The Japan Foundation Touring Film Programme 2019: Dear Etranger (2017)

Often when a film explores the underlying rage of an middle-class, middle-aged, middle-management type, it will explode in a terrible act from which there is no turning back. Yukiko Mishima's "Dear Etranger", however, chooses not to go for the sensational, and is an exploration in how it's easier to simply lose it rather than stick to the straight and narrow.

Makoto (Tadanobu Asano) is a man struggling between two families. Divorced and re-married, he struggles to balance keeping contact with his daughter from his first marriage, Saori (Raiju Kamata), and treating his two stepdaughters, Kaoru (Sara Minami) and Eriko (Miu Arai) as if they're his own.

Playing the good husband and father, he doesn't stay after work to drink with colleagues, takes all of his annual leave and tries as much as possible to include his two new daughters in his life. However, his good intentions at home see him first for the chop when his company restructures, leaving him relegated to working in a warehouse.

At home, while Eriko plays along with the scenario, the elder Kaoru is less happy to play along at happy families, wanting to see her real father, the way he meets with Saori. Adding a further difficulty to his situation, his new wife, Nanae (Rena Tanaka) announces she is pregnant, leaving Makoto wanting to cut his losses and move on.

However, when looking at two other fathers: Kaoru and Eriko's real father, Sawada (Kankuro Kudo); and Saori's stepfather see him stick to being a father to all four of his children, the tension released and returning to normal.

Throughout the first half, Mishima keeps a kick drum soundtrack playing, signifying the tension building under the surface for Makoto. Despite all the negative points coming to his life, he keeps going with a stoic attitude. But the repetition and constant grief he receives from Kaoru, along with the news of the pregnancy, cause this tension to rise to the surface. Kaoru's words both push him over the edge and bring him back from the brink when she compares him to her real father.

Makoto's anger comes out in realistic and unspectacular bursts. Rather than simply lashing out, his nature is more passive aggressive, carrying out Kaoru's request in anger. Asano's performance and Mishima's direction create a believable response to the situation and feels a truthful reflection of family tensions. Though the spiteful nature of Kaoru might seem a little strong for some, but she is a girl struggling to accept the situation.

No one character is portrayed as a hero, however, or indeed a monster. Sawada may be shown to have been a terrible father in flashbacks, but on meeting him today, he is very aware of how he is when it comes to children and his thoughts on parenthood; a life he simply doesn't wish to have. Makoto also is guilty of unconscious bad habits, pointed out to him ex-wife Yuka (Shinobu Terajima). Her words clearly sit with him in his better understanding of Kaoru, becoming a guiding father to her, rather than simply forcing her to call him "Dad." All can learn something from one another.

Mishima paces the film well, switching between the present day and flashbacks of key moments in the previous marriages. In a career that hadn't quite hit the heights until now, "Dear Etranger" is a mature film, and shows that there is potential for Mishima to develop into a consistently strong director. Asano's performance also shows his versatility; an older man now, giving an equally mature performance as a man trying to keep his tensions under control, and not always succeeding. Both create a realistic character and show that it's more difficult to keep your cool and keep going than to let it all out in a violent outburst.

Distance

Before his more mainstream success, kick-started by 2004's "Nobody Knows", Kore-eda Hirokazu was a documentarian who branched out into an interesting brand of cinema with slow pacing, mood lighting and naturalistic acting. His documentary experience had been put to use, with the use of long takes, improvised dialogue and even clips from previously filmed interviews.

Starting with the mournful "Maborosi", followed-up with the inventive and thought-provoking "After Life", 2001's "Distance" is the third in his initial trio of films that are similar in style and unlike his subsequent films that would see him garner more mainstream recognition abroad.

Obviously based on the Aum cult and the Tokyo gas attack of 1995, the "Ark of Truth" cult attack three years previous on water supplies to the city left dozens dead. As an annual remembrance, four relatives of members of the cult meet and visit the lake where they were based, but the reasons for this act are unclear.

Having their transportation mysteriously stolen, they are left stranded out in the forest with no phone signal for help. It is here their party becomes five, as former cult member Sakata (Tadanobu Asano) - though he abandoned them before the attack - also finds his bike stolen and unable to get home.

He takes them to his former living quarters while he was with the cult to spend the night. Here they discuss their family members and Sakata's recollections of them and muse on how things came to be; before going their separate ways in the morning to meet "same time next year."

With the picnic, day out feel, the film is shot largely in a homemade style, with handheld cameras and grainy footage, adding to the sense of mystery and intrigue. These blurred images are contrasted with the more conventionally shot flashbacks that each of the five have as to their family members as they first started to realise they were members of a cult. Though these images' greater clarity do not make the picture any clearer for those left behind.

The interactions between the five are natural for a group that has little in common other than being relatives of cult members. Perhaps reflecting the fact that Kore-eda saw the film evolve and gave the cast members differing direction, forcing improvisation within the long takes, handled well by the cast of Asano, ARATA, Susumu Terajima, Yusuke Iseya and Yui Natsukawa. Indeed, the film is littered with shots of the five positioned together, but looking in various directions or visibly apart; distant from each other, as well as their loved ones. Though as a double-edged sword, the documentary nature of the filming and dialogue may frustrate some viewers, as he favours naturalism over entertainment.

Perhaps intentionally, much like "Maborosi" before it, there is no concluding answer, as the motivations behind such acts will forever be unexplained. Though if "Maborosi", as has been described, is a haiku, then "Distance" would perhaps be better as a novel: An exploration of mindset, but unable to deliver the rounded conclusions required in the cinematic form. Indeed Kore-eda went on to spend much of the time after making "Distance" writing. One almost feels that if you were to combine "Distance" with the interviews of "After Life" you would have something along the lines of Haruki Murakami's "Underground" on the Aum attacks.

Kore-eda offers something of an ending to a story, though it is one with open ends in-line with the rest of the film. Atsushi (ARATA), the supposed brother of one of the cult members with whom Sakata was close, may not be the man he claims. Some beautiful cinematography from Yutaka Yamazaki to close reveal he is perhaps the estranged son of the cult leader, a man to which the others will no doubt hold some contempt. But this only furthers any confusion that may already be present in a film that asks many questions.

Alongside "Hana" and "Air Doll", "Distance" is in the trio of Kore-eda films to gain most criticism, for being a slow and drudging watch with a lack of satisfying conclusion to justify it all. But with the naturalism, air of intrigue and lack of conclusion as an end in itself, "Distance" has strong elements of good filmmaking and it is wrong to call it a bad film, rather one requiring more form to satisfy a wider audience.

Cafe Lumiere

2003 marked the centenary of the great Yasujiro Ozu's birth, and as such, films in tribute were made. One such film was Taiwanese director Hsiao-Hsien Hou's "Cafe Lumiere". With Ozu so associated with deep Japanese family drama, it may seem difficult to believe that a non-native can take on a film in tribute to him. But with subtle styling and nuances, Hou shows clear touches of Ozu's influence, while still maintaining enough individuality to steer it away from becoming an Ozu paint-by-numbers work of nothingness.

Yoko - played by Taiwanese-Japanese musician Yo Hitoto - is some sort of reporter-type who switches her time between Tokyo and Taiwan. Researching Taiwanese composer Wen-Ye Jiang (for some reason), she seeks out a cafe/bar the composer frequented when based in Tokyo. And that's about that: a film low on plot and slow in pace, it's in the nuances along the way that make this a tribute to the Japanese master.

Family and its changing nature is a theme hinted at throughout, with Yoko pregnant by her boyfriend in Taiwan. However, she has a somewhat blasé attitude towards the pregnancy, and indeed her boyfriend, unconcerned as to whether she sees him again, let alone allowing him to father his child, reflecting a modern decline in the nuclear family, and particular Japanese attitudes to sex and declining birth rate.

Her father seems unimpressed with her attitude, while her step-mother tries to do what she can to please her. Living in the countryside, their visiting her in her small Tokyo apartment is reminiscent of Ozu's "Tokyo Story", with the elders feeling out of place in the modern metropolis; her father maintaining a silence. Her lack of hospitality, with little to offer her parents - having to borrow food and sake from her older neighbours - shows a further distance from the family unit of today's youth, solely concerned by her own endeavours.

This mirrors Ozu's take on the empowerment of women, as seen in the likes of "Late Autumn", with young females shunning the traditional expectations placed upon them. Obviously four decades along the line, Yoko is quite content to tackle the pregnancy alone and go about her daily life as she pleases, continuing her research of Jiang - though still in early days, it would be interesting to see how this would continue, finding herself alone on a train station platform, feeling sick.

Trains are an important theme in "Cafe Lumiere", Hou choosing to use extensive shots of Tokyo's various forms of railed transportation. This again is reminiscent of some of Ozu's later works, with Tokyo's morphing into a modern day megalopolis - a confusing and sprawling mass of rail networks - a modern equivalent of Ozu's shots of neon lights growing on the landscape.

Sexpot Tadanobu Asano plays Hajime, Yoko's book shop worker friend and Tokyo rail network obsessive: recording the various sounds of Tokyo's trains and creating digital artwork based on trains. The sounds he records, such as the infamous Yamanote Line station announcements are part of modern day Tokyo life. As an outsider, it's clear that the transport network was a distinctive point of Tokyo for Hou.

The extensive use of shots of changes slowly moving across bridges and weaving between bridges while a disgustingly beautiful shot the modern world summarise the film's slow pace. Low on story, you can't help but feel that the film's running time could be drastically cut. Hou captures life as it happens: trains trundle along; Yoko walks around Tokyo's various districts, taking breaks to sit in cafes and chat in bookshops. This is a documentation, the cast less acting, but filmed as they go about the tasks they are asked to perform. Watched in sections, "Cafe Lumiere" can work, but altogether, it can perhaps be a little repetitive and needing a bit of a kick-start.

This is not masterful work, but a well-considered homage and "Cafe Lumiere" can stand alone as a good piece of cinema, though perhaps knowing it is an Ozu tribute adds a little more to it in the audience's mind. Though perhaps this restaurant main could have been condensed to a cafe light lunch.

Love & Pop

Switching from animation to "live action" is always going to prove interesting as to how a director approaches the new medium, particularly when that director previously held the reigns over "Neon Genesis Evangelion". His first feature featuring real humans, the anime background of Hideaki Anno is clear in his film "Love & Pop", as well as some of the themes present throughout his career.

To start, it is clear that we are not watching a film from a conventional director. Numerous handheld cameras are used in close proximity to the cast, covering every conceivable angle, resulting in an endless stream of edits, that leave the viewer disorientated as to who and what they are seeing. "Love & Pop" is a film that many could quickly turn off within the opening couple of minutes; plot and characters difficult to initially establish. But, for those of us that realise that some of the quick edits include under the table shots of girls in short skirts, the more of the film that is watched, the more the collection of edits grows into an innovative film mirroring the youth culture it captures.

Hiromi, Nao, Chisa and Chieko are four (count them) friends who spend their days around the concrete playground of Shibuya, Tokyo. Though with the onslaught of edits, it's a little difficult to really establish who is who and any nuance of character. But what becomes clear is that these are not girls up to innocent activities; but are partaking in enjo kosai: high school girls performing various acts in exchange for rectangular pieces of paper with dead people's faces and numbers printed on them.

Acquiring a phone with which they can leave flirtatious messages, the girls wonder the streets over a twenty-four hour period, meeting various men along the way. Shopping for bikinis for a planned trip to the beach, the story develops when Hiromi spies an expensive ring in a department store. Needing money, the girls set about earning enough to buy it.

It's at this point when focus switches more to Hiromi, and you feel the editing and camera movements calm down a little (whether they actually do or not). Meeting two men in separate encounters, she is forced to realise that quick money earned may get her the things she wants, but will leave her feeling less-than-positive about herself.

After meeting with a shut-in to accompany him on a trip to the video store (which results in a session of unwanted pocket billiards), she then converses with the mysterious "Captain X" on the phone the group have been using. Being that this is a film made within two years of the new millennium, Tadanobu Asano takes up this role, taking her to a love hotel, only to angrily berate her for stripping naked in front of a man she has just met in exchange for money.

Slowing the pace down towards the film's conclusions, Hiromi meets with the phone's owner who provides words of advice for her, which leave her feeling she is better off at home with her family, rather than wondering the streets in seedy encounters. The ring left un-purchased, despite raising the funds, Hiromi is more assured is herself than the lost girl of the film's beginning.

The film's progress adequately reflects Hiromi, starting as a messy collection of shots, Hiromi unsure of what she really wants in life, distracted by the endless flashing lights of the various media that surround the modern world. But gradually, these become more focused, resulting in two key scenes which leave an impact on her, ending in a more settled and calm manner. In this sense, Anno's live action debut is accomplished filmmaking, putting the audience through a day in Hiromi's head.

Looking at the lives of teenage girls and youth searching for direction, this is very much in keeping with much of Anno's anime work, though more importantly tackles the phenomenon of enjo kosai and how quickly and easily teenage girls find themselves in dangerous situations in the simple pursuit of a few quid. Based on Ryu Murakami's book "Topaz II", Anno neither glorifies nor vilifies the girls - or indeed their male clients - showing it as an almost normal part of daily life. And this is perhaps where the problem lies.

Perhaps fittingly for a film of such high editing, the end credits accompany a long take of the four girls walking through the sewage ways of Shibuya in unison to close an unconventional approach to cinema, but one that definitely has its merits. Followed by "Ritual" a couple of years later, it is perhaps a shame that Anno has stuck to working mainly in anime - the recent "Shin Godzilla" aside - though one's lost will always be the other's gain.

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.

The Taste of Tea vs. Maborosi

Asian cinema, good Asian cinema, can typically be hard to come by in the UK, with increasing difficulty, despite the increasing nature of media communications and online shopping and streaming. As indeed there is greater choice available, inevitably the paradox of lack of variety seems to rise. A trend that seems will only continue in the future.

I like my Japanese cinema (well, not mine personally) and I find myself often frustrated with the lack of access to some of the better films on offer. But, with a little bit of hunting, a little extra expense and purchasing from a random stranger in a random country whom you've never met, you can get hold of some gems. Though the viewing experience may have to be less than ideal.

So, locating a Korean, Region 3 DVD copy of Katsuhito Ishii's 'The Taste of Tea'; and sourcing a Japanese (thank God for Region 2!) copy of Kore-eda Hirokazu's 'Maborosi' - both featuring English subtitles - I set about watching two films considered towards the better end of Japanese cinema over the last two decades.

One thing that interests me about both of these films is that their Japanese titles both feature the hiragana の('no'): 'Cha no aji' ('The Taste of Tea')and 'Maboroshi no hikari' ('Illusionary Light'). Both incorporating the Japanese possession particle, I thought that good enough a reason for comparison. The Japanese have noh theatre, so here's a bit of 'no' cinema...Both also star TadaNObu AsaNO.

Starting with 'The Taste of Tea', as I watched that second, we see a film that can be described by unimaginative minds as 'quirky.' Looking at the lives of the HaruNO family, each has their own little story within the film and a mini-battle they want to overcome: the young daughter keeps seeing giant versions of herself; the son struggles with the fairer sex, hoping his go skills can woo; the uncle wonders aimlessly on his visit from Tokyo; the mother tries to re-ignite her animation career; the grandpa with his unusual habits. The most ordinary member of the family is the father, regularly away at work, but acting as the straight man to keep the extraordinary bunch together.

And so is the situation in the lives of this Tochigi family, going about their strange ways each day in their sleepy town. But as the film develops, each family member unwittingly looks to another for support in overcoming their personal strife: the uncle helps the daughter with a 'crap' story from his childhood; the son practices go with his father; the grandpa poses for the mother's animation design; as well as helping out with the studio recording of the estranged brother's strange musical ambitions.

'The Taste of Tea' is a typical film about nothing, with no real plot to speak of, but more a series of scenes between the main characters. With a long running time, it could perhaps bore many, though the film has enough humour to keep entertained, with various sub-plots switching the attention so as not to make any one character become tired.

But the real story here is one of family and how they all keep each other going, however unconventional the methods may appear. The bizarre grandpa proves to be the head of the family, watching over them all in his own idiosyncratic way.

The characters are strange, the special effects are strange, yet it is somewhat of a familiar portrait of family life.

Kore-eda Hirokazu is a director that is known for his films about stranger aspects of modern family life, with abandoned children, separated siblings and half siblings and switches at birth. However, whereas Ishii's is more a view of the strength of family ties, Hirokazu looks more at the strain the unusual scenarios can put on families in the modern world.

One of his earlier films, 'Maborosi' looks at another unusual family scenario: Yumiko has a seemingly idyllic life in Osaka with her young husband - they are able to laugh and joke and look forward to the birth of their unborn child. However, unexplained and suddenly, Ikuo, her husband, commits suicide on local train tracks, leaving Yumiko's life in twilight. Re-marrying a steady widower, she moves to his small fishing hometown to live with his father and daughter.

However, Yumiko's life lacks colour, seemingly in a daydream, struggling to come to terms with the loss of her first husband and the mystery around his death. 'Maborosi', therefore, is somewhat of a bleak film, creating a feeling of numbness.

With the situation unresolved for Yumiko, Hirokazu chooses to shoot the entire film in twilight. The translation of the Japanese title, 'Imaginary Light', fits the film's tone perfectly. Similar to 'After Life', the colours of the screen are incredibly vivid and memorable, with a unique and haunting quality. In that sense, 'Maborosi' is a visual masterpiece of cinema, using colour perfectly to reflect the story.

One of the best reviews I've read of 'Maborosi' described it as a if having 'read a haiku.' This is perhaps the best way to summarise this film: it paints a perfect picture of a woman's torment at her husband's death, yet maybe lacks any sense of journey; it paints the picture of an emotion, rather than telling a story. The film's revelation at the end comes as fast and as sudden as Ikuo's death, though maybe feels somewhat cheap and easy. This is a masterclass in the use of colour in a film, though  perhaps the story and characters could be painted with a little more of that colour as well.

'The Taste of Tea' and 'Maborosi' are two films about unconventional families, though that is perhaps where the similarity ends. Both are slow films with little in the way of plot, but their outlook and style couldn't be more polemic. The joy of family life in 'The Taste of Tea's' is counteracted by the brooding mourning of 'Maborosi'.

Colour is a word important to both: 'The Taste of Tea' brilliantly creates colourful characters and anecdotes to entertain; whereas 'Maborosi' uses colour to further the tone and mood of the film. While for different reasons, both are examples of brilliant film-making in their own right...It might just depend what mood you're in, no?! 

Ruined Heart: Another Lover Story Between a Criminal and a Whore (BFI 59th London Film Festival)

I'm not quite sure why I decided to watch this film. Perhaps it was that the cinematographer was Christopher Doyle. Maybe it was that it starred Tadanobu Asano. Or, more likely, my extensive knowledge and love of Filipino cinema.

Either way, by the end, I don't believe any of these were reason enough to view this again. Directed by Khavn, this is essentially a seventy minute long music video. With no real narrative to speak of, this is a collection of arthouse shots to an interesting - and I mean interesting - musical score of various genres of interesting - and I mean hmm - music.

The viewer, therefore, is left to put the pieces of the story together themselves, with plot-holes throughout as the scene constantly changes.

Visually, there are some nice moments here, naturally with a film featuring Christopher Doyle as cinematographer. Tadanobu Asano often takes the role of cameraman during the film - as well as the amateur musician that he is - running around with a fisheye lens at the end of his plastered arm.

With music a key feature and Christopher Doyle involved, you can compare this to a Nineties Wong Kar-wai; the musical interludes in his films, of course. Here, however, Khavn has decided against fitting them around a real story, making them more a random collection of moments. Even if you do put the story together, it isn't exactly a life-changer.

For me, this film is just trying to be too cool. The, at times, over-stylised shots just seem to end up being an excuse for lots of gyrating hips; the nameless characters, such as 'The Criminal' or 'The Whore', reflect the lack of depth in the characterisation and storyline; and everything's just a little too 'abstract' to be enjoyable.

There are moments to this film: the street running and car montages, but these should serve as links in a more conventional film, rather than serving as stand-out segments in a string of segments. Things just don't really connect here.

If you want Christopher Doyle cinematography over music, it has been done much better before. If you want Asano giving a cool performance, he's given better, with more interesting characters to work with. The trailer was quite good, but that's essentially what this film feels like: a collection of scenes edited together to some music; story to follow. But, at the end of the day, there just weren't enough midgets with skateboards in the orgy scene for me.