A master even without violence
I'm continually amazed by Takeshi Kitano's batting average, his ability to fashion both laughs and heartache in a single instant is unparalleled, Kikujiro is no exception to this rule. A film imbued with serene beauty, presenting a series of increasingly poignant tales, yet so enamoured with itself that it had me wiping away tears of both laughter and sorrow. The film risks tipping headlong into sentimentality more than once, but every time it comes close, Kitano quickly gets the film back on track, leaving us with the emotional effect but effectively stripping it of sugary excess, filtered through his distant and deadpan touch. It's a film that prompts real emotional engagement because it cares for characters that it is happy to paint in imperfect colours, allowing us to warm to them throughout the story rather than pushing them on us in a cheap hard sell. Kitano structures the film as a collection of almost stand-alone vignettes, narratively linked sketches whose comical thrust is sometimes underscored by a touching element of sadness, each of which contributes to our understanding of the two lead characters and their fitfully evolving relationship. His direction is sublime, capturing the loneliness of its two main characters with beautiful ease, his playfully surrealist leanings even more pronounced here than in his previous films. Combined with another enchanting score by Joe Hisaishi, with its gorgeous blend of strings and piano, Kikujiro paints a beautiful take on alienation and guardianship. Brilliantly acted, well-written, achingly hilarious and featuring some truly stunning photography, a bittersweet symphony of unaffected profundity and voluminous emotional depth that hits all the right notes.
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