My Letters to Happy

note: spoilers are present for My Letters to Happy.

"Pare-pareho lang ang mga storya," says Abet (TJ Trinidad). He's talking about a client's proposal, but when you watch the first part of Pertee Briñas' My Letters to Happy, it looks like he's talking about the film he's in as well, as it seems to follow a standard romantic comedy storyline.

That illusion disappears as the film changes tone in its second half. The titular Happy (Glaiza de Castro) isn't your stock quirky, reckless, effusive, happy go lucky dream girl, these are manifestations of her condition. Happy has Bipolar I, and she experiences episodes of mania (which explains her behavior) and depression. She also suffers from anxiety attacks that can be triggered by stressful events.

The film then becomes a chronicle, an honest examination of how a couple deals with mental illness. It addresses the various ways treatment can be given: through talk therapy, medication, and even institutionalization in cases where the person becomes a danger to him or herself. It shows the stigma mentally ill people face, despite the fact that even though with proper treatment they can be perfectly functioning members of society. 

However, the film has its share of technical problems that impact the overall storytelling. The editing feels stilted, with cuts sometimes feeling abrupt, starting only to end less than thirty seconds later. The editing also drags down the soundtrack, music starting and stopping awkwardly. The camerawork also detracts largely from the presentation. Perhaps it was made to reflect the characters' stresses and emotional states, but it is mostly distracting - viewers sensitive to such camerawork are going to have a difficult time even looking at the screen during very important moments.

And by the ending, the movie wears its romantic film disguise once more, doubling back on the tone it set during its substantial second half. If the movie's intent was to show how a couple could stay together despite these odds, then why give an ending like this? The way things unfolded make it look like Happy existed to make Abet a better person, even though the film establishes that she's more than that. Nevertheless, the film is hopeful - perhaps not for a reunion, but for the idea that in time, everyone will be okay, and I can get behind that.

Eiga Sai 2019: Kakegurui, One Cut of the Dead, Lu Over the Wall

日本映画祭　２０１９　Festival Log Final

Gambling anime is a genre that satisfies a very particular itch: the excitement of gambling without the associated risk, with excitement elevated through ludicrous levels via the nature of the medium. Kakegurui represents the insanity and craziness of the genre quite well, by making its a good chunk of its characters insane gambling machines.

The Kakegurui live action movie follows two successful seasons of the live action series and two seasons of the anime. The movie is partially based on the side story light novel Kakegurui Joker, with new movie-only characters thrown into the mix.

The movie starts off slowly, introducing each new character and setting up the gambling-stuffed climax, but the payoff is worth it. The mechanics of the games themselves and the psychological tactics are what draws viewers to Kakegurui; in this case, the games featured are variations on games we've already seen in other gambling anime such as Kaiji but are still fun to see play out either way.

The Kakegurui is a crowd pleasing, entertaining movie that is sure to please fans. Non-fans will probably find the first third or so slow and tedious, but the movie falls into place well enough by the end.

It's best to watch One Cut of the Dead blind, but if you have done so (perhaps multiple times, which is best) then read on.

There's a certain wonder to self-reflexivity, when artistic works of genre take a look at themselves and peel back the layers behind their creation. The resulting creation is something much more profound than the initial work, operating in multiple levels.

Such is the movie One Cut of the Dead, which starts with a one take movie within a movie, full of the sort of kitsch and charm one sees in independent productions. However, that section is only one third of the complete story. Once the "real" movie starts (the Japanese title is 'Camera wo Tomeruna!' or 'Don't Stop the Camera!') we see what went on behind the scenes, a cinematic zombie riff on Henry Lewis' The Play that Goes Wrong.

The three act structure also does not feel haphazard or insular; each element in the film within a film is a seed that bears fruit once the same scene is revisited in a different context. Director Ueda skillfully weaves in these elements so that they yield maximum rewards. 

Thus, from horror, the film becomes comedy and metafictional self-examination, and it's refreshing and actually even inspirational in a way. Shooting movies is hard, guys.

Masaaki Yuasa's Lu Over the Wall, a quirky animated tale about an aspiring musician and his newly discovered mermaid friend, is more about eliciting a certain mood rather than telling a story. The film ends up being disjointed as a result, but is no less visually lush.

Yuasa's personal animation style is felt in full force here; it is flowy, imaginative and expressionistic, and colorful. It's reminiscent not of his anime contemporaries, but classic american cartoons from the early 20th century. It helps that he isn't bound to sticking to a certain style or material, such as his work with The Tatami Galaxy.

The film touches on themes of tradition (and breaking from that tradition) as well as the strained relationships that form between children and parents. The characters of Lu over the Wall have at least one parent who has left them behind, and that dysfunction affects them in different ways, whether it entails acting out, seeking attention, sticking stubbornly to traditions or overcompensating to bad effect.

Though the climax is rousing enough and the emotional beats are felt, the impact could've been more deeply resonant had the storytelling been equally up to snuff. As it is, Lu Over the Wall is par for the course, but nothing special.

Eiga Sai 2019: Mixed Doubles, Laughing Under the Clouds, Perfect World, Yakiniku Dragon

日本映画祭　２０１９　Festival Log 3

Tamako Tomita (Yui Aragaki) hates Ping Pong. She's actually good at it, but an overbearing mother and a grueling training regimen turned her off the sport. But when her boyfriend (Seto Koji) betrays her for another woman, Tamako is led down a path towards Ping Pong once more.

A perfect fusion of sports movie, romantic comedy and ganbare! film (the kind of film where a person gets better at a very specific skill), Mixed Doubles is the hilarious brainchild of director-screenwriter duo Junichi Ishikawa and Ryota Kosawa. The two have worked together before in another feature film, but are perhaps better known for their TV work, including series such as Legal High (which also starred Yui Aragaki).

However, Mixed Doubles definitely feels like a film, and a very entertaining one at that. It's filled with the highs and lows of a sports drama, complete with a climactic match up set to inspirational music. It has the quirk and charm of a romantic comedy, and Eita and Aragaki are both wonderful in terms of chemistry. It is also an interesting character study - all of the characters in this film have their own reasons for playing, whether it be to escape the stifling environment of being a trophy wife, to honor a lost loved one, or simply to combat the ennui and loneliness of being left behind.

Like fellow Ping Pong movie Ping Pong (2002), Mixed Doubles isn't about winning, it's about falling in love again, whether it be the sport you left so long ago, or the person beside you. It's irreverent, funny and a solid entertainer from start to finish.

Anime adaptations are usually either hit or miss, as adapting a long series or manga to a couple of live action movies means that a lot of things are going to be taken out for the sake of time. In the case of Laughing Under the Clouds (Donten ni Warau), the alterations to the story are pretty substantial.

The gist of the movie is this: in the Bakumatsu period, three brothers protect a town from the return of Orochi, a snake demon. Ninjas want the demon to return. The government doesn't, and trouble ensues.

The film focuses more on the oldest brother, Tenka (Sota Fukushi) and less so on the other two brothers - even giving him a crucial scene that belongs to another character. A group of government soldiers tasked to seal the Orochi are all turned from interesting characters with their own quirk into a boring boy squad with little personality or backstory.

The film seems to have been modified for the ikemen-hungry crowd, to the detriment of some fans of the original source material. It's kind of a shame, considering that the source material is pretty good by itself and that the film is technically well made, especially during the first half. Katsuyuki Motohiro certainly has the pedigree to make this work, having worked on adaptations like Ajin and original films like Summer Time Machine Blues, so with the right material he could've made this shine.

Fans of Fukushi and pretty Bakumatsu bois will find much to like here, but the anime series and the manga are far superior to this particular iteration.

Based on Rie Aruga's manga of the same name, Perfect World is the story of Itsuki (Takanori Iwata) and Tsugumi (Hana Sugisaki) who fall in love with each other. It seems straightforward, but there's just one little detail about their relationship: Itsuki is paralyzed from the waist down.

The film examines how life would be like living with a person with disabilities. It's certainly full of its own set of challenges - medical conditions like pressure sores are common, family and friends can and will tend to misunderstand and discourage such relationships, and just being a caregiver on top of being a romantic partner is added challenge enough. All this, in a setting where accessibility for disabled people is very much available.

The conflicts, however, feel more weighty when Itsuki and Tsugumi are dealing with these everyday problems, compared to a major  unexplained medical speed bump in the third act that feels very contrived. Perfect World is best when it lets its two characters breathe in the world they're in, instead of manufacturing drama for the sake of drama.

And finally, I was unaware that Wishing Chong's Yakiniku Dragon was based on his play of the same name going into the movie theatre, but from the first few minutes of the movie I knew that it felt like a play on film. On second viewing, my suspicions were confirmed, and the film's theatricality proves to be its greatest weakness.

The film follows a family of Koreans living in Japan, and their struggles as they try to fit into society and sometimes fail. At the same time, there are love problems among the family's daughters. The film tackles issues of discrimination, marginalization and human dignity in the face of hardship.

Owing to its theater roots, Yakiniku Dragon's drama works when it works. But at the same time, it suffers from a lack of restraint, in that some things a play would take for granted don't exactly translate that well when adapted into a feature film.

The film is best when it shies away from histrionics, which is unfortunately not that often; most of the film is composed of hysterics, hitting, shouting and screaming. After a while, it gets kind of shrill and tiring. The romantic subplots of the film feel a little too tacked on, and are easily some of the most skippable parts of the film.

The film also lacks restraint in terms of editing. There are many moments in the film where one anticipates a cut to the next scene, but the scene just keeps going on and on. In a play, the script would be responsible for the overall pace, but not so in film. The extra dimension of temporality that a proper edit brings seems to be lost on the film's first-time director.

Eiga Sai 2019: Mirai, The Crimes that Bind, The 8-Year Long Engagement

日本映画祭　２０１９　Festival Log 2

Mamoru Hosoda's latest film, Mirai, begins with an overhead shot of a city that slowly meanders toward a peculiar house, the setting of most of the film. It is a perfect visual representation of what the movie strives to portray: the plasticity of fate, the flow of time, the place and evolution of a family among generations.

The film follows Kun, a young toddler, as he deals with the fact that he is no longer an only child. His newborn sister, Mirai, is a source of frustration to the child, and he acts like children do, doing things and saying hurtful words that he does not have the full capacity to understand. But then another Mirai appears, this time from the future, and she's here to teach him a lesson about growing up and being a good brother.

Kun's adventures could all be made up, taking place entirely within the confines of his imagination, or they could be real. But whether it is real or not is beside the point compared to the lessons his adventures impart: lessons on humility, family responsibility and the reality of being a new brother.

And, in an step forward from films such as The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (2006),  Mirai is about our relationship to time and how it relates to our own interpersonal bonds. We grow older each day, faster than we can sometimes comprehend. And in the context of our families, we are a collection of stories, tapestries composed of individual decisions that resonate through generations.

The Crimes That Bind is the big finale to a years-long adaptation that started with the 2010 TV series Shinzanmono, and continued on with a couple of feature films and TV specials. Based on the popular series of novels by Keigo Higashino, the overall story is about detective Kyoichiro Kaga, a veteran detective who solves difficult and complex mysteries.

This film begins with a death that is very personal to Kaga: in fact, it is his raison d' etre for moving to Nihonbashi in the first place. The movie then segues to the real mystery, the discovery of a corpse in an apartment that is not hers. Somehow, these two events are related, but we are left to wonder why.

The mystery is engaging and complex, with the pieces of the puzzle only gaining true form during the film's melodramatic climax. The movie has a penchant for on-screen 'narration' that gives the film a sort of formal, procedural flavor. Everyone involved is excellent, but for this installment it is Nanako Matsushima and Fumiyo Kohinata who get to shine in their respective roles, even though they appear in a fraction of the film.

The film tries its best to be cinematic -  a confrontation scene between Hiroshi Abe's Kaga and Nanako Matsushima's character is particularly striking - but it remains beholden to its television roots. Regardless, fans of Shinzanmono or of Higashino's novels will find much to appreciate here.

And finally we have The 8-Year Engagement, a romantic melodrama that sounds so unbelievable until you realize that it is actually based on a true story.

The gist of it: a man and a woman get together, fall in love, woman contracts an extremely rare medical condition, man turns out to be a saint and stubbornly sticks with her until she gets better, but problems ensue.

It could've been ridiculous if it weren't executed so sincerely. Tao Tsuchiya is excellent here, even though she spends most of the film in a hospital bed. She makes the best of her character's flaws, compared to Takeru Sato's character, who is so saintlike and flawless that he should be canonized and given the Nobel Peace Prize for three straight years. I kid of course, as Sato manages to bring a bit of gravitas to a character who loves purely, with all his heart, and without regret. It's par for the course for Zeze, a director who has dabbled in both mainstream productions and pinku eiga, whose works focus on the details of human relationships.

The medicine in this film is well-researched, from initial confinement until rehabilitation. It has to be, since it's based on real experiences. This film is good for a little cry, appropriate for those in need of some pure, pure love.

Eiga Sai 2019: The Tears of Malumpati, After the Storm, Samurai Marathon

日本映画祭　２０１９　Festival Log 1

The Tears of Malumpati's nature as a Japanese-Filipino collaboration mirrors its true to life story: an international collaboration that managed to bring clean water to a community. It touches on themes of volunteerism similar to past Eiga Sai films like Crossroad, but in this case the end result is far more satisfying.

The film follows Asuka (Miyuu Tsuji) who, for the flimsiest of reasons, goes to the Philippines for some volunteer work. She is immediately smitten by the town and its people and vows to help them at least until the project is completed.

Tsuji, an idol who is perhaps better known for her voice acting work and her membership in the idol unit 'elfin, is capable in this film. The Filipino cast fares a whole lot better compared to Crossroad, a cast that includes Joel Saracho, Sue Prado and Miel Espinoza of Pan de Salawal fame. However, it's clear that some of the Filipino cast are not as comfortable acting in English as they would be in Filipino, perhaps attributable to the occasionally corny dialogue.

That said, what's most interesting about the film is its acknowledgement, however indirect, of Japan's atrocities during World War II. The film posits the idea that the country's penchant to help other countries may be a function of guilt, or perhaps a sense of taking responsibility for Japan's past actions. "Apologizing is a negative action, but (volunteering and helping) is a positive one," a character says. A good number of us would have liked the apology too, but hey, it's a start.

The Tears of Malumpati is a decent enough charmer, full of moments both happy and sad. If anything, it's an interesting exploration of the idea of international volunteerism that approaches the subject in a different way compared to similar films.

Very few films encapsulate the humanist essence of Hirokazu Kore-eda as much as his 2016 work After the Storm. A meditation on familial bonds and regret, the film wafts in like a gentle breeze, only to leave you devastated with quiet, unassuming moments.

Its protagonist, Ryota (Hiroshi Abe) is a novelist currently sidelining as a private eye, working mostly under the employ of suspicious husbands and wives wanting to uncover evidence of their spouse's infidelity. He uses the evidence to play double agent and convince the other party to destroy this evidence in exchange for a generous fee.

It is thus ironic that while Ryota's clients keep their marriages relatively intact, Ryota's own marriage is in shambles, and the blame is mostly on him. He wastes away his earnings on horseraces and gambling, and is unable to pay his divorced wife (Yoko Maki) child support fees for his young son Shingo (Taiyo Yoshizawa). Ryota fears that he is quickly becoming the mirror image of his own father, who pretty much did the same to him.

Ryota's regret forms much of the center of this film, where he spends mulling over faded, past glories and what-ifs. Yet he is either unwilling or unable to change himself for most of the film, leaving him stuck to old ways. Perhaps it is a fear of the future, his elderly mother (Kirin Kiki) says. When a typhoon passes over the city, trapping Ryota and his family, he yearns for a catharsis, a Hollywood-like reunion and a happily ever after.

That doesn't happen, and what we get instead is something equally cathartic, yet something so subtle and gentle that its emotional impact hits one out of left field. Within the film's climax, composed of simple, unassuming moments, there is a sense of letting go, a sense of forgiveness, a realization of having to fight for what you want instead of letting things pass you by. The house still stands after the rain, changed but unshaken.

And finally we have a film that ticks the Eigasai box of a historical epic that is somehow tied to a contemporary ritual, much in the vein of 2017's The Magnificent Nine. From director Bernard Rose, better known for films such as Candyman (1992) comes this period (albeit fictionalized) ensemble piece.

Set in the Bakumatsu period, the film follows the arrival of Perry's Black Ships and the beginning of a significant change in Japanese international relations. Spooked by the arrival of the Americans, some of the samurai clans are understandably nervous. One such clan, headed by Katsuakira Itakura, decides to run a race for all his soldiers and footmen in order to prepare for uncertain times. A spy for the central government, Jinnai Karasawa (Takeru Sato), mistakenly sends out a message, thinking it to be tantamount to rebellion. When he realizes his mistake, he must protect his lord from assassins and correct his wrongdoing before it is too late.

But the story is not Karasawa's alone. Many other characters join the race for their own reasons, as the price of victory is a wish granted by lord Katsuakira himself. Hironoshi (Shota Sometani) is the fastest runner among all the soldiers; he joins the race for his family and to become a true samurai. Tsujimura (Mirai Moriyama) joins the race to perhaps win the favor of the princess Yuki (Nana Komatsu). And Yuki herself joins the race in disguise in order to gain freedom from her father and old traditions.

The stories may have conclusions that feel a little rushed compared to how they were built up, but it's all about the journey (or the race) rather than the finish line. Overall the movie reflects a society on the verge of great change. With change comes the collective anxiety of the higher ups in the face of technological superiority, while the common folk are too occupied with their own concerns to care about the future. Considering that most of the people participating in the race are samurai, there's a level of tragedy in knowing that in only a few years, their entire caste and way of life will disappear.

The film then is a way of showing that in a moment of solidarity, a group of disparate people can and will unite for a common cause and begin a tradition that continues even today.