Cure (1997)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Cure (1997) – K. Kurosawa

On the surface, Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s serial killer thriller is just that, a police procedural slash horror film along the lines of Seven (1995), taking place in a spooky decrepit Japan that would later show up in J-Horror videogames. Koji Yakusho is the detective who needs to solve the bizarre murders, all featuring an X slashed in the upper chest of the victims, that are strangely committed by different perpetrators who are easily caught and confess but can’t quite remember their own motives.  Beneath the surface, there are much deeper themes and preoccupations; the film is complex and each viewer might just have their own interpretation of what happens.  Eventually, the investigation settles on the mysterious amnesiac, Mamiya (Masato Hagiwara), who refuses to answer any questions but shows a keen interest in asking questions of others. His questions seem to seek to uncover deep resentments in those he encounters and Detective Takabe (Yakusho) is not immune to such prodding, since his wife suffers from a serious mental illness and may represent a burden to him. As the film progresses, we begin to worry that Takabe himself is losing his grip, a cliché in this genre but the supernatural overtones in this case add an extra layer of dread on top of the despair. As in some of his subsequent films, Kurosawa seems to be questioning the ability for humans to really connect with each other, to transcend their selfish and even petty individual preoccupations and bond. Even when organised as a society, the implication here is that “hell is other people” with social interactions and expectations leading to perceived slights and buried resentments. But the film never says any of this explicitly – we never know Mamiya’s motives – and even after the film winds down to its inevitable conclusion, we are treated to one final scene that manages to leave things open-ended. Dark and dismaying but a treat for fans of this genre.

Open Your Eyes (1997)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Open Your Eyes (1997) – A. Amenábar

Watching this some 20 years later (and knowing the surprise twist in advance), perhaps some of its shock value and basic weirdness have been lost, leaving instead a very human story about selfishness and awkwardness in relationships.  (This is the film that was subsequently remade in the US as Vanilla Sky, which I haven’t seen). Eduardo Noriega plays a wealthy self-centered but handsome playboy who treats women (and his best friend, Pelayo) poorly. When he ditches his current fling for Sofia (Penelope Cruz), the other girl forces him to pay a heavy price by crashing the car they are driving in, leaving her dead and him disfigured.  Naturally, he struggles with his new identity and the film shows his pain and ostracism. Is it karma? Possibly.  But then, maybe, miracles do happen.  Or perhaps they don’t.  The film doesn’t shy away from the darkness and poses some metaphysical hypotheticals that methinks won’t ever become reality in our world.  But the sci-fi angle does elevate a story that might otherwise be pretty sombre (although human) and makes it unique.  If you haven’t seen it (and can bear some nineties Spanish soapiness), it is definitely worth seeing (the first time at least).

  

Level Five (1997)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Level Five (1997) – C. Marker

Chris Marker’s essay films are very heady stuff.  He follows a stream of consciousness, riffing on a particular theme but allowing for digressions that take in his favourite themes, cats and movies.  But always his films focus on memory and the motivated desire to remember or to forget.  His most famous essay film is Sans Soleil (1983), which focuses in part on Japan, as does Level Five – but most people know Marker (if they know him at all) as the director of La Jetée (1962), a science fiction short that impressionistically ponders about time and memory (and was the basis for Terry Gilliam’s Twelve Monkeys, 1995).  Level Five blends a focus on the internet and the knowledge society with an examination of the Battle of Okinawa at the end of World War II.  Catherine Belkhodja plays Laura, a computer programmer tasked with designing a strategy game replicating the battle.  She speaks directly to the screen about her research into the history of war as well as her relationship with her offscreen colleague (who must be Marker himself, narrating portions of the film in his native French).  The facts we learn about the Battle of Okinawa are horrifying – large numbers of civilians committed suicide as the American troops approached or were killed by their loved ones if they were too young/helpless to kill themselves – but it is Marker’s queries about how such events are remembered (or repressed) that resonate most deeply.  So, again, the conceit of the film seems largely just a shell to allow Marker to freestyle his ideas about memory and the human experience, sad and terrible and unjust as it may often be.  And although we often see Belkhodja speak directly to the camera in an informal pose, Marker’s skill as an editor and a manipulator of images (his Macintosh computer is acknowledged in the final credits) means that the film is never boring or static – he takes us on a journey through (presumably found) footage and well-chosen discussion points by various talking heads (such as Nagisa Oshima), all aided by 1997-era computer graphics.  Yet, still this film seems ahead of its time and I lament the loss of Marker in 2012 at age 91. Who is his heir in this genre of experimental essay film-making?

  

Public Housing (1997)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Public Housing (1997) – F. Wiseman

Frederick Wiseman’s sprawling 3-hour look at the Ida B. Wells public housing estate in Chicago gets into a rhythm all its own (due to Wiseman’s expert editing).  Basically, we see Ozu-like moments of cars or people passing through the complex, then a cut to a particular representative episode in the lives of the people who live in or visit public housing.  It is interesting to speculate about how Wiseman chose these episodes and how he ordered them within the film.  For example, we do see the many problems that residents face:  crime, drugs, insect and rat infestations, teen pregnancies, and poverty.  Some of these issues arise in passing and some are shown more directly, as when a court-appointed diagnostician asks one resident some incredibly personal questions about his history with drugs and alcohol.  In keeping with the themes of some of Wiseman’s other movies, the residents often seem to be subjected to some fairly heavy-handed control by authorities, particularly the police who shake down numerous residents, seemingly without need for much justification. However, the control also appears more benignly in the form of some rather paternalistic (though benevolent) programs to assist residents – to avoid unwanted pregnancies, start their own businesses, find meaningful employment, and the like.  Although his films are rarely directive (they are without narration or overt structure), Wiseman is even less emphatic here than usual.  He doesn’t seem to be hitting any themes particularly hard (unlike in Welfare or High School, for example) and the examples of paternalistic control are mixed with episodes that reveal residents to be self-empowered, aiming to fight their own battles (often against bureaucracy) and to improve the moral character of their community (particularly by trying to involve positive male role models in the lives of kids).  In fact, despite the drugs, poverty, and general down-and-out feeling of the environment, one might think that Wiseman feels more optimistic about the future in this film.  The episodes showing empowerment seem to be placed in the second half of the film, perhaps showing them to be a possible solution to the problems shown earlier. He closes with a motivational address from an ex-NBA basketball player, now working for Housing and Urban Development who is trying to empower the residents to work through the system by appealing to the ways in which minority people have succeeded (including to high levels in the Clinton administration).  Although it could be assumed that these inspiring words might go nowhere when people are mired in the day-to-day issues of tough lives, I’m not quite sure Wiseman sees it that way. He never really shows anyone doing bad things (which could, I guess, be unethical) but only people trying to cope with their problematic reality. In any event, Wiseman portrays the subject of public housing in a nuanced and complex way – showing him to be one of the best humanistic documentarians we have.  

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Kundun (1997)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Kundun (1997) – M. Scorsese

Here we have a biopic of the early life of the current (14^th) Dalai Lama – from his selection as the reincarnation of the 13^th when only a child to his upbringing by Regents (with his own previously poor family given a privileged place) and spiritual training to his growing awareness of politics and the threat of the newly communist Chinese (who subsequently invaded).  Although the film tends to drag in some of the early phases (with the D. L. played sequentially by four different non-professional Tibetan actors, some related to the 14^th himself), it picks up momentum as it progresses, aided by Philip Glass’s score, until I ceased to notice time passing (a good thing).  Of course, the fact that the actors were made to speak English (undoubtedly a concession to the American audience) is annoying, but in other respects Scorsese acquits himself admirably. Indeed, he manages to create a sort of spiritually aware state with intercut images from dreams or visions and, importantly, calls attention to the ongoing plight of the Tibetans. In fact, this Dalai Lama is still in exile in India, hoping to return to Lhasa. Moreover, the film looks beautiful, as photographed by Roger Deakins.  Don’t confuse this with that Brad Pitt film (as I seem to have done in waiting so long to view it).