REVIEW: A Stranger of Mine (2005, released 2012)

A Stranger Of Mine is a 2005 comedy-drama directed by Kenji Uchida, which takes as its subject the remarkable interdependence between a number of people who are all largely unknown to each other. Over one evening, the lives of several people will intertwine in a variety of ways.

The film begins with Maki Kuwata (Reika Kirishima) locked out of her boyfriend’s apartment. Homeless, penniless and heartbroken, Maki finds herself in a restaurant when she is suddenly invited to dine with Yusuke Kanda (Sô Yamanaka), a private detective, and his friend, Takeshi Miyata (Yasuhi Nakamura), a hard working businessman.

Miyata is also heartbroken, having been cruelly dumped by the love of his life, Ayumi (Yuka Itaya), just six months before. When Kanda suddenly leaves, Miyata finds himself alone with Maki. Finding out that she has nowhere to go, Miyata asks her to spend the night in his empty apartment. This proves to be only the beginning of a night that seems like it will never end…

Though the description above does not sound like anything special, as indeed is the film’s first half hour, the film is soon jumping backwards and forwards in time, switching protagonists as well as styles and, even, genres. The film begins as a melodrama, focusing on Maki’s grief. Though offset somewhat with Godardian intertitles and visual and audio montage, the melodrama is primarily established by slow fades and whispering voiceovers about loneliness. It is not long before the film switches to rom-com, with a tendency towards serendipity, awkward first meetings and upbeat guitar twangs. Though not without its nicely judged moments and an evident directorial subtlety – shots are frequently held for a long time from a fixed position, allowing the actors to take precedence over the editing, as in the best moments of Ozu – the film can’t help but feel overly simplistic and conventionally twee.

However, the film soon shifts protagonist and genre once again, this time following Kanda, the private detective, throughout the same evening. To give away what genre follows, or to give away any more of the plot(s), would be to rob the viewer of the delights of A Stranger Of Mine. Suffice it to say that the film becomes more and more surprising, much funnier and a greater entertainment. The twisting narrative is presented with invention, wit and without the heavy-handedness of some of the work of Quentin Tarantino and Alejandro González Iñárritu. The film not only makes up for the beginning, but also makes you instantly want to watch it all over again.

Though the film is largely far from serious, it remains a fascinating study of our own limited perspectives. From one angle, a character may appear hectoring and condescending, but when the angle shifts and we get to meet that character, they becomes nervous and desperate. By deftly switching protagonists and genres, writer-director Kenji Uchida allows us to see the same scene from several different perspectives and worldviews. As a result, what was initially romantic may become tense, cynical or ridiculous. On the other hand, the film also details how small, seemingly insignificant actions might hugely affect the lives of other people. In fact, this film does in 97 minutes what took Lucas Belvaux three films and five and a half hours to do with his intriguing but long-winded One, Two, Three Trilogy. All that and a playful trick ending and a note-perfect resolution, one that makes you want to see the scene that immediately follows and, maybe, the scene after that.

Aside from the twisting narrative, which is ultimately the film’s main focus, A Stranger Of Mine also offers several funny moments as well as a riveting plot and some very clever genre deconstructions. Even when you know what genre Kenji Uchida has adopted, you are still never sure quite where the film is going. In fact, the sequences involving Kanda are good enough for a single, straightforward narrative feature on its own merits. Even the film’s score is funny, mocking the typical scores that come with each genre change. Hence, the action score is ridiculously overblown and the romantic score – so annoying initially – is soon revealed as knowingly sentimental.

Oddly enough, one of the film’s most pleasing features is its total lack of any violence, swearing or nudity. Though hardly a family film, it avoids the extremities of Tarantino and Iñárritu, delivering a film that is enjoyable without leaving a sickening taste in the mouth.

Though initially the film may be a little hard to take, it soon redeems itself with an almost infectious sense of playfulness and a genuinely entertaining storyline. The acting is generally very good and, despite the film’s themes, it is ultimately a fun movie, made with an emphasis on having a good time.

A Stranger Of Mine is showing as part of the Whose Film Is It Anyway?: Contemporary Japanese Auteurs festival from February 10 to March 28 at the ICA (London), the Showroom Workstation (Sheffield), the Filmhouse (Edinburgh), the Glasgow Film Theatre (Glasgow), the Queen’s Film Theatre (Belfast), the Watershed (Bristol) and the Broadway (Nottingham). It is well worth seeking out.

See also: Heart, Beating in the Dark (2005)

REVIEW: Heart, Beating In The Dark (2005, released 2012)

Heart, Beating In The Dark is a 2005 film from Shunichi Nagasaki, based on that director’s own 1982 original, in which a young couple, Ringo and Inako, try to deal with life after killing their own daughter. Part re-imagining, part reappraisal, the film concerns itself with questions of morality, guilt, regret and memory.

The film begins with the following voiceover: “In 1982, Nagasaki Shunichi made a Super-8 film called Heart, Beating In The Dark, starring Naito Takashi and Muroi Shigeru. It was the story of a young couple on the run after killing their own child. 23 years later, a remake of the film was to be made.”

What goes on in Heart, Beating In The Dark is rather difficult to describe. It is, in essence, four films in one. The film intercuts between the Super-8 original, a sequel with the original actors, a remake with new, younger actors, and a faux-documentary about the filming of the remake – all to somewhat confusing effect.

Naito Takashi and Muroi Shigeru return twenty-three years later to play the older Ringo and Inako in the sequel, as well as themselves in the making-of documentary. Naito and Muroi wish to return to the characters in order to do right by them as, in the intervening years, they have been troubled by how the original Heart, Beating In The Dark ended. Naito wishes to meet Ringo in the remake in order to slap him in the face, while Muroi wants to give Inako the help she always needed but never got.

Meanwhile, two young actors, Shoichi Honda and Noriko Eguchi, are recruited to play the child-killing couple, now renamed Toru and Yuki, in the remake. In the end, the boundaries between original, sequel, remake and documentary clash – Naito and Muroi are confronted with their younger selves, in the figures of Honda and Eguchi, and in their characters, Toru and Yuki.

Heart, Beating In The Dark is undeniably a multi-layered and fascinating work. It addresses regret and self-loathing in both a fictional and (apparently) non-fictional manner, as well as looking at the connections between memory and cinema. Naito Takashi, the lead actor of the controversial original film, has come to see the film in a different light, now finding it to be the contemptible work of a young man. Older and wiser, Naito seems to want to readdress the film from a more moral standpoint. So, evidently, does Shunichi Nagasaki, although he is largely invisible but for brief glimpses during the documentary segments.

However, as interesting as the film may be, Heart, Beating In The Dark is a rather difficult watch. It can initially be difficult to work out what each of the mostly-independent segments are, especially at one early stage in which Muroi, or Muroi playing Inako, is seen watching over Yuki, or Noriko Eguchi playing Yuki. However, as the film progresses, this problem is dealt with, such that the moments when the sequel and/or the documentary invade the remake become the film’s standpoint scenes.Essentially, the original and the remake sequences of the film enact a narrative of shame, mutual loathing and punishment rituals, with a Brechtian interlude in which Ringo and Toru both give interviews, or confessions, about the events that led up to the killing of their daughters. A strong feeling of fatalism pervades with the sequel haunting the remake, as the original seems to haunt the faux documentary. We see what the characters will become just as we see what the actors will become, and how shame has, in one way or another, effected their lives.