Do You Still Sell Watches?: The Wayward Cloud (2005)

I figured by now I would have stopped placing expectations upon the various marathons I have engaged with particularly since, to date, all but one of the marathons has been genre based.  The musical though, I was fairly certain could only be so post-genre without clearly calling attention to itself or by completely destroying any sense of the classical feel associated with the style.  However, having already encountered the profoundly moving Dancer in the Dark, it seemed as though that corner of the market had already been consumed.  However, when I began watching The Wayward Cloud, a Taiwanese 'musical' it became rather apparent that this was all but the case and indeed, another dreary, jarring, but no less captivating musical existed in the post-modern context while also becoming its own space cinematically.  To describe The Wayward Cloud as a musical seems to be the most fitting categorization as it really defies any other singular naming and the musical interludes throughout the film seem to be the only narratively consistent choice, although even these are so wildly different from one another that such a connection is tenuous at best.  A film whose premise is vague, The Wayward Cloud takes no time establishing metaphors and making sweeping manifestos about the society in which it depicts, one that is clearly stuck in a hyper-sexualized form of censorship, wherein the moment any allowance for gratuity comes forth it is dealt with in a very intense and audacious manner.  Audacity, however, when delivered with poise and poignancy can be a truly moving thing. I would argue that this is the case with The Wayward Cloud, whose use of musical numbers, seemingly inconceivable angled shots and a lot of sex, results in something that borders on viscerally transcendent.  I found myself drawn into the film in a curious way, almost frustrated when I would become so fixated on the words as to miss a visual or vice-versa only to know when the ending had occurred, one that is lingered on in a disconcerting, but tragically prophetic kind of way.  The Wayward Cloud is certainly not for all audiences, but the engaged cinephile will come out of this viewing with their sense of narrative completely thrown awry, regardless of how many musicals they have seen prior.

The Wayward Cloud works almost as a series of vignettes, more so than an actual singular narrative, sharing more in common with works like Tampopo, or the equally dreary Songs from the Second Floor.  However, there seem to be some situations and elements that can be gleaned from the larger context.  Assumedly existing within the space of Taiwan, the country is suffering from an unexplained water shortage, wherein groups of people have begun hoarding water for frivolous use such as excessive bathing.  Those without water have resorted to using watermelon and its juice as a source of sustenance.  As such, both things become commodified in various ways, for some becoming a thing of sexual desire, whether a watermelon serve as a sex toy, or a group of adult film stars rely on the use of water to add intensity to their scenes.  Indeed, the only coherent relationship seems to occur between the porn star Hsiao-kang (Kang-sheng Lee) and a woman who is completely at odds with her life Shiang-chyi (Shiang-chyi Chen), often losing her keys and other items in frustration.  The problem with the relationship between the couple, however, is that Shian-chyi is unaware of Hsiao-kang's new job, still assuming him to work selling watches at a local mall and while Hsiao-kang seems quite content with his work, he is aware of the shame and confusion it might place upon Shiang-chyi, thus he attempts to hide the work from her only meeting her in spaces where it seems safe, often centering around their attempts to cook food.  Yet, the reality comes to the surface and Hsiao-kang can no longer hide his job, leading to attempts by Shiang-chyi to over exert her sexuality, much to the disdain of Hsiao-kang who further feels shame when he sees her attempting to please him in only physical manners.  Indeed, in one musical sequence Hsiao-kang appears to see himself as a sort of mutated beast one that cannot escape his fate considering issues of economic access.  In a final scene, Hsiao-kang is asked to do the unthinkable in terms of sexual acts, only to be caught in the process by Shiang-chyi leading to an 'apology' of sorts by Hsiao-kang one that is both disturbing but undeniably fitting considering the narrative up until this point.

While I would hesitate to center this film within any stylistic frame of reference, particularly since it seems so comfortable navigating, much like a chameleon, through the various genres as a means to show their fluidity and malleability even when the subject matter seems abject or debasing.  However, between the constant imagery of graphic sex and more than a few blatant allusions to unconscious desire, The Wayward Cloud exists as a surrealist film, one that is also doubling as a musical.  There are certainly other musicals that possess doses of the surreal throughout, but that is often in reference to their cinematic style, not so much to the content and context of the various scenes.  Some of the obvious occurrences pull from the use of the watermelon in replace of a vagina, taking on a fruit and sweetness metaphor that could have just as easily been thought up by Dali and Buñuel were they not to busy making the same comparison to a sea urchin.  However, there are also layered possibilities within other scenes, ones that are shot sumptuously almost as though to mock the viewer as they are taking erotic, albeit unconscious, pleasure in the scenes throughout.  The first is the key that has become stuck in a recently paved road, as anyone with remote familiarity with psychoanalysis or surrealism will know, the key is about as clear a metaphor as possible suggesting at once suppression, sexual awakening and access to the other.  Here the key is something to be removed from the ground, in a sort of excavation, an act that also leads to water springing forth and bursting into the viewers presence.  That which was once inaccessible now becomes a thing to consume visually, however, the water is dirty and therefore undrinkable making it useless to the characters on screen.  It is a clever visual demand of the viewers' involvement in the drought by merely coming into contact with the film.  The other sequence of note involves the flash frying of cooking noodles, ones that explode the moment the hit hot oil, at times even burning.  This sequence involving Hsiao-kang and Shiang-chyi is indicative of their relationship, one that explodes in passion, but like the noodles when they hit another food, or issue of Hsiao-kang's employment regress.  It takes a forced confirmation, as occurs at the end of this film to truly evoke any unconscious change.  A viewer is reacting to the closing of this film both viscerally and subconsciously and the result is perfectly unsettling.

Key Scene:  The umbrella song is visually complex and notedly distinct from the rest of the film, although the entirety of The Wayward Cloud is wholly cinematic.

Buy the DVD make your friends watch this with you.  If they leave midway or tell you they hate it, they probably should not be your friends.

Vanity. Vanity. All Is Vanity: Babette's Feast (1987)

The period piece is a genre that I always approach with a considerable amount of hesitance, which is a surprise considering that I absolutely adore everything about Downton Abbey and would probably come around on most any other Masterpiece theater production I undertook.  I am rather certain that a lot of my uncertainty is grounded within the very theatrical, costumed and rigid nature of the style.  My review of Anna Karenina made careful note of the manner in which the narrative styling and cinematic set-up counters the tradition of the period piece.  The Scandinavian classic Babette’s Feast is, undoubtedly, entrenched within the tradition of the period piece and is heavily influenced by a commentary on the nature of religion, making it quite similar to one of my favorite directors Carl Theodor Dreyer.  I will admit that I would never have undertaken a viewing of this movie, were it not for my research surrounding food in film, but I am more than glad to have engaged with this work, because not only is it beautifully composed, poetically written and simply cinematic, but it has opened me up to the world of period pieces done correctly and I cannot wait to engage with the genre full scale in the upcoming months.  Babette’s Feast is both an incredibly intense consideration of the role selfishness and vanity play into an individuals existence, as well as a reminder that even in the most distinct of philosophies and national barriers things like good music and beautiful music can help to unify any group.  It is also noteworthy that the film deeply considers the nature of femininity as it relates to a variety of oppressions and the rather creative manner in which many women navigated such issues and obstacles.  Yet, one of the major elements that seems to create a visually striking and unconventional film with Gabriele Axel's particular period piece, is that it is so dismissive of temporal and spatial constraints as to almost be experimental in its grandiosity, matching beautifully with its questions of religion and self-identity in a way truly and unequivocally transcendent.  Suffice to say, Babette's Feast is a cinematic revelation and yet again a remind that not all films from the 80's find themselves shrouded by the showiness of the era.

Babette's Feast, does indeed have a character named Babette (Stephane Audran) and while she certainly plays considerably into the plot, especially in its back half, she is rather irrelevant to the front portion of the narrative.  The film focuses primarily on two sisters, Martine (Birgitte Fiederspiel) and Phillippa (Bodil Kjer) whohave lived into old age within the same provincial village in Denmark.  Viewers are led to believe that they have spent much of their life locked on the island as a direct result of their father possessing them as his own, mostly as a result of his religious believes, but seemingly out of a sense of protection, especially since it appears as though their mother has long been forgotten.  The  knowledge that the father refuses to allow either to marry does not go unacknowledged, in fact, many townsfolk attempt to ignore this provocation and ask, always with failed results.  Two figures attempts factor in prominently, firstly in the haphazard and a bit goofy soldier General Lowenhielm (Jarl Kulle) who makes an offer for one of the daughters, only to be rejected leading him to spill his life into his work in the military, using his learned "piety" from the time with the daughters and their father to his advantage, even securing and economically viable, as much as it is political marriage.  The second suitor Achille Papin (Jean-Phillip LaFont) stumbles upon the family after hearing Phillipa sing at church, instantly becoming infatuated with the diva like quality of her voice.  He asks for permission of her father to train her in singing, something she initially agrees to although, when he realizes the sexual implications of such requests, he demands that Papin remove his services and return to Paris.  The narrative then flashes forward considerably and the much older Phillipa and Martine receive Babette at their doorstep, with a note explaining that she is Papin's daughter and wishes nothing more than to serve as a cook to the elderly women.  Although the women explain that they can offer no money, Babette agrees to work for free, eventually bringing the old ladies more money than before, which is, ultimately, topped off by her winning the lottery.  Babette as a gift, wishes nothing more than to cook a dinner for the parish in celebration of their late father, begging to cook a great French meal.  The sisters are hesitant, but agree to let Babette have this one wish, and she blows all of her winnings on the lavish meal, even inviting General Lowenhielm to return.  The dinner complete with rich food and drink serves as a unifier and a breaking of enforced conformity over decades of silence.  The silence is broken though, not through words, but through subtle expressions and actions.  Babette reveals that she was once a cook at a lavish French restaurant and that the sister's allowing her to enjoy her artistic past was greater than any gift imaginable and all those involved seem quick to agree.

Babette's Feast won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film the year it was entered and deservedly so, considering that if an American based society is to identify a singular film to represent the entirety of foreign cinema, Babette's Feast is certainly a deserved candidate in its transnational nature.  In fact, Babette's Feast, while very much a film about the beauty of a singular shared experience, via a feast, is also a consideration of border crossing.  This, of course, happens in very literal terms with the heavy amount of traveling done throughout the film, but can also find itself manifesting in a variety of different manners.  For example, the notion of a spiritual being crossing even invisible borders is a though professed by the sisters' father and a theme that seems prescient throughout the film.  While the characters seem to share distinctly different views of the world, they, nonetheless, seem similarly affected by a large entity, we can call it God in the context of this film, but its essence in some instances moves the villagers to sublime internal remembrance, while in other cases it causes characters to consider their entire existence, as Lowenhielm existentially considers his own vain life, perhaps serving as the main factor in his decision to return for the dinner.  Borders are also crossed in a gendered sense, although not in the performative element of somebody like Judith Butler.  Instead, gender identities are a very fixed thing, however, the roles they can perform in society seem less strict.  For example, both the sisters manage to take the place of their father as spiritual advisors for their community, and while they do not don the dress of a religious figure their status is, nonetheless, tantamount to such associations.  In a similar context, Babette's role as a cook may seem heavily domesticated and, exists in such a state up until the final feast, but with her willingness to throw caution to the wind in the French oriented menu and the revelation that she has been in charge of a restaurant certainly makes a viewer reconceptualize each gendered performance in the film, even by male figures like Papin and Lowenhielm, which become far less "masculine" in a sense.

Key Scene:  Sure the feast takes up a better third of the movie, but it is both grand and simple and serves as an extended and poetic scene and one of the best uses of food as metaphor I have seen to date.

This is a Hulu offering via the folks at Criterion.  I can only hope for a future bluray release, but until then this should work perfectly.

Experiments In Film: Daisies (1966)

It is a rare thing for me to become entirely invested in a film from the opening scene all the way to its closing moments, as die hard as a cinephile as I am, I will fully admit that I am guilty of occasional waining and checking of the phone during a film.  It is truly a feat for a film to have my vested interest for its entirety, particularly in regards to anything with a heavily experimental or avant-garde lean, considering that these films take a considerable amount of time to unfold and become clear in their meaning.  Yet, Vera Chytilova provides just that in her experimental feature film Daisies a film so decidedly its own that I found myself completely glued to its offerings, even when repetition was the means for said offering.  Chytilova's film is clearly a work of realized art, each frame cleverly matching or juxtaposing its predecessor, ultimately, lacing together a mesmerizing, psychedelic consideration of what it meant to be a woman tapping into her own individualized feminine identity as it would be in the mid-sixties Czech Republic.  I have seen many a failed experimental cinematic endeavors which banked heavily on their abilities to use colorization and tinting to capture the viewers on at least a visceral level, however, it is rather clear that, like the silent filmmakers of days gone by, of which the director takes a clear influence, each tint job and color variation serves as a consideration of the moment or a larger commentary on the collective situation.  With that being said many of the rainbow filled scenes would undoubtedly play well with a drug toking individual.  Even if the film has a decidedly trippy element about its existence, that does little to dissuade the astute viewer form its multifaceted consideration of the ideals of feminist and the politics surrounding the acts and notion of destruction, especially those occurring within and towards the bourgeois state of mind.  Oppression is not a thing to be overlooked within Chytilova's film, however, as a earnest filmmaker, in line with the mentality of Godard, Daisies is careful to condemn its characters for living within a world of disillusion and lies, showing them in perilous situations and reminding viewers that it was the only possible and plausible outcome.

Daisies both directly and loosely considers the movement through consumption oriented spaces by two young, what viewers can assume to be, Czech girls.  These girls go about quoting various cultural, philosophical and political figures, all the while undermining the authoritative figures in their path.  Food, as a few of the films I have reviewed here of late for a project, plays an integral role in the narrative.  In the case of Daises, it is particularly pro-feminist in that the two characters use it as a means to contend with patriarchal oppression, both in the rejection of social norms, as well as their own decisions to possess their own bodies, via consuming what they please, when they please.  However, much has been made of the director's choice to place the main characters in a dire situation during one of the closing scenes of the film, in fact, some have suggested that this moment is a clear discrediting of the feminist movement on the part of Chytilova, which I find to be completely absurd and somewhat ungrounded.  Firstly, considering that the film was released in 1966, any image of a woman, or in this case women, rejecting the domestic sphere outright would have proven somewhat revolutionary in its being new and fresh.  The Czech New Wave, while running somewhat parallel to the second wave of feminism, nonetheless, appears to pre-date it a few years in its commentary on the serious issue of spheres.  Secondly, the choice of the director to place these women in peril is not an artistic metaphor as much as it was a real case for women in the time, many, like the main protagonists, found themselves floundering, all be it not in water per se, hoping to be rescued by those with skills and power, in the case of the era men, and while this certainly occurs, even if indirectly, the narrative seems to suggest an overall initiative for women to seek self-reliance and forward momentum, even if that means a continued exploitation of powerful, rich men.

To find out more information about the film Daisies, or its director, click either of the images below:

Noodles Are Synergetic Things: Tampopo (1985)

In many instances a film has a reputation that precedes itself, often getting mentioned within circles of those in the "cinematic know" if you will.  These movies are exceptional and for many reasons fail to make it into the traditional top 100 film lists that flood a burgeoning cinephiles exploration.  For a long time one such film for me was that of Charles Laughton's The Night of the Hunter, easily one of the greatest achievements in cinema, despite for some time only being witnessed by a handful of film students, becoming an excellent reference in one of my favorite films of all time.  Other films, like House becoming a point of reference due to their sheer inconceivability, while also being a thoroughly enjoyable film.  It is perfectly balanced between these two lines that we find a film like Juzo Itami's Tampopo, with its surrealist concern for deconstructed linear narrative being paired so well with classicist cinematic stylings.  I would venture to say that Tampopo in all its zany and incomparable antics exists with such a concern for the sensory that it is much like the food varied and depicted throughout.  Where my uncertainty with something like Tampopo lies is when describing its cinematic intentions, considering that it manages to be both a light-hearted pseudo-romantic comedy, while also being a biting critique of the effects of patriarchal tradition and Western influences on a Japan, that at the time, was still attempting to assure its grounding on a global scale.  The film also exists within the realm of the meta, allowing for viewer to become engaged with a drawn out depiction of urban Japan, while also considering the very intimate experiences of a somewhat definable protagonist, or in this case group of protagonists, yet the late Itami is careful not to leave too much certainty with any character, often taking the the viewer's assumptions averting and reverting them throughout.  Tampopo is a film that could be viewed differently and rewardingly every time, always changing and hopefully evolving, not much different than the way one's tastes change from youth to old age.

Tampopo begins with a direct addressing to the audience by a sly and aggressive Yakuza member simply referred to as Man In The White Suit (Koji Yakusho) who demands that all those viewing the film should avoid eating during the movie, as not to cause teh narrative to become inaudible over crunching and mastication, of course, this man will reappear throughout the narrative, apparently existing within and outside of the cinematic space simultaneously.  Other minor stories fill in the blanks, whether they be the Man and his erotic consumption of food with his lover, or a set of Japanese business man looking perplexed at the menu in a French restaurant, only to be educated by a younger member.  Yet another narrative focuses on the false notions of Western eating etiquette, while yet another considers an old woman entering a gourmet shop only to squeeze and destroy various foods much to the chagrin of the employee on duty.  However, the larger narrative focuses on milk truck drivers Goro (Tsutomo Yamazaki) and Gun (Ken Watanabe) who decide to stop into a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop after a night of driving and reading about the art of noodle eating.  However, the shop they decide to stop in is run by the widowed Tampopo (Nobuko Miyamoto) whose lack of a husband as a guide has led to her flailing business, as well as a disconnection from her son who is repeatedly bullied at school.  Tampopo is not void of her own dealing with tough individuals and is confronted constantly by the drunk Pisuken (Rikia Yasuoka).  Goro attempts to divert the aggression of Pisuken only to be beat up in the process, leading to his being awoken the next day by Tampopo to food and a frank discussion of her inability to cook noodles.  Realizing the truth in his statement Tampopo begs Goro to help her excel at the craft, something he agrees to wholeheartedly, thus beginning their journey through the Japanese urban landscape to create a hybrid of all the secrets relating to the art of noodle cooking.  This journey takes Tampopo, Goro and a variety of other characters from the world of Japanese decadence to the slums of the city, each providing a necessary element to the larger art of running a noodle shop.  in the process Tampopo and Goro become romantically involved, Tampopo's son confronts his bullies and even Pisuken comes around to joining the cause, making an assumed success out of a once flailing business.  The film then closes on a shot that suggests that the love of consumption starts at an incredibly young age.

Tampopo runs in the same vein as a Monty Python sketch film, say Meaning of Life to be exact, but manages to somehow carry the philosophical and political levity of something like Godard's Weekend.  I absolutely loved Tampopo as a piece of cinema and want to make note of some of its more clever social critiques, however, I was by no means blinded by some of its egregious issues, for which I plan to mention as well.  Firstly, Tampopo is a film expressly concerned with intersectionality, whether various intersections allow for one to gain or lose respect in a society.  For example, it is not only a point of failure that Tampopo's son is of a lower-class status, but his lack of a paternal figure causes him to be ridiculed as well.  In opposition, would be somebody from the group of businessmen eating French cuisine, so involved in their world of masculine, wealthy privilege that they completely ignore Goro and Tampopo on the street, nearly trampling them in the process.  Even in this privilege, however, the group refuses to acknowledge ignorance, or in this case their own "otherness" in regards to a Western ideal, blindly following one of the groups orders for salad, soup and a beer.  The film also takes note to mention the idea that enlightenment and knowledge are not synonymous with wealth or power, especially considering that the homeless individuals are much more finely tuned to the niceties of life than any other character, white suit donning Yakuza excluded.  Finally, the film also considers the tragedy related to aging in East Asian countries and the manner with which elderly individuals are relegated to the corners of society, something just addressed in Ann Hui's A Simple Life a film I blogged about last week.  In fact, the only real failing of identities within Tampopo appears to come with the title character herself, while it is great that she is able to find her place in a mad urban landscape, the narrative does suggest that she is only able to do so with the help of a bevy of masculine figures, completely discounting the earnest efforts she has made, while also adhering to every domestic role imaginable.  Essentially she is both housewife and breadwinner and the narrative seems hesitant to make note of this fact, although, its closing does seem to suggest that all power comes from the feminine, so a complete dismissal is far from appropriate.

Key Scene:  There is an excellent homage to Chaplin about midway through the film that is hilarious and poetic in its simplicity, and proves to be one of many highlights in the stellar work.

This is a must own for anybody who enjoys cinema and while it is certainly not the cheapest thing ever it will prove a great investment for years to come.

The First Boy That Sees You Will Want To Marry You: Like Water For Chocolate (1992)

As part of a presentation I am working on I am reconsidering a set of Korean films for their commentary on eating disorders as a means to subvert gender norms and body politics within a contemporary discourse and while I know it is unlikely I am planning being asked about other ways in which food plays into a global narrative of gender and body politics, as such I am attempting to tackle a considerable amount of other films from global cinema which do deal heavily with food as a theme.  The first stop, as should be no surprise, is with the mesmerizing, sultry and sensational Mexican masterpiece Like Water For Chocolate, which has become an art house staple and cinematic treasure within the two decades following its initial release.  Mexican film certainly stands on its own two feet when it comes to an identity and culture, yet one would be really blind if they were to deny Like Water For Chocolate as a clear subscriber to two elements of traditional Spanish cinema, first being the heavy centering within the melodramatic tradition, perhaps the most important stylistic choice in Spanish film for the past century, as well as a clear consideration of magical realism which certainly occupies the space of the film, although it is certainly not as overbearing or present as other films from the country and certainly not on the level of some of the works drawing from Marquez or Lorca.  I popped in a considerably older version of the DVD which is not the greatest of quality and clearly one of the lesser transfers of the film, however, it is easy to pick up on the cinematic magic of the film and its exceptional style.  A film heavily influenced by sexuality and burgeoning desire, one quickly become intoxicated with the early twentieth century world actor-turned-director Alfonso Arau offers viewers.  Of course, one would be foolish to simply label Like Water For Chocolate as a pretty looking film with equally pretty people living within its its spaces, because its very direct gender commentaries and considerations of the spheres occupied by those genders is clearly at the forefront of the film.  It is no surprise that this film seems to grow a larger appreciation as years pass, because it is leaps ahead of its contemporary Belle Epoque a film I enjoyed, but am in no way enamored with, something I can certainly say about Like Water For Chocolate.

Like Water For Chocolate focuses primarily on Tita (Lumi Cavazos) a ethereal young woman who has been burdened with the unfortunate task of watching her mother, considering that she is the youngest daughter and tradition requires that she do so.  Yet, as the narrator of the film, one of Tita's sisters granddaughters, explains she was born with such striking features that the first man to lay eyes on her would undoubtedly fall for her, and this proves to be the case when she meets Pedro (Marco Leonardi).  Yet, Tita's mother Elena (Regina Torne) expressly forbids Tita from getting married, reminding Pedro that she is to take care of her until she passes, suggesting that the young man marries her other daughter Rosaura (Yareli Arizmendi) instead, something that Pedro agrees to do, realizing that it will still afford him an opportunity to see the woman he loves and eventually create a life with her.  Of course, as any good narrative proves, even the best laid plans come with obstacles, despite Pedro doing his best to put off intercourse with Rosaura it eventually happens and a child is born as a result, although, poor health on the part of Rosaura leads to Tita becoming the primary caretaker for the young man, much to Pedro's elation.  All the while, Tita comes to the realization that something about the cooking skills she as acquired from her late grandmother allow her to control the physical reactions of the world around her, using them, in fact, to ruin the festivities fo Rosaura and Pedro's wedding, as well as causing Rosaura to  become overweight and unsightly, completely destroying her desirability to her husband, who already has eyes for Tita.  All the while, Elena condemns Tita's every action and even when she dies her spirit returns to curse the young woman, resulting in fires literally occurring every time Tita and Pedro engage in physical intimacy. In the end, the passion of the two lovers proves to intense and Tita sacrifices them both to a fire, in order, to preserve the sanctity of everyone else in her lineage, although her history is clearly passed down through her cookbook, as the films closing moments suggest.

It is the lineage through food that sets the discussion up concerning femininity within the context of Like Water For Chocolate.  A film full of female interactions, it is both progressive and backwards moving in its execution.  Clearly the film embraces the power of matriarchal rule, creating a clear distinction between the power of Elena and pretty much every figure within the film.  Even Tita's sister Gertrudis (Claudette Maille) manages to take control of a small militia and become a rather uncommon female solider.  However, it is not easy to over look the oppressive acts occurring on the part of Gertrudis to her soldiers and much more blatantly in the relationship between Elena and Tita.  In fact, if one were to draw upon a feminist identity within the film it would seemingly be within the hands of Tita who is oppressed for a majority of the narrative and simply desires to engage in and express her own condemned and disapproved form of love, yet her jealousy and divisive engagements with other members of her family, who are invariably of the same sex means that these actions are to be questioned and to a considerable degree exist within the same oppressive realm of her mother.  Furthermore, little mention is given to the identities of the families various servants, including the main maid who is only used as a almost mammy figure after the loss of the families grandmother.  It is interesting that the feminine bonds disappear after the disappearance of the grandmother, because I would certainly argue that she proves to be the most egalitarian and progressive character in the entire film, despite fitting the description, on paper, of a person who would cling to conservative values.  The time period of this film reminds viewers that women's issues were prescient and to engage in conniving acts of back-stabbing is a decidedly internalized version of patriarchal oppression.  I know I ramble and make some rather unusual connections, it is not to undermine the very pro-feminine nature of Like Water For Chocolate, as it does end suggesting that descendants will undertake a new idea of femininity detached from distrust and jealously, yet the narrative is so heavily invested in these elements that it cannot, and clearly should not, be ignored.

Key Scene:  A scene involving quail and rose petal in its drawn out and grander execution is perfected magical realism if I have ever encountered it and boy does it scream cinematic brilliance.

Buy a copy of this film (no bluray as of yet), it is a must own and a definitive film from the Spanish speaking realm of global cinema.

It's A Harvest Cake: Drag Me To Hell (2009)

It is really hard to say how I come to get certain films in my Netflix queue, however, I am sure when I push them into the top ten I have likely read an article about them or have had them highly recommended by a friend or fellow blogger, at least that was the case with Sam Raimi's 2009 film Drag Me To Hell, which I was up until now completely unaware existed.  Yet, while wasting hours away reading articles on Cracked.com, I discovered one about crazy hidden messages within films and they made particular note of this film.  Knowing that I could not keep my curiosity at bay I had to see if it was truly the huge metaphor on eating disorders that everyone seemed set on commenting.  While this is clearly a means of study within the narrative, to relegate the movie to nothing more than that is quite unfair, because what Raimi offers in this special effects laden and visually striking horror film is an absolutely perfected bit of genre work, perhaps his best since Evil Dead 2.  Unlike many horror films that pace their jumps over spaces and gaps, Drag Me To Hell often layers jump scares throwing multiple ones within a matter of a few seconds, to the point that by a few minutes in I found myself on the edge of the sofa pacing my breaths as to not become to shocked by any unexpected scare.  Of course, since this is a Raimi film one can expect a considerable degree of schlock to emerge, however, knowing this going in it becomes bearable and quite acceptable, lending way to quite a few moments of  noticeably stellar cinematography and editing, all causing viewers to deeply question what value and validity they place on the reality portrayed.  Furthermore, Raimi is a clever director and throughout Drag me To Hell viewers of his cult series The Evil Dead will pick up multiple references to his well-known works, whether they be extended trips to tool sheds, cabin vacation plans, or a particularly familiar car.  Combined together, Drag Me To Hell becomes an exceptional bit of genre filmmaking, one that deserves more consideration and may well inspire me to revisit some of my favorite works from 2009 to see where I would place this on the list.

Drag Me To Hell begins in with a Mexican family bringing their young boy to a seance woman with the hopes that she can cure him of a curse he has received after stealing a necklace from a gypsy, yet failing to do so the boy's body is literally pulled through the ground by demonic hands, to what viewers can assume to be hell.  This then cuts to our main character Christine Brown (Alison Lohman) as up and coming bank lender who is vying for the position of assistant manager at her job, although her chances are growing worse with the competition of Stu (Reggie Lee) a shark of a loaner who is far better at making tough decisions with his clients.  Realizing she must step her game up to assure the position she takes a hard stance on her next appointment, the elderly gypsy woman Mrs. Ganush (Lorna Raver) who has been late on her payments twice already, and even when the woman begs on her hands and knees Christine refuses as a means to make a statement.  This leads to the woman attacking her and yelling assumed gibberish before being hauled out by security.  Stunned but firm in her decision, Christine heads home from work only to be attacked by the woman in the parking lot, in a fight that seems to witness Mrs. Ganush pulling super human feats of strength and after knocking out Christine she grabs her button and places a curse on it, one that becomes a point of paranoia and fear for Christine, much to the demise of her loving boyfriend Clay (Justin Long) who is initially skeptical, particularly when she seeks help from a spiritual advisor.  Eventually though, no amount of denial or hope that she will sleep off nightmares allows for Christine to get better and after vomitting blood at work, she takes it upon herself to find a way to end the curse, which leads to some dark travels through black magic and satanic rituals.  Eventually following the demands to free herself from the curse, Christine obtains the promotion and is gearing up for a stress-free life with Clay, yet a last minute confession of her own greed and lack of concern for humanity quickly changes events and the film's closing takes a turn for the darker.

Much is made of the eating disorder commentary throughout the film and, believe me, it is certainly present.  Between the oral fixation and various amount of things leaving and entering mouths throughout the film it is clear the the psychological decaying is certainly related to consumption or the lac there of, which is reemphasized by Christine's not eating throughout most of the narrative, except for two moments in which she eats ice cream, something that she knows will upset her lactose-intolerant stomach.  This is of course tied to a horrible body image, something that is depicted in her moment looking at her life on a farm which is juxtaposed with a pig, as well as her abrasive interaction with Mrs. Ganush's granddaughter.  To simply pinpoint the film as concerning eating disorders seems to overlook the large commentary on the physical and psychological affects of stress, whether they be shown through the decaying sanity of Christine or the crippled body of Mrs. Ganush they clearly suffer.  Raimi seems quite content to blame many of these issues on financial failures, making particular note of Christine's failure to do the humane thing in response to assuring she receives a promotion, made all the more problematic by the fact that she is not seemingly hurting for money, especially since Clay seems to be doing well as a psychology professor.  The notion of being drug to hell takes on in this reading a very physical sense, the closing scenes are intended to suggest her punishment for doing the incorrect deed, however, it could also become an interesting commentary on her misguided efforts to deal with a problematic body image, which result not in her success, but instead in her eventual suicide.  Perhaps the button does not represent the curse, but a memory of her negative body image so internalized and damaging that it leads her to kill herself.  Of course this is all just conjecture, after all it is a Sam Raimi film, which means it could all just be moments of intense shlock violence with no sort of logical connection, but it is just too damn good for that to be the case.

Key Scene:  The first moment in which the fly factors in heavily is so slow paced and simple that it seems a bit out of place compared to the rest of the film's moments of suspense, yet it also possesses one of the cooler film tricks I have seen in quite some time, nearly breaking the fourth wall, or the dream world of the narrative as well.

This is a hidden gem and is super cheap on bluray, I added a copy to my wishlist to get in the next month and you should make similar plans.  Help me make this a more well respected film by passing it along to friends.

Always Look Ahead And Above Yourself: Jiro Dreams Of Sushi (2011)

As many a documentary filmmaker seem to agree, Albert Maysles specifically, the purpose of the non-fiction filmmaking style is to quote reality to some degree.  A larger question arises though when we are to consider a individual or a reality so unusual or exceptional that they transcend our own understandings of the real or the factual.  This certainly proved true with the penultimate documentary Grey Gardens, directed by Albert and his brother David, however, it also proves to be grounds for many other documentaries, although in most instances filmmakers manage to find exceptional subjects, only to completely drop the ball on creating their world, or as suggested earlier, visually quoting their reality.  This is certainly the case with I Like Killing Flies, a work with a incomprehensible figure that flails to cinematically reflect on the vibrance of the subject.  In contrast, exists what has come to be the standout documentary of last year, 2011's Jiro Dreams of Such, which focuses on world famous sushi chef Jiro Ono, who in his eighties still attends work regularly and delivers a product to his diverse customer base that he acknowledges changes and, hopefully, evolves everyday.  The traditional Japanese food offered by Jiro is not flashy or fusion heavy, but, instead, simple traditional sushi perfect.  Filmmaker David Gelb who both directed and shot this documentary does the idea of quoting reality justice within his visual study of the iconic sushi chef, taking vibrant but subtle angles and deep focus lenses to capture the slow artistry at work in the art of making the cuisine.  Often the film simply rests the camera on the piece of sushi as it occupies a minimalist space on a dish, or will use a series of overlaps and cuts to show time evolution and the notion of memory simultaneously.  The documentary exists both as a provocation on the state of fish-based food industries in Japan as well as a endearing reflection on the life of an accomplished and hard-working individual.  The film is exceptionally well-executed and deserved of the near universal praise it has managed to accrue.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi, as noted previously centers on aging sushi master Jiro Ono, a prominent figure not only in Tokyo where he resides, but on the global scale as well being the oldest chef, and one of the few sushi chefs to receive the prestigious three star rating from the Michelin Institute in France, an accolade one food critic quips in the documentary makes it worth going to said country simply to eat at that restaraunt.  At the time of this film, Jiro is eighty-five and shows no signs to considering retirement, going so far as to awake early in the morning and leave work quite late at night, a routine he has kept up for well over sixty years.  In fact, aside from obeying national holidays and no longer traveling to the fish market, Jiro sustains the same methodologies and approaches from his earliest days in the trade.  While many of his contemporaries have either passed or retired, Jiro keeps at his job, while his eldest son, now well into his fifties works under him as assistant chef, per Japanese tradition.  Incidentally, his younger son, knowing that he will not be afforded the opportunity to take over the restaurant, leading to the opening of his own restaurant, which is a literal mirroring of his father's place considering that he is right handed.  Things seem nearly unstoppable for Jiro and most of the documentary instead chooses to focus on the mad methods incorporated by the chef to assure a quality products, ones he claims are constantly evolving and never perfected.  Jiro proves to be the most humble of individuals and clearly possesses a hidden charm that manages to rub off on all those he meets, especially his former employees and the fish market workers with whom he previously worked.  If anything is left uncertain in the future of the narrative post filming it is the state of sushi as an art form after the eventual loss of Jiro, as well as the problems with overfish.  Although it also considers what troubles Jiro's sons will face living up to their father's illustrious name, yet as the closing moments seem to suggest, this is far from impossible and may already have occurred.

Why then does a seemingly straightforward documentary about a elderly man putting raw fish onto rice seem to gain such mass appeal.  I would suggest that its seemingly universal love is a direct relation to the universal motifs and themes promoted within the film.  Jiro is probably one of the most likable individuals one could ever hope to encounter in live, yet he suffers from some of the same hardships anyone could imagine, most notably issues with addiction to cigarrettes and forming a lasting bond with his children, even his unique distancing from his parents manages to evolve in to a degree of universality.  However, larger themes than these emerge within Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the most obvious being rhetoric surrounding passion and livelihood, one would find difficulty arguing against Jiro's old age being intrinsically tied to the zeal and love he pours out into his work.  The philosophically inclined sushi chef goes so far as to say that the moment a person curses their employment proves to be the exact moment in which they cannot produce a decent product.  Of course, Jiro also struggles with a variety of issues, whether it be technological changes, adapting to a market inundated with quick consumption sushi or changing demands in customer service, however, the zen like patience of Jiro always adapts, as he does when serving each customer, whether it be adjusting portions to unique paces or serving the food on the left hand side to help a customer who favors that hand.  Jiro Dreams of Sushi seems to answer the ever present question of why humanity exists and how one should engage life, if we are to take Jiro's actions to heart, it seems to be to find something we love and continually strive to perfect that, even if said perfection comes in embracing its simplicity.

Key Scene:  There is a moment when Jiro's work is compared to a piece of music that would be on the nose in any other work, however, given the artistic magnitude of this surprisingly minimalist film it fits in all to perfectly.

This is an exceptional film and one of the most stellar documentaries of the past year, if not the past decade.  It is a beautiful work currently available on Netflix Watch Instantly, there is no justification for missing its perfection.

I Can't Put Anything Inside Me: 301, 302 (1995)

This film features a suspense laden-melodramatic narrative, an industrial noise-heavy soundtrack, and two women increasingly dealing with dueling paranoias crammed into incredibly tight spaces.  From that description alone one could assume that I was describing a Dario Argento movie and their assumptions would easily be justified.  However, the movie I am describing is actually a Korean movie from right in the middle of their illustrious and still evolving New Wave.  The film 301, 302 is brilliant, experimental and highly-invocative film that is about women's place and identity within Korea as it moves into modernity.  Heavy with a social critique, at no point does 301, 302 overdo its imagery and become on the nose.  A study in the issue of psychologically based eating disorders in their emergence, existence and eventual ending and it also questions the relationship of food and consumption relate to the body image, particularly, when that images is predicated on male dominance and judgement.  The acting within 301, 302 is stunning, the cinematography is intensely realized and the overall grittiness of this film causes viewers to become aghast at what would normally be simple images of food.  Cheol-su-Park's work intends to undermine the comfort in food and eating, as well as causing aversion to the traditional gaze in cinema, all of which he manages to do and still provide a entirely watchable, if not intense movie.

301, 302 begins, in sorts, at the end of the narrative, we are shown 301 (Eun-jin Pang), referred to by her apartment, engaging with a detective who is inquiring about the disappearance of her neighbor 302 (Sin-Hye Hwang).  301 explains that she was a pseudo-friend of 302, in that she, a cook, often attempted to deliver food to the writer who lived a very secluded and reserved life behind her closed apartment door.  The detective assumes that 301 offers little to his investigation and leaves, at this point the narrative unfolds, through what we assume to be flashbacks.  We are shown 301in earlier years, overweight attempting to cook a meal for her husband who is dismissive based on her expanding weight and constantly heckling about liking her food.  Eventually, 301's husband leaves her and she takes up attempting to win 302 over with her cooking.  She is enraged when she discovers that 302, who has a huge aversion to food, is always throwing her food away.  After confronting 302 about her refusal to eat by forcing her to eat the rotten leftovers, 302 confesses to being sexually abused at a young age while working in a her stepdad's butchers shop, ever since she has found herself disgusted by both food and the act of intercourse.  Feeling terrible about her actions, 301 begins to attempt making food for 302 that will be suitable to her diet, focusing on organic ingredients and often vegetarian dishes.  As each persons past opens up it is revealed that they both engaged in some terrible actions, 301 cooking her cheating husband's dog alive and 302 leaving a girl in a freezer to die.  Eventually their pasts become nearly irreconcilable and the two must come to grips with their consumption disorders in a disturbingly poetic finally, one that has to be seen to be believed.

The film can be critiqued from many venues, particularly in regards to feminist theory.  In terms of a revenge narrative, the possibilities are evident, although it does not necessarily reflect this tradition in that it fails to exact bodily revenge as is the case with works like Deathproof or I Spit On Your Grave.  Similarly one could analyze the notion of voice and empowerment within women's movements, it is no surprise that 302 is a writer, as she sees it as a means to deal with her traumatic past and give voice to others who may have experience similar situations, however, this is also not completely plausible as we are led to believe that she never finishes an entire piece, let alone one one that companies agree to publish.  Ultimately, the film is to be read as a commentary on the power of food in female identity.  For 301 her ability to cook and enjoyment in eating are seen as a means of power, although her consumption becomes problematic when it is used as a means to replace her lack of sexual activity, it, nonetheless, suggests the possibilities of food serving as a means of identity.  Similarly, 302's refusal to eat has its own identity attached to it, although again it is unhealthy in its sexual attachments.  However, this unacknowledged hunger strike certainly has political implications that can be drawn from many a moment in history.  The food in this film, however, is to constantly be questioned, even in the closing moments of this dark film, we are not quite sure as to whether the food serves as a thing of disturbing unison or blatant and literal division.

Key Scene: Pretty much any of the cooking scenes are magnificent.

I am enthralled with this movie and am glad to have purchased a copy, however, I am also aware that it may not be for everyone, so I highly suggest renting the film before making a purchasing decision.

Everyone Has A Song They Listen To On The Sly: Still Walking (2008)

I know I have made this statement on multiple occasions on my blog when I discuss Japanese films post 1960, but I cannot shy away from reemphasizing this now, the parallels between genre films of Japan and The United States are uncanny.  This is certainly the case with the 2008 family drama Still Walking, particularly in its study of the decaying of middle class traditions and the evaporation of the nuclear family ideal.  Arguably though, what separates Still Walking, and many other Japanese works of contemporary filmmaking, from its Western friends, is its attachment to the styling of the late Japanese masters, most notably Yasujiro Ozu.  It was only moments into this film before I realized the blatant similarities in mise-en-scene to Ozu, particularly in director Hirokazu Koreeda's staging the family as a public performance, as opposed to a private spectacle.  The conversations in this film, while dynamic, are undeniably deliberate and have the feeling of theatrics, which is understandable given that many of the films characters find themselves performing actions they believe "appropriate" as opposed to acting in the way they truly desire.  Yet, similar to Chinese director Wong Kar-Wai, Koreeda's film has an impermeable layer of reality that captures viewers into relating to the characters, even if they have little to nothing in common.  So, while I may say that the similarities to American cinema are uncanny, I would not hesitate to suggest that American independent cinema take a much needed cue from their Eastern contemporaries.

Still Walking, as noted above, is a film about family, particularly the distanced Yokoyama family that is still adjusting to the sting of a lost family member.  This family is led, unwillingly, by the aging doctor Kyohei (Yosio Harada) who is more concerned with clutching to his diminishing masculine identity than being hospitable to his children and wife Toshiko (Kirin Kichi) who often provides unwanted opinions about her childern's life decisions.  The remaining children consist of  daughter Chinami (You) and her seemingly mute husband Nobuo (Kazuya Takahashi) and son Ryota (Hirosha Abe) and his newly married wife Yukari (Yui Natsukawa).  Despite convening over the loss of a family member Chinami is preoccupied with claiming the house to herself in the face of her parents inevitable aging, while Ryota fights for his family to accept him as a son that is respectable compared to his deceased brother, while also trying to gain the family's approval of his wife who is a widowed mother.  This entire convoluted and ignored contention, like the food in the movie, is at the point of boiling over, until the family members begin to confess their issues with one another.  Slowly, with large amounts of patience and forgiveness, the family begins to realize the err in their ways and provide both acceptance and forgiveness to one another realizing that their own self-loathing and pain was not comparable to the acidic divisions it created amongst the whole.  In the end the family, including the extremely conservative Kyohei, realize that their lives are fleeting and to do anything but continue walking would be to live their lives and their lost family members life in vain.

This film is about the unspoken bonds of family, even those bonds that have become corroded by the divisions of failed communication.  The film is also very much about the power and problem of misappropriated tradition.  Still Walking is also very much about food.  It is a film about the power of performing family tradition as a focal point for unity, it is clear from the films opening scenes, to conversations about lunch and dinner, that even in the most dire of situations a group can meet and coalesce happily over a plate of food.  I am not terribly keen on food studies, or how they relate to film analysis, but I am aware that this field of study is becoming considerably prominent in academia.  I am not fully prepared to make an intense discussion about food studies as they relate to this film, but I am absolutely certain that it could be done, along with many of the films that made my Thanksgiving day Top Ten list.  Fortunately for me, I have a girlfriend who has taken a handful of classes in this subject and I plan to hound her about what family, food and performance really means.  Hopefully I can draw something deeper and more profound in the future on the subject, but for the time being I just find it intriguing that such a seemingly simple act like cooking, proves to be so necessary in assuring familial cohesion throughout Still Walking.  It is worth discussion, if only for how delicious all the food looks.

This is easily one of the best releases by Criterion in 2010 and a film I would never have watched were it not for its inclusion in the collection.  There are two reasons to pick up this amazing movie from the people over at Criterion: The first is for the brilliant film, and the second is for the recipes that are included in the supplemental book.

Top Ten Thursdays: Food In Movies

First off, let me wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving.  I figured the best way to celebrate was to do a Top Ten Thursday on the best food scenes in movies.  My list may be a bit biased given my rather young age, but here are ten movies with food scenes that I think are particularly good.

10. Pulp Fiction (1994)

From faux-fifties diners to a "Royale with cheese" everything about food in Pulp Fiction is hip and necessary of acknowledgement on this list.

9. American Pie (1999)

"It feels like warm apple pie..."

8. Do The Right Thing (1988)

As should be obvious by now, I never shy away from a chance to mention my personal favorite film.  However, this film is justifiable in its inclusion as Sal's Pizzeria is the center for much of the action in Spike Lee's heated drama.

7. Waiting... (2005)

While it is by no means the best movie ever made, Waiting... does provide a rather accurate looking into the Food and Beverage industry and is certainly respectable for that aspect.

6. Cool Hand Luke (1967)

"No man can eat fifty eggs."

5. Chungking Express (1994)

One of Wong Kar-Wai's masterpieces, Chungking Express focuses on a group of lovers whose lives intersect around a small, but deliciously stocked take-out booth.

4. The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972)

While Bunuel's late work is undeniably political, this dark satire focuses on a group of wealthy individuals who attempt to sit down for a meal only to find themselves constantly blocked by a variety of forces.

3. Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory (1971)

A truly psychadelic work, this movie is a nightmarish blend of candy, childhood longing and a masterful performance by Gene Wilder.

2. A Woman, A Gun, And A Noodle Shop (2009)

This Chinese remake of Blood Simple has one of the coolest cooking scenes ever filmed....ever.

1. I Am Love (2009)

If you ever find yourself curious about how an individual should go about filming food, watch I Am Love.  It is an aria on film and its shots of preparing and consuming food are veritable cinematic feast.










Honorable Mention

Chocolat (2000)
Super Size Me (2004)
I Like Killing Flies (2004)

The Problem Is, People Believe That They Are Good: I Like Killing Flies (2004)

This documentary is an example of a filmmaker stumbling upon the perfect subject.  The most famous example of this being Grey Gardens.  However, what makes the Maysles documentary superior is that despite having two subjects that were illogical and arguably unfilmable they managed to create a masterpiece.  I Like Killing Flies could have also been a masterpiece were it not for its terrible production value.  With this criticism aside, Matt Mahurin's documentary sheds light onto an unconventional philosopher whose ideas about the state of America are has unconventionally good as his repertoire of menu items.

I Like Killing Flies focuses on Greenwich village restaurant owner Kenny Shopshin who after years of business in the community is facing eviction and relocation as a result of upper class invasion of the ultra hip neighborhood.  Kenny, however, is not your classic business owner; he is a foul-mouthed, overweight elderly guy who is more concerned with keeping up his bad boy image than assuring good customer service.  Of course, Kenny has a philosophy behind every action justifying both his rude behavior and his particular fascination with the annihilation of flies.  If this were the plot of I Like Killing Flies it would be more appropriate for Comedy Central than as a Sundance competitor, however, the documentary is far more complicated than this.  It focuses heavily on the problems of transferring tradition...even if it is only a few blocks away.  Kenny along with the rest of his family are a staple in the area and locals expected to have it as a go to for their entire lives.  Faced with the financial necessity of moving Kenny explains his own anxieties with the situation and that his little additions to his hole-in-the-wall restaurant will become futile.  His relocation is an existential crisis that he seems to take very seriously.  Fortunately, after a negotiation on price the Shopshin's relocate their business and are able to keep some of the tradition alive in new and bigger restaurant.  Sadly, Kenny's wife dies in the films closing moments, leaving him rather somber and dismissive of the impending issues of his new location.  In one of the best closing monologues I have ever seen Kenny explains his issue with people assuming themselves to be good people.  He explains that by assuming you are a piece of shit, you can only be surprised when you do good, as opposed to the opposite situation which only leads to being let down.  Kenny, despite claiming to be a piece of shit, is one of the most good-natured and fascinating character studies to date...now if only the director could manage to film with a bit more inspiration perhaps this would be a much more popular documentary.

I am going to forgo criticism hear and instead advocate for the support of local business.  The obvious issue for Kenny is his inability to compete with the big business invasion of Greenwich Village.  He has loyal customers, and despite a rather rigorous set of admittance rules to his restaurant, he is unable to make ends meet.  I see this same issue with the local business of downtown Augusta.  There was a time when people would flock to eat at their restaurants, but with the emergence of "hip" chain places, this is tragically changing.  I would suggest that if you choose to eat out then devote your meals to local places...most of the time the food and service is insurmountably better and you will be contributing to your community.  What more could you ask for from a dining experience?

This is a nice little surprise on Netflix.  If you can get over the terrible filmmaking it is a deeply movie piece about the tragedies of the ever expanding capitalist woes of city life.  For more info on Shopshin's visit their website.