News and Opinion Archive January 2010

Series: Documentaries of Japan

Satō Tadao is editing a very interesting project for Iwanami Shoten entitled Series: Documentaries of Japan (Shirizu: Nihon no dokyumentari). It is not only a 5-volume series of books, written with a general reader in mind, about various aspects of Japanese documentary, but also a 3-disk DVD box set containing some of the masterpieces of Japanese nonfiction film, many of which have not come out on DVD before. The first book volume of the series also contains a DVD with interviews and clips of some of the classic films. I have not seen a project like this in Japan yet.

The book series is composed of the following volumes:

1. Dokyumentari no miryoku

2. Seiji, shakai hen

3. Seikatsu, sangyo hen

4. Sangyo, kagaku hen

5. Shiryo hen (chronology, database, index)

Sato-sensei asked me to write a short piece on documentary and politics for the second volume, so I wrote about the relation of politics to film theory in the case of Prokino. This is the first thing I've written in Japanese for an anthology in a while, and it was again impressive how quickly it came out. The second volume is now on sale, with the remaining volumes soon to follow.

The DVD box is also now on sale and contains such masterpieces as Hani Susumu's Kyoshitsu no kodomotachi (Children of the Classroom), Kamei Fumio's Sunagawa and Ikite ite yokatta (It's Good to Live), Tokieda Toshie's Machi no seiji (Town Politics), and wartime propaganda films like Sora no shonenhei (Young Soldiers of the Sky). The DVDs unfortunately do not have English subtitles. 

2009 Industry Statistics

This has been announced elsewhere, but the Motion Picture Producers Association of Japan (Eiren) released their statistics for the film industry for 2009. You can compare it to those from 2008.

The results are again great for Japanese film, and not so bad for cinema as a whole. Total box office went up 5.9% to 206 billion yen, with attendance climbing 5.5% to 169 million. Japanese films again beat foreign films at the box office 56.9% to 43.1%, their lead declining slightly but still winning in three out of the last four years. The box office for Japanese films rose 1.3% to 117 billion yen. The total number of films released slightly declined from 806 to 762, but the number for Japanese films slightly increased (from 418 to 448). The average ticket price increased by 3 yen to 1217 yen, while the number of screens continues to increase (to 3396 from 3359).

18 Japanese films earned more than 20 billion yen at the BO, more than the 15 from 2008, 2007 and 2006. Of the top 20 films, 16 were distributed by Toho, with RookiesPocket Monsters20th Century Boy Final, and Evangelion being the four to top 40 billion (all were distributed by Toho except for Evangelion). 

The increase in total attendance and BO was a relief after two consecutive years of decline, although they did not top the figures from 2004. It still seems that the film business is hovering at a plateau between 160 and 170 million admissions (which is the range for the figures for the last nine years), which is not very good news on the theater level. 2009 was worse than 2004, but there were over 550 fewer screens in 2004, which meant more money per screen back then. The yearly rise in screens seems to be decreasing, indicating that the decline in per-theater revenue is beginning to hit home (and there is increasing news of theaters closing, and not just small art houses, but also some multiplexes). 

We can gloat that Japanese films are clobbering Western films, but the decline in the take for foreign films has really hit small and mid-level distributors badly (a number of which went bankrupt in 2009), which means that fewer American and European independent or art films are showing in Japan, something that is not good for the film culture as a whole. 

The fact that Toho retains its almost monopolistic dominance continues to be a sign of concern. The trend among Japanese films seems to be that if you can find a theater for your film - which is increasingly hard with the backlog of films and the declining number of minitheaters - it has to be an immediate hit or the theater will quickly pull it and throw in a TV-produced and advertised film. There are fewer long runs and sleeper hits. Eiren also noted that sales for DVDs and videos went down about 10%. One again wonders if businesses other than Toho are really making that much money.

Update: In an immediate sign of how unhealthy this has all been for medium size companies, the news services are reporting that Lee Bong-ou's Cine Quanon, the producer of such hits as Patchigi and Hula Girls, is filing for corporate restructuring after accumulating a debt of over 4.7 billion yen. Lee was long celebrated as an example of mid-size independents succeeding apart from the majors like Toho. But apparently it was not a success. 

Avatar, Anime and Miyazaki Hayao

Last week on KineJapan we had nice discussion of James Cameron's Avatar. The question was posed whether the film exhibits the influence of Japanese anime, particularly Miyazaki Hayao (flying; wondrous forests; big trees with spirits [Totoro?]; respect for nature; etc.) and Oshii Mamoru (metal suits, transferring "ghosts," etc.). Some noted some pieces on the web that explore the same issues.

In the many responses, Kukhee Choo mentioned her article in Post Script about the influence of Battle Angel Alita on Cameron's Dark Angel. And Jasper Sharp used anime to actually criticize Avatar on his blog

Here, in brief, was my response:

When you look at it at first, the similarities with Miyazaki are there: the image of the forest, the non-human world, of flying, etc. Oshii also deals with battle suit issues, and so do many other Japanese anime. But Avatar's ideology is quite different from either of these.

First, Avatar never explores the complex questions of identity and reality that Oshii does: Is the Self the suit or what is "inside" the suit? How can we distinguish a "reality" from our world of computer networks and simulations? The thorough ambiguity that Oshii pursues on these questions puts him in parallel with the other great contemporary director of ambiguity, Kurosawa Kiyoshi. Avatar just simplistically celebrates play with the "suit" while still holding out for a real "self" that is transferrable and thus separate from the suit.

I also think Avatar has a very different vision of nature from Miyazaki. Miyazaki's paean to natural forces is not unrelated to his insistence on sticking to some analog animation techniques (though Miyazaki's own use of digital animation is just one example of the contradictions that inhabit his vision of the natural). But Cameron's film is possibly more problematic: it falls into the contradiction that many cinematic celebrations of nature (like Koyaanisqatsi) do: they praise the premodern, pre-technological world using the most advanced technology there is. Avatar, I think, tries to avoid this, but only by radically re-defining nature in a way I doubt Miyazaki would approve. Many can of course see that the narrative situation of Avatar is essentially that of video games, especially online RPG where you, immobile at your station, get to roam the world, kill people, and get the girl via your avatar. Avatar plays off the discontent with contemporary technological reality by offering the fantasy of really escaping, of completely abandoning one's body for a game world that is pre-technological. But the trick here is that the Avatar planet, with its database of souls and memories, of creatures with Firewire plugs, of trees that allow one access to the network, is essentially the Internet rendered into a Gaia-like deity. In other words, I think Avatar tries to have its ideological cake and eat it too by spouting a critique of industrial technological capitalism (mining and machines and battle-suits) and praising a natural, premodern society, while all the while defining that idyllic society/world as precisely the new media technological capitalism that we have today (accessible via avatars, and marketable through massive international conglomerates). There's much more to be said about this, but at least I very much doubt Miyazaki, regardless of all his own ideological contradictions, would buy this.

That was my initial reaction upon seeing the film, but the wonderful irony was that I saw it in 3D at a theater in Japan with a bunch of technological glitches (during the last half, the film stopped a lot). Quite appropriate! Was this the revenge of old technology? Or of nature?

Kitano Review in Film Quarterly

Arthur Nolletti, Jr., author of the solid book on Gosho Heinosuke, just let me know that Darrell Davis published a review of my Kitano book in the Winter 2009-2010 issue of Film Quarterly. It was nice to read Davis, an expert who published an important article on Kitano in the Summer 2001 issue of Cinema Journal, complement the book, saying it was a "reliable, scrupulous, and illuminating account" that "made a major contribution in detailing Kitano’s public persona," but I was most surprised - and pleased - to see him add: "That Gerow’s handling of his subject would fulfill expectations is no surprise, but wait, there’s more . . . a spark of humor, occasioned perhaps by the acid tongue of Kitano himself." In a book on a comedian, I had to throw in a few gags, but this is the first time anyone has said they worked. 

It's a relief to know this, but I don't plan to give up teaching and start doing manzai

Futaba Juzaburo

The Asahi reported today that the great film critic, Futaba Juzaburo, passed away last month on December 12, 2009. He was 99 years old. The family held the funeral in secret.

Futaba began writing criticism while working for Sumitomo, only quitting to concentrate on criticism in 1945. For nearly half a century, he rated films for the magazine Screen, showing no prejudice over what he would rate, looking at every thing from art films to B-films. Since Screen was a magazine centered on foreign film, however, he did not rate many Japanese films there, but his books on Japanese film include Nihon eiga hihan: 1932-1956 and Nihon eiga boku no 300-pon (he liked to compile lists). His most recent book, which came out in 2008, was Boku no tokkyu nijisseiki: Taisho Showa goraku bunka shoshi. He wrote a lot on American film.

He won many awards, including the Kikuchi Kan Prize, the Nihon Film Pen Club Award, and the Yamaji Fumiko Award. He also apparently translated mystery novels such as Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep

He was one of the last giants of Japanese film criticism and a witness to his era.

Kinema Junpo Best Ten for 2009

The papers are reporting the results of the Kinema Junpo poll of critics of the best ten films of 2009.

    1. Dear Doctor

    2. Villon's Wife

    3. Mt. Tsurugidake

    4. Love Exposure (Ai no mukidashi)

    5. The Unbroken (Shizumanu taiyo)

    6. Air Doll (Kuki ningyo)

    7. Ultra Miracle Love Story

    8. Summer Wars

    9. Nobody to Watch Over Me (Dare mo mamotte kurenai)

    10. Feel the Wind (Kazu ga tsuyoku fuite iru)

Here are the individual awards:

Best Director: Kimura Daisaku (Tsurugidake)
Best Screenplay: Nishikawa Miwa (Dear Doctor)
Best Actress: Matsu Takako (Villon's Wife)
Best Actor: Shofukutei Tsurubei (Dear Doctor)
Best Supporting Actress: Mitsushima Hikari (Ai no mukidashi, etc.)
Best Supporting Actor: Miura Tomokazu (Shizumanu taiyo)
Best New Actress: Kawakami Mieko (Pandora's Box [Pandora no hako})
Best New Actor: Nishijima Takahiro (Ai no mukidashi)

The KineJun Best Ten list is the oldest and in general the most respected film award in Japan. It tends to be rather middle-of-the-road, however, since it is chosen by established and in general older and more conservative film critics. The Eiga geijutsu Best Ten, which I used to help select, tends to be more radical, and the Japan Academy Prize very suspect, since it is structurally biased towards the major studios. 

Page of Madness Book Review

Issue 26 of Screening the Past features a book review of my work, A Page of Madness: Cinema and Modernity in 1920s Japan, written by Frieda Friedberg, an Australian scholar of Japanese film. The same review also discusses Alexander Jacoby's A Critical Handbook of Japanese Film Directors and the same issue also has reviews of  books on Kurosawa Akira and Naruse Mikio.

Matsue Tetsuaki's Live Tape

The title of Matsue Tetsuaki’s music documentary, Live Tape (Raibu tēpu), which won the best picture award in the Japanese Eyes section of the 2009 Tokyo International Film Festival, is both anachronistic and a contradiction in terms.

First it is anachronistic because these days few people use tape to record either music or video anymore. Recording on a hard disk is the norm for pros, which means that there are few material restrictions on how much you record. Tape, however, even if it is digital, limits you to the length of the tape, and that’s what’s emphasized here, as Matsue daringly decided to video tape a folk musician, Maeno Kenta, walking and singing through Kichijōji on New Year’s Day 2009 in a single, 74-minute shot that just fits into the length of a tape. No cuts, no trickery. Using tape is kind of old-fashioned, but so also is the belief in the spatiotemporal integrity of the shot in these days of digital manipulation. Matsue, who has insisted on a kind of - should we call it “outmoded”? - personal realism in his documentaries (Annyong Kimchi [1999], The Virgin Wildsides [Dōtei o purodusu, 2007], or Annyeong Yumika [2009)) and his AV work, stubbornly persists in letting reality, from technical issues to real events, limit the image, instead of conquering it all through the computer.

Adhering to an indexical relation to reality using digital tape may also be contradictory, but more so is the notion that whatever is taped is live. This is the central problem of any concert documentary: it tries to capture the spatial and temporal singularity of a live performance, the fact that anything can happen here and now and never be altered or experienced again, but using a medium that is reproducible, open to manipulation, and always somewhat after the fact, taking place somewhere else. Most music documentaries utterly ignore this problem. Aoyama Shinji’s Ajima no uta (2003), which I wrote about in Okinawa ni tachisukumu, does not, but it does so more conceptually, undermining the “liveness” of the concert footage of Uehara Tomoko by emphasizing the “liveness” of recording in the studio, focusing on the “mistakes” there - both in the music and the film - that are usually edited out. While acknowledging the impossibility of presenting the “live” in film, Aoyama paradoxically suggests it by foregrounding the limits of “liveness.”

Matsue’s approach to the problem is much less conceptual. In fact, he seems to still think he can force video tape to be “live” through sheer material tour de force. Catching Maeno outside a shrine full of hatsumōde visitors, Matsue follows him through the streets and alleys of Kichijōji as he plays tune after tune - and occasionally talks to the camera - until he ends up at Inokashira Park. Along the way, he encounters several musicians, with whom he plays duets, and ends up in a mini-concert at the park band shell. It is a clearly planned occurrence, but it is one that lives off of “live” chance. Like a live show, it can’t be done over again, even if there is a mistake - the one shot makes it too big an undertaking and the New Year’s events too temporally specific to do that. The tension is thus palpable, and we eagerly wait for some accident to happen. Nothing big does (especially at the usually narratively pleasing end) - which paradoxically may make it more real - but the small occurrences, such as passersby hesitating over whether to cross in front of the camera or not, approximate the pleasures of a live performance.

Of course, part of the pleasure is also in the narrative itself. This can mean the single, but meandering line of walking through Kichijōji (which is fun to watch if you’ve been there before), but it can also involve the spectacle of the planned (the musicians) appearing within the other chance encounters. The central drama is the conflict between Matsue and Maeno, as the former, mostly off-screen, urges Maeno to put more energy into it or criticizes him for not following the plan (dandori), and the latter purposely resists Matsue’s control (e.g., by donning another pair of sunglasses after he, according to the script, gave away the first one). Such conflict was certainly part of the plan, but it was also Matsue’s effort to ensure that some live happenings invaded his tape.

Beyond the stance towards reality and documentary, there is also something ritualistic about all this. Starting with a girl (Nagasawa Tsugumi) praying at a shrine, Live Tape can also be Matsue’s prayer for life. Apparently planned at the last instant, as Matsue decided he wanted to do something other than laze around on New Year’s after a year when his father and grandmother died, the video adds extra meaning to the “live” in “Live Tape.”

One is still left with doubts over whether Matsue’s physical effort to force live reality onto tape really works in this digital age. And Matsue’s respect for the music, which translates into a practice that not only asks us to experience each song from start to finish in a single, integral temporality, also works with multiple mikes to create a sound that can seem too clear to be true. The visuals may approach the live, but the sound may not.

But in foregrounding his own contradictory and anachronistic stance in the title, Matsue seems to accept that Live Tape is not perfect. That this is part of the reality we should accept and not control or perfect.  It may be “outmoded,” but it reminds us our digital world has not controlled reality as much as it pretends.

And I think many of us still hope it does not. I for one, perhaps in order to tap into Live Tape’s reality, have jumped on to its temporal bandwagon. This was all written on New Year’s Day, after going to hatsumōde, exactly one year after Matsue’s live event.

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