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Kitano does what Kitano does best

Can't believe this got shadow-dropped onto Prime a few days ago and I'm only just learning about its release now 😭... Takeshi Kitano may be in his twilight years but that's not stopping him from doing what he loves and doing it well, with Broken Rage he paints a rollicking self-portrait of himself; an artist rethinking his relationship with the medium he's mastered and having a decidedly grand time in the process. It's a remarkably clever tactic to initially convey your story one way, only to backpedal in the second half and present it in a completely different style; it's a move that massively pays off and delivers some prime Kitano hilarity; tackling the two genres he's always been most known for, starting from a drier deadpan before rebooting into unbridled absurdity, a concise lesson in parody, creating a simple form and then breaking it with the subtle force of a sledgehammer through wood on a nail bed. In many ways, it can be seen as Kitano mocking the current filmmaking climate we live in, poking holes in everything and everyone he can, a perfect amalgamation of his works distilled into a crisp 66-minute runtime. It is a significant departure from traditional storytelling, that pays off tenfold in many ways with Broken Rage adhering to the two most significant adages in show business: always leave them laughing and wanting more; it's utterly hilarious, Kitano knows it and embraces it delivering both a love letter to himself and his fans while also ridiculing both.

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Shocks as sharp as a knife

Keeping its secrets guarded and living off the shocks of its knife-edge turns, Chime sees Kiyoshi Kurosawa covering more than familiar ground with plenty of desolate moodscapes, recognisable for anyone with even a cursory knowledge of his past output. However, there is something particularly chilling about the oppressive mundanity here, a mundanity to which Kōichi Furuya's digital cinematography adds another layer of dread. It's a dreary madness that slowly begins seeping into the life of its character. Despite its skeletal form and brief runtime, the film ends on a fascinating rupture; the previously ambient evil becoming tangible shifts, terrifyingly, within the realm of possibility and the suggestion of this curse being made concrete becomes overbearing. Relishing in the awful psychological residues of violence while suggesting a lucid dream, the kind of fragmented nightmare you are grateful to wake up from but just as terrified to leave so unresolved.

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Rest in peace Kenpachiro Satsuma, your spirit will live eternally.

To say that Godzilla Minus One is my most anticipated movie of the year is a severe understatement. It currently holds the candle for my most anticipated movie ever. The wait has been agonising, less so for my brother who I brought along for what is our first experience seeing Godzilla on the big screen. For the better part of December seeing Letterboxd members gushing about it has been terrifying. But finally, I managed to catch a screening today, 2 days after its UK debut, by god, it was worth every minute, every second... this is the best Godzilla movie to date, bar none.

Feeling as if he unfairly cheated death too many times, Shikishima, a surviving Kamikaze pilot is attacked on Odo Island along with many war plane engineers by an enormous monster. After the engineers die due to Shikishima failing to distract the monster, an overwhelming amount of guilt weighs on him, especially after a homeless woman and a baby move into his home when he returns. Shikishima, now on a personal mission, teams up with a large group of veterans to finally take down the monster known only as Godzilla.

Having spent the better part of a week watching Takashi Yamazaki's other directorial efforts certainly didn't prepare me for what he would bring to the table with Minus One. Choosing a post-war setting for the movie invited some rather minor scepticism but the film ended up an extension and refinement of his earlier wartime epic, The Eternal Zero. Tension and redemption run high throughout this film, with everyone seeking a path forward in the face of utter destruction and hopelessness.

Yamazaki's proficiency for human drama was not in question, having watched his Always Sunset trilogy the other week, emotions run high and his characters inject so much life and soul into the picture. It's backed by an utterly terrific script, heartfelt and often awe-inspiring and his calling his direction anything less than superb feels wrong.

I still can't believe that Yamazaki and company pulled this off for the money they had, either Hollywood blows their film budgets in all the wrong places or Japanese VFX artists are severely underpaid for the job they do (maybe it's both). Godzilla is one scary-looking bastard, taking his main influence from the Heisei suits but blown up with scales and spikes added into places you didn't know he had, his presence throughout the film is one of constant overhanging dread, cropping up when the characters least expect him and terrifying all who see him. Seriously, the build-ups to his atomic breath gave me constant goosebumps and seeing him standing amongst the ruins of Ginza just sent shivers down my spine.

I could technically accuse Yamazaki of nepotism given how many of his regulars take on roles here but I'm not going to. Everyone gives it their all, especially given the immense weight they had to carry on their shoulders, everyone is incredible, I can't fault a single performance. Ryunosuke Kamiki especially did a stellar job, the emotional resonance of his dialogue leaves you hanging on every word, Minami Hamabe is the rock to his PTSD-ridded life and the two of them share beautiful chemistry.

Naoki Satō's music is just phenomenal, his music carries so much menace and unease but thoroughly compliments Yamazaki's incredible style, there's a beautiful use of pure silence (especially in the climax) to emphasise both creative forces. His utilisation of the classic Ifukube cues is hands down one of the best of the entire franchise, cropping up at just the right time to not feel out of place or irrelevant.

Godzilla Minus One is truly the first of the franchise to make me truly afraid, the Big G's villainous stance hangs over the picture with a looming dread that remains unshaken even when the credits roll. Putting the trauma of history at its core was an inspired creative choice, evoking the original film more than any other since GMK (which Yamazaki lists as his favourite, based). Everything about this film works and exceeds any expectations I had of it, with its emotional heart just as prevalent as its terror. I'm so glad my brother was along for the ride, no way I was experiencing this alone.

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HK cinema is back baby!

I'm so happy to see a modern Hong Kong film that remembers it's a Hong Kong film and not a pretender to the throne, an action-packed homage to the nitty-gritty choreography-crazed neon-daze of '80s Hong Kong cinema, Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In is a long overdue and very welcome dose of ass-kicking goodness, hopefully signalling the start of a new wave. Packed with wall-to-wall bone-crunching, wall-shattering mayhem, dizzying feats of acrobatics and martial arts madness, the film might be a bit long but it's extraordinarily stylish, seamlessly edited and viscerally exciting. It's all directed to masterful effect by Soi Cheang, his nimble camera swimming through the walled city with a hyperkinetic frenzy that balances the excellent action that brings you closer to the edge of your seat with every punch and every kick and the misery enacted by neo-liberalism and cold vicissitudes of fate. A bittersweet dystopian canvas, but also the purest action machine built on the choreographed denial of physics. The cast is all excellent with veteran stars Louis Koo and Sammo Hung giving as good as they get, however, it's Philip Ng who makes the biggest mark as a cackling villain with supernatural abilities, even if his ascension to villain doesn't feel entirely warranted. The musical score by Kenji Kawai is utterly joyous and so typical of his masterful touch, I especially loved the use of Walking in the Air as part of the underscoring. If anything, Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In proves that Hong Kong cinema is far from dead, and not every film the country produces has to be subjected to a Mainland committee's scrutiny. It's easily one of the best action films of the year and I'm annoyed it took me this long to watch it.

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Truly mad

Picking up shortly from where the first film left off, A Chinese Ghost Story II is a very entertaining sequel, one that amps up the horror, comedy and special effects wizardry. Providing the same type of action and romance that made the first film so popular, this sequel has its faults because it can't match the first film's originality or ability to surprise. Still, as Tsui Hark's thinly disguised response to Tiananmen Square, the film works wonders, criticising authorities and reflecting on the meaning of hope. This is a film made to go all out to please and thrill an audience. All stops are ignored in this wild rollercoaster, one with stunning colour and photography, wild changes of pace and characters suddenly and unexpectedly changing form all over the place. Surrealistic scenes, gorgeous music, suspenseful situations and imaginative production designs accompany the great performances by the cast. Although A Chinese Ghost Story II is very good, it doesn't quite compete with the amazing beauty of the original, regardless, this is still very worth checking out for something a little bit more mad.

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Questionable stance but oh so beautiful

For all of Hero's striking use of colour and landscapes, the drama, characters and ideas are not sufficiently compelling enough to sustain the martial arts. It's easy on the eyes, but too segmented to gather much momentum and too art-directed to convey much urgency. However, I can't deny the result. Both thrilling and thoughtful, offering imaginative and meticulous set pieces as it considers questions of loyalty and the individual's role in history. It is not so much a historical epic as a kind of highly determined ballet: dreamy with bloodless violence, relying less on shades of character than on magnificence of gesture. For all my grievances, the performances of its leads are captivating, Dun Tan's score mesmerising, while Christopher Doyle's photography is overwhelmingly stimulating. Hero is a dazzlingly lensed, highly stylized meditation on heroism even if its ideology is confused.

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TAKE ME HIGHER!

It's taken me way too long to finish this series and I wanna apologise to my friend Garasharp for that. After small side steps into a few short-lived co-produced Ultra shows, Ultraman returned to his full Japanese roots with Ultraman Tiga marking the debut of a new full-fledged Ultra series and the first full Heisei series.

After a franchise hiatus of over 15 years, set in a universe different from all previous series and updated with a new look and feel. Ultraman Tiga is basically one of, if not, the defining Ultra show. You don't need prior knowledge of any of the previous shows to get Tiga, it acts as a fresh start for the series but remains faithful and familiar to the long-time fans.

Where Tiga shines brightest is in its cast of likeable lead characters, raw emotional impact and breathtaking production values. The storytelling is up to the usual Tsuburaya quality with seemingly every episode, for better or worse, developing the characters and their own motivations over the course of the 52-episode run. The slow-burn love story between Daigo and Rena is extremely worthwhile and rewarding for those invested in the series, and the rest of the supporting cast is equally fantastic although Horii can be extremely hit or miss with his comedic antics even then he gets a satisfying and conclusive character arc.

Wildly unpredictable at times with a multitude of excellent episodes under its belt (and yes even some rather dire ones), the series is never lazy. It continues to bring out new and imaginative monsters without feeling the need to recycle and even when an old monster shows up again, it's not without reason.

Unfortunately trying to watch this series in its original format is made nearly impossible due to a long-standing and extremely strict contract with lead actor Hiroshi Nagano's talent agency, Johnny & Associates. There's a great video on why this happened by Vintage Henshin which you should all watch. It's a real shame that due to this, Tiga has been plagued by a lack of reruns, botched home video releases and even suffering from extreme cuts or outright being skipped due to the use of Nagano's own likeness.

The show's production is essentially flawless, the top-notch suitmation work combined with tight direction, scripts and fantastic musical score by Tatsumi Yano. But it's the use of Take Me Higher for the series' opening and often used to accompany the final battles of the episodes where it really gets your heart pumping, unfortunately, it's another casualty of Johnny & Associates' rules due to the fact that Nagano is a member of the band, V6, who perform the song.

There are so many stand-out episodes from the show it's hard to narrow it down to a list of favourites or best episodes, although I will attempt it:
1. The Ultra Star
2. One Vanishing Moment
3. The One Who Inherits the Shadows
4. Zelda's Point Defences
5. Dear Mr Ultraman
6. Take Me Higher! / Master of Darkness / To the Shining Ones
7. The Released Target
8. Second Contact
9. Resurrected Friend
10. Hana

The series has range and it uses it superbly well, be it introducing the first fully evil Ultra of the franchise with Evil Tiga, a self-indulgent love letter to the founding father of Tsuburaya Productions telling a story of how he met the original Ultraman or a scientist trying to live with the grief of his creation that killed his own daughter. There's a multitude of different styles and genres present in this show, catering to everyone and anyone. Even the more kid-focused stories while being the weaker ones are more than worth a look for some rather decent kid acting and storylines.

Ultraman Tiga on the whole distils everything and anything you could want or need out of an Ultraman show. Pure glowing hope and love in the face of Lovecraftian cosmic evil. No matter how dire the situation, it never relents in its depiction of its titular character as a source of optimism. My love for Tokusatsu as a whole can more than be summed up with my love for this show.

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Beautifully bittersweet

A wonderfully bittersweet update on the classic Chinese Opera, The Lovers thrives on overdone romanticism, but one that consists of lots of muted slapstick, opulent visuals and unbearably cute moments that are impossible to hate. Foremost, this iteration of The Butterfly Lovers is very adorable, wacky, and endearing until it suddenly turns horrifically tragic. One where our doomed lovers cry tears of blood, the sky is tinted pink, purple and orange, with the earth swallowing them whole. It all builds with incredible emotional power as it progresses, largely thanks to Tsui Hark's trademark style and his excellent eye for beautiful imagery. The visuals for the film are utterly luscious, with stunning art direction, production design and cinematography. The performances and chemistry between Charlie Yeung and Nicky Wu are truly breathtaking; you can't help but fall a little in love with them yourself. The music is simply beautiful, elevating the events of the film and immersing it in a dreamlike atmosphere. Sometimes the music alone can make you feel like you're floating in a state of infatuation, or mourning a tragic situation with much sorrow and tears. While The Lovers plays on some rather familiar and dear emotions, it also succeeds at being perhaps the most self-indulgent romance ever heard of, but equally compelling and utterly watchable.

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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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Ending on a high note

Despite Police Tactics ending on a high note, I guess Toei thought there was still more to tell with this story and mandated that we get a definitive ending with nothing left unresolved. The fittingly titled Final Episode maintains the series' exceptional quality, one that doesn't feel tacked on in the slightest, easily the talkiest of the series and burdened with the task of wrapping up dozens of loose threads, it's a testament to Kinji Fukasaku's incredible talent that he and his crew were even able to fashion a film out of so little material and on such a tight schedule. Though the incidence hasn't been perfect all along, five pictures deep, the trajectory of the ongoing narrative mirrors, at the first and the last, how the instalments are approached in terms of both film-making and storytelling style. The progenitor explored the violence of the yakuza in the early post-war years as Japan rebuilt, and it's quite fitting that as both written and executed it would bear wild, chaotic energy that was a veritable shot in the arm for the genre. Granted the pacing of this one is filled with stops and starts due to the loose structure of its script and the big players are mostly kept to the sidelines for the majority of the runtime; I'll be damned that it follows in the same vein as Deadly Fight in Hiroshima thanks to some exceptional performances from its cast, all of whom deliver fantastic performances. As compelling for its performances as for its historical detail, Final Episode keeps the energy level high, its technical aspects strong and its cast thoroughly engaging right up until the last body falls and the Battles finally end, one age of the yakuza fades to be replaced by another.

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Power plays and ticking time bombs

Returning the focus to Bunta Sugawara's gangster Hirono and the ongoing brutal power plays after the events of its predecessor, Proxy War ups the betrayal, scheming and chaos akin to that of a ticking time bomb, counting down to detonation. Alliances are formed only to be broken the next second, rival parties are reconciled only to go at it again the next day. It's definitely the most deliberately paced entry so far, a slow burn and a convoluted one at that to be sure, as the yakuza get richer and expand, they also grow more cautious, preferring to handle situations with mediators at a dinner table instead of in a dark alley with a knife. A real testament to Kazuo Kasahara's meticulously crafted screenplay. Kinji Fukasaku attempts to show some semblance of restraint in the chaos this time, taking his time to build the field of play before it all erupts in sudden assassinations and gangland violence, there's not as much blood as in previous instalments, but when violence erupts, you feel it. Fukasaku's use of widescreen filming techniques is on full display here, filling every inch of the frame with movement and colour. You could watch these scenes multiple times and each time focus on something different because every actor is doing something, unwilling to go unnoticed even when the scene is being powered by someone else. Everyone fights for your attention and thanks to the continually strong performances from the cast, they all demand it. Backed by another exceptional score by Toshiaki Tsushima, it's hard not to appreciate just how well Proxy War tells its story. It has enough going on to fill out a three-hour film but the fact that Fukasaku delivered that story in under two hours is rather amazing, a tight film with not a single wasted scene or subplot. While the film may lack some of the chaotic madness seen in the first two films it more than makes up for that with a clear vision and a deftly plotted screenplay.

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Low key and laid back reunion

As a 20th anniversary celebration of one of Super Sentai's best teams, Fireball Booster is a surprisingly low-key little outing, granted the Dekaranger squad already had their big emotional reunion 10 years prior so I wasn't expecting anything on that level. For the most part, this plays a lot like one of the series' more traditional adventures, one that doesn't strive to tell a more "mature" story, instead opting for just another day in the life of our favourite Space Police. It helps that main series writer Naruhisa Arakawa returned to pen the film, alongside veteran Super Sentai director Katsuya Watanabe, the writing is hilarious and production values are to the same high standard I've come to expect from this era of tokusatsu filmmaking, it doesn't miss a beat. However, the main shake-up coming into Fireball Booster is the introduction of Rui, whose addition proves to be another example of a V-Cinema film putting forward a good idea but not having enough time to let it properly develop. Regardless, it's always a joy to see this cast together again; although I get the suspicion they must live rent-free in Toei's basement given how they are almost always ready to swing into action whenever asked, even coming out of retirement in Tomozaku Yoshida's case. It's something Saban would never be able to do with Power Rangers, even if the cast of SPD is more than up for it, he's too tight-fisted to ever let that happen.

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Merry Christmas

Unattainability. No other word so clearly defines Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence. Unattainable pursuits for perfection, connection and forgiveness. An affecting and hauntingly beautiful experience about finding common ground even in the most hellish of circumstances, an undercurrent of revolutionary discourse in masculinity subversion bubbles furiously throughout the film deepening its already poignant lamentations about war's humanity-stripping effect and the self-imposed prisons that are obsession, honour and shame. Cultural divide and human nature encapsulate Nagisa Ōshima's film and one that he directs with the utmost care and attention, every shot is purposeful and framed with an immaculate beauty. It's relentlessly grim, constantly off-balance, periodically moving and continually striking thanks to Tōichirō Narushima's enchanting photography. There's a certain mystical quality to the performances of Bowie and Sakamoto both as arresting as each other, most likely a causality of their star power as musicians. However, it's the all-too-human reflections of Kitano and Conti that make this a true tearjerker with the duo sharing the film's final and most powerful moment, sometimes all it takes is a "Merry Christmas" to get the tears flowing. The real kicker for many is the film's utterly intoxicating musical score by Sakamoto; it stays with you long after viewing, conjuring up an atmosphere of regret, lost love and repressed heartbreak that we see in Yonoi's unrequited love for Celliers bloom. One of the most powerful pleas for tolerance ever committed to celluloid, Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence is one of the most captivating and mournful looks at the atrocities man commits to himself, so much is said without words, sometimes just emotions are enough. One that acquires depth and emotional scope the more you dwell on it, I should know, I've been thinking about this film since I first watched it two years ago and it's every bit a masterpiece now as it was back then.

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One of the Shaw Bros' finest hours

I've often seen The 8 Diagram Pole Fighter ranked as one of the Shaw Brothers' finest productions. Despite the troubled production that the film endured after the tragic loss of Alexander Fu Sheng, this swan song to the old-school martial arts epic is every bit as great as I'd ever hoped it would be. It captures the viewer's attention from the beginning, as it shifts from the introduction of an eerie prophecy to a scene of betrayal to the Battle of Jinsha, a delightfully surreal action sequence that was unquestionably filmed on a barebones Shaw Brothers soundstage, from the unbelievably choreographed, ferocious and opera-like opening battle scene to the teeth-ripping finale, everything in this film worked. The interwoven contemplation of Buddhist ethics gives the film a thematic hook that goes beyond the typical 3 stage revenge drama plot mechanics that typify many of these films, the extended debate operates as a thinly-veiled metaphor for the monks' position with the outside world. Themes of loyalty run throughout with revenge never far from the surface. This certainly ranks up there as one of Lau Kar-leung's best-directed films, even with the significant loss of Alexander Fu Sheng, the film rebounds well, the choreography is frequently fantastic and the ever-reliable Gordon Liu delivers an outstanding performance as the lone lead with Kara Hui in a welcome supporting role. Not all Shaw Brothers films are created equal, but The 8 Diagram Pole Fighter could very well be considered the staff bearer for the studio, it really is fantastic.

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An ethereal tapestry

Upon this ancestral stage, even the most virtuous are drawn in by the temptations of Maggie Cheung and Joey Wong. A rich ethereal tapestry of stunning colour, kitsch illusionism and slow-motion eroticism, Green Snake has been on my radar for a while now but little prepared me for how vividly imaginative it would end up being. A profound metaphor for the frailties of humanity and the fallacy of religion, Tsui Hark's take on the White Snake folk tale left him plenty of time to ruminate on what would happen post-1997. The snakes are depicted as creatures simply seeking to live their lives in the human world, but they face denial and persecution from strict societal norms and overzealous individuals enforcing the so-called "natural order." The primary enforcer of these rules is devoted monk, Fa-Hoi, who is also shown to be just as susceptible to desire, anger, and even hypocrisy as the snakes. While the snakes seek love, family, and hope, Fa-Hoi and his Buddhist enforcers are denying the very humanity that they claim to be upholding. Fate, love, sex, hate, religion and desire all play a role in eventually bringing down the world the two snakes attempt to build. The allegory here is obvious, Fa-Hoi’s large red surplice only means one thing: China. Beyond the film's fangs with its messaging, it's directed with all of Tsui's usual flair for the kaleidoscopic that's part art-house wuxia, part softcore smut but all beauty. Bringing weight to the proceedings are fantastic performances from its central trio with Maggie Cheung and Joey Wong turning in gorgeous performances as the sister snakes, while Vincent Zhao gets an equal opportunity to shine when the two ladies aren't bathing in the limelight. The art direction, outstanding musical score and beautiful costume design all add to the spectacle, really I only have slight niggles with the hilariously charming rubber snakes and horrendous early CGI which are thankfully kept to a minimum, other than that, Green Snake is a must-watch.

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