Since Eiga Sai was cancelled, cinephiles from all over the Philippines have been looking for something to whet their appetites in terms of Japanese film. Well, look no further; Solar Pictures and the Japan Foundation have teamed up to screen a number of films for free on streaming service Vimeo. Here are some short thoughts on what I saw.
For a film about a family dealing with a cancer diagnosis, Hana's Miso Soup is surprisingly light and sometimes even funny. Based on the real-life story of the Yasutake family, the film's outlook is generally positive, even though the very real possibility of death lurks at every turn.
The film isn't in too much of a hurry, and it curiously opts not to dwell to much on the treatment, the actual disease itself or even the mourning process. It is different compared to other films in this regard, but it functions as a reminder to the audience that life doesn't have to be solely defined by a sickness; it doesn't have to always be mired in darkness. We move on with our lives whether we like it or not, and sometimes the best people to lean on during trying times are just beside you.
There's a certain level of importance that's placed in the film with leaving legacies behind, embodied by the titular miso soup: we're not always going to be there for our loved ones forever, so it's good to leave something for them whether it be wisdom, life lessons or just pure and simple love.
Waste is inevitable in a consumerist society, especially in the materials that serve as containers of the things we consume. People usually throw these containers away, but for artists like Fuyuki Shimazu, the subject of the documentary From All Corners, these containers are a treasure trove.
The movie delves into Shimazu's obsession with cardboard boxes, the process of their creation, and segues into the Japanese penchant for mascots and iconography even in innocuous things like packaging. The idea of upcycling is mentioned, and even though in some ways it is integral to the story From All Corners is trying to tell, its inclusion mostly at the very end feels like an afterthought.
But perhaps the most illuminating part of the documentary is how it shows us the strange connection people have with things, and how our connection to those things help connect us with each other in surprising and sometimes even emotional ways.
It's pretty obvious that Bittersweet is an adaptation of a manga series (in this case a webmanga), as it liberally employs the tropes from the genre all throughout. Based on Yumiwo Kobayashi's work of the same name, Bittersweet is a film about a twentysomething ad creative (Haruna Kawaguchi) who befriends Nagisa, a handsome vegetarian who happens to be a teacher as well. The thing is, Nagisa is gay.
That said, it's refreshing to see the relationship continue as a friendship without it devolving into a romance. The film is lighthearted and funny, and in line with most of the offerings in this year's festival, is about stopping to look at the little things in life, contrasting the simple rural lifestyle with the city life in places like Tokyo.
Granted, the film might have glossed over several story arcs of the manga to focus on the central relationship, but that's an unfortunate side effect of the adaptation process. Perhaps the most crowdpleasing of all the entries in this lineup, Bittersweet is a well-acted, fun time.
Taiwan has a complicated relationship with Japan. When I went to Taiwan for the first time last year, I learned that some of the older generation knew how to speak Japanese, as the place had been a Japanese colony from the late 1800s to the second world war.
That said, the autobiographical What's For Dinner, Mom? is a personal chronicle, a series of vignettes from a family history, instead of an exploration of cultural identity. And both cultures are seen mostly through the food that the characters cook and eat all throughout the movie, never quite clashing, just coexisting (a viewpoint that, as a person of two cultures, I understand as well).
As the narrative strands in this film are loosely tied together, this is more a film of reminiscences and regrets than anything else, seeking more to contemplate rather than probe into forgotten histories. It's an opportunity that could have led to interesting ideas, since the main character's father was a dissident who identified himself as Japanese. But the film stands as it is, with all the melodrama and delicious food it can muster.
There's a lot to admire in Makoto Nakamura's Chieri and Cherry: the fact that it's a rare Japanese stop motion animation, that despite it being a kid's animation, it doesn't shy away from difficult topics like death and mourning, and that for the most part it's thoughtful about the issues it wants to address.
On the other hand, the film feels like the last episode to a series that doesn't exist. We're introduced to the titular two characters having gone through a lot of adventures themselves, but we haven't seen those adventures. That makes certain events in the climax of the film not stick.
Still, the film shows us the many ways children cope with the loss of a parent, and we are shown that the ways that they cope are often filtered through their imaginations. In a present day world where such losses are felt even more deeply, this might be a good reminder for former kids everywhere.
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We end our little sojourn into Japanese film with The Takatsu River, a quiet slice of life story about a town with the cleanest river in Japan. Like many rural towns in Japan, the young people are moving out for opportunities in the city and the population is getting older. But ironically many of the young people in the film are very much interested in staying; one came from the city and loved the simple (albeit laborious) life after going on a field trip, and another is very much aware of the place's culture, willing to preserve it for future generations.
Most of the anxiety in the film comes from the middle aged people, the parents and fisherfolk who are apprehensive about seeing their little town converted into something else for the sake of, say tourism. There's an obvious divide between those who leave and those who are left behind, and those who prefer individual growth over duty and family.
There's a certain charm in showing the rhythms of simple life, from festival preparations to small events to quiet nights drinking together. There's a little bit of melancholy to balance it out, as the third act of the film involves the closing of the local elementary school, as there are no more kids to sustain it. But that's balanced out with a bit of hope as well, in a father's proud admission of his son's achievements, or in a son's return to filial piety. Watching The Takatsu River made me want to live there, and if the movie wanted to do that in the first place, mission accomplished.
