Foreign Review: After Life

"A-One, and a-two, and a-three..."

Movie: After Life

Directed by: Hirokaza Koreeda

Starring: Arata, Erika Oda, Susumu Terajima

Verdict:

Simply structured and subtly sad, Japanese director Hirokaza Koreeda’s After Life is a rare, humanistic look at memory, meaning and what lies beyond in a fantastic setting, and although the film might be a drag to anyone used to a more thrilling setting, its quiet and contemplative treatment of a topic too often given to overwrought sentiment will be welcomed viewing for anyone looking for a slow-paced touch of wonderment.

In depth:

Why are we here?  What happens when we die?  Is there an afterlife?  These are, perhaps, the most intriguing, confounding, and terrifying questions any person can ask - and trust me, we’ve all asked them, or will ask them, at one point in life.  It’s no surprise, then, that these mortal concerns are a common topic for filmmakers the world over.  Unfortunately, if Hollywood’s track record is anything to go by, this important and meaningful subject more often than not gets bogged down by either maudlin sentimentality, gross simplifications, or the cheap adrenaline rush of your bog-standard horror flick.  But elsewhere on the planet, at least some studios give death and its subsequent the respect they deserve, and to that end few films in my recent memory stand out more than After Life.  A calm, thoughtful little import from the Land of the Rising Sun, this minimalist fantasy by relative unknown director Hirokaza Koreeda examines the afterlife from a unique perspective, and in the process delves past our layered conceptions of what lies beyond into the heart of what makes us human.

"...And that's how I got my finger outta there!"

We begin our adventure in what looks like a decrepit old government warehouse, blanketed by a sea of fog, listening to workers go through the usual grips of the daily grind.  These beleaguered bureaucrats appear to be conducting a series of interviews with a group of wanderers who look about as thrilled to be there as someone checking in at the DMV.  I've got to say that I love the way  Koreeda lulls us into a false sense of familiarity, hitting us with a subtle and soothing set up, all before slamming us into the ground with a one-line whammy:  “It is required the I inform you that you are dead.”  This nondescript building is, in fact, a sort of makeshift purgatory, where the recently departed are given three days to choose one single happy memory of their life.  The psychopomps of this bizarre waystation will then stage a reproduction of said memory, which the souls will relive for the rest of eternity.  That, in a nutshell, is the plot - or at least, its primary focus.  There is a “B arc” centered on two of the supernatural “counselors” advising the lost souls: Takashi (Arata), a sad and distant young man dealing with the drama of an assigned case connected to his past; and Shiori (Erika Oda), his fiery junior, who harbors the obligatory "not-so-secret" secret feelings for him.

You wouldn't expect much from such a simple setup at first, but make no mistake; from this meager story morsel sprouts an achingly beautiful tree, upon which hangs the full spectrum of human emotions filtered through the primacy and power of memory.  This is Koreeda’s vision, and he captures it in spectacularly simple, yet inventive ways.  One of the first things you might notice about the cast is that most of the people playing the dead patients are not professional actors.  Koreeda collected a repository of fond memories from real people and played them on screen, all for the sake of giving his film the stamp of believably.  This speaks not only to his focus and dedication as a filmmaker, but to the keen eye and ear he has for genuine storytelling.  Koreeda weaved these different accounts into a coherent narrative that infuses his story with realism and heart - a rare accomplishment in today’s cinema, and directors would be wise to follow his example when incorporating improv amateur dialogue into their movies.  

"This movie sucks"

The interviews lay at the beating pulse of this film, providing, in as subtle a way as possible, the meaning of life through the careful (and often painful) selection of what thoughts we value the most.  Whether it’s the hot-blooded man who speaks only of women and conquests, but eventually relents before thoughts of his daughter's wedding, the teenage girl who instantly chooses Disneyland before getting talked down to something more intimate, or the sad businessman who refuses to divulge any of his memories, the interviews provide a window into how we select from out lives the moments which matter.  While some of these scenes are scripted, most of them aren’t, and Koreeda’s patient eye and good timing ensure that we never dwell on one person or are left idle for too long.  Still, sometimes it seems like Koreeda takes a little too much time getting where he needs to go.  This is a problem particularly when it came to the memory reproduction towards the end; the film walks us through the changes, picture shots, and prop creation (guess God's on a tight budget, huh?) that end up taking a significant slice of screen time.  I understand why these scenes were there - they were Koreeda’s way of reminding us of the unreliability of even our most cherished memories - but I wonder if the message was a little too subtle.  It was the first time that I actually felt like I was watching a documentary - and I can't say that I enjoyed it.

Besides the occasional story drags, the film’s biggest weakness, ironically, is the main narrative string holding it together.  Despite the low-key and easy chemistry between Takashi and Shiori, their love story didn’t really strike a chord with me the way the rest of the movie had.  To be sure, its inclusion was necessary; otherwise, After Life  really might have ended up like one big dull (if heartwarming) docudrama.  Fortunately, this little distraction doesn’t impede on the plot much until its poignant end, with most of the arc given a dignified gravitas as background dressing to Takashi's case that sparked their relationship crisis.  So much, in fact, of what really makes this movie shine boils down to what’s implied, but never stated outright.  The very existence of such a range of souls - from elderly folks to young men and women in high school, and from the open and engaging to the sad and taciturn -  is pregnant with sad but unspoken implications: how did they die?  Why do some of them adamantly refuse to disclose anything about their lives?  We never get any clear-cut answers, which allows Koreeda to unfold their stories through snippets of memory, leaving much to the imagination.

Eternity awaits

The film’s gorgeous minimalism seeps into every pore, enhancing the hazy, dream-like atmosphere and mood.  Right at the beginning, in fact, before plot even kicks off, the first thing we as moviegoers will likely notice is the music - or rather, the complete absence of it.  There is no soundtrack, no background noise of any kind, just silence, as the wayward souls tell their stories and the caseworkers go about their business trying to bring their memories to life.  Silence is and always will be an effective movie making tool, but too often it goes neglected in today’s film philosophy.  The bulk of our otherworldly bureaucrats outside of our two leads are also minimalized, but Koreeda somehow steers them away from the hell of static one-dimensionality by having their impact on the story be sporadic but meaningful.  For instance, a background character will sometimes step forward and share something from his previous life with the recently departed, serving not only to increase the subtle pathos permeating the whole film, but also to build connections between the caseworkers and their charges - connections that matter very much in the film’s final act.

With so many mortality flicks out there that either boil down to jump scares or drown it in an ocean of sentimentality, After Life was a refreshing change of pace.  Its director has a brilliant eye for subtlety, mood, and the light sadness of the human condition.  At the same time, though, he has a pretty firm disregard for narrative momentum, which may turn away a few film buffs who’d prefer not to sit through what essentially amounts to an extended sequence of interviews.  Still, After Life is a strong film despite its weaknesses, and film goers hankering for a slow, thoughtful meditation on life will have one more pleasant memory to take with them to the other side.

Grade: B

Indie Review: Wool 100%

 

 

Movie: Wool 100%

Directed by: Mai Tominaga.

Starring: Kazuko Yoshiyuki, Kyōko Kishida, Ayu Kitaura

Verdict:

Japanese animator Mai Tominaga’s psychedelic comedy-fantasy debut smacks of the type of incomprehensible “art” film scorned by so many casual moviegoers around the world.  But while the plot is unashamedly experimental and near impenetrable at times, this hidden gem of a modern fairy tale comes equipt with some innovative and beautifully-structured cinematography, as well as a cool soundtrack and a surprising dose of heart that will leave you feeling as warm as a wool sweater by the end.

In depth:

Mention “art film” to any random confection of movie buffs and you’re likely to be blown back by the shear force of every expressed opinion on the extreme "love it or hate it" scale.  As in any creative medium, movies leaning towards the experimental and the obtuse can open floodgates to introspection and existential musings...but are just as apt to illicit no greater thought than “Huh?” from its befuddled audience.  This always bothers me, for despite my personal sympathies towards the dense, the obtuse, and the philosophical, I usually lay the blame for any miscommunication between audience and creator at the feet of the latter.  Art is a forum of personal expression, true, but once exposed in the open, it transforms into a medium of communication, and a filmmaker’s failure to get his or her point across at conception can’t merely be hand waved with a snobbish “they just don’t understand…!”  But Wool 100% avoids this pitfall; as an experimental indie Japanese film, it occupies a convoluted set of nested doll niche markets to the Western viewer, but has a feel and vibrancy that transcends its seemingly avant-garde wrapping.

Summarizing this story is a Herculean task at the beginning, but becomes surprisingly easy once you understand the core message of the film.  Elderly twins Ume (Kishida) and Kame (Yoshiyuki) live alone in their little house surrounded by walls and walls of junk they’ve collected over the years through daily treks of dumpster diving in the local community.  This odd schedule continues on as “normal,” until the moment they discover a basket full of balls of red yarn laying out in the middle of nowhere.  Being the ever-compulsive pack rats, they took it home - unaware that in doing so, they unintentionally throw their front door wide open to the unusual owner of the skeins: a creepy, naked little girl -  played by talented newcomer Ayu Kitaura - who continuously knits the yarn into a lopsided sweater, which she always unravels in the end to start all over.  At first, Ume and Kame treat her as a nuisance who constantly disrupts their daily lives with her mindless knitting, destroys their scavenged property, and keeps them up at night with her random bellowing whenever she needs to knit her sweater again.  Over time, though, the twins get used to her, if nothing else, even naming her Aonamishi (“knit again,” after the despairing, house-quaking cry she emits whenever she “finishes” her project) and treating her more or less like the junk they collect.  Soon, Aonamishi proves to be much more than an unwanted house guest, breaking down the barriers the sisters have erected over the years between themselves, the outside world, and even their past.

If the above reads a lot like a fairy tale, that’s because it is; underneath the artsy exterior is a modern, Grimm-esque rendering of two lives unlived and the catalyst to shake them out of their decades-long stupor.  The brilliance of the film is that, with this singular objective in mind, it winds the entirety of the story around its chosen template.  From the opening narrative, with its misty, almost evanescent  exposition of the sisters’ lives that conceals more than reveals; to the inexplicable Aonamishi, who remains a cipher at the heart of the movie throughout its full run - the flow and direction are all completely airtight and under the control of director Tominaga, whose background as an animator clearly shows in the way she maneuvers the actors and props around the film screen in order to suit her vision.  The movie's fabulous pacing and keen timing of nearly every event is nothing short of laudable, and if nothing else, Wool 100% is a testament to a strongly structured, lock-step plot that doesn’t leave the viewer wanting for much, even as it avoids giving direct answers to it cryptic story.

Besides the dreamy plot and surreal characters, Wool 100% draws strength from a simple but effective soundtrack that enhances the overall experience to a remarkable degree.  Tominaga has appreciable respect for silence and white noise as a storytelling medium - a recognition all too uncommon beyond the arthouse label - and periodically punctuates the lull with a few upbeat, jazzy riffs that never feel out of place.  Aonamishi, for example, has a slick little leitmotif that roars in whenever she’s about to metaphorically kick in the teeth of her long-suffering housemates, and the poignant melody that lifts whenever Ume and Kame recall the shattered fragments in their past reminds you that, behind everything, this “artsy” film has a substantial amount of emotional weight. But Tominaga isn’t just an audio magician; as an animator, she doesn’t shy away from experimenting a bit with media genres as the film progresses - like presenting Ume and Kame’s past with their mother through an eerily upbeat dollhouse show, or using stark, line-heavy, flip book-like animation as Aonamishi wages her personal war on the twins' semi-sentient piles of junk, who protect them from the past just as surely as they guard against present intruders.  These sequences differ from the usual congratulatory self-indulgence of many an art film; they have a directed purpose and relevance to the plot, either to conceal as much information about Ume and Kame’s early lives while still providing exposition, or sparing the audience any overexposure of Aonamishi as she storms through the house fulfilling her private agenda with the sisters.  Future filmmakers would be wise to heed Tominaga’s attention to detail, and the efficient way she brings all elements of storytelling together.

No movie is perfect, of course, and Wool 100%’s one major flaw is ironically tied to its greatest strength: Tominaga’s tight rein on her story’s structure leaves little wiggle room for the characters themselves.  Aonamishi, of course, is fun to view, and the twins have enough quirks and curiosities to keep them mildly interesting; however, all three have little to show in the way of presence, and seem to be going through the motions at points.  This isn’t unique to Wool 100%, since most indie abstract films tend to skimp on the characters in favor of the filmmaker’s arc-wide “vision,” but as I’ve said time and again, characters - even shallow, “stocky” ones - are (or should be) the centerpiece of any narrative.  The three actresses instead feel more like pieces moved across a predefined board, with very little variation at all.  Again, this might tie back to Tominaga’s animation background; when you’re used to working with characters who are literally made for your story, getting a full grasp on how flesh and blood actors interact can be tricky to peg down.  That said, this minor gripe is just that - minor, and in no way really subtracts from the overall movie experience.  The characters are enjoyable enough, and having their personalities on the down beat permits us the full view of the plot’s unfolding charms and mysteries.

The key thing to always keep in mind when watching Wool 100% is that it is, at heart, a fairy tale - a rather dark and obtuse fairy tale, but one with a strong plot, interesting characters, and a surprisingly clear moral that’s told with heart and subtlety.  Despite Tominaga’s hazy and uncertain character direction, her three stars grow quietly closer over the course of the film, and as the climax approaches, the intention behind Aonamishi’s behavior - and what it ultimately means to the sisters - will leave you with a surprising amount of warmth after the end.  For the non-Japanese audience, an understanding of the implied but apparently unexamined cultural idiosyncrasies - like the sentient trash in the house, or the significance of certain colors - may pass over completely, but the dream-like story grants the necessary suspension of disbelief that Wool 100%, thankfully, never enforces among its audience as so many other movies do in need of faking coherence.  As a recommendation. catch it on DVD if at all possible.  It demands multiple viewings - not only to further understand the plot, but because it really is very hard to peg down, even if the movie gods bless you with full comprehension on the first go around.  Finding this little foreign jewel might be tough, but it truly is a diamond in the rough.

Grade: A