Violent Streets

Noboru Andō and Akira Kobayashi

Hideo Gosha's Violent Streets is a terrific yakuza film from 1974. It ranks with the best of the dozen or so of his 24 films that I have seen: Three Outlaw Samurai, Samurai Wolf 2, Goyokin, and The Geisha; all outstanding. I have been a champion of his work since seeing Goyokin, still my favorite, at the Vinegar Hill Theatre in Charlottesville in 1984. May it rest in peace. Violent Streets is only one of three modern day films Gosha directed. He was best known for working in the samurai genre. Certainly, he stands as one of the outstanding action directors of the late 20th century. Every bit as stylish and interesting as Sam Peckinpah or John Woo.

The protagonist of Violent Streets is a retired, for the moment, yakuza named Egawa (Noboru Andō). Egawa owns and manages a flamenco club named the Madrid located on the Ginza. The first fifteen minutes of the film establish Egawa's back story and the tone of violence that dominates the film. While a flamenco trio entertains, Egawa dispatches a quartet of rude hoods with clever aplomb. Then, to fully establishes that he is beyond the pale, he violently rapes his drunken mistress, Minami (Minami Nakatsugawa). She alludes to him loving another woman (Miyoko Akaza) who is now married to a yakuza boss. We eventually learn that Egawa had to leave organized crime and hand over his fiancee to broker a deal. The Madrid was his consolation prize, but he holds onto it tightly as if it were his last shred of self-respect. Andō was a tough customer himself, getting his trademark scar while serving a stint in prison before appearing in over fifty films. He is superb at putting up a stoic front that masks the seething need for vengeance inside him.

Violent Streets is a thorough composed picture, every shot that goes into its brisk 96 minutes is there for a reason. When the first segment entirely set in the Madrid concludes Gosha inserts a flashing green pedestrian walk sign to connote a transition. The film opens with the title backgrounded with barking dogs. Animals are a constant motif in the film (dogs, chickens, and a parrot), highlighting the barely evolved level of the characters. Another motif is that of performance, there are numerous shows within shows in the film ranging from classical theater to striptease. There is even a "lesbian' sex show featuring a performer who we learn is a kick-ass trans assassin (Lady Joy!). This is a movie of masks and that is one way to interpret it. Another is that show biz is a guise, a mask for organized crime. Indeed, as in the contemporaneous Charley Varrick and Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, it is the titans of big business who are the ultimate criminals.

A masked marauder

Minami's brother helps mastermind the kidnapping of a pop star with dire results. A battle of completing clans subsequently erupts and Egawa is compelled to return to the yakuza life. He gains his revenge in a series of bravura sequences which include Egawa driving a car into his rival's nightclubbing, blasting away and a final coup de grace in which Egawa interrupts his target's menage a trois. Violent Streets is greatly helped by the appearance of Bunta Sungawara's gunsmith who calmly guzzles a Coke while Egawa is massacring his foes. Sungawara brings needed comic relief to a fatalistic flick. Violent Streets has much to offend sensitive modern viewers. Its fire engine red blood seems out of a Herschel Gordon Lewis movie and it certainly fails the Bechdel test. Ms. Nakatsugawa was used in the film because of her experience in softcore porn. Like Lady Joy, this was her only mainstream film. However, if you look beneath the veneer of commercial exploitation, you will find a multi-level masterpiece and crackerjack picture.

Return to Silent Hill

Jeremy Irvine

Christophe Gans' Return to Silent Hill is a reboot of the Silent Hill horror franchise that commenced in 2006, with a film also directed by Gans. The original is not a good film, but it has some mitigating assets that make it one of the better video game adaptations. The script, by Roger Avary, is ludicrous, but Gans manages to elicit solid performances from a good cast including Radha Mitchell, Sean Bean, Laurie Holden, Alice Krige, and Deborah Kara Unger. The CGI for this film was ahead of its time and the production design is impressive.

Likewise, Return to Silent Hill's attributes are wholly contained by its look and design. The script, co-written by Gan, is drivel and, this time, the acting ensemble is second rate. Whatever power the original film had derived from its sense of place, a mining town in West Virginia. There was a sense of ecological decay that is lacking in the new film, mostly because Silent Hill is now set next to a pristine lake in Serbia. Silent Hill becomes not a place, but a state of mind. Unfortunately, the film's script provides a jumbled back story that provides the viewer with few tangible plot threads to grasp. The monsters that haunt Silent Hill, the only holdovers from the original film,  are vague unconscious emanations that have little connection to Return to Silent Hill's flimsy plot. 

Shadows in Paradise

A bad date at the bingo parlor: Kati Outinen and Matti Pellonpää

Aki Kaurismäki's Shadows in Paradise, from 1986, is the first distinctive Kaurismäki feature. Matti Pellonpää and Kati Outinen play Nikander and Ilona, a couple whose rocky romance we witness through the course of the film. Pellonpää ended up appearing in 18 Kaurismäki features and Outinen five. Most of the supporting cast reappear in Kaurismäki films multiple times. Along with his nascent stock company, almost all of the attributes of the filmmaker's work are fully formed and on display in Shadows in Paradise: a concern with the economic struggles and romantic travails of working class people, deadpan humor, and an unfussy visual style.

The jobs of Kaurismäki's character are central to their identities, a trait he shares with, of all people, Howard Hawks; another unfussy visual stylist. The credit sequence establishes Nikander's daily routine driving a trash truck and collecting garbage. It is a model of classical filmmaking in which there is not a wasted shot, something that holds true for the remainder of the film's scant 74 minutes. We glimpse multiple times that totem of the capitalist work place: the punch clock. Nikander and Ilona meet cute at her place of work, a supermarket where she works as a cashier. There, she utter her first magic words to Nikander, "37.20." Workplaces are shown to be cutthroat, but the director tosses off the message instead of beating the viewer over the head. As the manager of the supermarket says to Ilona when he lays her off, "A supermarket is a merciless machine." Worse is the fate of a co-worker of Nikander's who dreams of owning his own trucking concern and building a better future for himself. He drops dead of a heart attack on the job before those dreams can be fulfilled.

The world of Kaurismäki would be very bleak without the vein of humor he provides. The stoicism of his characters is pronounced to the point of absurdity. Compared to Kaurismäki, the characters in other Scandinavian films, like those of Joachim Trier, seem animated. During the course of their romance, Nikander is able to open up to Ilona about his meagre aspirations, but won't reveal to her his first name. He is an extremely diffident and clumsy Casanova. He takes her to a bingo parlor on their first date which almost immediately puts the kibosh on their relationship. His enticement for a second date is even worse: let's go see my institutionalized sister. What a card! Yet, Nikander's caveman straightforwardness eventually wins over Ilona. She briefly dallies with the manager of a department store, but ultimately decides she is not cut out to join the petit bourgeoisie. When Nikander threatens to punch out her new swain, she realizes she has found her true lug.

The other leavening agent in the dour films of Kaurismäki is his use of music, both on the soundtrack and in live performance. Kaurismäki loves to use rock music for his transitional scenes. The scenes of people in transit in Shadows in Paradise almost all feature blaring rock instrumentals. The live performances range from cocktail jazz in bourgeois haunts to the Schlager music that accompanies the working class drinking themselves to sweet oblivion at their haunts. It is the counterpoint to their life of toil, a brief respite until the workers trudge back to the salt mines. The pattern repeats in most of the best of Kaurismäki's work: Ariel, Fallen Leaves, The Match Factory Girl, La Vie de Boheme, Drifting Clouds, The Man Without a Past, and Le Havre.