Politic 33

...Hitting my age...Older person noise sounds for ears and feeling in your belly...

...find them hear!!!

The Observable Universe - Kid Koala
パンと蜜をめしあがれ - clammbon
Fire on the Mountain - Asa
朝起きて君は... - 鎮座DOPENESS

Double Slider - Your Song Is Good

プレイ - Tokyo Health Club

Sayonara Complex - Chai

ミクロボーイとマクロガール - スチャダラパー and EGO WRAPPIN'

Tastes Blue - bug seed

Escape - bug seed

This is a Recording 4 Living In a Full time Era (L.I.F.E) - Del La Soul

Jenifa Taught Me (Derwin's Revenge) - De La Soul

ロムロムの滝 - DJ KRUSH and OMSB 

Under the Hood - Specifics

Ties - Reprise - Takashi Mori and Takeshi Matsubara

フルコトブミ - 環ROY

ことの次第 - 環ROY and Daisuke Tanabe

Flowers on a Wall - Daisuke Tanabe

Ceremony - Anchorsong

Solitude - Ametsub

Shook Ones Pt II - Mobb Deep

R.I.P. Prodigy...

Every 14 Days...(38)

Men Without Women (Haruki Murakami)

It's fair to say that the books of Murakami (yes, that one) aren't quite what they were in his late Twentieth Century peak. While still somewhat enjoyable, there is a sense of a bit of simplistic repetition. So, where do these seven stories sit on the scale from creative enjoyment to more of the same?

Probably somewhere in the middle. His short story collections have switched between the very good to the quickly skipped over and forgotten, and while each of these entertain, the likelihood of any sticking particularly in the memory is slim.

The borrowed title for the collection perhaps reflects that fact in that they do not feel hugely original, and the theme of "men without women" is one he has explored before. But maybe I'm being harsh and these shorts stand up just as well as many of his previous works. You just feel that it needs a "Tony Takitani" or "The Wind-up Bird and Tuesday's Women" thrown into the mix to make it stand-out a little.

Days to read: 18

Days per book: 15.2

Mizoguchi and Japan (Mark le Fanu)

Now that I'm a dad and that, I probably read about more films than I actually watch. To this day, from memory, I have only seen "The Crucified Lovers" from Mizoguchi's extensive ninety-nine (such a frustrated cricketer) film oeuvre. But, given that many of these films were made pre-World War II, with many no longer surviving, not many - if any living - can claim to have seen all of his work.

Alongside Ozu and Kurosawa as one of the original masters of Japanese cinema, Mizoguchi has the claim that he got there first, his first film made in 1923, churning out dozens of now lost films in the Twenties and Thirties. While Kurosawa is known for his samurai epics and Ozu family dramas, Mizoguchi looked more at the lower ranks and underclass within Japan, and thus his works can be seen as a better reflection of the state of the nation in a period of widespread change.

Something of a feminist director, many of his films look at the lives of prostitutes and the struggles of women in Japanese society, something taken from the sacrifices his older sister made for his development. Le Fanu looks at his use of long takes and placing the camera at a distance to create a sense of realism, with the audience as voyeurs on the lives of the protagonists.

While not as well known today, Mizoguchi is one for the purists; his repeat success in Venice in the Fifties testament to this. Yes, I should definitely watch more Forties Japanese films about prostitutes...if only I had the time...I probably do have the time...I don't get out much...

Days to read: 15

Days per book: 15.2

Pachinko (Min Jin Lee)

"Pachinko" isn't a word that takes "Pa" (dad) and "chinko" (willy) to form a new, fun compound word, but rather combines "pachin" (snap or click) and "ko" (diminutive). The game is associated with a Zen-like repetitive motion within a world of sounds and flashing lights, but also Twentieth century Korean immigrant workers, as Min Jin Lee's book explores. Starting off in early Twentieth century small town Korea, it charts to journey of generations of an unorthodox family, as they cross the Sea of Japan to Osaka, suffering during World War II and subsequently building pachinko empires.

Now, books that chart generations of one family in a single novel can start to wear thin a little, feeling like brief history lessons, glossing over many areas, and lacking true depth. In some ways, "Pachinko" falls into some of these traps as the years develop, skipping to the Eighties quite quickly and abruptly, throwing in "of the time" generalisations, such as everyone having AIDS in the Eighties. Towards the end, the story tries to add too much, throwing in things suddenly in the hope of ensuring you're still awake, but overall taking away some of the good work done earlier in the book.

To start, young Sunja develops from naive country girl to strong woman as she is taken advantage of and escapes to Japan to avoid local scandal, before being forced to makes ends meet in the post-war years. All the while, the Korean yakuza associate who got her pregnant watching over her.

The social comment as to Koreans in Japan is an important one to explore, and to start, this is effective. But as the story develops, with new and varied characters thrown in, it starts to lose its depth and its way, with holes starting to appear, favouring somewhat extreme examples. As with many "epics," the interest can start to fade as breadth replaces depth.

Days to read: 21

Days per book: 15

Two Caravans (Marina Lewycka)

It's probably as interesting a time as any to read a book about Ukrainian migrant strawberry pickers. Not that the Ukraine are in the EU, but the Poles are, and some of them feature in this book. Written ten years ago, before Brexit was a thing, British-based middle-aged woman Marina Lewycka wrote "Two Caravans" about young immigrant workers in the UK, coming initially for seasonal strawberry picking.

As uncertainties today arise, the EU versus non-EU positions of the different nationalities is referred to frequently, written at a time when workers from Eastern Europe were on the increase. And I thought this would be an interesting time capsule piece to read from my wife's book shelf next to her Slash biography.

The problem with "Two Caravans", however, is perhaps a switching to guns, the criminal underworld and borderline white slavery. How much of this is true, I can neither confirm nor deny, but as a result, the look at the motivations, often naive, for coming to the UK feel a little watered-down by this. One can't help but feel what could have been an interesting look at migrant workers becomes a bit of a trashy novel in parts.

There are indeed interesting moments throughout, such as the "too many bloody foreigners" analysis of a middle-aged Pole. But trying to throw too much into one book has hindered its overall impact.

Days to read: 12

Days per book: 15.2

Ohikkoshi

Timing can perhaps have a big impact on the international success of a career. As the 1990s progressed, Japanese cinema grew in popularity around the world once more, starting to win major awards as in the days of the old masters. The 1970s and 1980s, however, were a little slower - in terms of international acclaim anyway - for Japanese directors. And while there were some great films made during this period, it is perhaps something of a lost generation for Japanese cinema.

Most of the films of Shinji' Somai's twenty year career from 1980-2000 were made during the 1980s, with the end of his career coming as many Japanese directors saw theirs take off. Domestic success, therefore, did not result in international, in perhaps a reverse of the approach to the new millennium where many Japanese were less aware of/excited by the films of Kitano Takeshi and Miike Takashi as some in the West.

My first exposure to Somai's work was 2000's "Kaza-hana", his last film, and while good, perhaps not a fair reflection of the body of his work. But with releases less easy to locate in the West, the Internet can be a place to try and unearth some of his treasures. "Ohikkoshi" ("Moving"), one of Somai's later films, shows a strong director using quite simple ideas to powerful effect.

Renko Urushiba is a girl about 12 years old whose parents are to separate. A seemingly normal family dinner between the three does not seem to reflect the discussion between her parents, Kenichi and Nazuna, that Kenichi will be moving out tomorrow. Aware of this fact, Renko carries on as normal, happy-go-lucky, not fully understanding what the situation really means.

Gradually, Renko's world becomes torn: between her mother - applying strict rules while trying to be her best friend - and her father - with a more laid-back indifference; and between friendship circles at school, with new-found empathy with some of the school's outcasts, betraying her family's supposed "normality." Despite her attempts at trying to patch the family back together, the more she tries, the more she feels that she is alone; the Urushiba's now three individuals rather than a family unit. This results in her running away when trying to recreate a family holiday from the past; instead taking a voyage of discovery on her own.

Now, this all sounds pretty usual coming-of-age stuff, as a child struggles to come to terms with elements of life they will have to get used to as they grow older, learning that fairy tales do not exist and life will not always be how you want it. But rather than choosing to focus too much on sentimentality, Somai puts the audience in the role of the child. The cause of the break-up is never fully explained throughout the film, keeping the audience in the child's perspective of ignorance of the adult actions that impact on their lives.

Increasingly, Renko comes to terms with the fact that she is on her own, neither of her parents willing to help her understand further. It's for this reason that she chooses to run away when the pair still show animosity towards each other when she slyly organises a family reunion for the fireworks festival at Biwako. Her running away allows both Kenichi and Nazuna to better understand their own failings in the family: Kenichi chooses against taking a customary swig from his hipflask; and Nazuna admitting that perhaps she may be just as much to blame for the relationship failing.

But it is now too late. Spending the night alone in the woods by the lake, Renko wonders alone until she comes to the shore, spying a boat from the festival covered in fireworks. In a dream-like sequence, she watches on as the family happily play together in the water during a summer of yesteryear. But soon, her parents turn their backs on her and walk away into the water before sinking below, leaving her asking "where are you going?" Receiving no answer, she is left alone. But it is the Renko of the past that disappears; the Renko of today watching on, shouting "Omedetou gozaimasu" at the festival boat in congratulations, her transformation complete.

The closing credits are accompanied by a vibrant, gleeful Renko dancing around a street scene, touching everyone she meets: gifting a flower to her mother; suppressing her father's wine glass as she massages his shoulders; claiming she is "moving to the future." The future is a clearly older Renko in a school uniform, a more assertive and serious expression painted on her face. Renko has matured, though whether this is for the better is left open.

This simple, but powerful style of filmmaking is clear to see influencing the likes of directors such as Hirokazu Kore-eda, Miwa Nishikawa, Kiyoshi Kurosawa in "Tokyo Sonata" and other regulars on international film festival circuits. Somai missed out on this year-on-year international success of those that came after him. But, much like Renko's acceptance of her situation, his influence perhaps has a longer, more lasting impression, rather than an instant hit.

Harmonium

"Harmonium" isn't the first film about an intruder on domestic bliss - it isn't even the first Japanese film; it isn't really even Fukada's first - so what has made Koji Fukada's fifth feature win praise as being widely regarded as the best of Japanese cinema in 2016?

Like many films before it, "domestic bliss" is not strictly true. Suburban living is not quite all it's cracked up to be for Toshio (Kanji Furutachi), his wife Akie (Mariko Tsutsui) and daughter Hotaru (played by two separate female human actors). The repeating side-view of their kitchen dining table paints a picture of their family life: Toshio reading the paper, in a detached manner, while the overly cautious Akie mothers Hotaru.

Here is a family that seem bored of each other and their roles as part of a standard family. Until - initially against Akie's middle-class sensibilities - Toshio allows his old friend Yasaka (man with teeth, Tadanobu Asano), recently released from prison for murder, to work for him in his workshop and move into their home. It was then that everything changed.

Takashi Miike's "Visitor Q" has an equally bemusing starting point. Not the dad trying to pay his daughter for sex while he films it bit, but the inviting a random man whom attacked him in the street to come and live with his family part. There is something unnerving about the way Toshio allows Yasaka to simply walk back into his life, seemingly under the spell of the ex-con, giving him what he needs. Obviously, there is more to it than simply helping out an old friend.

Naturally, Akie is apprehensive and nervous of this stranger being in the house around her young daughter. But Yasaka seems charming enough, efficient in his work and eating habits, helping Hotaru with her learning to play the harmonium. For the film's first half, Yasaka dresses in the purest white, unbefitting a man with his past, though he acts as a guardian angel over the family, bringing them to life: Toshio more relaxed and enthused; Hotaru over-excited about her upcoming harmonium performance; and Akie overly excited in the trouser area by his presence (hmmm, Tadanobu Asano). As in "Visitor Q" and many others before it, the stranger introduces a new life to the family.

But unlike "Visitor Q" (and I'm sure others), this positive impact on the family is not the story here. This is not solely a satire of the soap opera family unit, but has as much in common with the calculated revenge of Park Chan-wook's "Oldboy" (and I'm sure others, beyond my limited echo chamber of nothing but 1990s onwards Asian cinema). Fukada is very blatant in his depicting of Yasaka removing his pure white (not once did he get them dirty) work overalls to reveal a deep red T-shirt underneath as he introduces his true intentions.

Eight years on, we see the long-lasting impact that Yasaka's "visit" had on the family. Beyond Hotaru's obvious physical change, Toshio reveals himself as relieved by the whole event, clearly nodding to his past with Yasaka and why he was so willing to take him in in the first place. For him, years of uncertainty have seemingly been answered. Akie is much more emotionally impacted, her overly-cautious nature furthered, repeatedly cleaning her hands and not wanting anyone near her daughter. The couple have become more communicative than before as a result of the events, but the difference in their coping strategies highlights clear differences between the pair.  

The Japanese title "Fuchi ni tatsu" ("Standing on the Edge") is perhaps more fitting for the film's conclusion with Yasaka's revenge on Toshio complete, leaving the latter scrambling to try and stop the inevitable. A film of two halves, this starts gently and leaves you wondering where it is going, much as Toshio does Yasaka. The sudden act brings the film out of its slumber as the story is revealed and the pace picks up, resulting in an end that cleverly sees things come full circle; harmony now restored.

Fukada handles the film well throughout, keeping the atmosphere dark, forever hinting at what lies beneath. But it is by no means perfect, with the character's reactions at times understandable, at others bemusing. Not a lot is packed into the two-hour running time, and a lot of what is brings to mind many other films. Apart from those previously mentioned, Shohei Imamura's "The Eel", a 1990s Hirokazu Kore-eda and anything by Kiyoshi Kurosawa come to mind in terms of both style and themes of isolation within the family. Whether this is a bad thing or not depends on your personal preference.

Sadly having spent much of the last decade in poor Hollywood films (his lauded performance in Scorsese's "Silence" aside), this is a welcome return for Asano to the indie scene, where he always delivers, as the externally calm but deeply raging Yasaka. Everybody's new favourite, Kanji Furutachi  - used largely in bit-part roles - is interesting in his more leading role as Toshio, seemingly indifferent, becoming more relieved, before finally angry and scared, developing the character with the film. Mariko Tsutsui, however, is perhaps the strongest here as doting housewife falling into grief and madness.

This is dark and brooding throughout, switching from mundanity, to lust, to violence, to anger, to grief, to searching, resulting in pain and suffering. But one constant remains clear throughout. While trying to lead a normal life, Toshio's past continually haunts him, however much he tries to conceal it; the angelic demon Yasaka constantly watching over him, ensuring that Toshio's true sense of relief is only earned when Yasaka can at last smile.