Larger-than-life tragedy about... work health and safety?
Yuu, when we first meet him, is in a state of misery. He works at his village's mega waste facility as a garbage sorter by day and illegal waste dumper by night, coerced into the work due to his mother's gambling addiction. His life takes a turn for the better when his childhood friend, Misaki, moves back to the town. The two share a love of Noh: an important tradition in the village.From the start, the stakes are clear: environmental destruction, worker exposure to deadly hazards, and deep corruption among local authorities. In many respects, this film could have been a documentary. The tale it tells is one currently happening around the world.
But to avoid banality and hitting too close to home, the film's creators have opted for a larger-than-life tragedy approach to the story. The result is a high quality production with beautiful cinematography, especially the shots focussing on the Noh tradition of the village. Unfortunately, this comes at a cost to narrative cohesion, character development, and pacing.
The split focus of The Village means it ultimately fails to pack a punch. While it does have a strong tragedy element that explores the morally ambiguous nature of coerced labour, the supporting characters are just a little too underdeveloped to make it work. Maybe give this reel a sharp edit and try again.
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A perpetual coming of age
Honestly, I'm still not 100% sold on whether one can really call Ainu Mosir a coming-of-age film. It follows teen Kanto as they try to figure out their Ainu identity. Yet, I would argue, this has very little to do with the childhood-to-adult convention of usual coming-of-age stories. Or, perhaps, that the age distinction is simply irrelevant.Kanto is far from the only one in the Ainu village community who is struggling with their identity. Debo, for an adult example, struggles in his own way with his Ainu identity, He expresses his uncertainty even as he tries to impress on Kanto the importance of being Ainu. Arguably, Debo too is undergoing a coming-of-age process.
What this film does well is sit in discomfort. I agree with JennyStuckOnThatRooftop's review in that I believe this film refrains from "judging". However, I don't think it's offering social commentary per se. It's more observational in its style and while there is certainly deliberate framing at play, I wouldn't go as far to say that's it editorialising. Instead, it allows for messy nuances and seeming contradictions to unravel on screen.
Sure, it's a quiet film as far as dialogue is concerned. But I found it noisy viewing: you can clearly hear the characters' thoughts among the rainfall or the crunch of snow. No one seems to really know their place in the world but they exist regardless.
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Eehhhhh
Look, it's a cute idea. But I think if you want to watch a good crime/fairytale blend, you're better off watching Hoodwinked (2005).Once Upon a Crime is a whodunnit lazily mashed together with a Disney-esque Cinderella story (I'm referring the animated one, not the kickass Whitney Houston one). The characters have no depth, nor is the world-building overly creative. I don't mind a bit of oddball humour but it ended up being annoying.
It's a shame. I think if the creators had thought outside the box a bit, this could've been decent. I got bored and dropped it around 30min in.
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Would you like a side of class commentary with that?
The social criticism of this film is about as subtle as, well... plonking a massive rack of meat on a table and calling it a "sacrificial feast" for your wealthy onlookers.On the one hand, Hunger bangs you over the head with a wok while screaming, "rich people are evil" (facts) and asks you to maybe go touch some grass. On the other hand, it undercuts its own attempts at class commentary by erasing nuance and thereby failing to really contribute anything insightful.
I think if you want to watch something that leans more into the power dynamics and social criticism but still centres on food, I'd recommend The Platform (2019, Spanish).
That said, the production quality of the Hunger is top tier. It's worth watching purely for some of the cinematographic moments. The soundtrack is strong as well. Though I would've liked more of those jazz elements from the opening scenes to have been used later in the film too.
It may look like a long run time but it goes fast. Terrific pacing means this one is an easy watch for a Friday or Saturday night. Best served with the cheapest cook-up or takeaway you can muster.
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This review may contain spoilers
Awful
That's not to say the film-making is awful. But this story will devastate you.**CW: domestic violence, rape**
If you're not one yourself, you would likely be well aware of the intensity that comes with being a true fangirl. In this case, Jane is a typical pop fangirl, willing to go to extreme lengths to be in the presence of her idol, Paulo. She attends a fan event and semi-accidentally ends up in the back of Paulo's ute. He starts driving home, unaware of his passenger.
Paulo's public-facing mask slips quickly but it takes more than a couple of uncouth moments for Jane's fantasy to falter. With Jane trying to play adult, even after Paulo reveals his true character at home, events spiral into darkness. The contrast between the idol she revered and the mundane man before her is shattering.
Now, it's at this point where I feel iffy about this film. Paulo rapes Jane. And while it may not look like it on the surface, this is the point of rupture for Jane.
If you've ever had even passing knowledge of pop idol stans, you would know that sexual fantasies play an important (even if not always outrightly acknowledged) role in a lot of fan culture. The online proliferation of fan-created smut is testimony.
Consequently, we fully expect that Jane has had similar fantasies around sleeping with her idolised image of Paulo. The rupture occurs because when the encounter does happen in real life, it's literally and metaphorically a painful departure from the daydreams.
The rape scene also marks a turning point in Jane's own character development for the final part of the film. It's after this stage that she starts identifying Paulo's abusive behaviour with that of her mother's abusive partner.
I'm iffy about the rape scene because I'm not sure the full gratuity was necessary. However, I don't think censoring it would've really helped so perhaps it does have a place.
In light of the ambivalent ending of the film – (which I liked, with it's cynicism or hope, depending on how you read it) – the story would've likely have packed a bit less of a punch.
I was absolutely wrecked when I first finished this film and originally tried to forget it. But now that a bit of time has passed and I've rewatched the ending, I think it's brutality is its selling point.
It's a reminder as to why we use idol fandom as a form of escapism in the first place. The sweet manufactured nature of pop culture appeals because it's so remote from real life. Who wouldn't jump in the back of their idol's car when given the chance?
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A meta blend of fiction and documentary
Or as Peter Bradshaw, writing for The Guardian, put it: "Buddhist supernatural realism".By the Time It Gets Dark has a clear point of departure: The 1976 Thammasat University massacre. The film draws its initial reflections from the few photographs available from the time, before spending the rest of the film shifting between gaps, silences and layers around and beyond the historical event.
The majority of By the Time It Gets Dark follows the journey of the film-making itself. Not in a behind-the-scenes way, but the struggle of the craft in attempt to convey meaning. It's self-reflexive while, at the same time, not shunning the audience. Don't worry, this isn't one of those arthouse films that experiments for the sake of self-indulgence. You can sense the creators' desire to grapple with the 1976 massacre while struggling to develop and articulate its meanings on multiple levels.
It's not trying too hard, nor is it a chore to watch. When you take this film for what it is, you're able to appreciate it more.
When Ben Kenigsberg from the New York Times said if there couldn't be explanations, then at least there should be "footnotes" and that it'll go over the heads of those not "in sync", I think it's important to note that being "in sync" is besides the point. The visual glitches and play with colour saturation near the end of the film show that that even the creators themselves aren't "in sync" with what is being (or not being) represented.
I don't have this film figured out and you're not meant to. By the Time It Gets Dark is one of those artworks, like poetry, where, if you're trying to figure out what it's 'saying', then you're misunderstanding its existence. If it lingers, then that is sufficient.
Peter Bradshaw's Guardian Review: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2017/jun/16/by-time-gets-dark-review-bangkok-protests-massacre-anocha-suwichakornpong
Ben Kenigsberg's NYT review: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/04/13/movies/by-the-time-it-gets-dark-review.html
Mark Kermode's Guardian Review (I find his reading to be more generous): https://www.theguardian.com/film/2017/jun/18/by-the-time-it-gets-dark-film-review-dazzling-reflections-thai-history
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Just as problematic as the Taiwanese original :/
Ok so I only watched this because I watched the original Taiwanese versions so many times (which I think I only ever really liked because it was the first Mando-language drama I ever watched). I was really hoping they wouldn't repeat the same ultra problematic coercive control theme for this version, but they have. To more or less the exact same degree as the original which is a shame (and hence the low rating).Otherwise, I do feel like this version has a couple of things going for it. First, I am so grateful they changed the story timeline for this version. Because holy moly, the amount of flashback scenes in the original Taiwanese version was incredibly jarring and confusing. This version tells the story more or less chronologically which has saved a lot of grief.
Second, I liked how Ou Chen was written in this version compared to the Taiwanese. No shade on Peter Ho, I think this was a case of scripting rather than acting. Personally I found this version of Ou Chen a lot more believable than the Taiwanese one. He's also a bit more likeable/human in this version because has his business partners alongside him (rather than the Taiwanese version who was a clear loner).
Luo Xi's character I found more or less on par with the original. Other reviews noted that he seems to be younger in this version but if anything, I think that actually might work better in explaining his character's level of immaturity.
I know I said in my review of the Taiwanese version that Barbie Hsu was a bit lacklustre as Xia Mo compared to other roles she's done. But that said, the one thing she did get spot-on was the 'ice princess' side to Xia Mo's character profile. I found Zhang Xue Ying to be a solid all-rounder though without any real stand out moments.
A couple of things I was really disappointed by were, first, a secondary love story that did exist in the Taiwanese one but only as subtext (not being specific to avoid spoilers). Honestly, it should've stayed as subtext because I skipped most of that storyline in this version of the drama. Second, the music in this version was pretty poor compared to the Taiwanese version. The key difference there is that Barbie Hsu and Peter Ho are professional singers and so were able to contribute their voices.
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Lawful Good types are the worst
Di Renjie is your typical cop/detective protagonist archetype – a dude who says they want to deliver justice for the everyday person – but then spends a lot of time faffing around and being a pain in the arse because they unwaveringly stick to their belief in the law. This is also makes him very, very dull.That's not to say the series doesn't have a couple of good moments. But my goodness, this made excellent watching to help me get to sleep. The pacing is slow. All the characters are underdeveloped. The visual production is nice but the audio was constantly having a bad hair day.
And all in all, am I really meant to like Di Renjie as a character? For someone that cluey, he never does seem to figure out that the law and justice actually don't really have much in common. And yet he's doggedly dedicated to be, well, a dog.
He seems to serve the interests of an empress that we see at the start and then never again until the preview of season 2. I'd perhaps be more interested if that relationship was explored a bit more. Instead, we just have to accept him as a stickler for the rules. Straight laced. Vanilla. Boring.
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Arthdal Chronicles Part 1: The Children of Prophecy
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Arthdal Chronicles was way more interesting than my political science degree
~Review of Part I only~Honestly, the political drama genre is almost dead to me at this pint. I'm sick of men in suits flouncing around parliament corridors pursued by journalists. I'm also tired of the high fantasy spin on the political drama genre which ends up just being an excuse to objectify women and showcase long-winded battle scenes. So I was thankful when I started watching Arthdal Chronicles for the breath of fresh air.
Part One – the first six episodes of the series – is all about the rich world-building. You're introduced to the characters, their settings, and the key political dynamics that set up the rest of the series.
These six episodes set the key themes for the rest of the series. These revolve around empire/nation building, racialisation, and spiritual agency. The show writers have been careful in their political crafting. They haven't just opted for a simple coloniser versus colonised binary, and instead have woven in layers of nuance right from the opening scene.
The writers also don't seem too keen on didacticism. The colonising act (trying to avoid spoilers here) is certainly depicted as cruel, but at this point the audience already has sympathy for characters on both sides. Ditto in regards to Neanthal, Igutu and Saram dynamics. This way, the characters and plot are able to achieve complexity and depth – the result being a beautifully rich world.
There's also something interesting happening with how the series treats religion/spirituality that means I'm refraining from calling this a fantasy series, but I'll get to that in my review for Part Two.
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Where plain storytelling is the drawcard
For the record, I don't give out 10 star ratings lightly. In fact, I think this is my first one on this site.Liway isn't particularly intricate in its storytelling or production. It tells the story of a couple of freedom fighters who are imprisoned with their two kids under the Marcos regime. But its simplicity is Liway's greatest strength.
The plain storytelling works so well for two reasons. One, the characters are rich and tactile. The actors do an incredible job in demonstrating what make each character tick, their fears, and their raison d'être. It makes them feel incredibly human and incredibly real.
And thus reason two: the story is a true one. The punch of this really follows through in the epilogue and credits where the connections between the film and real life are made explicit. I already knew about the big reveal at the end before watching Liway, but it still hit me emotionally like a tonne of bricks.
All in all, despite the occasional cliché (though these are done well) and a little heavy-handedness with the music, I think Liway does have an important place. The emotional weight of the storytelling aside, releasing this film during Duterte's presidency – and having watched it now with Marcos Jnr in power – really highlights the necessity of stories like this in contributing to collective memory.
And, yes, you will need a tissue box for this one.
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Very lowkey smut (by mainstream Chinese standards)
Honestly, this is the first vertical drama I've watched all the way through so perhaps I've been too harsh with my star rating. That said, I don't want to get anyone's hopes up.The premise of this drama is a slightly different take on the contract marriage trope: the FL and ML have already been married for three years (but are still keeping their relationship secret under the guise of love/hate coworkers). This allows the storyline to skip the usual ML chasing FL convention and cut to the chase: steamy intimate scenes. These are really the closest thing Chinese media can get to sex scenes. They quickly get repetitive, but the first couple get a solid thumbs up from me.
For what it's worth, the FL and ML have decent chemistry, although I feel the actress does most of the heavy lifting. However, the story isn't particularly engaging and I ended up watching this drama as a way to help me get to sleep. I definitely got to the point where I was scrubbing through whole episodes to see if there was anything worth watching for the last 30 mins of episodes (spoiler: no, not really).
Anyway, I guess this was an ok way to dip my toes into the vertical drama world.
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You gotta be here for the cast.
I mean, what can I say? You think I'm gonna say no to a cast like this, even with poor production quality?I needed something fun and low brow to watch while I was home sick and The Heroic Trio ticked the boxes. It just so happened that I was watching this on a summer's night with the din of Têt firecrackers going off in my neighbourhood, which added an extra something to the chaotic atmosphere of the movie.
The Heroic Trio is as camp as it is crass. The three women are allowed full flamboyancy but, as exei aptly points out, with little attention paid to either plot or effects. And yes, at times it's so bad that it's good. I'm not sure if you can even give this anything other than a 7/10.
Take yourself on this quick and whacky ride if you're looking for a flick with some wild energy.
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Squandered potential
The premise for Bat War is ripe with potential. A strict military colonel comes onto the scene to enforce a ban on traditional Thai music. But there's an exception. While he holds traditional Thai music practitioners at gun point, one house of music is allowed to continue playing and teaching.Trying to slap comedy onto this premise was not the best idea. Music is such a drawcard for film because of how its pulls at the heartstrings. Music practice is a deeply personal thing, imbued with meaning for both the musician and their audience. I think Bat War could've been a beautiful production if there'd been both this emotive quality AND the comedic elements. Alas, no.
As such, the comedy falls flat. Having soldiers run around brandishing their guns at old guys playing their music just isn't very 'ha ha' material. It doesn't help that the acting is Hallmark Movie quality. The dialogue and cuts are awkward and stilted. And the music doesn't get to shine.
I dropped this around 30 minutes in. But not before I had scrubbed ahead to see what the motivation behind the music ban was, only to find it trivial and disappointing. I had originally thought when I first saw this movie pop on my Netflix recs that it might've been based on a real historical ban - but quickly realised in the first couple of scenes this was not the case.
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Just enough laughs to keep you watching
Too Cool To Kill was a pleasant surprise. I'm not normally a comedy watcher but I was just flicking through SBS for something easy to watch to wind down after work and decided to put this on. The set up in the beginning is a little slow and it takes a while for things to warm up. However, after almost giving up in the first 30mins, I'm glad I stuck around.It's all hats off to Wei Xiang. He's certainly the star of this show and plays a character who's an amateur actor, fooled by a director and his actor sister to pretend to be a hitman. One layer of the comedy is that he, unwittingly, is in life and death situations with gang members. And giving his all to the bit. (Or, at least, as best he can with his rather absurd acting abilities).
The movie has just enough slightly unexpected punchlines to keep you watching. I think the story overall could've done with some serious tightening to make it more snappy. But I respect that, even for a comedy, Too Cool To Kill is deeply unserious.
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A tender film but with not enough meat to chew on
Hommage is the story of a middle-aged film director who's gone from award-winner to box-office disappointment. She is solicited by an indie theatre to restore a film called The Female Judge, a movie made by a Korean female director in the 1960s. However, half the audio is missing. And, as it turns out, are whole scenes. Thus, director Ji Wan embarks on a mission to recover the lost parts of The Female Judge.Hommage spends little time on The Female Judge itself or its director. Instead, these serve as conduits for Ji Wan's own story as she grapples with everyday sexism that seems to wear her down even more that she's reached middle age. It's clear as she meets with the various people who were connected with The Female Judge that Ji Wan is also drawing parallels with her own life. It would seem that much – but not enough – has changed for South Korean women since the 1960s.
At times, Hommage feels like a film made for filmmakers. A bit like when writers write for other writers. It's not navel gazing at all, but I wonder whether I would have appreciated some elements of the story a bit more if I had a better appreciation for the craft of filmmaking.
It definitely felt like it was lacking something. I didn't really get to know any of the characters properly – even Ji Wan – and so while there were a couple of touching scenes in the film, I think these could've packed more of a punch with better character development.
All in all, Hommage is a gently paced film with moments of tenderness and humour sprinkled throughout.
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