Tokyo Story (1953)

The canon of great movies can sometimes feel imposing. During the first twenty minutes of Tokyo Story (1953), as the elderly couple settle into their eldest son’s home during their visit to Tokyo, I did think, “This is one of the most acclaimed movies?” Less a reaction to the film being boring or bad, but more just a reaction to continued exchange of polite pleasantries between people (barring the little boys acting rude). This is the second film I’ve seen of director Yasujiro Ozu (Late Spring being the first) so I knew his style was slow and that this was an accumulation, beginning with the ways in which people put on good manners and small talk, particularly within an extended family. By the end of the two hour and twenty minute film, I had tears welling up in my eyes. This is one of the most acclaimed movies, and deservedly so.

Even though Tokyo Story speaks to specific aspects of Japanese culture and the post-war transition to commercial growth, the film still remains very human and empathetic. It doesn’t stop at the obvious melodrama of an elderly couple being palmed off between their adult children during their Tokyo visit. As the narrative progresses, further details are revealed, shining new light on the relationships, from the history of the family and even that the elderly couple are not idealised, with the husband often being rude to the wife in private moments. Even with a film that ends on two characters agreeing that life is disappointing, the film doesn’t feel depressing or dispiriting, just complicated and nuanced, allowing for tenderness and kindness to remain even as characters remain alone in the frame. Great performances, particularly the transcendent Setsuko Hara as Noriko, the daughter-in-law, and Chieko Higashiyama quietly heartbreaking as the unassuming mother.

A beautiful film which gave me a certain warm glow of satisfaction – that I’d finally watched Tokyo Story and that it was as great as they say. Watched a copy on Kanopy. Recommended.

Murina (2021)

Deep down in the blue. A morning errand dive for teenager Juljia (Gracija Filipović) and her father Ante (Leon Lučev). The type of father whose moods cloud and control the household. Underneath the water, he can’t say anything, demean and insult. They both carry spearguns to catch eels. Underwater is also where Julijia finds escape and relief; she’s a skilled swimmer with a drive to go further, particularly if it’s away from her father. Outside the water, the stone house is on a clifftop. The landscape is white pebbled, dry and a little bit barren. An almost mythical, ancient setting for what is a lived-in coming-of-age story. The cataylst is the visit of a charming man Javier (played by the ever-reliable, handsome Cliff Curtis), an old shipmate of the father, now a wealthy magnate. Ante wants to sell his land to him as a possible tourist site, and Juljia finds this old friend of the family to be a welcome alternative father figure as well as a developing crush, particularly once she finds out about his history with her mother, Nela (Danica Ćurčić) before she was married.

Murina (2021) is told from Juljia’s perspective and Filipović is really great in the lead performance, the camera observing her quiet observations and reactions to her domineering father. Eventually finding her own voice amongst the daydreams, hopes and frustrations. A scenic location and an intimate drama within the family’s reactions to the welcomed interloper. A film of simmering tension, and great underwater photography by cinematographer Hélène Louvart and her crew. Feature film debut of Croatian filmmaker Antoneta Alamat Kusijanović. Thank you to Claudia for recommending it to me, and now I recommend it to you. Available to stream on SBS On Demand.

El Planeta (2021)

A box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates in a display window. Filmed in digital black and white, a framed image that the camera lingers on and one of my favourite shots in the movie El Planeta (2021). In the Spanish town of Gijon, there are numerous shops boarded up, closed down on account of a recession. The Ferrero Rochers are part of a montage of street scenes. We see other shops and their display windows. Commercial items like shoes, lingerie and dresses. Even without the black and white cinematography, the atmosphere is austere. In the commercial shopping districts, we mainly see the elderly walk past. I find the Ferrero Rochers funny because of how they’re thought of as what you buy for a special gift or occasion. Real fancy, even though they’re available in supermarkets, service stations. Not necessarily expensive or hard to get – just imbued with something that is supposed to be classy and special. Appropriate to the theme of the movie, which is about carrying on as if you are expensive, and wealthier than you are, even as the restaurant tabs are piling up and the utilities are about to be cut for unpaid bills.

El Planeta is directed and written by artist Amalia Ulman, starring her and her mother, Ale Ulman. They play a mother and daughter named Maria and Leonor respectively, and we find them in slow free-fall. With the husband and father having died, their status as an upper class family is evaporating. And yet, they exist without urgency, cutting costs and stealing where they can, carrying on the charade of privilege. Casual shoplifting, returning items for refunds, and weathering their dwindling resources. Outside it’s too hot to wear their fur coats. Leonar is an artist and gets an opportunity to design a pop artist album cover in New York, yet has no money for the flight costs. In contrast to a comedy like Arrested Development where a wealthy family is forced to find other means of maintaining their status, the humour here is not broad. The comedy is deadpan and observational. Even as figures of satire, the relationship between mother-and-daughter feels believable and likeable, despite their grifting means.

Great low budget indie flick that is a promising debut for Amalia Ulman. Walks a modulated tone between being endearing and sharp, especially in the use of real world news footage in the closing credits. Available to stream on Stan. Shout out to Static Vision for distributing El Planeta. Recommended.

In Front Of Your Face (2021)

I could imagine the further you delve into prolific Korean director Hong Sang-soo, a feeling of sameness might set in, or more just seeing the recurring themes, structures and approaches more clearer. A week between seeing Grass and In Front Of Your Face (2021), both currently streaming on SBS On Demand with half a dozen other Sang-soo films, and a clear contrast was that In Front Of Your Face is presented in colour. The fact that Sang-soo is shooting on digital video (he is also the cinematographer) means that if he presents it in black-and-white, the image might be sharper, then it can look sharper and more like a classic art-house film. Here, with In Front Of Your Face being in colour, the film resembles more of a television soap opera in aesthetic quality. Yet there’s still a clear design in the way shots are framed, and the use of zooms during a shot to readjust the frame and shift the focus and thus the meaning. There’s also an investment in silence and quiet moments, only punctuated by the main character’s interior thoughts via voice-over. Sang-soo’s self-referential quality appears again in a character, Jae won (Kwon Hae-hyo), being a film director, and he’s told his films are “like short stories.” In Front Of Your Face is like a short story.

We basically spend time getting to know a character, Sang-ok (Lee Hye-young), a middle-aged woman who has lived in the US; before then, she was also an actor, still recognised for her work on television. Visiting Korea, we find Sang-ok sleeping on the couch of her sister, Jeong-ok (Jo Yooh-hee), and we basically spend one day with Sang-ok. We follow the sisters having breakfast at a cafe and going for a walk in the park, then later Sang has a meeting with a director, Jae, who wants to work with her. There’s a later revelation that redefines how we understand Sang-ok, but for the most part, her philosophy is that she wants to live in the present moment, appreciating it and being grateful; “Heaven… is what’s in front of your face,” she later says at point. The film shows Sang-ok living to her philosophy, but also the ways in which life can surprise and disappoint, and even when there’s disappointment, there’s also what’s in the present moment.

I really liked In Front Of Your Face; it unfolds gradually, investing in the mundane meetings and moments, and offer Lee Hye-young, an experienced actor, space to inhabit and us to understand her character. On reflection, there’s often a lot left unsaid, and only understood upon reflection. Hong Sang-soo gives enough to be invested in but also appreciate the wonder of. Recommended.

Strange Colours (2017)

I watched director Alena Lodkina’s Strange Colours (2017) on SBS On Demand, a few days after I saw Ivan Sen’s Limbo in cinemas. While Limbo works in another recurring genre in Australian film – the crime genre – and there are clear differences in where they are shot, what they are looking at, particularly indigenous trauma and police violence in Limbo, both movies fit in a long tradition of Australian arthouse cinema mood pieces where characters wander through a new part of the country, understanding themselves as they get to know a place.

Strange Colours is not a crime movie, but a family drama, and it is set in the outback opal mining town of Lightning Ridge, NSW. Milena (Kate Cheel) has taken a long bus ride to visit her ailing, estranged father Max (Daniel P. Johns). As Max recuperates in hospital, Milena meets the locals, predominantly men, a lot of them grizzled and old, and constantly drinking cans of beer. Despite the initial tension over Milena being a young woman in this masculine environment and the casual sexism in every encounter, this is not Wake In Fright. There is something different and introspective here. Milena is not that talkative, and we see her wander around, drink beer and hang out with Max’s partner in the mine, Frank (Justin Courtin), who is mostly quiet himself. The men might be a bit too chatty but they are happy to be by themselves. Yet Max insists on reaching out to Milena who is unsure whether to accept his attempts at a family relationship or just keep moving on. Tone is a matter of degrees, and I think with the writing and the directing of the performances nail the tone here. There is enough modulated for me to connect with and think about the characters without them feeling like cyphers, and there is a sense of authenticity in the cast, from the few experienced actors in the main roles and the non-actor locals who are expertly woven into the fabric of the story. It doesn’t feel like a television drama where everything is sign-posted. There is something cinematic in its preference for the elliptical and the unsaid. Though clocking in under 90 minutes, the film’s style is to hang out and take in the vibes of the place, the self-exile that it affords by being cut off and isolated.

Lodkina had previously made a documentary about the area and there’s a sense of trust and respect to this fictional narrative, and how it uses the small community as a backdrop to this father and daughter relationship. Cheel is great in the leading role, reserved and thoughtful, and Johns is a strong, authentic presence. I really liked Strange Colours and enjoyed its rhythms, determined by its sense of place and scale. Cinematography by Michael Latham and score by Mikey Young. Recommended.