Stuart Galbraith, IV

Bis vor kurzem war das japanische Kino in der westlichen Welt noch weitgehend unbekannt. Jahrelang mussten sich Liebhaber des japanischen Films mit den gesammelten Werken Akira Kurosawas, lausigen Aufarbeitungen der Filme von Kenji Mizoguchi und Yasujiro Ozu, Tonnen von Animes und schlecht synchronisierten Horrorfilmen zufrieden geben. Viele der großartigen Filmmacher wie Mikio Naruse und Keisuke Kinoshita blieben im Westen unentdeckt und auch die japanischen Musicals und Comedies sind außerhalb Asiens kaum jemanden ein Begriff. Diese Sammlung holt das Versäumte nach: Kraftvolle Poster und hinreißende Fotografien illustrieren die Geschichte des japanischen Kinos.… (plus d'informations)

I picked this one up while wandering the stacks at the --- Library, and I took it home to read about the 20-odd Godzilla movies, among others.

The introduction essays to the book point out something I've learned myself over the years -- that the common conception of Japanese SF/F movies (of the 50s, 60s, and 70s especially) is of cheaply made schlock, kiddie movies, laughable and stupid films of men stomping miniature buildings while wearing rubber monster suits is both true and grossly false. Like the American movies that inspired them, these movies are also dealing with very real, very important fears and hopes, and represent how a culture looks at those fears and hopes via the venerable method of fantastic story-telling.

The book starts out with the classic Kurosawa film Rashomon before delving into the steadily murkier waters of giant monster movies I so love. Once we get into Godzilla (Gojira) country, I'm happy. The book has even changed my mind about one of the movies, Godzilla vs. Biollante (Biorante). In this one, our favorite radioactive not-a-saur goes up against -- wait for it -- a giant rosebush mutated with his own cells. Yes, this cracks me up whenever I think about it, Godzilla as hedgeclipper, but the essay points out small bits in the movie I missed, such as how this movie is actually rather dark and even a touch haunting and thoughtful. Sure, that's a big stretch for a rubber monster movie, but considering how moved I was when I saw the original, un-Americanised version of Gojira, and how really scary mid- and late-90s additions to the series are, I think I need to give this one another chance.

While often interesting in terms of history, "critical analysis" is, in my opinion, an overstatement of what the book contains. Each movie is presented with a plot summary, some facts about the actors and crew, notes about changes made to American versions, and comments about critical reception. The author touches on various themes in the movies -- few of which are obscure, as they were often delivered to the audience with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the kneecap -- but never delves far into the particular cultural or historical events taking place prior to or during the movie's development and production. Even more disappointing, the author makes no attempt to unpack any symbols or ideas that are peculiar to the Japanese and are obscure to an American viewer.

I've seen many of the Godzilla movies (and these movies are the major subject of the essays), and I've seen several of them multiple times. They brim with puzzling relationships, actions, ideas, and images that I'm certain make perfect sense to the Japanese but are mysterious to me (just as I know that many US films contain perfectly understandable cliches, tropes, symbols, and stereotypes that are strange and obscure to those outside my culture.) I hoped some of those might have been explained in a movie analysis, but they rarely, if ever, are.

Nevertheless, the essays are accessibly and entertainingly written. They contain a lot of facts about the movies, the directors and the production companies. Galbraith gives us a peek into a world more complex than most of us ever consider.

… (plus d'informations)

One of the parts of college I loved the most was the film society. My family didn't go to the movies all that often, so being able to catch up on "the classics" on the big screen -- for a ridiculously low price -- was a special treat. I remember seeing two Akira Kurosawa films (Throne of Blood and Ran) and I was hooked. I still haven't made it through all of Kurosawa's films, but the ones I've enjoyed the most have Toshiro Mifune in them. When I realized there was a book about both of them, I hoped to learn more about this director-actor relationship. Unfortunately, while the full title of the book is The Emperor and the Wolf: The Lives and Films of Akira Kurosawa and Toshiro Mifune, the book is only thorough on "The Films" part but quite terse on "The Lives" part.

The format of the book is pretty formulaic. Following a general year-to-year chronology, we learn about each film (or, at times, television episodes) by either Kurosawa or Mifune. The general storyline is detailed, so if you haven't seen these movies, be aware some major plot points are revealed. If there's some history of how the film came about -- how the story was conceived, how the movie was paid for -- that gets a few paragraphs. Then there's some discussion about how the movie fared, with box office totals and contemporary reviews.

Adding to these descriptions, there are some brief interludes. We learn about Japanese cinema in general, including the up-and-down fortunes of Toho, where both Kurosawa and Mifune got their starts. Each movie summary usually profiles a supporting actor or actress, or sometimes a member of the film crew (including script writers, camera operators, and music scorers).

If that all seems a little dry -- well, it is. We get tiny little bits about the lives of Kurosawa and Mifune (the bits get slightly longer for the most recent anecdotes), but they are all too brief and don't give a full characterization of the principals. We see them working together for an amazing sixteen films, but there's almost nothing about the incredible chemistry between them. Then when they go their separate ways, there's very little analysis about the famous "feud."

The lack of real analysis is what prevents this from being a five-star book. The author is a Kurosawa fan, and can't quite bring himself to criticize any of the director's wrong turns. He brushes off the Kurosawa/Mifune rift as a scheduling problem. He never really questions Kurosawa's attempted suicide. In an effort to provide a comprehensive retrospective of this impressive filmography, the author lets too many quotations speak for him.

It's still an impressive book. The history of Japanese cinema is fascinating, starting with the studio system, and cumulating with the battle between producing mindless hits and producing meaningful films that lose money. This title covers a lot of ground; it's a treasure trove for anyone studying film. But it falls a little flat as it never provides the two main characters with any personality (with nicknames like "The Emperor" and "The Wolf" there are bound to be better stories to share!). With that caveat, this is a book worth reading and studying.… (plus d'informations)