Izo

It looks awesome, it sounds awesome, but what the hell is it all about? The meaning of Shigenori Takechi's scerenplay is elusive to say the least. Miike's direction is typically eccentric, imaginative, beautiful - all the things I've come to expect from one of the greatest auteurs working in cinema today, not just in Japan, but internationally.

If you're looking for a straightforward narrative, or structured character development, then this film is bound to disappoint. If it's important to look for meaning, and I'm not at all sure it is, one line from the 'bard''s commentary may be a clue. To paraphrase, it goes something along the lines of "it's all very well to be anti-war, but what about being anti-human". In a way, that seems to enapsulate the mood of the film.

Izo is like a cleansing fist, crashing through layers of human ignorance-made-flesh at random; as random, in fact, as existence itself. To call this an anti-war film or a meditation on human history as the history of violence is, I think, too reductive. It simply isn't that one-dimensional and resists such a banal interpretation. This is pure surrealism, at it's most random and brutal. It's serious, but then again, ridiculous and, at times, laugh-out-loud funny. It's nihilistic, but it's also about rebirth and the endless hope of renewal. It thrives on contradictions, which is what surrealism is all about.

But if we put all this semantic hand-wringing to one side, what we have is a movie that is fundamentally a BLAST to watch - at least once; the relentless violence might start to become a little tedious on repeat viewings. Taken at face value, it's a demonic undead wandering samurai, who happens to be able to traverse time and space at will (possibly not his own will, judging by his constant state of confusion), putting to the sword whomever should appear in his path, whether it's a class full of school children or an improbably muscular ringer for a Gamorrean Guard. It's a pan-dimensional beat 'em up, where each new character is mid-level fodder or a formidable end-of-level boss, all to be served up and annihilated for the sheer hell of it.

以蔵
Dir. Takashi Miike, 2004

Porco Rosso

Certainly an improvement over the confused Nausicaa and the vapid Ponyo, both of which it's hard to imagine anyone over the age of 5 enjoying. The animation in Porco Rosso is of a wonderfully high standard, consistently wowing you with its incredible attention to detail and the way the screen is always teeming with life and movement - making a lot of anime look static by comparison.

This makes it worth the price of admission alone. But add to that a perfectly coherent (if rather simplistic) story and you have an enjoyable anime. My problem with Ghibli remains that a lot of their films are just so damn childish. I know that's the point - I know that Miyazaki, by and large, makes anime for children, but I can only dream of what he could achieve with such a talented animation team if he made a film purely for adults.

真紅の翼
Dir. Hayao Miyazaki, 1992

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

I'd read this was an early Miyazaki masterpiece - I didn't find it to be that exactly. The animation is stunning, especially when you consider the year of the film's creation; 1984. The fluidity of movement and attention to detail is light years ahead of any other anime I've seen from this period. The mood too, especially in the forest scenes, distills a quiet magic, as spores float through shafts of sunlight and strange creatures amble around. It's almost enough to make up for the cringe-worthy synth cheese that passes for score.

But then we come to the plot, and that's where Nausicaa falls down for me. In short, I couldn't make head nor tail of it! Ostensibly, it's an eco parable about man's pollution of the Earth and how the Earth fights back, threatening the existence of mankind. Now I'm not against an environmental message (although Nausicaa actually hugs a tree at one point for crissakes!), but the specifics of the plot are such that I couldn't tell you at any given moment what the hell was going on. Nausicaa herself is a kind of elemental horse whisperer (except the horses are giant insects), there's a wasteland which is encroaching on human territory, propagating through 'bad spores' or 'bad soil' or some shit, there's a petrified forest under the wasteland, there are giant, many-eyed trilobites called Ohmu, there are rival human factions, neither of whose aims are at all clear... for the first half hour or so I found myself frustrated at not being able to get my head around what was happening or why, then resigned myself to the fact nothing was going to make sense and just enjoyed the visuals. Which are very nice.

風の谷のナウシカ
Dir. Hayao Miyazaki, 1984

Dead Or Alive

One, Two, Three, Four... GAAAHHHHHHH!!! Dead Or Alive kicks off in a blaze of sex, violence and gastronomic obscenity, tongue firmly in cheek.

By all accounts, DOA was made as a reaction to the studio, who presented the director with two bankable leads, a vehicle for a commercial franchise and told him to drive it wherever he wanted. A dangerous thing to do when your director is Takashi Miike. Miike, being the enfant terrible he is, has made a grotesque parody of a gangland drama, gleefully outdoing himself scene after scene. One pungently corporeal scene, where a girl is drowned in a pool of her own shit and a yakuza boss stamps down on her lifeless body proclaiming "I've done it again!" smacks of wry self-mockery on Miike's part.

Sure it's over the top, scarcely believable and lacking the complexity you find in his best work, but it's a hell of a ride! DOA gives us a turf war between a gang of street punks, led by Chinese immigrant Ryuichi, and a Triad/Yakuza syndicate. It's ultraviolent to the point of lunacy, bodies stacking up like a Jenga tower, and the all-consuming rivalry between Ryuichi and Jojima plays out like a wittier, smarter version of Violent Cop.

And then there's the ending. In typically post-modern style, Ryuichi murmurs "Here comes the last scene", before all hell breaks loose. Without giving the game away, let's just say there's a slight change of, well, reality. It's guaranteed to leave you with your jaw on the floor when the credits roll, in much the same way as the opening sequence does.

犯罪者
Dir. Takashi Miike, 1999

Kai Doh Maru

Whilst it makes a nice change to see an anime set in ancient Japan rather than some mech-infested near future, it's unfortunate that this particular anime is so stultifyingly dull. The makers of Blood: The Last Vampire have created a finished film with Kai Doh Maru, but at least with Blood you could imagine what might have been.

The washed-out visuals, a stylistic choice presumably intended to endow a kind of far-off mysticism on the film, only adds to the general torpor that sets in from the get go. The fact that the plot, supposedly based on Japanese folklore, is somewhat contrived borders on irrelevance as you will have long since been comatised by characters with less charm and guile than a bag of spanners.

怪童丸
Dir. Kanji Wakabayashi, 2003

Boiling Point

This was, I think, the first Kitano film to feature his trademark technique of interspersing the action with still shots - both 'after the event' type shots showing the consequence of some previous event and surreal stills, like Uehara wearing the crown of flowers or the the three diners smiling with squid ink on their teeth. Along with his deadpan black humour, these kind of directorial flourishes have served to mark Kitano out from the crowd.

Basically a blueprint for Sonatine, Boiling Point follows a couple of days in the life of Masaki, a garage worker and amateur baseball player who gets caught up in a fracas with the local mob. It's about the choices he makes and the downward spiral those choices take him on: after going to Okinawa to get hold of a gun and witnessing Uehara's own run-ins with the mob, he ultimately takes his revenge on the Otomo clan in Tokyo.

Structually, Boiling Point is very similar to Sonatine - local trouble, pilgrimage to Okinawa, kicking about a bit (on a beach), returning home, exacting revenge in a blaze of violence. Thematically too; the baseball game that bookends the film is a metaphor for life - the randomness of the game mirroring Masaki's existence with its arbitrary sequence of hits and strikes. It's just that it was all done a little bit better in Sonatine.

3-4X10月
Dir. Takeshi Kitano, 1990

Blues Harp

I'm starting to think Takashi Miike doesn't make bad films. Even when he's telling a straightforward story, with traditional Yakuza elements and none of his trademark weirdness, Miike does it with considerable panache.

Blues Harp follows the fortunes of a young half-black, half-Japanese bar-worker and blues harp player called Chuji, and his tragic entanglement with ambitious junior Yakuza boss, Kenji. Miike weaves the characters' stories together with a deft touch, counterpointing unflinching violence and tenderness without falling into cliche or sentimentality. Despite its relatively short running time, the characters are nicely developed; the acting is of a high quality, always believable, and some of the cinematography is gorgeous. All in all, a fine little film.

ブルース・ハープ
Dir. Takashi Miike, 1998

Bloody Territories

The story of a rogue clan's last stand following the dissolution of its parent association, incorporating the usual yakuza motifs of turf war and clan politics.

Bloody Territories was made towards the end of the era of 'ninkyo eiga', or 'chivalrous cinema', a style of yakuza movie that has more in common with the samurai films produced by studios like Toei in the 40s and 50s than with modern gangster movies. These films were made in part to appease a nostalgia for a bygone age of honour and loyalty, preferring escapism over realism. The gangsters never use guns, always knives in samurai-style bamboo sheaths, and there is a strong emphasis on rival clans' codes of honour.

It's difficult now to put the film into context. From a modern standpoint it feels curiously anachronistic and isn't helped by the soundtrack, which places it firmly in the 60s. Reminiscent of the music from the Batman series or an episode of Dragnet, it's intrusive and works against the gravity the actors bring to their parts, particularly Akira Kobayashi, who shines as the headstrong young yakuza lieutenant, Yuji.

Daft score and artifice aside, the film packs in a couple of plot twists and some nice cinematography, but it won't live long in the memory.

流血の縄張
Dir. Yasuharu Hasebe, 1969

Ponyo

From the sublime to, if not the ridiculous, the deeply mediocre. Think Spongebob Squarepants without the laughs. OK, maybe that's a bit harsh given that the intended audience for this film probably isn't embittered 30-somethings.

I don't know, but I would guess that even children would find Ponyo less than engaging. The story just isn't there - instead you get some half-baked stuff about the moon, a baddie who isn't very bad at all and a little girl (Ponyo) with more than a touch of The Innsmouth Look about her. It doesn't add up to a whole lot.

As you'd expect from a Ghibli production, the animation has its moments. The storm, and the torrential rain lashing the island is particularly well-drawn. Overall though, the style is sketchier and more naive than other Miyazaki films I've seen. The cuteness and innocence of Ponyo is rarely contrived, but does wear thin in the absence of any coherent plot or original message. As a friend remarked, it leaves you wanting to go home and watch something debauched.

崖の上のポニョ
Dir. Hayao Miyazaki, 2008

Spirited Away

Crap. One of the most overrated films in the history of anime. Sorry. No, this is of course one of the finest pieces of animation you're ever likely to see. There's almost certainly nothing I can say about Spirited Away that hasn't been said already, but it hasn't been regurgitated on here yet, so...

For me, this film represents the pinnacle of the genre; a timeless, mystical, subtle, naive, profound piece of animated magic. The incredibly detailed hand-drawn animation is vibrant and fluid, the soundtrack dovetails perfectly with the mood of the film, as the Zen-like story, at once epic and infinitesimal in scope, gradually unfolds.

Whilst not groundbreaking in the same way Disney's Fantasia was, Spirited Away set a new benchmark for traditional animation that has yet to be surpassed.

千と千尋の神隠し
Dir. Hayao Miyazaki, 2001