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On many levels, Yomigaeri ( Resurrection ) takes a striking affinity to past films like Soderbergh’s remake of Takovsky’s Solaris, as well as Mimi Leder’s disaster movie Deep Impact. Looking beyond the overt sci-fi setting where all the 3 films share a similar premise, what strings the 3 films into tandem are their nuanced and skilfully constructed plot devices that very successfully coaxes and yanks at the viewers’ own personal latent pool of memory, setting off a very intimate emotional response built on our own experiences, the classic case of “what if I were to live through the same experience” if you may. Think hearing a familiar tune off a radio that sets off nostalgic memories, only in this case you get the entire visual-aura package, enabling one to ease into the character’s plight, full assimilation and empathy, the whole works.

In Deep Impact the impending doom of the earth is rendered realistically enough for us to imagine that very last precious moments we can share with our loved ones, just as the protaganists do in the film, and in both Solaris and Yomigaeri the sudden reappearance of our most cherished people scrutinizes our ability to let go in the event of a death and probe one’s mind like a sharp needle straight through the cerebrum, though that heady, pleasurable feeling associated with the viewing experience can hardly be defined as pain.

When I first read about the plot summary of Ridley Scott’s Kingdom of Heaven at Cinfex.com many months ago while it was still pretty much in production, the immediate thought that crossed my mind was a biased one; how will the filmmakers portray the legendary military general Saladin ? My impressions were swayed in the direction that he would be misrepresented as a tyrant, merciless in his war against the crusaders, given the many instances in past Hollywood films where Muslims are often depicted as terrorists or religious extremists, ie the bad guys. Certainly I am no expert in the history of the Crusade but in watching this film a little background knowledge in the real history behind the story really does make the film significantly more enriching. ( perhaps this is the reason my classmates found the film largely boring, having never heard of Saladin nor the Crusade. )

For example, the famous scene where Saladin offers the king his physicians is a big nod to a real historical event, although it was offered to Richard the Lionheart ( the guy who announces himself the king of England at the end of the film ) rather than Baldwin ( the leper King ). Saladin was also known in history as a chivalric and merciful leader who generally left the Crusader Kingdom – Jerusalem – alone until the Crusaders repeatedly provoked him, attacking caravans of pilgrims, including one, yes, where his sister was travelling in. When they opened Saladin’s treasury after his death they found there was not enough money to pay for his funeral; he had given his money away to those in need.

A mere five minutes viewing into Night Shyamalan’s The Village and I could have swore the dvd was worth buying almost on pure account of DOP Roger Deakin’s most handsome photography work. This must be Night’s most aesthetically pleasing film to date, plot notwithstanding. Despite setting out watching this film with full knowledge of its eventual plot development credit certainly must be given to Night’s attuned ability to craft scenes crammed with suspense and fear, when actually most of the time little was actually happening.

2 things that I found extremely displeasing – 1) *SPOILERS” Noah chancing upon one of those spook suits. “He found one of the suits under the floor board !” How very convenient for plot advancement ! This is as shoddy as anything, see Mr Mckee shaking his head in resignation. 2) Night’s cameos. Now we all understand Hitchcock did it too for most of his films, and it was fun to watch him, almost like a cinematic Where’s Wally Game, but here Night’s appearance is terribly irritating, given how obtrusive and deliberate his cameos are, even if its just a reflection.

Film production discussions aside, I simply don’t agree with the story’s Luddite point of view. To deny one’s own offspring the wonders and beautiful knowledge of science is an infinitely selfish act. Now this ranks just right below on the hate-meter for me for anyone who strives to promote fatalism, but you’ll have to watch Night’s previous film for that.

Its hard to describe in words just how bizzare Ishii Katsuhito’s Cha no Aji ( The Taste of Tea ) is but its delightful combination of queer plot elements and even queerer characters makes for one very arresting viewing experience. I can’t quite remember the last time I was so zonked out after watching a film. Kanarazu mitekudasai.

Hou Hsiao Hsien’s Kohi Jikou ( Cafe Lumiere ) is an extremely quiet and halcyon film ( in fact bordering on extremes, especially to those whose tastes are not attuned to the arthouse ) that however speaks volumes in emotional resonance beneath it seemingly mundane scenes and locked camera shots. Tsai Ming Liang’s What Time Is It There comes to mind. Lee Ping Bing’s photography is remarkably unostentatious and austere, much more akin to his work in Spring Time in a Small Town than In The Mood For Love.

On a more personal level many of the scenes take on a very intimate and immediate feel, the locations been places I am familiar with while I’m here in Japan like Shinjuku train station ( the chime for a leaving train is especially nostalgic ), Yurakucho, and the short trams to Waseda, passing through Sangenjaya where my friend Berni used to live.

The “Jerry Bruckheimer films” indent screened before the commencement of the film National Treasure served as the best caveat of what laid ahead ( read : explosions, car chases, more explosions; basically your usual taosiao capers ). Extraordinarily we registered only one single explosion in the early part of the film, but this Davinci Code + Indiana Jones mishmash of plot still fails to take off as it lumbered on languorously, bogged down by some stiff acting and even stiffer lines. ( another example of great actors’ performances suffering at the expense of lousy writing. ) Trevor Rabin’s music is woefully misused, incessant perhaps in an attempt to mask the film’s other shortcomings. To add to the insult the filmmakers usual undermining of the audiences’ intelligence quoto by means of a clown sidekick that tries desperately to insert trite humour makes all but see red. Why can’t for even once the supporting partner of the protaganist be given a little more intellectual credence ?

Movie/comic comparisons aside, Francis Lawrence’s directorial debut Constantine is a tastily shot film topped with superlative visual and creature effects, crisp, moody photography and a host of radical, interesting characters. In this fashion-savvy universe Gabriel the Archangel dresses like a spokesmodel for Versace while Lucifer does Armani endorsements in bleached white designer suits. Such a stark contrast in the portrayal of the ultimate evil is a clear departure from past films where Satan is often depicted as a savage demon king bent on inflicting human suffering whereas here he’s a well dorned CEO with an eterprise to manage, however hellish it is. In this sense inhabiting such a world where the supernatural forces heed attention to “the balance” of good and evil seems almost desirable. Evil never once looked so good.

I can’t recall exactly as to why I missed Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem For A Dream when it hit theatres back in 2000, but I’m more than glad that I finally watched it after putting it off everytime I hit the rental stores, having remembered lucidly my friends’ caveats that it’s extremely detrimental to one’s healthy mental state. Nontheless, watching Requiem is an excellent exercise in filmmaking, ( the film had 2000 plus cuts, as compared to a regular movie’s 600/700 ), and the sophorific visuals are so compelling its like been hypnotised.

It will no doubt take several more repeat viewings to even barely grasp and appreciate the full masterly range of Krzysztof Kieslowski trilogy Trois Couleurs ( Three Colours : Blue, White and Red ), but Rouge ( Red ) immediately springs up as my favourite of the three. Maybe because it was the easiest to comprehend and relate to, but simply put Red is so richly imbued in a mix of fantastic visual and narrative symbolism, utilizing austere but stunning photography to enhance the intensity of every scene the experience of viewing leaves one breathless; I can only imagine the impact it would have had viewed in a theatre. Sadly the depth and meaning of the trilogy is way beyond what my inept writing can express, but you’ve been so informed.

( Note however, this trilogy’s narrative treatment is everything an archetypal Hollywood outing is not, so some may find it completely senseless and boring. )

Isao Yukisada’s tearjerker Sekai no Chushin de, Ai wo Sakebu ( Crying out love at the centre of the world ), though employing an egregiously cliched, age old melodramatic narrative that is sure to have teenage girls swooning for the lead actor’s undying love in the film, is redeemably executed with accomplished skill and beauty ( no small part due to Shinoda’s photography ). As unabashedly sentimental as the film is, the superbly timed use of Ken Hirai’s moving ballad can really get one reaching for their hankies.

Regrettably, this marked the final film shot by DP Noboru Shinoda, a long time collaborator with Iwai Shunji, whose cinematography work included Love Letter, Swallowtail Butterfly and April Story.

Perhaps the Japanese were once again exercising their usual diffidence and propriety but me and my friends just could not for cat’s sake control our uproarious laughter yesterday while watching Pixar’s latest outing The Incredibles. Coupled with Pixar’s now reliably excellent plot and visual delivery is Brad Bird’s unique direction, a style ringing close to the underrated Iron Giant. There’s a hint of mischievious nature seemingly missing from Pixar’s past works that is beautifully integrated here, the Warner Bro’s animation touch if you will.

Highlight today however must go to the receipt of Toho Gakuen’s letter of acceptance, my film school starting next April. Kojima-chan was noticably more estatic than me when told the news, chotto bikkurishita. *laughs*

If, Miyazaki Hayao fan or no, after a viewing of his latest animation film Howl’s Moving Castle one detects a perceptible difference from his previous works, not so much with the style and visual treatment, but storyline, that’s because it is – the script is an adaptation of a children’s book by British author Diana Wynne Jones. Though this detail does little to hinder the film’s overall greatness, I cannot but feel a sense of detachment, as if the distinctive, Hallmark Miyazaki visuals are just one soul removed from the story. It is not typical of Miyazaki to center his theme and message on the romantic relationship of the protaganists, themselves usually contributing only a certain fraction to a bigger, broader subject that is the more important message he wishes to convey.

Of course, this simply isn’t a Miyazaki story to begin with. Certainly my deplorable level of japanese is also hindering my ability to understand the story fully. ( no, no subtitles for a Japanese film in Japan, it makes sense. ) Let’s hope I get to see the dvd soon with subtitles and personally no, nothing comes too close to Mononoke Hime , period.