Review: Cold Fish

Cold Fish

Directed by Shion Sono

Starring: Mitsuru Fukikoshi, Denden, Megumi Kagurazaka, Asuka Kurosawa, Hikari Kajiwara

Grade: C+

Written for In Review Online:

Although the term ‘sleep with the fishes’ was popularised by “The Godfather” and remains synonymous with gangsters today, rarely does a crime thriller go so far as to work aqua life into its thematic makeup. Shion Sono’s “Cold Fish,” making its way into U.S. theatres nearly a year after it premiered in Venice, utilises this somewhat idiosyncratic metaphor in telling an essentially familiar story about the grubby underworld of the Japanese Yakuza. If there’s much in Sono’s film decidedly designed to rock the boat, there’s enough comic irony in the whimsically-surfaced profession of the tropical fish salesman being used as a cover for murder, greed, and betrayal.

Against all odds, this vocation is seen to be a heinously viable one, as the unassuming aquarium enthusiast Syamoto learns when he accepts the help of Murata, a worldlier kingpin of the industry. Murata enters the film as a gentle giant, handing Syamoto’s daughter Mitsuko employment and accommodation as an apparent moralistic reaction to the girl’s attempted shoplifting of an item at his store. Concern is triggered into Syamoto with every passing increase of involvement Murata poses in their family dynamic, particularly taking an interest in his wife Taeko, and he’s finally shackled by the revelation that this jovial figure is a vendor of more than pets.

Sono relays the tone of the film through the figure of Murata, who evolves from acquaintance to friend, to partner, to sociopath, to psychopath in a fairly short space of time, and is aided by the maniacal display of prolific actor Denden. His loopy mannerisms and extrovert behaviour completely align with the absurdity of a script which has few narrative surprises but plenty of murky characterisation. It’s strange to witness such a licentious community appear as gleefully profligate in their behaviour as Murata’s irksome troupe, who swap sexual partners daily and revel in dissecting corpses over a cup of coffee. Sono’s deviant representation of them eventually tires with Vampira-style segments of women French kissing in doorways, but for the most part the quirky beats and rhythms of this organisation strike a chord.

But all this comes from a film which technically has the same plot as "Wall Street," albeit with an alternatively volatile resolution. It's less suited-and-booted than bloody and berserk, but nevertheless imparts a familiar impression of mentoring through intimidation and fear. Murata and Syamoto’s relationship, while exercised to extreme degrees of dominance and submission, doesn't offer a different power struggle than we're used to seeing in films where the emphasis is placed upon enforced corruption and breeding criminality, and Sono harvests the notion that amorality is contagious without saying much more. Most of the charms of “Cold Fish” lie in Sono’s novel stylistic flourishes, and in the hazardous hues of Shinya Kimura’s grim cinematography.

“Cold Fish” treads the age-old Duality of Man path, unevenly skewed towards using this to generate grotesque horror. Syamoto’s arc is far too extreme for the film’s conceit to work on a profound level, since we only truly empathise with him in the less concisely-characterised scenes, which are few and far between. He’s the only character we’re required to take seriously and yet Fukikoshi’s performance so dominantly comprises of two erratic, forced gears, that it’s a serious stretch to believe him at all. Moreover, the dynamic of this family is lost in the way that Sono spells out the undertones of discontent with talk of backstory, reluctant to show us how Syamoto’s relationship with his wife and daughter relates to the transition of their social situation. There aren’t enough equilibrious examples to support the actions of the final act, and instead much of the action is consigned to repetitious acts of violence, and noir-esque showdowns – neither of which contributes to the humanist angle Sono races toward.

Admirably, a revenge theme lurks in the outback of “Cold Fish,” and can’t really be called a primary motivation of Sono’s action cinema – different, certainly, from 21st century Asian cinema tropes. For a while it even feels as if there are more ambiguous intentions to our hero, and the stressful gauntlet he’s subjected to. The path of this drama so uncontrollably derails into sensationalist territory without earning our understanding, and rather than feel the impact of a bitter finale we’re left to pick up the weary pieces of an explosion too rashly orchestrated. In 2008 Sono’s “Love Exposure” took four hours to sit through – couldn’t he have found more patience in concluding this portrait of unruly society?

Up to and including a shaky finale “Cold Fish” imbues danger and flair without really sustaining the core of its commentary on strained relations and an inherent strive towards fulfilling the many hues of one’s personality. And still, there’s something to be said for a film that can be slow-burning and thoroughly rabid and larger-than-life at heart. While widely asserted that blood is thicker than water, "Cold Fish" proverbially screams that actually, no, it isn't.

A Review of Confessions of a Dog (Takahashi, 2009)

Confessions of a Dog (2009)

Directed by Gen Takahashi

Starring: Shun Sugata, Harumi Inoue, Jun’ichi Kawamoto, Kunihiko Ida

Grade: B -

Written for Subtitled Online:

The DVD cover of "Confessions of a Dog" is emblazoned with the words, “banned in Japan,” a false claim which nevertheless mirrors the film’s struggle for justice. The political motivation behind Director Gen Takahashi’s barely-allegorical story of corruption within the Japanese police force is evident in this brazen marketing ploy, and certainly in its scathing depiction of bureaucracy. This three-hour-plus indictment of a state’s entire justice system spans several years, and is based upon the investigative work of Yu Terasawa, a journalist who has since campaigned against pro-police propaganda and for amendment to the way that the service is overseen.

The themes of the film are mainly chronicled through Takeda (Sugata), who begins as a lowly neighbourhood officer and eventually rises to a powerful Detective position in the force, with the help of a tyrannical Chief Inspector. Despite some early scepticism Takeda becomes a mentee of the Inspector and heavily involved in his questionable mode of operation, which entails of physical intimidation, bribes, and appeasing gangsters who serve him best. He also adopts the untouchable attitude which many of the officers in the film demonstrate, an arrogance that extends to bully-tactics, drugs, infidelity, and a general distancing of his familial relationships, content to ply his wife and child with corrupt money instead of giving them emotional affection.

Increasingly frustrated with the police’s conditional attitude towards crime, renegade Kusama (Kawamoto) seeks to uncover their ways and expose them publicly, first happening upon a photo which demonstrates their laissez-faire attitude towards drugs, and then filming a fake gun-siege designed to enhance the force’s reputation. He and photographer Chiyoko attempt to use Chiyoko’s links with a prominent newspaper to force the issue into the public sphere, but later resort to more desperate measures in the heart of the city’s criminal underworld.

As a social commentary Confessions is incredibly single-minded in its view of the Japanese police, setting up situations designed to flaunt their exploitation of power. In the first scene, a young cop collars a teenage girl for not being at college, in the hopes of eventually seducing her, only to be prevented from doing so by an aghast Takeda. The scene is repeated later in a different form, as an inebriated citizen is cruelly cajoled into sub-consciously committing a crime he ordinarily wouldn’t. They are juxtaposed as the first scene of two acts, as the film is split either side of an invisible intermission that simply reads “Five years later.”

Even if the flash-forward narrative device reads as a mechanism of stretching the story to create a bigger, somewhat falsified level of scope, the decision to make the second half of the film feel more of a product of the first is definitely a wise one. There’s an element of Godfather-style ethics to Confessions; that protecting the brethren of policemen, judges, and officials will allow this breed of law enforcement to be preserved. Takahashi’s success comes from emulating that film’s insight into mafia reverence of trust, and the volatile barriers between inclusivity and exclusivity that are bound by psychological impulse. In the end, however, the film has more in common with Lumet’s Serpico in the way that Takeda ultimately suffers for realising the extent of damage his profession is having on his city’s infrastructure - just as Al Pacino’s cop did in the 1973 classic. Visually the film also bears more Lumet traits, assuredly dense without being so off-putting, and visually thoughtful in its confined, dour depiction of seedy illegality. Its final, arresting scene captures this influence more than any other, capping its assessment of the devolved nature of state protection with a harrowingly regressive image of a man’s final fall from grace.

The main issue with Confessions is that it reiterates this point without altering the dynamic between the characters, so we don’t necessarily see things shifting for ourselves – just a “before” and “after”. It consistently spurns opportunities to create new dilemmas for its characters, or chart their descent into profligates in fresher terms. We aren’t encouraged enough to delve deeper into the lives of college dropouts burgeoning into power, or explore their moral consciences — and even when we are, a particularly severe act of violence by previously naïve local beat cop Kunii comes as such a radical about-turn that it is difficult to take seriously. The instantaneous indoctrination of these men expose the too-freely-integrated motivations of the project, crudely manifested in some of its characterisation. It reads as much too eager to initiate a rebel-rousing rally cry, intent on making us sit up and listen by focusing predominantly on indefensible action and general injustice.

Kusama’s strand of the narrative is easier to digest, and his relationship with Chiyoko gets much more convincing in the film’s second half. Ironically, Confessions succeeds more in its portrayal of outsiders to the police force than the members of this insular racket, considerably less definite about these people and therefore less preachy or overwrought. The film owes a great deal of its intermittent success as an internal affairs drama to Shun Sugata, particularly compelling scenery-chewer Takeda in the second half of the film, and without being as cartoonish an orchestrator of villainy as his Inspector predecessor.

"Confessions of a Dog" is a mammoth, meaty slice of crime drama, which is too long for what it essentially contributes. It bears a vehemently sure sense of direction that carries it through its sketchier moments, but requires more intrigue, variation, and a bigger network of characters to truly make the most of the running time. Projects like this are probably reserved for the term “ambitious failure” but as long as people see it, one doubts Takahashi will care. The primary purpose of Confessions is to educate, and it definitely does that.

"Confessions of a Dog" is being screened at the ICA Cinema in London on Wednesday 16th February, and is released on DVD on March 14.

My Dinner With... Sofia Coppola

So this is a cute lil' dream scenario. A fantasy dinner with the movie figure, past or present, of your choice. This has been doing the rounds on the blogosphere, and yesterday Dave at Victim of the Time tagged me. He wants to dine with the legendary Jeanne Moreau (a very admirable choice, she RULES in Jules et Jim). I didn't have to think about my choice too long. It's the filmmaker I most admire at the moment, and whose films I simply couldn't live without.

1. Pick a single person past or present who works in the film industry who you'd like to have dinner with and tell us why you chose this person.

When I sat down to watch The Godfather Part III I certainly wasn’t expecting to fall in love with Mary, the naïve daughter of mafia boss Michael Corleone. As a lovesick teenager, Sofia Coppola, daughter of director Francis Ford Coppola, gives Mary a touching resonance, her performance an accomplished, intuitive and incredibly effective one.

OK, so I’m not that deluded. But the fact that I can comment in a rather throwaway fashion about Sofia Coppola’s involvement in the film, a complete failure in casting and acting – and the only reason prior to 1999, aside from her familial connections, that anyone in film circles would refer to her -- is testament to how she has evolved into such a seminal creative figure in current cinema, and why she would unquestionably be my dream dinner date.

Her vision as a writer and director and the common themes and attributes of her films (youth, adolescence, women perplexed about the world and its expectation of them, avant-garde 80’s music to match her unique style) marks her as more auteurial than even her father, who despite having a definite visual style, enjoyed success in a diverse array of films. She may still have some way to go before eclipsing her father’s hugely impressive filmography, but the products of her fascinating mind thus far: the sinister yet luscious The Virgin Suicides (1999), the ravishing tale of a girl who happened to be a queen, Marie Antoinette (2006), and the life-changing (at least for me) encounter between two lost souls in a Tokyo hotel, Lost In Translation (2003), an on-screen relationship that remains one of the richest and most honest I’ve ever seen; are enough to ensure that she has inherited the filmic intelligence and desire of he before her.

2. Set the table for your dinner. What would you eat? Would it be in a home or at a restaurant? And what would you wear? Feel free to elaborate on the details.

If Sofia has had even an ounce of the Italian upbringing her name suggests, then I imagine she's had enough home cooking to last a lifetime. I also wouldn't bestow an Italian meal upon her, and I think she could be someone that values fresh ingredients and such, so I wouldn't thrust in her face anything English like Fish and Chips. In the end I'd probably opt to take her somewhere that serves lovely light, fresh meals, which would require me to do some research, since there's little hope of that where I live. I'm thinking chicken, salad etc. The dinner would take place around 6 or 7pm and we'd definitely drink cocktails. I'm thinking mojitos primarily.

I'd probably wear something pretty tight (why change the habit of a lifetime?) and would try to be a little unpredictable, or at least unorthodox, since that's a big thing behind my love for Sofia in the first place.

3. List five thoughtful questions you would ask this person during dinner.

1. What does Bob whisper to Charlotte at the end of Lost In Translation? I know that this really is whatever you want, or need him to say. The beauty of not knowing is that you can interpret it for yourself, so maybe the question should be, What do you want him to say to Charlotte?

2. Which do you prefer? The Godfather Part I or II? I actually think The Conversation is a masterpiece, and the best film her father did, but separating the first two Godfather installments was a difficult one for me. I'm swayed by the ending of the second, which is so powerfully written and composed. We can safely say she's not gonna say the 3rd, right?

3. Disconnection and discontentment feature in all of your films. Is it fair to say that, having worked in various fields, and seemingly non-committal about which aspect of film you want to focus on -- whether it be writing, producing, directing, composing or otherwise -- you're a restless person?

4. You have such an amazing and diverse taste in music. Which artists working now are likely to find themselves in a Coppola film of the future?

5. It's been three and a half years since I've seen Lost In Translation, and although I've matured and changed a hell of a lot in that time, I think I'd have to ask her what Charlotte asks Bob: does it get easier?

4. When all is said and done, select six bloggers to pass this Meme along to. Link back to Lazy Eye Theatre, so that people know the mastermind behind this Meme.

Goatdog, Pete, Yaseen, Tim, Rural Juror and Zed are all getting tagged, although they shouldn't really need an incentive to participate in such a fun activity as this ;-)