"Poets are mortals who, singing earnestly, sense the trace of the fugitive gods, stay in these tracks and trace for the mortals, their brothers, the way toward the turning. But who among mortals can trace such a track? Traces are often hard to behold and are always the legacy of an assignation that is barely felt." -Jean-Luc Godard, Histoire(s) Du Cinema
Kiyoshi Kurosawa has proved many times over that he is one of the filmmakers who is both most attuned to our present condition and best able to get this vision on screen. He generally accomplishes this (somewhat) within the strictures of genre, in films like Cure and Pulse, but Barren Illusions comes much closer to pure art film.
Its most memorable shot is a long uncut sequence in which the young couple at the center of the film wander through a children's park in which balloons and beach balls are strewn about, and proceed to half- heartedly amuse themselves with them in about as many ways as possible. This is, in fact, what they do throughout most of the film. A friend brings recording equipment to their apartment and tells the girl to repeat a few phrases on acoustic guitar and keyboard, and then loops and arranges the results. The music, a sort of woozy trip-hop, reflects the total lack of effort expended in producing it. It's hollowly pleasant. The boy decides they should buy a dog, and they're seen around with it a few times, having the same kind of superficial fun they always have, before it's taken away. The theme of purposelessness which pervaded Bright Future is also at the center of this film, but whereas it manifested itself in unfocused rage there, here there is simply ennui.
In one of Kurosawa's trademark moments of magical realism, what appear to be a bunch of feathers begin streaming past the girl's window as she faces the other way in her room. Upon noticing this, she immediately closes the shutters. It turns out it's the beginnings of an epidemic of pollen. The boy is caught by it in the park and escapes into a washroom. A middle-aged doctor tells him that teens are particularly susceptible to an allergic reaction, whereas he himself is largely immune, and prescribes the boy a medication which tends to cause impotence.
Kurosawa has been criticized for placing these types of blatant analogies in his films (I'd say the pollen is a clear stand in for depression), but they're made palatable by the richness of their surroundings. The significance of the tree is explained quite early in Charisma, and yet the viewer will struggle to maintain the analogy as things grow more and more complex. There are no easy readings of Kurosawa films. This is even commented upon by characters in Retribution and Serpent's Path, essentially goading the audience as to whether they've solved the puzzle. His methods remind me of an interview I saw with Krzysztof Kieslowski, who said that when Poland suffered under censorship, there was a special bond between audience and filmmakers, as they both thought critically and worked together to subvert the censors. This bond was lost with the breakup of the Soviet Union, after which audiences began to engage passively with films as entertainment, as most Western audiences do. Although Kurosawa does not face similar problems, I believe his films attempt to engage the critical faculties of his audience in a similar manner. It could also be the case that Kurosawa's insights aren't fully worked out and systematic, but "the legacy of an assignation that is barely felt," and that he is just slightly less lost than the rest of us.
Sex is almost never present in the film, although it is alluded to a number of times. The young couple are themselves quite sexless, with her boyish haircut and his feminine features. After one of their breakups, she is picked up by another young man at a soccer game, allowing our male protagonist to briefly assert his masculinity when he physically assaults the other young man at McDonalds and reclaims his place in the seat across from the girl. Earlier, she is clearly distressed that he is taking the medication, given its side effects, but nothing more is said on the matter. At one point, after eating dinner at home, she clutches at her stomach and falls to the floor. It is unclear whether she feels sick or whether it is the pangs of an absence which the dog may have briefly assuaged. When he asks if she's alright, she replies, "I'm dead." After he helps her to bed, there's a brief erotically charged moment which elicits a laugh from her, but he immediately returns to cleaning the dishes, while she gets up and tells him, "I'm leaving."
As with any Kurosawa film, the world around the young couple is not inert. There is a criminal element, and violence seems to spring up randomly. The girl encounters a co-worker at the post office who advises her not to bother with a broken photocopier. "The machine hasn't worked since 2000. And yet nobody does anything. Why won't someone do something?" After their next encounter, the woman jumps off the roof of the post office. There's a drum procession, young thugs, and prominently placed American brands all over. What the significance of any one of these elements might be is as much of a puzzle as ever, and yet they're cut through with a significance which we all understand intuitively. They come from the world which surrounds us, a world which is not particular to Japan.
Kurosawa films often end in a sort of apocalyptic chaos, as though this is the only resolution he can see these problems building towards. Bright Future has vaguely revolutionary undertones. Barren Illusions proffers neither warnings nor solutions, and yet it is one of his most damning critiques of the current state of things.
Kiyoshi Kurosawa has proved many times over that he is one of the filmmakers who is both most attuned to our present condition and best able to get this vision on screen. He generally accomplishes this (somewhat) within the strictures of genre, in films like Cure and Pulse, but Barren Illusions comes much closer to pure art film.
Its most memorable shot is a long uncut sequence in which the young couple at the center of the film wander through a children's park in which balloons and beach balls are strewn about, and proceed to half- heartedly amuse themselves with them in about as many ways as possible. This is, in fact, what they do throughout most of the film. A friend brings recording equipment to their apartment and tells the girl to repeat a few phrases on acoustic guitar and keyboard, and then loops and arranges the results. The music, a sort of woozy trip-hop, reflects the total lack of effort expended in producing it. It's hollowly pleasant. The boy decides they should buy a dog, and they're seen around with it a few times, having the same kind of superficial fun they always have, before it's taken away. The theme of purposelessness which pervaded Bright Future is also at the center of this film, but whereas it manifested itself in unfocused rage there, here there is simply ennui.
In one of Kurosawa's trademark moments of magical realism, what appear to be a bunch of feathers begin streaming past the girl's window as she faces the other way in her room. Upon noticing this, she immediately closes the shutters. It turns out it's the beginnings of an epidemic of pollen. The boy is caught by it in the park and escapes into a washroom. A middle-aged doctor tells him that teens are particularly susceptible to an allergic reaction, whereas he himself is largely immune, and prescribes the boy a medication which tends to cause impotence.
Kurosawa has been criticized for placing these types of blatant analogies in his films (I'd say the pollen is a clear stand in for depression), but they're made palatable by the richness of their surroundings. The significance of the tree is explained quite early in Charisma, and yet the viewer will struggle to maintain the analogy as things grow more and more complex. There are no easy readings of Kurosawa films. This is even commented upon by characters in Retribution and Serpent's Path, essentially goading the audience as to whether they've solved the puzzle. His methods remind me of an interview I saw with Krzysztof Kieslowski, who said that when Poland suffered under censorship, there was a special bond between audience and filmmakers, as they both thought critically and worked together to subvert the censors. This bond was lost with the breakup of the Soviet Union, after which audiences began to engage passively with films as entertainment, as most Western audiences do. Although Kurosawa does not face similar problems, I believe his films attempt to engage the critical faculties of his audience in a similar manner. It could also be the case that Kurosawa's insights aren't fully worked out and systematic, but "the legacy of an assignation that is barely felt," and that he is just slightly less lost than the rest of us.
Sex is almost never present in the film, although it is alluded to a number of times. The young couple are themselves quite sexless, with her boyish haircut and his feminine features. After one of their breakups, she is picked up by another young man at a soccer game, allowing our male protagonist to briefly assert his masculinity when he physically assaults the other young man at McDonalds and reclaims his place in the seat across from the girl. Earlier, she is clearly distressed that he is taking the medication, given its side effects, but nothing more is said on the matter. At one point, after eating dinner at home, she clutches at her stomach and falls to the floor. It is unclear whether she feels sick or whether it is the pangs of an absence which the dog may have briefly assuaged. When he asks if she's alright, she replies, "I'm dead." After he helps her to bed, there's a brief erotically charged moment which elicits a laugh from her, but he immediately returns to cleaning the dishes, while she gets up and tells him, "I'm leaving."
As with any Kurosawa film, the world around the young couple is not inert. There is a criminal element, and violence seems to spring up randomly. The girl encounters a co-worker at the post office who advises her not to bother with a broken photocopier. "The machine hasn't worked since 2000. And yet nobody does anything. Why won't someone do something?" After their next encounter, the woman jumps off the roof of the post office. There's a drum procession, young thugs, and prominently placed American brands all over. What the significance of any one of these elements might be is as much of a puzzle as ever, and yet they're cut through with a significance which we all understand intuitively. They come from the world which surrounds us, a world which is not particular to Japan.
Kurosawa films often end in a sort of apocalyptic chaos, as though this is the only resolution he can see these problems building towards. Bright Future has vaguely revolutionary undertones. Barren Illusions proffers neither warnings nor solutions, and yet it is one of his most damning critiques of the current state of things.