DOLLS
by Howard Schumann
Dolls, Takeshi Kitano's tenth film, is a quiet meditation
on commitment, conscience, and the consequences of choice, in which
three separate stories are interwoven to create a tapestry of unfulfilled
love. Kitano attempts to create the cinematic equivalent of an ancient
Bunraku or puppet play in which the puppets are the storytellers, manipulating
the humans who become the "living dolls," pulled by the strings of fate.
Dolls
begins with a performance of a Bunraku play by Chikamatsu in which a
messenger is distressed because his beloved is being sold to another,
while the courtesan laments the fact that he wanted to buy her with
money. Black-clad puppeteers, known as kurago, manipulate the
puppets as the narrator sits off stage reciting the dialogue.
As the story switches to live characters in a modern setting, we watch
as Matsumoto (Hidetoshi Nishijima) is selected by the president of his
company to marry his daughter. It is a match that suggests a bright
future, but Matsumoto's plans are thwarted 
when
he finds out from a friend during the wedding ceremony that Sawaka (Miho
Kanno), the girl he really loves, has attempted suicide. Sawaka survives
with brain damage and Matsumoto leaves his wedding to take Sawaka from
the hospital and become her lifelong companion and caretaker. The two
lovers wander the countryside in silence, tethered to each other with
a red silk rope. As seasons pass from cherry blossoms and summer beaches
to fall foliage and winter snows, their love becomes stronger and more
enduring. Cinematographer Katsumi Yanagishima does a magnificent job
of capturing the beauty of the passing seasons, and the film is enhanced
by the opulent costumes designed by Yohji Yamamoto.
In
the next section, we meet Hiro (Tatsuya Mihashi), an elderly yazuka
boss who is constantly in fear of assassination. He too has turned his
back on a lover who has not forgotten him. When he was young he had
a girlfriend (Chieko Matsuabara) who brought him lunch every Saturday
on the same park bench. Every Saturday she returned to the same bench
with his lunch, waiting for him to return. Thirty years later, he returns
to find her again in the same park. Though she does not recognize him,
both have a chance to begin again, until the fates intervene and the
men behind the scenes pull the strings.
In
the third story, a popular singing star (Kyoko Fukada) is disfigured
in a car accident and refuses to be seen again in public. In a display
of undying love, her biggest fan Nukui (Tsutomu Takeshigi) wants to
be with her so desperately that he blinds himself so that she will agree
to see him.
Kitano
is undeniably successful in his wish to create a highly stylized and
artificial world; however, perhaps appropriately, I found myself distanced
from the characters. I did come away from the film, however, respecting
his unique response to a cultural tradition that has survived for five
centuries. Though his dark vision makes little or no concession to Western
audiences, and the film is unrelenting in its sadness, Kitano has created
one of the most visually perfect films I've ever seen, an experience
of almost astounding physical beauty.
For
those of us in the West, the stories may seem fa-rfetched, but they
are fundamental to Japanese culture, where love inevitably involves
an element of self-sacrifice. According to Kitano, "… the notion of
love gone wrong dates back very far in Japanese culture. 'Happy ever
after' isn't part of our vocabulary." Kitano has said that some Japanese
love stories tend to make everything seem fluffy, nicer than it could
possibly be in real life. Whatever you think of the film, no one could
accuse Dolls of doing that.
Lan
Yu (2001), directed by Hong Kong director Stanley Kwan, is melodrama
on the rocks with a gay twist. In 1988 Beijing, a middle-aged businessman
Chen Handong (Jun Hu) picks up a young architecture student Lan Yu (Ye
Liu) for some quick sex, but neither anticipates the messy business
of emotional involvement. Handong is a partner in a trading company,
and lavishes expensive gifts on the boy, who begins to feel an attachment
to him. The older man is very cautious, however, and tells the boy,
"When two people get to know each other too well, it's time to separate."
Handong
decides to marry Jingping, a professional translator, but the marriage
fails and Handong goes back to Lan Yu. Their plans for a long-term commitment
are thwarted, however, when Handong faces imprisonment as a result of
his business's use of shady tactics to remain afloat during a period
of market instability after Tiananmen Square. Handong turns to Lan Yu
for financial help and both acknowledge their love for each other, but
the relationship that has survived for nine years is now up against
the inexorability of fate.
If
this sounds to you like a Chinese version of Love Story, you
would not be far off. Lan Yu takes us on an emotional roller
coaster, but does not explore much depth of feelings or insight. Though
the film is honest in dealing with fear of commitment, I found the characters
uninteresting and the relationship lacking authenticity. Mr. Kwan is
to be commended for the courage it took to shoot this film in Beijing
without official government approval, but the film's sketchiness and
predictability rob it of any enduring power.
Based
on a novel by Michio Takeyama, Kon Ichikawa's The Burmese Harp
(1956) is the lyrical story of a Japanese soldier in Burma at the close
of World War Two. The soldier, Mizushima (Shoji Yasui) is sent on a
mission by his captain to inform another unit that Japan has surrendered,
and to convince them to stop fighting. When the unit refuses to give
up and are destroyed by the British Army, only Mizushima remains alive,
and must come to terms with his nation's defeat. Pretending to be a
Buddhist monk, he undergoes a religious conversion when he comes face
to face with the staggering amount of death and destruction he sees
as he travels across the region in search of his unit. Mizushima becomes
determined to honor and bury the dead, but is torn between remaining
in Burma to live a life of service or returning to Japan to help rebuild
his own country.
The
film takes its name from a harp acquired by the main character. He has
become an expert harpist and plays while the soldiers sing beautiful
chorales with a sound so lush it seems as if it is coming from the Mormon
Tabernacle. While the depiction of the soldiers is idealized, The
Burmese Harp transcends its limitations to become a universal testament
not only to the madness that prevailed in Burma, but to the unspeakable
horrors of all war. Ichikawa, in spite of the fact that film became
a classic, loved the story so much that he made it again in 1985.
©2004 Howard Schumann
CineScene
