I was very recently exposed to this filmmaker and utterly captivated by another one of his films, so that alone ensures I'll want to see everything by him at some stage. He seems like one to follow and devote serious time to: a vibrant new voice that embraces damaged worlds with the gentle ardor of Zen. He makes the films Mizoguchi ought to have made but for drowning still reflections in overbearing dramatics.
This is even more sparsely arranged than that other film. Once more the point is that it's seemingly about nothing, purely episodic life from a teenage girl's journey into young adulthood and love. Once more the point is that there is no solid core to explain from, only glimpses from a floating world. Nothingness permeates, but a sweet, Buddhist nothingness that is pregnant with life.
The world is still new that she enters, the mind is clear, fresh. There is a lot of idle perambulation but no vexation. Solitude that is sweet enjoyment of the present moment. Being that is still magnificent in its simplicity.
Against this backdrop the smallest gesture rings far and wide with meaning, say a smile beneath a red umbrella for the joy of being able to freely smile or the feeling of being wet but safe. It is the best cinematic Zen I know of.
Spontaneous joy without pleasure. A world that makes sense because the senses are open, receptive. Astute viewers will pick up a connection to old landscape compendiums from the Shogunate era, the title of this post is a reference to one; those were intended for tourists passing through Edo, but were the training ground for cinematic perspective, more deeply intended for the travelling eye.
On a technical level, I believe this was solely conceived as an exercise where the filmmaker got to work out a few shots and atmospheres he had in mind: spring rains, clear evenings, bird's eye views, calligraphic sweeps, many worlds fleeting from the windows of a speeding train. A lot of that paid off in Lily Chou-Chou, there in a longer form.
This is small but full and ripe, a rare thing. I'm even more eager to follow his work.
This is even more sparsely arranged than that other film. Once more the point is that it's seemingly about nothing, purely episodic life from a teenage girl's journey into young adulthood and love. Once more the point is that there is no solid core to explain from, only glimpses from a floating world. Nothingness permeates, but a sweet, Buddhist nothingness that is pregnant with life.
The world is still new that she enters, the mind is clear, fresh. There is a lot of idle perambulation but no vexation. Solitude that is sweet enjoyment of the present moment. Being that is still magnificent in its simplicity.
Against this backdrop the smallest gesture rings far and wide with meaning, say a smile beneath a red umbrella for the joy of being able to freely smile or the feeling of being wet but safe. It is the best cinematic Zen I know of.
Spontaneous joy without pleasure. A world that makes sense because the senses are open, receptive. Astute viewers will pick up a connection to old landscape compendiums from the Shogunate era, the title of this post is a reference to one; those were intended for tourists passing through Edo, but were the training ground for cinematic perspective, more deeply intended for the travelling eye.
On a technical level, I believe this was solely conceived as an exercise where the filmmaker got to work out a few shots and atmospheres he had in mind: spring rains, clear evenings, bird's eye views, calligraphic sweeps, many worlds fleeting from the windows of a speeding train. A lot of that paid off in Lily Chou-Chou, there in a longer form.
This is small but full and ripe, a rare thing. I'm even more eager to follow his work.