Kwaidan (1965)

Kwaidan is one of those films I always wanted to see. In fact, quite a few times I've come this close to blind-buying it, but my willpower miraculously swelled up and prevented it. Finally I get to see it, and surprisingly, it's very much worth the wait.

It's basically an anthology of four short works of Japanese horror. In fact, it reminded me of the Scary Stories books that I used to read in elementary school. But, the stories themselves are told in a very distinctly Japanese style, and it works extremely well. Each segment is brooding and unnerving, and hits all the right notes. The stories function almost like fables, as a man learns the hard way to respect his wife, while another man learns to respect the dead. But, the films are more terrifying than preachy. I can't stress enough how well the mood is developed. They're very Japanese in terms of pacing and atmosphere, that is to say many long, still shots and minimal music and decoration. But, because things are usually so still and silent, the moments of shock and horror are that much more effective, punctuated by a brash note on the flute or biwa.

The sets aren't very realistic, the backdrops especially, but they work very well in the context of the film. This is a world that accepts spirits and ghosts as they intermingle with ordinary human beings, so having a backdrop that looks otherworldly perfectly establishes this universe.

The editing rhythms are great, I noticed. There's one scene early on, after a man has left his wife and takes up living with another, wealthier woman. He's riding a horse, participating in some kind of athletic competition, and the action is beautifully contrasted with the man's vivid memories of his previous life, his home and his wife. Essentially, we're seeing him consumed by his memories and his own guilt. It's great, great stuff.

Hard Boiled (1992)

I remember seeing The Killer in my formative years. It was one of the first foreign films I saw, I think it was a subtitled pan & scan VHS version. But, I wasn't very impressed with it, so it took me a while to seek out Criterion's other John Woo film, Hard Boiled. Netflix has the Mei Ah disc for rent, which should only be watched if it's your last option. The A/V isn't bad, a slightly problematic anamorphic transfer and DTS audio that sounds almost completely mono. The worst part, by far, is the subtitles. They're laughably bad, and really ruin the effect of most of the scenes. It's hard to take Chow Yun Fat seriously when he's just called somebody a "motherful," or when his girlfriend says "Thanks you very much!"

That said, it's hard to judge the movie fairly, since it's really hard to note the film's merits when you're giggling over the subtitles. Mostly, the film isn't bad for what it is. The plot is very flimsy, merely a loose bridge from one outrageous gunfight to the next. Early on, most of the gunplay wasn't even too impressive, but during the second half of the movie, when the action shifts towards the hospital, the action gets surprisingly good. You can really see how Woo considers his gunfights more along the lines of a ballet.

So, plot is nonexistant, but the action in the second half is very solid. A decent flick if you can turn your brain off. And if not, the Mei Ah subtitles are incredibly hilarious. So, y'know, there's always that.

Nostalghia (1983)

Another day, another new Tarkovsky. I'm actually pretty sad that my Tarkovsky pile is thinning, but I know that as magical the first viewing is, his films are so incredible that repeat viewings are just as good, if not even better. You inhabit this world that's so surreal and at the same time so vivid, you ponder its mysteries and succumb to its beauty.

What first struck me about Nostalghia is how personal it is, for Tarkovsky. Obviously, all of his films are intensely personal, as all good art should be, but while Tarkovsky's films are usually abstract, Nostalghia is very literal in this respect. It obviously deals with the nostalgia that he felt for his home country while living abroad due to censorship. In the same way that he used the character of Andrei Rublev as a conduit to show the relationship between the artist and his work, he uses the lead character in Nostalghia to show his longing for his own country.

I love Tarkovsky's use of the natural elements in his films. There's always water, most present here and in most of Solaris. Wind plays a large part in setting the mood of Tarkovsky's films, as it's hard to imagine his films without such beautiful shots of Russian farmland swaying in the breeze. Fire is there, like the houses burning in Sacrifice and Mirror, the hand in front of the fire in Mirror and here, the everpresent lighters, sparking up cigarettes. Earth is a toughie, somewhat, but in Tarkovsky's films, it's literally so abundant, you get so used to it that you forget it's there. The Earth itself is Tarkovsky's focus, the world, nature, life, all of it. It's this reason that Tarkovsky's films have a very natural and timeless quality. It's because they plumb the depths of the soul, of human existence, they will continue to ask the questions that will always be ready to be explored, regardless of time and place.

"When film is not a document, it is a dream. That is why Tarkovsky is the greatest of them all. He moves with such naturalness in the room of dreams. He doesn't explain. What should he explain anyhow? He is a spectator, capable staging his visions in the most unwieldy but, in a way, the most willing of media. All my life I have hammered on the doors of the rooms in which he moves so naturally." - Ingmar Bergman, The Magic Lantern

This quote sums it up just about perfectly for me. Tarkovsky is merely an observer in these fantastic visions, simply capturing them on film as documenting a human being's subconscious. He doesn't judge, nor does he try to conform to what people expect to see, in terms of images and events. He's one of the true masters of cinema, and I really don't know what else to say.