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April Story: Review – Fantasia Fest Selection

In April Story, Uzuki Nireno (Takako Matsu) is fulfilling the dream of every parent for their child: she is going off to study at a prestigious university. The film begins with her leaving her native northern Hokkaido to the capital of Japan, where she is to begin studies at Musashino University. While it should be the happy start of a new chapter in her life, instead everything feels somewhat sad and stilted.

The film, which gets its name from the time when the university year starts in Japan, is modest in its ambitions, scale and goals. Written and directed by Shunji Iwai, its story is simple and its themes are easily accessible, which is what makes it engaging throughout.

While sometimes it is a bad thing when a film doesn’t aim high, the earnestness of April Story is what makes it work. All it sets out to do is tell a simple story, one that many who have been or will be in a similar situation can relate to and find reassurance from, and do it well. It does all of this well enough to overcome its bigger flaws, such as ambiguous sequences and a somewhat corny ending.

Iwai’s subject, Uzuki, makes for an interesting character study: she is always upbeat and positive despite constantly looking and feeling out of place in her new surroundings as well as regularly coming up against roadblocks and disappointments since moving to Tokyo.

When she first arrives in to her student digs, some of her belongings she has to send home as there is not enough room. This leaves her apartment feeling very small, but also very empty, with no room for her to welcome guests. Her sat alone with barely anything around her serve as a visual reminder of one of the major themes of the film: loneliness.

While Uzuki is ready to make new friends, despite being good natured and congenial, doesn’t find it easy talking to her peers. Her interactions with others can be cringe-inducingly awkward and she never seems able to make any real connections.

She makes just one friend, Saeko Sono (Rumi), though her companionship seems to come from a place of pity. Uzuki tries to reach out to her neighbour, who is just as bad at interacting with others, and she also joins the university’s fly-fishing society even though her interest in the activity is minimal.

It can be very uncomfortable watching such scenes, as they can feel very raw and real. Yet as awkward as these moments can be, it’s vital to pay attention to them all. Every minor detail, from dialogue to visual inserts, provides key clues as to where the story is heading. In particular, the fact that Uzuki’s isolation seems to lead her into visiting the same book shop every day and make purchases that are of no interest to her. It ends up being a big part as to what she is there in Tokyo for.

Brisk at just sixty-four minutes, April Story doesn’t feel especially short, but there are moments which seem superfluous and time-consuming for such a short film. A not insignificant portion of the film has Uzuki sat in a cinema watching a samurai film, where a stranger tries to make a move on her. As it seems not to serve any larger point and is generally unsettling, its presence in the film seems questionable.

April Story was first released in 1998, but looking at it today you would not believe it. First the subject matter it deals with is just as relevant today as back when and recognisable even for people not in a similar situation to Uzuki. More so it is very well made, with clear and crisp photography that doesn’t betray its age and showing a high level of craft. In short Iwai has made a timeless film.

It’s not perfect, but by the time it would take to get worked up about the film’s imperfections, it is over. Able to succinctly tell a universal human tale, April Story stands the test of time and remains just as effective more than two decades on from when it was first made.

8th August 2021
Chasing Dreams: How Josee, The Tiger And The Fish Is About More Than Just Disability

Chasing Dreams: How Josee, The Tiger And The Fish Is About More Than Just Disability

‘Dreams are one thing. Reality is another.’ Josee is sternly told by a member of the local residents’ association sat across the table. ‘You of all people should know that.’ he adds like a twist of the knife, referring to the disability that has resulted in the young woman using a wheelchair her entire life. The jab is undeniably ableist, but in that moment it’s even more of a cheap shot because Josee’s health isn’t even the obstacle dividing opinion: it’s her dream. Josee, whose bedroom is adorned with brushes, rainbows of paints, and walls plastered with the vivid oceans they helped create, wishes to earn her keep as an illustrator.

Anyone who has ever thought of pursuing a passion will know the question that always follows, though: ‘when will you get a real job?’ (see: something mundane, but more socially acceptable). That struggle to bargain between chasing one’s dream and the reality around them, is at the heart of Josee, the Tiger and the Fish, the latest anime feature film that arrives in UK and Irish cinemas from 11th August.

The film follows the cash-strapped college student Tsuneo Suzukawa, who dreams of diving amongst the tropical fish of Mexico. One evening, a new opportunity literally falls into his arms when he saves Kumiko Yamamura when her wheelchair is pushed down a slope. She’s sharp-tongued, demanding, and insists on being called “Josee” (after a character from Françoise Sagan’s 1961 novel Les merveilleux). However, she’s also been kept indoors most of her life, out of fear of the judgemental “beasts” outside. When Tsuneo accepts a part-time job as her caretaker, however, the pair who want to see the world will discover what they both want from it.

On the surface, Josee, the Tiger and the Fish might sound like another one of those films about an able-bodied person who learns to have compassion for those with disabilities through a fluffy romance, but the film is about far more than that. Josee’s health is ever-present in the film, but it mostly comes to the surface in smaller moments that highlight how things able-bodied people don’t even think about were clearly designed with only able-bodied people in mind, like when Josee is unable to reach a train station’s self-service kiosk. These experiences have moulded Josee into who she is – innocent naivete, barbed tongue, and all. However, her health is far from the central conflict: the film isn’t about disability, but a girl who has one – a distinction that may seem small on paper, but is far larger in meaning. This approach was a deliberate decision by the creative team, who confirmed this during a work-in-progress interview that screened as part of last year’s Scotland Loves Anime, an annual film festival dedicated to Japanese anime films.

What ignites the spark between the ill-tempered woman and the man only there for a paycheck isn’t pity towards her condition or some kind of saviour complex, but a shared passion. ‘I’ve a weakness for anyone longing for the sea.’ Tsuneo tells Josee when she asks why he broke her grandmother’s single iron-clad rule about taking her outside. She desperately wanted to experience (and taste) the sea – how can someone who practically lives in it resist? (fun fact: it’s salty!). Similarly, Josee is captivated by his tales of diving with schools of fish; something she could only see in her mind’s eye. You see, it’s true that there’s plenty more fish in the sea – you just need to find someone who wants them too!

However, Josee, the Tiger and the Fish also knows that it takes more than just having a dream to achieve it. Even when you have the talent, like this film’s protagonists clearly do, it’s still an uphill battle that can be denied at any moment. How many of us dreamed of being in a band or a big shot film director, only to end up in that “back-up plan” for perpetuity? ‘Life got in the way.’ we might say while consoling ourselves with a pint in a small pub lifetimes away from tinseltown, and we wouldn’t be wrong – except maybe for giving up. If there is any “foe” to overcome in Josee, the Tiger and the Fish, it’s life itself. Those twists of fate that we have absolutely no control over but risk to permanently derail our dreams are what Josee and Tsuneo must learn to overcome, while supporting each other through their individual battles.

One lesson that the film also takes to heart, is that no matter our ability, we’ll never succeed without confidence in ourselves. That is Josee’s journey: not to find her place in the world solely as someone with a disability, but as someone with a goal worth fighting for, so we can all eventually all stand proud and say ‘I’m not afraid, for I’m the pursuit of my dreams’.

Josee, The Tiger and The Fish releases exclusively in UK and Irish cinemas from 11th August 2021

Find your nearest showing at www.JoseeFilm.co.uk

8th August 2021
The Suicide Squad: The BRWC Review

The Suicide Squad Synopsis: Supervillains Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), Bloodsport (Idris Elba), Peacemaker (John Cena) and a collection of nutty cons at Belle Reve prison join the super-secret, super-shady Task Force X as they are dropped off at the remote, enemy-infused island of Corto Maltese.

As a byproduct of studio meddling and bizarre edits, 2016’s Suicide Squad marked a new low for DC. The film’s edgy twist on superheroes ‘ typical nobility floundered despite the impressive talent involved. While Warner Brothers raked in profits, the film’s creative failure served as a necessary lesson in trusting their singular filmmakers (WB and DC made the same mistake a year later with Justice League).

DC’s woeful lows have helped spur a new era of creative freedom for the once stagnant brand. Entrusting skilled filmmakers like James Wan, David F. Sandberg, and Cathy Yan helped create some of the genre’s best entries of late (I don’t care what the box office says, Birds of Prey is an utter delight). That trend continues with Guardians of the Galaxy director James Gunn’s verbosely violent The Suicide Squad. Gunn’s grunge and fittingly vulgar vision reaches impressive heights in blockbuster entertainment.

Most know Gunn for the playful humor and jukebox tracks behind Guardians of the Galaxy. With The Suicide Squad, Gunn encompasses a similar sensibility, but this time it’s through the lens of the director’s Troma, B-movie roots. Gunn revels in the bloody carnage his antagonistic characters create, pushing the boundaries with a slew of gratuitous dismemberments and creatively crafted murders. It won’t be for everyone’s taste necessarily. However, fans of gnarly genre pictures like myself will adore seeing the genre’s twisted sensibility implemented into the grand scale of big-budget filmmaking. The edgy filmmaking also makes an ideal match for the character’s sinister undertones, with the film never sanitizing their inherent anti-hero qualities.

The Suicide Squad is a night and day improvement from its predecessor, particularly in terms of narrative. Instead of jampacking characters and ideas, Gunn’s screenplay finds remarkable clarity in its balance and development. The close-knit team all earn a chance to steal the show with their humorous personalities, while the narrative’s thematic undertones offer a welcomed change from the genre’s straightforward formula. Most of all, Gunn continues to display remarkable affection for his oddball characters. The infusion of intimate, character-driven moments works wonders in humanizing the team as more than a bunch of boisterous personalities.

Gunn’s assured material allows the skilled cast to take off. Idris Elba offers one of his best performances to date as the cocksure Bloodsport, possessing his usual dynamic swagger before chipping away at the character’s tough-guy facade. John Cena’s unwavering sincerity makes Peacemaker a compelling presence. His ability to switch between “the butt of the joke” stupidity and darkly unnerving tendencies keeps viewers on their toes. Margot Robbie steals the show again as the wonderfully manic Harley Quinn, while newcomers Daniela Melchior and David Dastmalchian shine as eccentric heroes.

I had a blast throughout The Suicide Squad, but the film still possesses some notable inconsistencies. Gunn’s go-for-broke tendencies don’t always land, with some of his vulgar pratfalls and overbaked stylistic choices missing their intended spark. I also wish the writer/director did more to make his intriguing thematic angle work. The film’s ruminations on American Imperialism and the needless casualties left behind in its wake are too blunt to leave a lasting impact.

Every risk may not land, but Gunn’s endearing vision is still a feast to behold. The Suicide Squad serves as a boundary-pushing switch up from the superhero’s conformed image.

The Suicide Squad is now playing in theaters and on HBO Max.

8th August 2021
Night Of The Kings: Review

Director Philippe Lacôte’s Night of the Kings plunges us into Côte d’Ivoire’s infamous Maca prison. We quickly learn that the prison warden has little control over the inmates. The prison is essentially run by a Dangoro—the master inmate—named Blackbeard (Steve Tientcheu). Maca is far from being a pleasant place, though it is not exactly a Hobbesian state of nature either. There is a hierarchy and there are rules and rituals that are strictly observed by all. The rule that sets the plot of Night of the Kings in motion decrees that when the Dangoro falls ill, he must take his own life so that a new Dangoro can take power.

Blackbeard is indeed very ill; but he tries to delay the unavoidable deed—the taking of his own life. As a ruse, he anoints the new prisoner, Roman (Bakary Koné), to tell a story that will distract his allies, foes, and the inmates vying to become the next Dangoro. Roman launches into a meandering tale centered around the life story of a notorious gang leader, Zama. The tale involves Zama’s father, how he became advisor to a bellicose queen, and Zama’s eventual move to Abidjan’s “lawless quarter.” Roman must keep the story going not only to prolong Blackbeard’s life, but his own—the anointed storyteller gets sacrificed after the story ends.

Lacôte creates a wonderful mélange with Night of the Kings. It is a prison drama with cinematic shout-outs to City of God and literary roots going back to One Thousand and One Nights. It is incredible what Night of the Kings does in a mere 90 minutes. We get a story that involves postcolonial African politics, a sociology of prisons, and a gorgeously shot film that captures bodies trying to overcome confinement.

Some of the most fascinating scenes in Night of the Kings involve the dancelike movements done by inmates that dramatize Roman’s story. Night of the Kings captures the poetics of dance, of movement, of storytelling that goes beyond the traditional oral delivery. Amidst all this beauty and these poetic bodies, there are some inexplicable decisions made by Lacôte. A scene involving CGI animals feels totally out of place. The ending also feels rushed, clipped, almost as if the film ran out of ideas.

Night of the Kings is perhaps an allegory referencing the relationship between artist and audience. Sure, the artist needs the audience as much as the audience needs the artist. Tensions do exist, however, in this relationship. Roman is anointed as storyteller, as artist. His life hangs in the balance based on the whims of his audience—once the story is over, and they get bored, they have no use for the artist. Today, when the production of “content” is dependent less on artistic craft or vision and more on audience whims, algorithms based on “if you like x, you may like y,” and crass commerce; the allegory at the heart of Night of Kings is more relevant than ever.

7th August 2021
Old: Agatha Christie Murder Mystery With A Buñuel Spin

Old: Agatha Christie Murder Mystery With A Buñuel Spin. By Jan Kalina

Have you ever walked down a beach and sat down there, to think, to ruminate? To sit down and connect with nature? For the belief that you are connected to something grander? It’s quite a simple and soothing activity. Try it sometimes.

Of course such a simple activity of self- care turns into the exact opposite when you give a pen to M. Night Shyamalan. A beach in Shyamalan’s imagination turns into a place of mayhem, dead bodies and just general malaise.

The story is quite simple. A family arrives at a hotel resort, only to be invited by the hotel concierge to a private beach that only a certain few can get to. Some other hotel guests come along as well. Once at the beach all is fine and dandy until… a dead body washes up ashore. Then it turns into an Agatha Christie murder myster- was it the rapper with a constant nose-bleed? And then other bunch of stuff starts to happen. Stuff that doesn’t really answer to the logic of time that we know.

But most importantly just like Agatha Christie does, Shyamalan locks up those characters in one place. The whole “We can’t leave the beach” gives off strong Buñuel vibes. The same amount of explanation is provided as in Buñuel’s The Exterminating Angel. They just can’t leave the beach.

Now a fair bit of warning. This film is not really a horror film. I’ll bite and call it a thriller. Marketing the film as a horror is a sham and an insult to the film itself. The film’s biggest horror is the obstacles that happen to us along the way. The stuff that happens in life. You have kids and you watch them grow up and one day to your horror you find out that they are not sweet ten-year olds anymore. Or how do you deal with an illness? A doctor tells you that you have a tumor. How do you react? You’ll surely be shocked. Or losing your vision and hearing. Are not those our greatest fears? It is horrifying to deal with change and sometimes change comes way too quickly. To us it sometimes feels like our whole life changed within mere minutes.

But Old also explores the beauty that comes with the perils of life. To have a family you can rely on, a partner. And how important it is to forgive. Of course, the horrifying part is if an entire lifetime happens within a day or two.

Like most M. Night Shyamalan films Old is a fairytale for adults. A morality play. A philosophy thought experiment. And it is a pretty good one, if you are willing to play the game.

6th August 2021