make sure I was sufficiently groggy while viewing the film; Finally, I determined to drink more than my film of water the day of AND avoid using the restroom before entering the theater. You see, I will always, no matter the circumstances, even if I had never seen a drop of water in 3 days; use the restroom before entering a theater. The idea of missing part of a film due to bladder-related inconveniences terrifies me to my core. By neglecting such a sacred ritual I condemned myself to having to get up during some random section of the film in order to not moisten the theater seats.

All this prep work was done with one singular goal in mind. To enhance just how little I would understand this film. This was a quest to see how completely fucking lost a person can be while watching a movie. I was so dedicated to this goal that even subconsciously my mind was working overtime for me. On the day in question, my subconscious mind had the brilliant idea to accidentally leave movie-watching glasses at home. A truly brilliant move; totally was not just me being a dunderhead.   

So what were the results of my valiant efforts? How does the film hold up to my razor-sharp scrutiny? The answer.. not great; turns out that when you go out of your way to view a movie in the worst possible state of mind, the results are, unsurprisingly, less than ideal. In fairness, I don’t believe this movie was all that terrific on its own merit. However, there were so many subplots happening here and an absolute smorgasbord of characters I did not know, that not being able to understand anyone, really put me at a disadvantage. I was never fully lost, which is a testament to my above statement about the power of the cinematic language, but there was never a point in the film where I felt all that confident about what was happening or what the characters were trying to do.

To break it down, I have created a list of the 5 main sticking points I was able to take from this film. These were either the most interesting elements or the things that threw me the most for a loop. Starting with …

The Japanese Dub

Besides the wild stunts the series is known for, this was maybe the most entertaining aspect of the experience. Admittedly this is mainly due to the male voices, although Yuko Kaida as Michelle Rodriguez’s Letty is quite enjoyable as well. The Fast franchise takes much of its inspiration from 80-90s American action cinema. Mainly the hyper-virile machismo-soaked personas of its main characters. While most other modern action franchises go for the charismatic rogue archetype, Vin Diesel and company harken back to the roided up impossibly muscular characters of films such as Commando or Rocky IV.

The translation to Japanese overemphasizes this fact to the extreme. Every male’s voice is deep and gnarled; packed with the menace of a 60-year yakuza chief who has smoked a pack of Seven Stars every day since he was 13. This works for characters like Vin Diesel’s Dom Torreto and Jason Statham’s Marcus Shaw. However, there is a bit of a disconnect when stapled onto obvious comedic relief like Tyrese Gibson’s Roman Pearce. Especially when I don’t know the particulars of the jokes. The obvious mugging to the camera combined with the cartoonishly masculine voice creates a bizarre contrast that while not technically the right decision, is still entertainingly outlandish. It adds to the mood and could only work in a group of films as ridiculous as these.     

The Music

Fast & Furious and its hip-hop soundtracks exist in a perfectly symbiotic relationship. Modern, slick, just the right amount of goofy energy to both perfectly fit the other like a glove.

This was the only bit of English I got in the film, so it helped ground me in all the chaos. Non-diegetic soundtracks are a lost art, with most notable soundtracks in recent memory needing in-universe justifications. These over-the-top sci-fi blockbusters have paradoxically relied on naturalistic filmmaking when being completely green-screened. Fast & Furious bucks this trend with ostentatious editing and a vibrant color palette. This section is on the music, but it is meant to represent how the film can use its, at this point retro, early 2000s style to both entertain and efficiently tell its story.  

Look at all these Stars!!!

It’s quite impressive how stacked Diesal has been able to make the cast of these films. Most of the celebrities are bit parts, presumably so they don’t need to be on set for multiple months, but regardless it’s quite the who’s who of contemporary Hollywood megastars. The problem I ran across was not really understanding who was new, who was returning, and what anyone’s relation to each other was. I know Jason Momoa hates Vin Diesel, but I couldn’t tell you precisely why. I’m also 85% sure John Cena is Vin’s brother, which is funny considering how much alike they don’t look.

Besides that, I am pretty confused whenever these people pull up. Charlize Theron is there and apparently, she was a bad guy, but also shes helping everyone out now. Brie Larson is a member of the Illuminati but is also a good guy, and maybe she’s Kurt Russel’s daughter. (Again two actors that look nothing alike.) The most impactful one for me was honestly Rita Moreno as Dom’s mother (?). I don’t if she was in previous films, but part of me hopes this was her first one. It would just be a really good gag to ret-con Rita Moreno into being Dom’s mother the entire time, and to just drop this information on the audience without warning, at the beginning of the film. 

Now I will admit my confusion is purely a result of the bizarre way I viewed this film. I assume the fast fanbase knows who everyone is and applauded whenever they showed up. I’m just the buzzkill left dumbstruck as to why Jason Statham is here and whether I’m supposed to like or hate him.    

The Sub-plots

*Here we venture into spoilers for the remainder of the review. Reader be warned.*

This is where the lack of language based context started to majorly affect enjoyment. Early in the film, The cast gets separated into four groups after a job goes sideways in Rome. I am not clear on what they were doing in Rome or why, but that is beside the point. The problem is that confusion extends to the rest of the film as well. Letty is arrested by the Illuminati and Vin Diesel’s son is on the run with John Cena. That makes sense, I understand why they need to be separated from the rest of the cast. 

The problem is the other two groups. Dom heads to Brazil to hunt down Jason Momoa; while Ludacris and friends go to London to… recruit Jason Statham… maybe? Everything was so expository, that without perfectly understanding the conversation, I had no inkling of what the main goals and motivations were. 

This was the feeling I was after, this is why I embarked on this Fast X journey in the first place. It was a quest to experience total confusion while watching. I wanted to see just how lost I can be. There are so many characters and so many subplots, involving so many location changes, that I just gave up trying to make heads or tales of it all. This is the state of mind I was seeking, and it was incredibly boring. Mostly because The Han/Roman/Ludacris section was mainly conversations that I couldn’t understand between characters that I did not know. On top of that, it does not lead to anything tangible by the end. Complete cinematic dead air as far as I could tell.

The Ending

Now comes the finale. The cherry on top of the confusion sundae. The previous issues can squarely be placed under my fault, here we have an undeniably unforced error on the film’s record. Many Fast fans know that this is the first film in a planned three film finale. As such it ends on a cliffhanger.

Dom and his son are at the bottom of a dam with Jason Momoa about to blow said dam up and wash them away. Not only that but Dom’s team and brother John Cena have supposedly died in the ensuing conflict. The stakes are high, right?

The problem is that we have spent the last two hours (and supposedly 9 movies) getting out of these impossible death defying ordeals. There is nothing special about this one. I have no idea why THIS was the cliffhanger to end on. The same goes for John Cena’s “sacrifice.” I don’t believe for a second he’s actually dead, but that’s not the problem. The problem is I don’t know why anyone in the movie does either. This whole film, the entire cast has been shrugging off much more dangerous stunts than this one. Why would anyone be worried about Cena here?

The Fast & the Furious just isn’t a franchise you can build cliffhangers on. There is not enough actual plot. No characters stay dead as evidenced by Gal Gadot’s return in the ending. It just feels awkward like the writers stopped once they hit 200 pages instead of finding a natural ending point.

It’s as if I just ended this essay here without any sort of wrap-up or conclusion.

It’s finally here! My most anticipated film of the year has been Shin Kamen Rider. It serves as the convergence point of many different areas of Japanese “geek media.” Firstly, it is a new film in the 50-year-old Kamen Rider franchise dating back to the original 1971 TV show. Secondly, it is the final film in director Hideaki Anno’s line of “shin” branded classic tokusatsu revivals. This started back in 2013 with Shin Godzilla and continued with last year’s Shin Ultraman. However, Anno did not direct Shin Ultraman (although he did write, edit and was a cinematographer on the project). So finally, Shin Kamen Rider serves as Anno’s direct follow-up to the culmination of his pop culture phenomenon, Neon Genesis Evangelion.

The three “Shin” films represent revivals of the classic kaiju monster media that Anno grew up with in his childhood and remained loyal to into his adult life. In fact, this isn’t technically his first interaction with these franchises. Before he became an animator, Anno made his fan film using the Ultraman character titled Return of the Ultraman. These old kid series clearly left a big impression on Anno, and that impression can be seen throughout all of his early work in anime like Evangelion or Gunbusters. Not just in their overall premises, but also the granular details like the particular editing style and shot compositions of shows like Evangelion.

That makes the new Shin Kamen Rider an interesting study in the genealogy of these film techniques. We can see multiple generations of influence such as how 70s Tokusatsu shows led to the ’90s anime boom, and how those anime in turn influenced the rest of Japanese pop culture from then on. These two different eras in pop culture are now synthesizing into something that is both modern and also a nostalgic throwback.

The obvious parallels start in the spectacular fight scenes. Many of them have direct parallels to episodes of the TV show. There are shot-for-shot recreations of the same fight 50 years ago, implementing many of the same techniques. Most notably is the use of jump cuts to help sell the attacks. All through the fight, the edit jumps forward a couple of seconds in time, cutting from the punch/kick wind-ups directly to impact. This emphasizes the attacks and also creates the illusion that the characters are moving faster than they actually are.

However, its main purpose is to build the overall retro aesthetic of the picture. The jump cuts are exciting, but they are also dated in a way that will turn off most modern audience members. Jump cuts aren’t the only technique resuscitated from obscurity. Most jarring is the film’s use of repeat cuts; these will be familiar to any fan of classic Hong Kong martial arts cinema. This is an action that repeats in the edit to emphasize its importance or impressiveness. It manifests in the film whenever Kamen Rider does a flip or a high-impact attack, but also occurs at more mundane actions, like our hero doing a simple flip into the battlefield. These moments are usually direct callbacks to moments in the ’70s show and, as such, run the risk of seeming dated.

That’s why it’s important that the film is so energized from the very beginning. Right from the jump, the entire edit is so dynamic that you don’t really have time to be distracted by the retro techniques. Shots rarely last more than a few seconds, and the abnormal coverage Anno and crew go for results in multiple angles that simply could not be maintained for an entire scene. This means each individual action gets at least one, if not multiple, different shots. Is Kamen Rider taking off his jacket? Well, then we get a close-up of his shoulders as he rips the jacket off, a second low-angle shot from behind the back of him tossing it to the side, and a third final shot of the jacket falling to the ground. This is even present in the quieter moments. A conversation between parties can fluctuate between multiple different angles, from medium shots to a standard shot-reverse-shot set-up, to direct POV’s of the characters and increasingly more bizarre shot compositions that highlight minor gestures and microscopic movements, segmenting off individual parts of bodies, focusing on the minutiae of their actions either to present quick jokes or just give the scene an animated tone. It’s most likely a leftover from the team’s animation background, where more stagnant shots highlighting seemingly mundane elements served as both a stylistic but also budgetary choice.

In fact, far from a straight retro rip, there are many elements that have been added by the new team. The most curious addition to the classic show’s toolbag is the use of POV shots. These are peppered throughout the film, from action to dialogue. This is a result of a widespread use of handheld cinematography. It’s a bold choice, especially in how it purposely clashes with the polished steady look of the retro scenes. Early on, it’s mostly present in the moments of shocking violence that are peppered across the runtime. We often get the POV of enemy grunts as they are about to be killed. (This is a shockingly hard R15+ with copious buckets of blood used in some scenes.) That’s, of course, very fun and exciting and leads to some pretty unique moments early on in the movie.

However, I’m more interested in the moments where we are given the POV of our main protagonist Hongo Takeshi, especially how it evolves throughout the film. At first, the moments are pretty standard, a simple way to get our protagonist’s perspective. Then the camera starts shaking. It usually happens near the end of fights, during the melodramatic peaks of the movie. It’s not a natural shake, it doesn’t feel like Hongo himself is shaking his head. It’s very jittery and unfocused, like something is wrong with the footage. This builds with every proceeding shot until the emotional zenith of the picture. I won’t spoil it, but needless to say, the camera almost goes wild at this moment. It’s such a modern feeling element, something that could only really be thought of in our current cinematic landscape. Almost reminiscent of digital era David Lynch.

This dichotomy serves as the aesthetic crux of the film. The contrast between the retro and the modern, between the handcrafted and computer-generated. The film utilizes complex CGI but also involves men in very fake-looking rubber suits. The editing is reminiscent of classic tokusatsu shows, but there is also heavy use of more contemporary handheld cinematography. The contrast even extends to the story, with the episodic monster of the week structure morphing into a much more violent and adult work.

Nostalgic reboots are not a new thing in today’s media landscape. Film and TV reboots are released every day, it seems. We are familiar with this trend in the U.S., of course, but it is also endemic in Japan. In the past few years, we have seen revivals of shows such as Urusei Yatsura, Trigun, and Inuyasha, as well as film adaptations of long-finished works such as Full Metal Alchemist. The “Shin” line of films absolutely fits snugly into this trend.

The difference, however, is in how this legacy is adapted. For the longest time, at least among American fans, Anno’s earlier work was seen as a sort of deconstruction or elevation of his influences. “Evangelion was the first mech show for adults.” However, it is clear that the source material is not being pandered to. This is not an attempt to elevate Kamen Rider. It has all the same cinematic tropes that would alienate most modern audience members; things they would describe as silly.

On the other hand, it is a film that has something to say beyond “wasn’t Kamen Rider cool in the ’70s.” It is not pure fan service for nostalgic 50-year-olds. Those elements are there, assuredly, but this film is just as much about pushing the style forward in unique ways as it is about becoming a comfortable return to a simpler time. In modern times, it seems most legacy reboots are either ambitionless appeals to nostalgia or updates that neglect the artistry of the past. Shin Kamen Rider succeeds not because it finally makes a version of Kamen Rider that can be regarded with genuine artistic interest but because it proves that Kamen Rider should have been viewed as such from the very beginning.

As of March 18th, 2023, the new anime film from studio Nut, Blue Giant, is currently playing in Japan. Blue Giant is an adaptation of author/artist Shinichi Ishizuka’s manga of the same name, which tells the story of Dai, a Japanese high schooler who becomes obsessed with Jazz after being taken to a Jazz club by one of his friends. His brother buys him a saxophone, and he swears to become the best Jazz player in the world. While not dramatically unique for Japanese manga (there are many Manga about Japanese teenagers picking up niche hobbies and working hard to achieve their goals), Blue Giant stands out for its creative paneling and chill slice-of-life atmosphere. The first act of the story mostly involves short episodic tales of Dai using “the power of Jazz” to help relate to or emotionally assist one of his loved ones. Each chapter is a simple humanistic coming-of-age tale, with a clear beginning and end. There are no grand Jazz tournaments or rivals he needs to overcome, which is a contrast to contemporaries like Sound! Euphonium or Your Lie in April. Two standout chapters involve Dai sending off his best friend before he moves cities and the backstory of how Dai’s brother bought the sax in the first place. These are both touching, creatively structured, and have very solid paneling/art. All in all, it’s an impressive slice-of-life story with top-shelf characterization.

However, I wondered how this would be translated into a full-on film. On the one hand, an adaptation simply makes sense. One of the biggest difficulties with a music-focused manga is that it exists in a medium completely bereft of audio. There is a tangible aspect of the story that could undoubtedly be fleshed out through adaptation. On the other hand, the individual vignettes don’t really connect, and there is no overarching narrative pull. How do you turn that into a two-hour film, where functioning as a cohesive whole is intrinsic to that medium?

To fix this, the film instead jumps to “act” 2 of the story, where the main character Dai travels to Tokyo and forms a Jazz trio. This is a sensible decision for obvious reasons; it gives the film structure and puts our protagonist in a vulnerable situation. This heightens the drama and creates genuine stakes for our protagonist. It does come with some downsides, though. For one, the small-town slice-of-life atmosphere is gone, replaced with the urban sprawl of Tokyo and a less unique story. While there are still no “rivals,” the conflict is more about our cast improving their craft as opposed to the more personal stories of the first part. It’s not “shonen,” but it’s more “shonen” than it was originally.

It also means the film has to flash back at certain points to give the necessary backstory. Now, this is done pretty cleverly in how it integrates the sections into the early music beats. It mimics how a good performance can lead one to recall their own life. It’s not distracting and it brings the gentler humanistic moments into the scenes that matter. However, I do wonder if some of the time in the film could be better allocated. Especially with how well-animated the later musical segments are, it is a shame that many of the early performances feel like slideshow Sparknotes from stories we’ve never seen before, instead of the grand spectacles of abstract animation they should be.

In fact, for fans of animation, this film’s team is probably the selling point. The director and co-storyboard artist is Yuzuru Tachikawa, notable for works such as Mob Psycho 100 and Deca-Dence. Tachikawa has become known for his high-intensity mixed-media animation as well as truly exceptional pieces of sakuga. These are the types of show-stopping sequences that get anime fans tweeting up a frenzy. This can easily be seen in the spectacular action in Mob Psycho 100, where the scratchy notepad illustrations and surreal color palette create some truly mesmerizing moments of visual wonder.

The last few performances are the real standouts, with a magical mix of impossibly fluid animation and abstract imagery. It’s comparable to the color palette of something like Mob Psycho, with the imagery of something almost like Fantasia. These set pieces are the main calling card of the film and are what drew the talent to the project, I assume. They are particularly effective as the drama starts to heat up, and emotion cascades into something enormous. The final two piano solos from the character Yukinori are the most prominent “wow” moments of the film, with some of the most creative work of anyone involved.

That’s why it’s such a shame that this animation is not consistent throughout the rest of the film. Outside of the concerts, there is not too much else to write home about. Even Tokyo is not portrayed as prettily as it could be. This is a fish-out-of-water story about a small-town kid moving to the big city. I would love for that big city to seem alive and colorful. Instead, it just feels no more bustling than the small town he came from.

Lulls in animation quality are to be expected; Blue Giant is not currently a big phenomenon, and those later sequences must have taken a hefty chunk of the budget. Sadly, that makes those scenes almost not fit with the rest of the film, especially when considering the real problem with the animation: the use of CGI character models.

Whenever the characters need to move precisely in concert sequences, traditionally animated characters are swapped for CG models. Even the backgrounds become computer-generated at points. CGI anime can and has looked very good in the past, most notably in shows like Land of the Lustrous or Netflix’s reboot of Trigun. It can also be mixed well with traditional animation, as seen in shows like Attack on Titan. The problem here is twofold. First, the character models are far less detailed than the traditional animation on display. Everything feels poorly composited, and the characters don’t seem to actually exist in the backgrounds they inhabit. The second is just how distracting it becomes. The switch from traditional animation to CGI and back at the drop of a hat gives the viewer severe visual whiplash.

I can see the vision behind the use of CGI, especially when parts of the background are CG as well. This allows for the “camera” to zoom and spin around the space in kinetic and dynamic ways. There are some shots during the concert sequences that I have never seen pulled off in animation as well as they are here. It’s almost like a drone was put into an actual animated space. This “camera” is able to flow with the music in an almost improvisational way similar to jazz itself. If you can ignore the mismatch between the backgrounds and the character models, there is some real showmanship on display here.

Sadly, it was distracting enough to hurt my enjoyment. Not exponentially, but enough to notice. This is a very good film made by clearly talented people, with incredible animation that just has some really rough moments throughout. I am still glad I watched it, and I’m happy that it got me started on the manga, which is also excellent. Hopefully, in the future, we can get a sequel or a new film by this team that is able to improve from some of these misfires.

You know I swore off these Marvel films. They aren’t my thing anymore and my dislike of them was just turning me into an unfun stick in the mud. Just a smarmy hateful little loser. So after that 4th Thor movie, I said enough is enough and called it quits. Like Pontius Pilate, I washed my hands of this film series. But now here I am, crawling back like a starving rat begging for scraps. 

But I have a good reason this time!!! That’s right I am not reviewing the film itself, but the Japanese dub. This seemed like a good segment to bolster the site. All big blockbusters come to Japan with a Japanese dub, and for the most part, they understandably go undiscussed. I have always found dubbing to be a fascinating process. Seeing how a different culture chooses to transfer over ideas and tropes. This is present in all translations obviously, but there is something so much more direct when it comes to dubbing. This can be seen in more obvious examples, like Brock’s “Jelly Donuts” in the English version of the Pokemon anime. However, my interest truly peaked when I was watching clips of the Japanese dub of Spongebob of all things.  

Specifically in the dub’s interpretation of the character Plankton. Now as any English speaker in their mid to early twenties should know, Plankton has a deep booming voice. His voice actor Mr. Lawrence gave him a deep menacing voice evocative of older American cartoon villains like Dr. Claw or Megatron. This of course enhances the comedy when he has to talk casually in that voice.

Now shift over to the Japanese Plankton and we move to the opposite end of the vocal spectrum. Far from deep and booming, his voice is incredibly high-pitched. It’s like he has been sucking down on helium. More specifically he sounds somewhat similar to how many prepubescent boys sound in anime. This can partially be traced back to the kawaii culture in Japan. Plankton is a very cute small creature. It makes sense that they saw his design and decided to make him sound like an adorable five-year-old and not a middle-aged divorcee. However, I was shocked to find in my research that Plankton’s Japanese voice is pretty much identical to the Japanese voice of Dragon Ball’s own Emperor Pilaf. Now both these characters share similar characteristics. Both are small in stature and have even shorter tempers. Both are also parodies of other cartoon antagonists. Running with the joke “ what if your generic cartoon villain had all the same bravado, but also completely sucked.” 

Now at this point, I assume some of you may be wondering, “why has this man spent so much time talking about Spongebob in his Ant-man review?” Well, I mainly want to establish the types of exciting changes you see when you cross the cultural line. In the case of Spongebob, the idea of a maniacal mustache-twirling villain, who is also kind of pathetic, can be interpreted in two completely different ways. I also want to emphasize this idea in regard to humor, seeing as that is one of the key calling cards of the MCU and the Ant-Man franchise in particular.

But okay no more preamble. Let’s talk about the dub. I am going to separate this into an easy-to-parse list. I’ll talk about all the major players’ voices in a ranked list, from worst to best, Starting with …

Modok

English: Corey Stoll Japanese: Hitoshi Yamanoi

I instantly forgot almost everything about this character and both performances for it. I do have the perhaps controversial opinion that I actually kind of dug the design. It gave off the silly cartoony energy that the comic book character is known for, and that this film works best in. However, that’s about it. At least he wasn’t annoying. Next. 

Cassie Lang

English: Kathryn Newton Japanese: Rie Takahashi

I want to start this off by saying that I don’t think any of the dub actors did a bad job here. In this case, I would even say Rie Takahashi did better than Kathryn Newton. The problem here really lies in the character herself. Pretty much most of the horrible marvel style dialogue was placed purely on Cassie and Scott’s lap. We’ll get to Scott eventually but this harms Cassie as this is essentially our introduction to the character. Another problem is I don’t think Newton was really on set with the rest of the cast much. At least that’s how it comes off in the final product. It’s pretty rare to see any close-up shots of the cast sharing a frame, but it’s almost like playing Where’s Waldo with Cassie. It doesn’t seem like Newton was acting against actual people and thus didn’t really know the context or intended tone of her lines. This is actually where the Takahashi has an advantage. Being able to dub the film with knowledge of the full story means there are fewer awkward line reads. However, I think my real problem with Takahashi’s Cassie is just that she sounds younger than the character looks. This is Marvel’s problem. Cassie is supposed to be a teenager in the film, and Takahashi plays her like that. For example, she constantly refers to Scott as “Papa” instead of the more formal “Otousan” and it just feels off. The problem is just that Kathryn Newton looks like she is in her early 20’s. There are age-specific vocab and mannerisms in the film that don’t match with how the character looks visually and it becomes quite distracting after a while. 

Kang The Conqueror 

English: Jonathan Majors Japanese: Kazumasa Nakamura

Next, we sadly have Marvel’s next big bad Kang the Conqueror, played by Jonathon majors and dubbed by Kazuma Nakmura. In this case, we don’t have an issue with performers, both these men are very talented. I think the issue lies with marvel’s interpretation of Kang. they go for quiet menace and that doesn’t really work with a film and concept this silly. Kang is a multiversal conqueror who was apparently so chaotic that he was banished by his alternate selves to a place called the quantum realm. Now reading that you can hopefully see the issue. We’re getting into some hardcore genre of sci-fi. Real nerdy stuff.  This type of ridiculousness needed some bug-eyed Michael Shannon as Zodd energy. Especially with some of the turns near the end of the film, quite menace just doesn’t cut it. Jonathon Majors is sometimes operating at that level, but that type of crazed intensity never crystallizes in the dub.      

Hope Van Dyne 

English: Evangeline Lilly Japanese: Yuki Uchida

This is our neutral spot on the list. Played by Evangeline Lily and dubbed by Yuki Uchida, both these women have years of experience with the role at this point and they fit comfortably back in. It’s hard to get a real gauge of the performance as the character is barely utilized in the film. A real shame given the title suggests she is a co-lead. As such this will stand all neutral 0 on the ph scale of performances here.   

Hank Pym

English: Michael Douglas Japanese: Kimiyoshi Mitomo

Next we have Michael Douglas and Kimiyoshi Otomo as Hank Pym. This is another example of a veteran of the character, where Otomo has been dubbing Hank since the original. This is also an example of one of the major players in this franchise being sidelined for the third film. I do wonder how much of this was Michael Douglas not wanting to commit to a lengthy shoot, but it’s probably best not to speculate. Regardless, Michael Douglass has a dynamite screen presence even when I’m not hearing his voice and Otomo is allowed to loosen up with a much more chilled-out Hank Pym than in previous films. Overall I feel this is somewhat interchangeable with Hope, however, I’m going to give the nod to Otomo as I feel the more downplayed calmed performance works better with the shrunken role.

Scott Lang

English: Paul Rudd Japanese: Hidenobu Kiuchi

Scott himself was the voice I was most looking forward to hearing. Played by Paul Rudd in English; the Japanese voice is none other than the incredibly talented Hidenobu Kiuchi. Kiuchi is probably most famous for roles such as Kenzo Tenma in Monster, Ryohei Sasagawa in Hitman Reborn!, and most exciting to me was Hol Horse in JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure. Both Hol Horse and to a lesser extent Ryohei are characters that show the exact type of high-energy absurdity that a film like Ant-Man needs. Kiuchi has been Paul Rudd’s Japanese voice for years now also dubbing for films like Ghostbusters: Afterlife. This should be a comedic slam dunk. That’s why I was so surprised to see that it was the dramatic moments that Kikuchi was hitting for me. Now, this is not a surprise in that I didn’t think Kikuchi could do drama. He has proven on many occasions that he absolutely can. It was just that there is a decent gulf in quality behind the dramatic reads and the jokes. Now a few of the jokes land, but for the most part they fall pretty flat. I was puzzled as to why this was until it finally clicked with me. The marvel style of quips just doesn’t really fit with more over-the-top anime voice stylings. Marvel jokes are meant to come quick and not hit very hard. They keep things light without being too absurdist. This more sarcastic mumblecore vibe of joke just doesn’t connect with a performance style that needs to be more over the top. I kept hoping for some big exaggerated reactions or just some more energy with the delivery. Sadly it never really materializes. On the other hand, Kikuchi is on the perfect wavelength for dramatic moments. I especially love the scenes where Scott needs to be a loving but stern father to Cassie. This type of family drama was what the original Ant-man movies did well and was for the most part missing in this one. That’s why it is a huge breath of fresh air when the film does go down that route.     

Janet Van Dyne

English: Michelle Pfeiffer Japanese: Gara Takashima

Last and the exact opposite of least will be Michelle Pfeiffer and Gara Takashima as Janet Van Dyne. Takashima is a veteran dubbing actress who has been the voice of Michelle Pfeiffer since 1983 with Scarface. She is also the main dubbing actress for celebrities such as Demi Moore, Sharon Stone, Emma Thompson, and is even the Japanese voice of Princess Leia. As such this third-rate Ant-man movie is child’s play for her. On top of that Janet is the most prominent character in the film besides Scott. She has the clearest and most concise arc and the best overall scenes in the film. Particularly the ones where she has to act against the film’s villain Kang. However, she has great chemistry with all of her castmates, able to jump from stoic badass, to snarky quip machine, to loving mother, to mysterious secret haver all at the drop of a hat. Her presence is easily the highlight of the film.

And there you have it. Please let me know if this is the type of content you like seeing here and if you would be interested in any more. I have a review of the new Japanese film Blue Giant coming in a week or two. Until then, happy trails.

In the year of our lord 2023, I think most anime fans, in the know, are aware of both Mamoru Oshii and Rumiko Takahashi. The former being the legendary director responsible for classics such as Angel’s Egg, Jin-Roh, the entire Patlabor franchise, and of course Ghost in the Shell; The latter being the prolific writer of shojo manga classics such as Inuyasha, Maison Ikkoku, and Ranma ½; so on and so forth. Both veritable icons in the industry with incalculable numbers of works and creators influenced by them. Despite the obvious canyon-sized gulf between the stories they are known for, both their careers share a common nexus point. That point being a silly little gag series called Urusei Yatsura.   

Rumiko Takahashi started writing Urusei Yatsura in 1978. It’s a comedy romance manga about a high schooler named Ataru Moroboshi, and an alien princess named Lum. After a complicated set and ridiculous set of circumstances, she comes to believe that she is Ataru’s wife after he accidentally proposes to her. As was customary for popular manga of the day (and currently as well) an anime was produced. In 1981 the anime first aired with the then-relatively unknown Mamoru Oshii as the series’ chief director. Oshii brought directorial finesse and a sense of grandiosity to the series. The episodes were mostly straight adaptations of the chapters written by Rumiko Takahashi. However, Takahashi’s jovial free-wheeling character archetypes and Oshii’s light arthouse sensibilities created a bizarre yet compelling combination. He stayed on the show for the first 106 episodes of its run; directing 24 episodes himself and the first 2 films.

That brings us to the key topic for today. That being the second film, Urusei Yatsura 2: Beautiful Dreamer. Unlike the first film, Beautiful Dreamer was written entirely by Oshii himself, and you can see his handprints all over it. Anyone who loves films like Ghost in the Shell or Angel’s Egg owes it to themselves to watch this movie, as many techniques used there can be found here as well. Albeit, in a much lighter more family-friendly overall package. There are many narrative diversions where the story/tone flips on its head and transforms into something entirely new. It deals with heady themes with certain parsley animated scenes featuring purposefully didactic monologues on whatever themes Oshii was interested in at the time. There is an avalanche of surreal imagery and visual metaphor that would make any film hard to follow even in one’s native tongue. It’s a multilayered complex film inside one of the most deceivingly approachable packages it could be part of.

That’s a big reason why I was so interested in experiencing this film without subtitles to guide me. On the one hand, while it is quite easy to grow accustomed to reading and watching at the same time; (so much so that one barely notices after a few minutes) it is true that Subtitles can sometimes distract from the imagery of a given piece of visual media. I wanted to look at this film with new eyes and really take in the rich animation on display. I have already seen this film multiple times, so I was not too worried about being lost. On top of that, despite the complex narrative, it’s still fundamentally aimed at younger audiences with themes mainly geared toward teenagers. This made it a great start to this project. It’s a good test run to see how well-crafted films are able to, not only convey narrative, but also motifs and ideas through cinematic tools other than dialogue.  

Admittedly some scenes were a bit difficult to parse, especially the ones heavy on dialogue. This includes most of the scenes involving the character Sakura. Sakura is the school nurse and serves as a sort of mentor character throughout the film. As such most of her scenes end up being rather expository. In one key scene, Sakura is unknowingly confronted by the main antagonist of the film, Mujaki. A “dream” spirit that has trapped the cast in a time loop. Forcing them to repeat the same day over and over, without them noticing.

In the scene Mujaki is disguised as a Taxi driver, driving Sakura back home. After a while, Sakura asks why the drive is taking so long; prompting a perhaps a bit pretentious and dubiously set up elongated dialectical discussion on the relativity time. These introspective almost Brechtian philosophical debates between characters would become commonplace in Oshii’s later films such as Ghost in the Shell or Patlabor 2. They are very low-energy scenes with animation that focuses more on the background. It’s not necessarily cinematic and it’s certainly hard to parse even if one does know the language, as it does deal with surprisingly complicated concepts for a children’s anime. 

On the surface, the visuals do little to help relieve one’s confusion. Most of the scene consists of what is essentially the animated equivalent of a still shot. We only see Sakura and Mujaki sitting in the car, talking; as the street lights go by, in the background. However, it is in those street lights that meaning is found. As the drive continues we see them pass by one after the other, almost in a rhythm. Mujaki and Sakura are partially draped in shadows. The streetlights remain in the background but they become the clearest source of light in the scene. The street light becomes a time loop themselves; endlessly repeating. A visual metaphor for the cyclical nature of how the characters are experiencing the current day.

In fact, driving and the open road serves as a metaphor for time at many moments in the film. Near the beginning, there is a confrontation between our protagonist Ataru and his rival Mendou. Mendou is driving Ataru back home and lecturing him about his behavior at school. Like Sakura in the Taxi, the streets are curiously quiet and barren. All Ataru can do to pass the time is stare out at the windows of the passing buildings. There is a protracted shot of Ataru staring at the windows as the car drives on. We see the animation loop as buildings pass on by; Ataru’s reflection looping along with them.

In both of these scenes, The world outside the vehicle is repeating. As Mujaki comments “Maybe time slows down when you’re in a Taxi.” Anyone familiar with long drives, especially ones in the late hours of the night and early morning has personal experience with this. Time is relative on the road. You exist in your own little pocket dimension, where everything slows to a crawl. The mundanity of it all consumes you. I myself am no stranger to long road trips and arriving home far past the time everyone else has gone to bed. For me, it was always the trees. Driving on endless stretches of straight roads as a near-infinite forest of trees seems to stretch forever into the horizon. It’s almost hypnotic.

Oshii not only captures the madcap plot of time loops and pocket dimensions, but also the film’s themes, just by subtly honing in on the almost universal human experience of long late-night drives. Even if you can’t understand a single word of what is being said, you can feel it in the atmosphere. It may call to mind similar experiences of your own late nights on the open road.   

The taxi scene also contains another clue into the mysteries of the film. When discussing the taxi ride, Mujaki alludes to the Japanese folktale character Urashima Taro. In fact, the story of Urashima Taro is referenced a number of times throughout the film. These references to Japanese folklore are par for the course in the stories of Rumiko Takahashi. Many of Takahashi’s stories deal with Japanese folktales, but why this Urashima Taro in particular? Urashima Taro is an old tale about a man of the same name. One day he saves a small turtle from being attacked by a group of young children. The following day a larger turtle comes to the surface to thank Taro. As a gift, he gives Taro gills and brings him to a magnificent undersea palace to meet princess Otohime. Taro stays with the princess for 3 days; before departing Otohime gives him a mysterious box but warns him not to open it. When Taro returns to the surface, he is distraught to learn that 300 years have passed since he last left. In his despair he opens the box and immediately ages 300 years, Otohime laments from the water that she warned him not to open the box, as it contained his old age.

There are some pretty obvious parallels between this rather dark fairytale and the themes of the film. Beautiful Dreamer goes further and literalizes this metaphor near the end of the story. In the climax, It is revealed that our cast has become trapped in the series mascot Lum’s dream. Earlier in the film, she talks wistfully about how she would like to spend forever in these youthful days with her friends. Thus, in her dream, everyone is stuck repeating the same day. Like Taro spent 3 magical days in an underwater kingdom, unaware he was there for hundreds of years. The cast spends one eventful school day with each other, unaware they have been doing this for months.

The metaphor is at its most blatant when the cast finally leaves the city. In Mendou’s Jet, they fly into the sky. From this higher vantage point they notice that their hometown is no longer connected to the rest of the world, but now floating in space suspended on a large turtle (I told you the imagery gets wild in this).  That is as literal a reference to the Urashima Taro myth as you can get. Like how the turtle brought Taro to an undersea palace, these characters are being carried to their own magical dreamland on the back of a turtle.

Like the rest of Takahashi’s series that the movie is based on, Beautiful Dreamer uses common Japanese myths and folktales to tell its story and reveal more about its characters. Anyone familiar with these myths will be able to pick up on the imagery being displayed without needing to hear the characters explain it to them.       

As the days continue the city itself starts to crumble. All the people that are not primary characters disappear. This marks the key genre and tonal shift in the film. As the school and city slowly change into rubble, the film takes on the aesthetic of a post-apocalyptic survival film. It’s still a silly animated teen comedy at heart, but the setting and many of the genre conventions seem to share more DNA with Mad Max than Breakfast Club.

This is not the last time the film’s genre walls start to completely break down. Once the scope of the story is revealed to Ataru. He is sent on a veritable nature tour of new dreams as Mujaki tries to get rid of him. Naturally, all of these dreams take the form of classic Hollywood films. Films like 2001: A Space Odyssey or Frankenstein. These references help ground the film and guide the viewer through its pretty wild plot and drastic tonal shifts. Intertextuality is used to keep things light, but also give the audience a visual jumping on point to better engage with what is going on. This includes story references from Urashima Taro to Godzilla.

That’s at least part of how I was able to keep track of the insanity on display. Beautiful Dreamer is jam-packed with mesmerizing moments of unreal animation that I didn’t have time or justification to talk about here. I have seen the movie multiple times at this point, and every time there are multiple scenes I forget about entirely, that blow me away all over again. It’s not that they are unmemorable, far from it. It’s just that there is too much in this one movie to completely internalize. It’s filled to the brim with bizarre imagery and mind-bending scenes. I didn’t have time to touch on the flying elephant that grows huge and devours the dream world, or the Giant unsettling statues of the humans ejected from the dream.

You’ll just have to find all that stuff for yourself. The film is available dubbed on amazon prime, and the dub is quite good from what I have heard. Sadly, it is more difficult to get one’s hands on the original Japanese version with subtitles. That is one of the key motivators in starting this project. You can buy the blue ray if you want to experience the film in its original language, and I highly recommend that you do. It’s one of my favorite films and I would love it if more people could get the chance to hopefully love it as I do.