As he proved with the excellent, multi-awarded “Widow Of Silence”, Praveen Morchhale has a truly astonishing way of finding humor in the most extreme circumstances, eloquently commenting on situations and discrepancies of the system that can only be described as dramatic, in a fashion, though, that does not become melodramatic, or even worse, poverty porn. This cinematic approach finds its apogee in his latest work, “Behind Veils” a satire that seems to touch every aspect of the current system in India. 

Ana, he US-educated, New Delhi-resident daughter of the recently deceased Sumanghal Sharma returns to the village he grew up in, in order to meet his family for the first time, as her grandmother ostracized him from their house years ago. At the same time, she wants to fulfill his last wish of building a library in the village, and for that purpose, she carries a mass of books with her. In the village, she meets her grandmother, who is now obsessed with social media and particularly Facebook, the local barber who doubles as a masseur, and the local political leader, Bhaiyyaji. The latter, however, is not exactly a virtuous leader as she soon finds out, since he has taken ahold of her father’s property and refuses to give it back, a tendency he seems to have repeated a number of times. Furthermore, her request to build a library is met with much resistance from his side, since he thinks that if people get educated they will kick him out. Instead he throws her to the clutches of bureaucracy, asking her to bring a NOC, a no objection certificate from every one of the town’s authorities, all of which are in his payroll, one way or another. Thus begins a kafkaesque mission that brings her against all aspects of the Indian system, with tragicomical consequences, not to mention an election. 

Morchhale adopts a satirical approach from the beginning in order to present the dramatic events that take place in the story, which does not actually cease until the ending of the movie. Starting with the internet-obsessed grandmother, whose questions and overall attitude provides laughs throughout the movie, and continuing with the differences between the villagers and the city-woman, which actually include language issues, and the reason her father was ostracized for marrying outside their religion, the narrative here shows its face quite eloquently from the get go. The turning point, however, begins with the appearance of Bhaiyyaji, an uneducated, corrupt, greedy, racist man who seems to embody all the issues of the political system in India, including the way he actually plays it in his hands. 

Through her effort to follow the legal way in order to get permission to essentially donate a library to a village that really needs it, and the whole absurdness of the NOC, Morchhale manages to comment on an even further number of institutions and professionals, including the police, the judicial, social workers, educational workers, contractors, and the way all of them are connected through the concept that seems to be the king in the country: bribery (or money if you prefer).

As the story moves forward, a number of additional episodes bring even more critique, with hospitals, religion, customs and the place of women in Indian society getting their share. Morcchale, however, keeps the best for last, with the elections and the way they are conducted in India (including donkeys, women who look like bollywood actresses, and again bribes) offering as much laughter as they offer food for thought. 

The whole path the protagonist follows, and essentially the whole narrative, reminds intently of Zhang Yimou’s “The Story of Qiu Ju” but Morchhale’s approach is much more comical and even happy-go-lucky for the most part, a tactic that is cemented in the almost Shakespearean ending. The ending comment is also interesting in its pragmatism, with the director seeming to state that one can only fight the system by being even unreasonably persistent, while also “winking” at the power of women, who might as well be the most appropriate in this case, to bring change. 

The intent colors of the cinematography fit the overall aesthetics of the movie, while a number of frames, such as the one where the family is eating inside the house all together or the one where the “bad guys” are sitting beneath a tree, are truly memorable. The same prowess applies to the editing which moves in the same, comical/deadpan direction, particularly with the way the scenes follow one another. 

The only issues with the movie are the number of episodes, which one could say go a bit too far in their abundance, and extend the duration a bit more than needed. Also, some moments of music here and there would definitely benefit the entertainment offered, although the ending compensates in that regard. 

The acting is in perfect resonance with the overall aesthetics, with Ariana Sajnani as Ana providing the anchor where every other performance interacts with, in a measured fashion that works quite well here. The ones who steal the show however are Seema Biswas as the grandmother, Bhagwan Tiwari as Bhaiyyaji, and Ajay Chourey as the Barber, with their whole demeanor being hilarious on a number of levels. 

“Behind Veils” is an almost “blasphemous film in the way it criticizes so many aspects of Indian society and the whole system, but Morchhale also manages to keep it light, funny, and entertaining throughout its duration, in a testament to his prowess as both a director and a writer. 

Passionately acknowledged for his traditional kung fu flicks, this was Lau Kar Leung’s Hong Kong’s version of the popular Hollywood buddy-cop action comedy genre of the 80s which borrowed heavily from Peter Hyams’s “Running Scared” (1986) to Richard Donner’s “Lethal Weapon” from 1987. Due to its success, a sequel soon followed in 1990 starring Danny Lee but only Conan Lee reprised his role. It was nominated for the Best Action Choreography at the Hong Kong Film Awards in 1989 but “Police Story 2” was the winner.

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In a total contrast to his heroic character in “A Better Tomorrow” (1986), Chow Yun Fat portrays the womanizing and cowardly police Sergeant Francis Li mostly for laughs. Incidentally, this is the kind of clowning role his Asian audiences preferred and were fond of instead of the tough action hero type favored by the West. Spotting loud colorful shirts and being incompetent at his job, he even wets his pants when a thug puts a gun to his face during a robbery.

Meanwhile, with the intention of getting him promoted, Chief Inspector, also Li’s uncle, partners him up with a headstrong and tough rookie Michael Tso (Conan Lee) who takes his job seriously, to investigate a cocaine smuggling outfit. This pair of mismatched cops soon finds themselves tailing Marydonna (Nina Li Chi), the sister of drug dealer Poison Snake Ping (Philip Ko). Eventually they learn that his boss, Johnny Low (Norman Chu) and a Westerner are reasonable for the importing of the cocaine.

They manage to capture Low during a drug deal but his right hand man Fai (Gordon Liu) escapes after a shootout. While celebrating their promotion, Fai and the rest of the gang kidnap Li’s sister, Mimi (Shirley Ng) who Tso takes a shine to and demands an exchange. Not wanting to lose Mimi, the cops have no choice but to agree. With Low strapped to the front of the car, Li, armed with his trusted shotgun and Tso, set out to make the switch.

The concluding showdown plays pretty much like a wuxia flick in disguise. take the duel between Conan Lee and Gordon Liu for example: they replaced the swords with chainsaws but it is still refreshingly exciting. Even though Chow Yun Fat is not a martial arts practitioner, his display of the shotgun tied to a rope is both effective and amazingly creative. Furthermore, besides being his charismatic self with wonderful screen presence, he particularly excels in doing comedies and romantic roles his Hong Kong fans can’t get enough of.

At times looking like a more buff up Jackie Chan, Conan Lee starred in Corey Yuen’s “Ninja in the Dragon’s Dan” (1982) which put him on the map but unfortunately he became too egotistic for filmmakers to handle, otherwise he could have become the next Jackie Chan if he had played his cards right. Anyway, he puts on a great show here doing lots of dangerous stunts and displaying his martial arts skills to the full. In fact, his action sequences are almost a copy of what Jackie Chan did in “Police Story”.

The supporting cast is an amazing parade of Shaw Brothers talent starting with Ti Lung who plays a bar owner while David Chiang turns up briefly as the Police Commissioner. Elsewhere, Philip Ko appears as Poison Snake Ping, a drug dealer who tries to steal from the cool looking Norman Chu who plays the cocaine Boss Johnny Low. Then we have Gordon Liu who provides the movie’s best action sequences as Fai, the tough as nails henchman. The physically well-equipped Nina Li Chi (Jet Li’s wife) turns up as Marydonna, the aerobics instructor and sister to Poison Snake who takes a lot of punishment and abuse from Sergeant Li. Shirley Ng plays the love interest of rookie Tso and Li’s sister.

The comedy interplay in this production is a mixed bag, goofy and offensive at times and the rough ordeal in which the main female character has to go through might put some viewers off. Then again, the top notch breakneck action is equally raw and brutal especially the chainsaw duel. But hey, this is the style of Hong Kong films of the 80s, wacky but entertaining nonetheless.

Following in the footsteps of Naoko Ogigami’s “Close-Knit”, but in a much more cheerful approach, “Lovely Little Ai” won both the Entertainment Award and the Cinema Fan Award at the 2021 PIA Film Festival.

“Lovely Little Ai” is screening at InlanDimensions

16-year-old Ai Shimizu has been in trouble ever since her mother died, since her strict and overprotective father has imposed on her a number of rules that essentially dictate her whole life, from the way she dresses, to her everyday schedule which only comprises of studying, stripped from any kind of “fun”, and a strict curfew of 6pm. Furthermore, since her father is busy all the time, Ai finds herself constantly alone, not to mention that the rules do not allow her to have any friends. One day, though, she bumps into transgender Seiko, and despite her initial reluctance, soon finds herself having a mentor, who also fills the gap her mother left. As she enters the pink, star-studded world of Seiko, Ai finally gets herself a sense of fashion, manages to open up, and even gets some friends from school on her path to popularity. Furthermore, she attracts the attention of Ryo, a new student, who, despite his evident lack of style seems to have genuine feelings for her. Lastly, we also learn of the torments Seiko has suffered from her father when she was young, while a number of secrets that eventually threaten their relationship also comes to the fore.

Candice Mana Ono directs a quirky comedy, in the style frequently met in Japanese cinema, with the overall style being dictated by two elements for the most part. The first one is the production values, with the vividly pink-colored world Seiko lets Ai in, the swooshing, quite rapid cuts by Ono’s own editing, the frequent music-video like sequences, and the job done in the costumes by Ami Takahashi creating a rather appealing setting, which is also the root of the comedy aspect here. The cinematography by Masatoshi Kure, Sho Kojima, Tomohiro Obata, Yu Tamura, and Yugo Sawaki (not sure why so many) capture all the aforementioned in the best fashion, with the visuals being one of the most appealing aspects of the movie.

The second element is the performance by Akane Sakanoue in the protagonist role, whose transformation from a nerdy loner to a school-fashion icon, and a girl willing to confront her father and everyone around her who try to pin her down, being rather rewarding. Sakanoue appears almost in every scene, filling the screen with cheerfulness, in a style, though, that never becomes annoying, as is occasionally the case in similar Japanese films.

On the other hand, Hisao Kurozumi’s acting as Seiko occasionally goes beyond measure, while the dramatic scenes could have been handled a bit better, something that also applies to Kan Hotoda, who plays Ai’s father. Furthermore, the flashbacks on Seiko’s past seem somewhat disconnected from the main narrative, also in the way that are forced within it, while the twists revealed close to the end, are far-fetched.

Apart from these issues, however, “Lovely Little Ai” emerges as a rather easy movie to watch, particularly due to the entertainment it offers, the visuals, and Sakanoue’s performance.

Life for many can appear simple. But, in reality, it is full of complexions. Cinema is a great outlet for exploring said details of people’s lives. There is quite a lot of human exploration within indie filmmaking. Sometimes, mellow storytelling can make for a marvelously engaging viewing experience. Lower budgets can be an opportunity to explore drama more personally. Look no further than the endearing set of films known as “The Surrogate Valentine Trilogy.”

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The trilogy, while small in scale, brings together many creative minds. Directing “Surrogate Valentine” and “Daylight Savings” is filmmaker Dave Boyle, who notably began his directorial career with quirky comedies such as “Big Dreams Little Tokyo” and “White on Rice.” However, many viewers probably know him best for his thriller “Man from Reno,” a gripping feature about a Japanese crime novelist who becomes entangled in a real murder mystery. Boyle would return to produce the finale feature, “I Will Make You Mine,” while taking the director’s chair is renowned actress Lynn Chen, in her directorial debut. Other talents to notably produce the trilogy include Mye Hoang, Emily Ting, Cathy Shim, and Joel Clark.

The first entry, “Surrogate Valentine,” introduces the audience to the trilogy’s lead, Goh Nakamura, a musician who makes a living performing on the road. He ends up with a job teaching an actor named Danny Turner how to play the guitar for an acting role. While this continues, he reconnects with old friends, including his high school crush Rachel, who reminisces about their past while also wondering what lies in store for the future. Time passes, and in the follow-up titled “Daylight Savings,” Goh Nakamura ends up with a girlfriend named Erika. Things seem good and hopeful for the happy couple. Unfortunately, this relationship ends when the long distance becomes an issue for the two, which leaves them both in deep sadness. While attempting to move on, Goh continues to work hard as an indie musician and grow from his past. Eventually, he meets another fellow music artist, an upbeat woman named Yea-Ming. The two hit it off, and a friendship begins that escalates to a romance. Yet, the past still clings on to the male lead.

For the trilogy’s finale, “I Will Make You Mine,” the focus is cleverly shifted. Quite a lot has occurred offscreen since viewers were left off with the indie musician. This time, the women in his life take center stage. Rachel is married and financially well-off, but her husband is cheating on her. Erika and Goh attempted to reconnect and ended up having a daughter, but more complications arose. Adding to that, she is struggling with not only being a mother but also trying to balance work while mourning her father’s passing. Finally, Yea-Ming is shown to be doing very well with her music career but still has feelings for the male lead since their brief fling in “Daylight Savings.” All three women wrestle with life challenges while confronting their past relations with Goh Nakamura.

Familiar storytelling tropes are visited in “The Surrogate Valentine Trilogy,” yet the creative team behind it gives this story many clever elements. All three films are funny, create a downright relaxing atmosphere, and have compelling characters to follow, from the leads to supporting players. Balanced with witty humor is a very emotional examination of human emotions. The narrative explores people living their lives while balancing out the pursuit of ambitions and overcoming life struggles. No one is villainized, nor is anyone treated like an antagonist. What the individuals in all the movies go through is completely understandable and makes sense. It is merely people being human beings. Relationships can be simplified on paper, yet viewers are reminded here that there is quite a lot to examine and appreciate with the connections made within our lives. This is greatly displayed in what Goh and the women in his life experience through this three-part journey on the west coast. Music lovers are also sure to get a kick out of the impressive music showcased and the relatable struggles of pursuing artistic passion as an independent artist.

Everyone from the leads to the supporting players put in good performances, making their characters feel all the more authentic. Goh Nakamura excels in playing a fictional version of himself. He is charming and likable in his role, and the musician’s talents outside of film are on display here. The trilogy never forgets to show the layers of his personality, such as his sensitive side and struggles as an independent artist. Versatile talent Lynn Chen nails it as Rachel, Goh’s high school crush. Yet, there is more to her than just that as she has her own story playing out as well, with “Surrogate Valentine” and “Daylight Savings” introducing her as witty and no-nonsense and “I Will Make You Mine” showing her more personal side come out. The same can also be said for Erika, played superbly by Ayako Fujitani. Her struggles and hardships understandably take a toll on her, yet she still pushes through to achieve goals while simultaneously overcoming heartache. Also notably exceptional here is Yea-Ming Chen in a fictional depiction of herself, who wonderfully plays off the male lead while also similarly displaying impressive musical talents. She balances out being funny while also having a level of sadness in her role that comes in droves in the trilogy’s finale.

Wonderfully appealing with “The Surrogate Valentine Trilogy” are the aesthetics, being shot in black-and-white. From San Francisco to the large city of Los Angeles, the west coast is beautifully showcased. A rich atmosphere is created with the lavish cinematography, which is further enhanced by the music throughout the trilogy. The songs by Goh Nakamura and Yea-Ming Chen are beautifully composed, and the same can be said for the original scores.

With strong writing, pleasing visuals, and memorable characters, “The Surrogate Valentine Trilogy” is an endearing set of entertaining films with its laid-back storytelling while also being emotional with the display of human vulnerability. The story is simple but remains engaging from start to finish. Each feature has a well-crafted storyline to appreciate, and watching all three movies together is all the more rewarding. Each has something viewers can relate to, from the music elements to the emotional slice-of-life experience. There is something for anyone to connect to here.

Yonaguni, one of the Yaeyama Islands, is the westernmost inhabited island of Japan, lying 108 kilometers from the east coast of Taiwan, between the East China Sea and the Pacific Ocean proper. Aika Higashimori was born in the particular island, and grew up without without access to the cinemas or video shops until her high school years, which is probably the source of her unique style of filmmaking, which, in the case of “Bachiranun”, netter her the Grand Prize at the 2021 Pia Film Awards. 

“Bachiranun” is screening at Inland Dimensions

The film unfolds as a docufiction, focusing on a number of local characters, including a uniformed schoolgirl (Higashimori herself), a young man in a straw hat, a young woman who wields a bone, and her own grandmother, with documentary style footage interspersing with vignettes that move somewhere between the realistic and the surreal. What is undeniable, however, is the power of a number of the images presented. The zoom-ins in the eyes of the cattle, the carcass of a dead gull on the road, its innards filled with plastic, the gutting of fish, the young people who eat rather colorful fruit, that hand tattoos, the ritual around the fire close to the end, all present the island in all its reality, while also creating an imposing, even magical atmosphere, that carries the movie for the majority of its duration. 

The narration of Higashimori’s grandmother about how things used to be and how they are now, from the oppression the textile workers suffered from outsiders, to the local rituals, and the fact that most of her acquaintances and family are now dead, add more to the portrait of the area, in a more dramatic, but also pragmatist approach this time. Traditional songs, dancing, poetry reciting, the presentation of various rituals and local flora and fauna and the issues deriving from the pollution of the sea conclude this rather appealing depiction of a very unique location. 

Probably the two best traits of the film are the cinematography and the editing, both done by Higashimori, in a true one-woman-show. The way the camera captures all the aforementioned elements is occasionally majestic, as in the case of the night scenes, essentially dictating the overall atmosphere of the movie to a large degree. The editing, particularly in the way the documentary and fiction scenes continuously give their stead to each other, induces the movie with a very appealing rhythm, while retaining interest through the interchange of these two aspects, keeping it entertaining from beginning to end, and also adding to the overall atmosphere. Add to all this Higashimori’s quirky sense of humor, as exhibited through the interactions of some of the protagonists, and you have the backbone of the movie. 

“Bachiranun” is not exactly a film for everyone, as its experimental nature is anything but mainstream. At the same time, however, it is visually captivating, contextually interesting, while the love letter to Yonaguni aspect is communicated as eloquently as possible, and at 61 minutes, definitely does not overstay its welcome. As such, it is a movie that definitely deserves a watch, if anything, for its uniqueness, both in presentation and subject matter. 

Based on scene 10, titled “Interrupted Dream” of the Tang Xianzu play “Peony Pavilion”, the homonymous stage play actually uses the original in order to move in a number of directions, in a rather experimental work that retains its audiovisual artfulness from beginning to end.

“Interrupted Dream” at Inland Dimensions

*The review was written after watching the play twice, a Q&A and an interview with director Danny Yung, as well as extensive talks with a number of the members of the troupe.

The play begins with the actors dressed in black sitting on chairs, while a big screen behind them is showing footage from the 2019 Hong Kong protests. The red line, which dominates the narrative through the drama’s duration actually, makes its first impressive appearance here, eventually through the now widely recognizable squares around the faces of a number of protesters, in an obvious reference to the “Big Brother” concept, which states that people are always being watched by a “higher authority”.

The red line continues appearing, used as a metaphor for the concept of boundaries, for which the director mentioned that he is always aware of, but not always feels restricted by them.This last aspect is portrayed in one of the most memorable aspects of the play, with the continuous falling beyond the “line” and the subsequent getting back, being as shocking as it is quite poignant in its presentation.

At the same time, the appearance of a figure in a white, barock dress that also fosters a mask, is revealed to be the personification of Louis the XIV, whose interest in orientalism connects him with the Chinese roots of the script, and subsequently, Asia with Europe (as the particular show took place in Gdansk, Poland). At the same time, the dancing of Martin Choy Yu Tin, emerges as another of the most impressive moments of the drama.

A moment where the music changes completely and the movements of the actors become rather faster adds a very welcome change of pace, while intensifying the tension that permeates a large part of “Interrupted Dream”’s duration. Helen Kwok Hoi Yan’s rather appealing dancing under a 60s Chinese song once more changes the aesthetics of the play, while also highlighting Danny Yung’s attention to detail, when the phrase “In a split second, you’re happy and excited” is combined with a very fitting motion by Kwok, in yet another great moment here. Lastly, the inclusion of traditional Chinese Kun opera by Xiao Xiangping, who had a completely different role in the drama that far, adds the final brush to a true celebration of art in all its forms.

Truth be told, the symbolism, and the different elements here (Chinese characters on screen, videos of waves, abstract mentions to the Chinese opera through chairs and a table etc) are too many to be presented in a single article, since every scene seems to thrive on them. The resulting combination however, and the whole audiovisual approach that reminds of a black-and-white film while mixing maximalism and minimalism as witnessed in Twinny Cheng Yun Lien and Lo Sing-chin’s costumes, is a true wonder to watch, in a work that reminds captivating from beginning to end, and words barely do it any justice.

And to close with a personal comment, “Interrupted Dream” made me think that experimentation seems to fit theater much more than cinema.

Author: Tom Jolliffe

“The Longest Day In Chang’an is an immersive and unforgettable show that, despite its frenetic storytelling, is in no hurry to reach its epic conclusion.”

Historical dramas made for television rarely reach the ambitious heights that The Longest Day In Chang’an scales throughout its epic 48-episode running time. Indeed, few dare to. Director Cao Dun has crafted a sumptuous adaptation of Ma Boyong’s sprawling novel of the same name for the small screen that has captivated audiences in China since its initial release in 2019.

Chang’an, the glittering beacon of the Tang Dynasty, is the location for a pulsating drama that feels distinctly modern in tone, despite its 8th-century setting. Chang’an has been brought to life with unwavering attention to detail – from each silk-woven fiber worn by its actors to the lavish sets constructed by a production team who spent more than seven months building the busy streets of the capital of Tang Dynasty-era China. The architecture in the series has been profoundly realized, with pagodas, temples, monasteries, and palaces all brought to life with unfaltering accuracy.

The Longest Day In Chang’an tells a thrilling story that is constructed using layer upon layer of complex narrative scaffolding. The story centers around a former police detective turned death-row convict, Zhang Xiaojing (played with menacing verve by Li Jiayan) who is granted a temporary 24-hour reprieve by the head of the ‘Peacekeeper Corps’, Li Bi, to foil a terrorist attack on the city. What at first seems like a fairly cut-and-dry case, proves to be anything but, as Zhang Xiaojing and Li Bi learn of a larger plot – one which threatens the very fabric of society and that is balanced on the precarious axis of political unrest.

Despite the series’ sweeping scale, the drama that unfolds feels intimate and, at times, even claustrophobic. No dramatic stone is left unturned, and each character is afforded significant screen time. Director Cao Dun is keen to illustrate that Chang’an, despite its majestic veneer, which has been brought to life with magisterial prowess, is a city composed of rigid class and power structures that are manacled by tradition. There is an overriding sense throughout the series that an ominous future beckons for the people of Chang’an, and change will occur either through progressive means or by annihilation.

Chang’an espouses a culture of binaries, which is communicated adroitly in the show by its use of the ancient symbolic dichotomy of ‘Yin’ and ‘Yang’. Li Bi (elegantly played by Jackson Yee), is the show’s moral compass, and early on he is introduced to the concept of “Wu,” which pertains to the intersection of these two opposing polemics. Each character is bound by honor and service to a superior power. That is, except for Zhang Xiaojing. Zhang is the show’s all-action outlier, who confidently and purposefully refuses to “play by the rules.”

The Longest Day In Chang’an prefaces contemporary issues within a historical context, with the all too familiar modern-day trope of political unrest bubbling away behind some genuinely spectacular action sequences. However, despite being similar in style to shows such as 24, The Longest Day In Chang’an should not be considered an all-out action affair. Tension is twisted like a knife and time feels stretched and slowed down to foreground the show’s thematic proclivities. Rarely is an action sequence included without considerable preluding, and the result is often breathtaking.

Despite its expansiveness, the show never falls short in meticulously respecting historical precedent. The Longest Day In Chang’an has as much to say about contemporary Chinese culture as it does about history, and it is a wonderfully rich and detailed history lesson at that. Chang’an has been brought to life with a deft and exquisite touch. As a viewer, we are given a sense of what it was like to live in what was the most populated, prosperous, and advanced city in the world at the time.

Tang Dynasty scholars were consulted in pre-production, with Jackson Yee’s character Li Bi in particular given almost microscopic attention to historical detail in both his dress and stately decorum. There was a rich emphasis on the culture of words and poetry during the reign of the Tang Dynasty, and this is evoked in the show with even soldiers professing to be aspiring poets and wordsmiths. The culture of Tang was one of progress, and the series makes sure it emphasizes this transitionary period in history, showing the character of Xu Bin (Zhao Wei) animatedly encouraging his master Li Bi to either adapt to progressive means of material production or bear witness to Tang’s downfall. The music in the show also draws the viewer closer to the action. The crashing of drums is the heartbeat to which the audience is both transfixed and transported through the show’s diegesis, while the camera weaves through crowds at shoulder height to give the sense that viewers are very much at the center of the action as if they too were clinging to the coattails of Zhang Xiaoling.

The show’s heroes are youthful and progressive and their values are at odds with the aging ‘old order’. The lantern festival, which is the focus of the terrorist’s plot, is symbolic of prosperity, but it is also portentous; the lanterns are lit to vanquish evil, but they have also unwittingly ushered it closer. The true evil that is present within Chang’an is not only harbored by its malevolent infiltrators but, too, by the ruling bureaucrats who have long suppressed and neglected the country’s working classes. The series makes sure that the audience is reminded at all times that the working classes are its true protagonists. If order is to be genuinely restored then Chang’an’s ‘homemade heroes’ must bring about fundamental societal change.

The Longest Day In Chang’an is a multi-faceted tale of intrigue with the principle of ‘legacy’ firmly situated at its center. Moral complexity abounds but, at its core, the characters in the show are fixated on how they will be remembered. The ‘Peacekeeper Corps’ is principally a place where extensive archiving is a priority for its incumbent officers. This is at odds with the tough crime-stopping exterior usually associated with these kinds of institutions. This too is an important indicator of Tang Dynasty life, where information was considered of pivotal importance. The show proposes a vital question – in a world where uncomfortable decisions must be made, how will one’s actions be remembered?

Above all, The Longest Day In Chang’an is an immersive and unforgettable show that, despite its frenetic storytelling, is in no hurry to reach its epic conclusion. The 48-episode running time may seem like a formidable undertaking, but it is worth every second.

It’s always a joy when a new film by Japanese director Naoko Ogigami is released. After “Close-Knit”, awarded at the Berlinale, “Riverside Mukolitta” (Kawapperi Mukolitta) is her latest feature, a film adapted from a novel written by Ogigami herself.

Riverside Mukolitta is screening at Camera Japan

Takeshi Yamada (Kenichi Matsuyama) is a lonely young man who arrives, penniless and looking desolate, in the coastal town of Toyama, to work at a shiokara (salted squid) factory. We don’t know at this point why Yamada is there or anything about his past, but factory CEO Sawada (Naoto Ogata) who knows everything, gives him a warm welcome and sends him to Shiori Minami (Hikari Mitsushima) who will be able to find him a cheap accommodation. In fact, landlady Shiori, a young widow with a daughter, lets a 50-year-old flat to Yamada for a good price, part of the small compound called Mukolitta Apartments, populated by a group of quirky humans. His neighbors include Kozo (Tsuyoshi Muro) who lovingly grows vegetables in the garden, door-to-door tombstone seller Kenichi Mizoguchi (Hidetaka Yoshioka) who works with his little “mini-me” son, in charge of the tag line “We put our hearth in our service”, Gan-Chan, a silent monk of a local temple who likes making chewing gum balloon and the ghost of an old lady, a departed former Mukolitta resident.

Kozo is the first to introduce himself in a bizarre way, insisting to have a bath at Yamada’s flat, and soon repays the favor giving Yamada some homegrown vegetables, a lifeline for the young man who is struggling in the days before receiving his first salary. Slowly the two become closer and start sharing some simple pleasures, like freshly cooked rice, a crunchy cucumber with mayonnaise, a chilled can of beer in a hot day and also some personal secrets and past experiences. The reason why Yamada is there will surface in their chat. At the same time, Yamada receives a notification that his long-estranged father has passed away, found dead in his home, and his remains need to be collected at the crematorium. Yamada, after a life without a father, is now forced to share his flat with the man’s ashes, triggering a series of consideration about his own life.

While her previous “Close-Knit” followed a more traditional narrative and the scope of a “social problem” film, with “Riverside Mukolitta” Ogigami goes back to her trademark depiction of quirky, absurd characters of insular communities, in a more episodic manner. But while the plot is a thin backbone, a more important subject matter sustains and runs through all the various characters and their lives. In fact, all of them share a significant experience about death; from Yamada’s father to Shiori’s beloved husband, a team of invisible ghosts refuses to depart this world and keep hanging in the air, tickling and tormenting the lives of the ones left behind. Kenichi, pitching his tombstone business has the unpleasant function of “memento mori”, reminding us that we are all going to die, and monk Gan, spends his time fishing and blowing chewing gum balloons as nobody anymore want to spend money to hire him for a funeral ceremony.

However, being in a Naoko Ogigami’s film, this heavy and deep subject is mediated by a dark and surreal sense of humour and a hefty dose of mundanity. She depicts everyday life like no others, highlighting little sweet details and the comic absurdity of many moments. A perfect example is Yamada finding some clues about his father in the most unlikely ways; from the scrupulous, soft-spoken crematorium attendant who delivers the remains and shows Yamada his father’s perfectly preserved apple bone or from the telephone lifeline operator (the last call on the father’s cell phone) describing the souls of the deceased like goldfish floating in the air. Yamada’s character is full of human frailties and pains making him easy to care for, despite his spiky and love-repellent appearance. He faces his father’s miserable and lonely death with great pain as he is scared to inherit the same miserable life. “Is being good-for-nothing genetic? Is worthlessness handed down?” he asks in tears to CEO Sawada. Yet, he is surrounded by good people, that have learned to find joy in small things in the face of adversity, and the last scene is a highly rewarding closure.

Food is a way director Ogigami uses to talk about day-to-day life, and food is everywhere, it’s the buoy that keeps the characters afloat. Crunching, chomping noises punctuate the protagonists’ conversations; food is shared, scrounged, donated and desired as much as love, friendship and pain. The main role of the film is played with intensity by Kenichi Matsuyama, who recently has been seen acting out several similar moody and introverted characters, like in “Noise” and “Blue”. He embodies a frightened man/child with commitment and talent, and the double act with popular actor Tsuyoshi Muro in the role of Kozo is very balanced and entertaining. Apparently, Ogigami met Kenichi Matsuyama at the Udine Far East Film Festival where she was presenting “Close-Knit” and thought he was the one for the role. As always in her films, all the secondary parts are well developed, even the very small ones like the cheerful taxi driver, former firework operator, who put the wife’s ashes in a firework to send her off in the night sky. The visual style is what I would define the director’s very personal “sunny” realism, candid and truthful with a touch of happy magic, over mesmerizing landscapes; even this time, despite the definite turn to a darker side.

“Riverside Mukolitta” is a film about death affecting life, about little joys overcoming fear and about second opportunities in life, told with wit and personality.

Creating a vehicle for a comedy act can often result in disappointment; taking the performers outside of their usual format to try and push them to be something they are not. But with “Thanc You”, manzai duo Jaru Jaru basically stick to what they know, working the film around their act, rather than shoehorning it into a script.

Thanc You is screening at Camera Japan

A male-female manzai act bicker about each other’s commitment to the double act; a teacher wants to disband the mountain climbing club at his school as it only has one introverted member; a hairdresser insists that his customers focus solely on him; a young man asks his flatmate to move out as his family name isn’t that of an onsen town…

Having found increased fame over the last few years due to popular, daily YouTube videos, Jaru Jaru – made up of Junpei Goto and Shusuke Fukutoku – have been pushing their act onto the big screen, with the recent “A ◦ rigato: Jaru Jaru Tower 2020”, and now working again with director Mitsuru Kuramoto. Here they play almost every character in a series of two-person sketches, switching between the straight man/gag man dynamic, similar to their social media posts.

But to hold everything together, one half of each duo has a connection to the next pairing, creating a mini-community of weird and wacky characters. There isn’t a huge narrative arc, but there is enough of one to make this more than a simple series of sketches. The young would-be mountaineer finds a fellow misfit to join the mountaineering club, eventually revealing he wants to start a band, putting on a live show with his new friend’s sister, the female half of the manzai act, with a live comedy and music finale.

Essentially, this is a love letter to the people who got them where they are today to say “thanc you” for their part. This features the sort of characters who would normally be kept on the side-lines as light relief, as obscure encounters for the leads. This, however, is a series of obscure moments and slice of life situations, making the weird and wacky centre stage.

The question is, however: are you happy to watch ninety minutes-plus of these moments, rather than a narrative? Well, as an overall film, this isn’t winning any awards, but as an entertaining way to spend an evening, this certainly wins. We don’t spend enough time with any of the characters to grow weary of them; and each sketch is played with the right balance of the bizarre versus the everyday to make us realise life can be strange at times.

Technically, there isn’t a huge amount to write about. The duo’s social media posts are played against a plain white background, letting the dialogue to the talking, so to speak. And likewise, Kuramoto keeps things simple, with no particular flourishes or special effects. Indeed, the only real extravagance is in the hair and make-up department, with some interesting wigs put to use.

A stand-out routine is the trainee magician who keeps getting his tricks wrong, with an inspired joke that works well in the wider context. The ending, however, does maybe leave you wanting a little more; not resulting in anything particularly clever or unexpected to finish with a bang. It’s all just a little bit nice.

Following the success of “Midnight Swan”, which won the Japan Academy Prize for Best Picture, Uchida decided to return to one of his favorite themes, the meta “film about films” concept, continuing in the same level of quality he exhibited in titles like “Lowlife Love” and “The Naked Director”.

Shrieking in the Rain is screening at Camera Japan

The story takes place in an anonymous studio during the summer of 1988, where video production for home rentals has reached its highest peak (in another meta notion, since “Shrieking in the Rain” was released for Amazon Prime actually). First-time director Hanako Hayashi is in charge, but the truth is, she actually isn’t. At all. Instead, she experiences frequent meltdowns, as in the initial scene where she has locked herself in the prop car, not talking to anybody, exhibits rather eloquently, her directions are vague, contradicting, and rather annoying for the cast and crew who get increasingly fed up with her. The fact that most of them are veteran men and she is a female filmmaker on her debut does not help at all, expectedly. 

The movie in question is an erotic melodrama of sorts, starring Shinji, a popular teen idol whose agent, and himself, are not really keen on shooting the erotic scenes involved, and Kaede, a veteran actress whose career is waning and seems to be constantly fed up with her partner’s lack of dedication. The rather bad chemistry between them is not the only issue Hanako has to face, since the producers are rather demanding, Inoue, the American-mentality owner of the video company wants to shoot the whole thing in US-style, while a representative of the film classification board is driving all of them crazy with his rather absurd (but realistic, even today) rules regarding sex scenes, which also include notions on how many times an actress can move her hips up and down. Again expectedly, the production is rather late, and the relationships between the majority of members, on the brink. 

Eiji Uchida manages to highlight the reality of moviemaking in the most detailed and realistic fashion, with the plethora of characters appearing in the story presenting all of its aspects, including dubbing, art direction, sound and all the elements mentioned before. At the same time, and although the madness of shooting a movie is the permeating sentiment here, Uchida also induces the narrative with a sense of nostalgia by placing his story in the currently trending globally 80s, while also focusing on the fact that, in the end, the love for cinema is a driving force that can overcome every obstacle, and something that actually all involved in the industry are “injected” with. 

The comedic, essentially self-deprecating comments (considering that Uchida seems to mock both directors and all the members of the crew) dominate a large part of the narrative, but the darker notions are also here, and the overall view, is in no way naively romantic. The way the female members of the crew are treated by the new male ones is as bad as the way the rookies are treated by the veterans, while the different agendas the people involved have result in clashes that occasionally seem destructive for a production. Agents want their talents to avoid anything that could jeopardize their popularity, producers want to do everything by the book and avoid any kind of issues with the law, even at the expense of the final product, with the same applying to investors, whose sole focus is making money. Secondary actors want to become superstars, veteran ones to retain their former glory, experienced members of the crew want to be the “bosses” on set, and the director is the one that has to juggle everything in order to achieve at least part of their artistic notion. As such, and as the story progresses, the completion of the movie soon becomes a question of whether Hanako will manage to pull everyone forward, towards her goal, through her sheer passion and despite her overall, constantly on the verge of breaking down mentality, or if the issues will crumble both her and the whole production. This aspect actually carries the movie from beginning to end, inducing the narrative with a sense of agony while also making it impossible not to root for her. 

In that regard, Marika Matsumoto gives a great performance, highlighting her character’s sensitivity and introversion in the best fashion, with her transformation also being among the best aspects of the movie. Kenta Suga in the role of the idol who is not sure who to hear or even how to conduct himself, particularly on the “mechanics” of erotic scenes is quite convincing, with the same applying to Maeko Oyama as his partner, with the antithetical chemistry of the two working quite well. Kiyohiko Shibukawa as the owner of the video company is always a treat to watch, Serena Motola has an intriguing role as a member of the crew who gets “bullied” that she fulfills nicely, while Chika Uchida and Gaku Hamada round up an overall great cast. 

Kenji Noguchi’s cinematography captures the various aspects of the movie with realism, without any exaltations, essentially allowing the viewer to focus on the story, while the frequently frantic editing communicates the on-set chaos in the best fashion, with some well-placed scenes of the director’s childhood providing a welcome relief from all the tension.

“Shrieking in the Rain” is not exactly a pioneering film, and the truth is, that the combination of nostalgia and love for cinema do lead to some scenes that could be described as cheesy (the donut ones for example). It is, however, sincere, realistic, informative and quite fun, in a combination that truly deserves to be watched. 

By Charlotte Remes

When it comes to the thriller genre, South Korean cinema does not disappoint. Some might even say it dominates. And Kwon Oh-seung’s directorial debut, “Midnight” (2021), is no exception. Fleshed in spine-chilling tension, the film features Jin Ki-joo (Little Forest), Wi Ha-joon (Squid Game), and Gil Hae-yeon (In Her Place) cast in a heart-stopping game of cat-and-mouse. The film’s 2020 premiere was delayed given the Covid-19 pandemic before being made available in theatres and on online streaming platforms on 30 June 2021. Nevertheless, in spite of its subdued release, ‘Midnight’ proved a critical and commercial success, placing third at the Korean box office with a gross of $796,540 as of December 12, 2021. Additionally, it clinched the ‘Silver Audience Award for Best Asian Film’ at the ‘25th Fantasia International Film Festival’. 

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The film begins by introducing us to Kyung-mi (Jin Ki-joo), a deaf and mute girl who works as a customer service officer providing sign language assistance for hearing impaired customers. Despite her daily struggles, she is shown to have an endearingly plucky character, navigating sleazy colleagues and ungrateful customers. Kyung-mi’s seemingly dreary world quickly expands with the introduction of her mother (Gil Hae-yeon), who is also deaf and mute. The relationship of unwavering affection between mother and daughter reflects a bond beyond the genetic impairments they share. Together in a silent world, both women find irreplaceable solace and understanding with each other using sign language and alternative visual devices to communicate and express themselves.

This peace is quickly threatened when Kyung-mi accidentally stumbles upon the bloodied So-jung (Kim Hye-yoon), turning the attention of her psychopathic attacker, Do-shik, onto Kyung-mi herself. As a result, her discovery sets up the film’s relentless game of cat and mouse. As Kyung-mi fights to evade her seemingly inevitable fate, the story is also joined by Jong-tak, So-jung’s over-protective older brother who desperately attempts to save his sister. Over the course of the night, the threads of each character rapidly intertwine through the maze-like streets of South Korea, tightening as the gap between eye-witness and killer closes to reach the ultimate/final confrontation. At first glance, “Midnight”’s thriller plot line might seem like just another overly simplistic rendition of the cat-and-mouse thriller genre stripped all the way down to its bare bones, leaving little doubt as to how its general arc will pan out. However, don’t be fooled: it is precisely this simplicity that will draw your attention to the breathless experience of the hunt. 

But at its heart, “Midnight” presents more than a night of terror. Kwon Oh-seung steps away from the generic tropes of previous film narratives that flip the tables of perception regarding the disabled such as “Hush” (2016) or “Don’t Breathe” (2019) which typically reveal their ‘superhuman’ abilities borne as a result of their disabilities. Instead, Kwon relies on an alternative tactic guaranteed to leave viewers on the edge of their seats, shifting the weight of Kyung-mi’s survival to rest on public perceptions of the disabled, and pure strokes of luck. In other words, the unreliable. 

Though Kyung-mi successfully rings a security alarm for help, the voice speaker still prevents her and her mother from communicating with the officers. The device is built to render aid to those in need of it, and yet, its design lacks to account for the range of people that might utilise it, highlighting the reductive perception that fails to account for the range of society’s members. In so doing, Kwon uses his film to reflect the lack of inclusivity towards minority communities, shining a light on the ways in which disabled individuals become immobilised by the inertia of social perception. 

And again, later in the police station, within a space of supposed safety, Kyung-mi and her mother are rendered helpless. The attending officers consistently override what the women attempt to communicate to them, either to the hearing Do-shik or with their assumptions of who the attacker-killer might be. Their consistent deference to the narrative of the hearing reflects the ironic nature of power: innocence is conditional, resting in the hands of easily manipulated public perception. 

When watching the film, audiences will be hard pressed to believe that Jin Ki-joo is a hearing actor. During a press conference, she commended her character’s deafness as it brought out her other strengths, intelligence and wit. “As in the film, Kyung-mi is able to tell what’s happening around her and sense the murderer’s presence through light movements and other visual signals”, she remarked, adding, “I also tried to imagine how the world would have been to me if I couldn’t hear anything. That’s why for days I did many things with earbuds on and eventually got used to it.”

For his part, Wi Ha-joon steps across the line of morality to emerge as the ruthless serial killer, Do-shik, a sharp turn from his “Squid Game” character Jun-ho, a protective and righteous police detective. His acting range is incredible as he neatly slips between masks of trembling innocence and unhinged psychopathy to get to his victims. 

It is indisputable that Jin Ki-joo and Wi Ha-joon’s performances are stellar. But to say they are solely responsible for the pulsing undercurrent of tension in “Midnight” would be to neglect the input of sound effects. Notably, background music is absent throughout the movie. This leaves the sound to focalise on the sensory experiences of the characters, pulling viewers further into the world of the film. Alongside the sweeping cuts of the camera, Kyung-mi’s breathless gasps are accompanied by the desperate pounding of her feet on the pavement. Brought together, the collision of rapid visual and auditory cuts mimics the unending chase between Kyung-mi and Do-shik that sweeps the audience along, skimming the point of exhaustion. 

Additionally, it is worth observing the spaces the film inhabits. Whether on the dimly lit streets, or the police station, or in the brightly lit town centre, Do-shik pursues Kyung-mi through public spaces to great success. His bold and unflinching nature illuminates the film’s darker message, that Kyung-mi’s vulnerabilities are not simply a result of her impairments, but of the social and gender prejudices inflicted on her.

Simply put, “Midnight” is a film worth watching. If any of the content in the above review has appeared even mildly intriguing, quell your doubts for a moment and take a chance on the movie. Kwon displays an excellent knack for pushing the structures of the thriller genre as he breathes new life into what it means to cling to the edge of your seat. Gone are the days of cheap jump scares, gore, and hysterical screaming. “Midnight” muzzles them all, to remind us that no matter how petrifying or loud the screaming can get, silence is always louder.

“Debuting in the same deluxe hardcover format as the hit JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure manga is a standalone series featuring everyone’s favorite manga artist, Rohan Kishibe! Rohan has freed himself of Josuke Higashikata, but that doesn’t mean his life is going to be easy! No, now the supernatural has come knocking, and Rohan must contend with an all-new level of bizarre adventure…” (Viz Media)

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Hirohiko Araki is a somewhat divisive character here in the Western fanscape with “Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure” having a large cult following including its own meme culture where Jojo’s references are everywhere and almost anything can be traced back to Dio. It is one of those fandoms that you are either on the in or bewildered by the obsessive nature of the mangas devotees–There are few that find themselves landing in the middle. Consequently, a spin-off series from the world of Jojo is bound to have an established audience.

The existing fandom can rest assured that the series still includes Araki’s peculiar mix of horror, comedy, camp, machismo, and action. Furthermore, each segment stands on its own by touching on different story elements that Araki excels in. For example, “Mutsukabe-Hill” is the most horror-inspired segment, but still has a wonderful dark comedic angle that keeps the extreme elements of Arakai’s absurd storytelling subdued. For those who have watched the anime limited series of the same name, the stories will be recognizable as they were adapted from the manga. While knowing the material before going in can sometimes be a deterrent, and as wonderfully expressive as the anime is in capturing the world of Araki, there is no real comparing the art of the mangaka to any adaptation.

To those uninitiated, “Thus Spoke Rohan Kishibe” is an ideal place to introduce readers to the world of “Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure” without having to commit to the decades-long series. The writing is sharp, the visuals are on par with Araki’s definitive work and it introduces the creator’s eccentricities without having to do a deep dive into the history of the Joestar family. Additionally, Rohan has become a fan favorite for good reason as he acts as a stand-in for Araki to explore his own world through the eyes of a mangaka (Rohan’s profession for those not in the know). Since most Jojo’s fans are quick to try to spread the good word, this may be the perfect intro series to give an idea of what new people to the fandom can expect.

Released in the same hardcover format as the ongoing Jojo’s series, the book is wonderfully presented. Though, to nitpick, a few extra colored panels would have been a welcome addition. Regardless, the hardcover bound release justifies the slightly higher price, and, more importantly, it is an aesthetically pleasing match with the other volumes of “Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure” for those already collecting the long-running series.

Ultimately, If you are one of those obsessed with all things Jojo’ you will enjoy “Thus Spoke Kishibe Rohan” in equal measure, it is still quintessentially Araki’s absurd and sensational storytelling on a smaller, bite-sized scale. For those curious about the work of Araki but afraid to approach the decades-long series, this is an ideal introduction that conveys why so many are obsessive about Araki and the world he created.

Set in an apartment complex in the near future, this moving sci-fi animation depicts somewhat familiar everyday life, unforgettable adventures, and the pain and joy of getting to know someone.

After the success of the short and feature edition of “Tokyo Kurds”, Fumiari Hyuga changes his subject completely, with his latest documentary following comedian Daisuke Muramoto, in an equally thorough, as much as dramatic portrait. 

“I Am a Comedian” is screening at DMZ International Documentary Festival

Muramoto, with his quick delivery of intense humor, won first place in Japan’s most prestigious comedy contest in 2013, soon reaching the height of his popularity, appearing in hundreds of shows every year. However, when he started dealing with “sensitive” issues including politics, nuclear power plants, Fukushima, immigrants, and the comfort women issue, he gradually disappeared, essentially deemed a troublemaker. Hyuga follows him at around this point, as he struggles to get back his career without compromising, traveling to the US to try his hand there, and finding another huge obstacle when the lockdown ends up with his shows canceled. At the same time, Hyuga also examines the man behind the comedian, with his visits to his divorced parents, his past as a child, the intense psychological struggles that still torment him, and the way fighting his father has shaped him. 

Evidently, having won the utter trust of Muramoto, the documentarian stays rather close to him, both his professional and personal moments, who eventually are revealed to be utterly intertwined, as his life experiences dictate his comedy, to the point that events like his father’s death become part of it. It is this sincerity and in-your-face-attitude, along with the ability to turn such dramatic events to comedy, that is what essentially allows Muramoto to stand out, while making his portrait so captivating. The same applies to his insistence to his belief that laughter can change the world, as much as his portrayal behind the stage, who is eloquently revealed as one of depression and probably alcoholism, for which making people laugh seems to be the only medicine. 

This presentation, which benefits the most by the excellent editing, particularly in the way live performances are intermingled with Muramoto’s life outside the stage, is what allows the film to remain interesting from beginning to end of its relatively long duration for a documentary (108 minutes). As we watch the essentially heroic efforts of a man to win against himself while using his struggle to offer laughter, it is very difficult not to empathize with him, which is probably the best asset of the movie. 

Despite the fact that is definitely not a hagiography, “I Am a Comedian” will definitely make its viewer to search for Muramoto shows, and even hang out with him, and that is where its true value lies.

The story of a special operations team headed by elite pilots, being ordered to test new fighter jets. Test flight after test flight, they continue to challenge the sky and the limits of themselves.

A middle-aged woman, A-Mian (Chuan Wang) whose husband and daughter (Yuu Chen) are always away from home, has been living alone for years. After finding out about her husband’s affair, she starts to search for a new focus in life and visits the ping-pong club of her old school friend Lu Su-jen (Ying-Xuan Hsieh). An unlucky accident changes A-Mian body dramatically. She might find a way to make her daughter stay with her forever. This time she is determined to find perpetual happiness.

Mama Pingpong Social Club is screening at Taiwan Film Festival

Overall, “Mama Pingpong Social Club” is a rather curious if enjoyable enough short. This is due to the rather odd structure where the first half is presented in an unusual manner. With a focus primarily on A-Mian’s dull and dreary life living by herself, since her husband and daughter have left her alone, this comes off with a decidedly obvious focus on how predictable her routine has become. Doing the same errands and meeting the same people over and over again has clearly left her in a rut at this stage of her life. The presentation of this lifestyle against what we see with Su-jen and her friends at the ping-pong club creates a very appealing counterbalance to the drudgery of her everyday existence. All of this is generally well-handled and gets the viewer into the events of what’s going on quite well.

Once she gets engrained into the club and learns their deadly secret, though, the short tends to become less focused. Relying on traditional genre themes and imagery regarding who the participants actually are, nothing overtly special is done with this information. These tropes, which are commonly utilized in just about most efforts in the genre, instead add more poignancy to the whole affair rather than delve into the more bloodthirsty carnage that would be expected in such a setup. While there’s a special degree of humanity in how it all plays together at the end, this one is slightly underwhelming due to this point but is still quite fun for the most part.

Far more emotionally impactful than expected, that “Mama Pingpong Social Club” falls just shy of the genre qualities most would’ve expected is a disappointing factor but thankfully not too much. While hardcore genre fans might be slightly put-off here, there’s quite a lot to like that makes this a fun time.

Kim Min-geun presents his first feature-length production after serving as director and cinematographer for a host of short films since 2012’s ‘Spring’. Now, a decade later, he is ready to take centre stage with this romantic comedy that is set to have its world premiere at the Asian Pop-Up Cinema Film Festival.

Director’s Intention is screening at Asian Pop Up Cinema

A mysterious jingle plays in the background while a lady fixes her gaze on a suspicious package in the lake and takes out her camera to photograph the strange item. The plot thickens. Whodunnit vibes emanate as another character comes into focus. An elderly garbage man. Our ‘detective’ proceeds to interrogate him. However, it soon becomes clear that she has fooled both us and the old fella when Sun-hwa (Han Seon-hwa) proclaims that she is a location manager for a film shoot and not Korea’s answer to Nancy Drew. Unfortunately, these short establishing scenes showcase individuality and charm that is not witnessed again over the course of Min-geun’s debut effort.

Sun-hwa’s CEO, Mr Kim Hae-sol (Park Se-ki), applauds her for choosing exceptional settings for the projects she had been tasked to work on, and breaks the news that another director from Seoul intends to meet the crew before filming commences. In a strange (or not) twist of fate, Sun-hwa discovers that the director sitting right in front of her at their awkward meeting turns out to be none other than her ex-boyfriend, Do-young (Lee Wan). The former lovers struggle to work together despite their differences until a particular choice of location forces them to confront their past.

Like that pretentious friend who strives not to be a wallflower, “Director’s intention” performs too much all at once but does not deliver adequately on most fronts. It plays out all the stereotypical nuances of a rom-com production but alas, fails to contribute anything fresh to the genre. The main plot that drives the movie revolves around the tired trope of lovers scorned over a clash of interests. That coupled with the done-to-death persona of Lee Wan’s hard-guy director, just makes it seem that we have seen such a picture a million times before.

The acting performance that stood out was hands down that of Park Se-ki’s Mr Kim, whose comedic chops transcend his mundane role into an infectious and expressive character. Sadly, it does not rub onto his cast members, especially the two lead actors who were stiff and expressionless throughout their misadventures in love and war. The pair of them exhibit nary an emotion above a chuckle or frown when met with conflict, making it clear that this might be their first major portrayal of lead characters.

While not the best of debuts for Kim in his feature-length directorial career, the picture exhibits a move in the right direction. All the core elements of a typical rom-com are in place but an upgrade with more creative ideas, a much-needed dose of star power and a little polish will take it from final-year film school project-esque to a rightful seat in the growing repertoire of Hallyuwood. With his incredible backyard of the gorgeous yellows and ambers of the Korean spring aiding to boost the appeal of his cinematic pursuits, we can only wonder what is Kim Min-geun’s next intention and if things really do stay the same as time goes by.

A lively beach party had just ended, and everyone was still hungover. But an unexpected tsunami swept over them. The island hotel was immediately submerged in seawater, and a raging giant shark sneaked into the hotel. A big fight between man and shark unfolded instantly. Wang Lei led everyone to survive the shark…

London East Asia Film Festival (LEAFF) is back with a diverse programme from East and Southeast Asia, including international and UK premieres. Seven strands runs throughout the festival: Official Selection, Competition, Documentary Competition, Actor Focus: Lee Jung-Jae, Filmmaker Focus: Cinematographer Mark Lee, Classics Restored and Halloween Horror Special.

The festival screenings and events will take place at five venues around London. Following the Opening Gala at the Odeon Luxe Leicester Square on 19th October, LEAFF will continue for 11 days at Odeon Luxe West End, the Cinema at Selfridges, Chiswick Cinema and the Cinema Museum in London! Squid Game star, Lee Jung-Jae will be attending LEAFF for the Opening Gala screening of “HUNT”.

LEAFF aims to champion the growing collaboration in East Asian filmmaking with a philosophy that marks a shift in the cinematic landscape of East Asia, and moves away from cultural and cinematic borders. The Festival vision is to bring a much wider, eclectic, and diverse programme of films from over 13 countries to show the richness and diversity of the region and its people. In short, draw people in with the familiar, and offer opportunities to see something new.

OPENING GALA
Hunt + Q&A with Director Lee Jung-Jae | Dir. Lee Jung-Jae | Korea | 2022 | 125 mins

CLOSING GALA
Warriors of Future | Dir. Ng Yuen-fai | Hong Kong | 2022 | 99 mins

LEAFF OFFICIAL SELECTION
Hommage + Q&A with Director Shin Su-Won and Actor Lee Jung-Eun | Dir. Shin Su-Won | Korea | 2021 | 108 mins
Emergency Declaration + Q&A with Actor Lim Si-Wan | Dir. Han Jae-Rim | Korea | 2021 | 147 mins
Murder Erased | Dir. Dennis Law | Hong Kong | 2022 | 90 mins
Goddamned Asura | Dir. Lou Yi-an | Taiwan | 2021 | 114 mins
The Roundup | Dir. Lee Sang-Yong | Korea | 2022 | 106 mins
Wandering | Dir. Lee Sang-il | Japan | 2022 | 150 mins
Love After Love | Dir. Ann Hui | China, Hong Kong | 2021 | 144 mins
It’s All My Fault | Dir. Yusaku Matsumoto | Japan | 2022 | 121 mins
A New Old Play | Dir. Qiu Jiongjiong | China | 2021 | 179 mins
Just Remembering | Dir. Daigo Matsui | Japan | 2022 | 115 mins
Coffin Painter | Dir. Da Fei | China | 2021 | 95 mins
Offbeat Cops | Dir. Eiji Uchida | Japan | 2022 | 119 mins
Fantasy·World | Dir. Freddy TANG Fu-jui | Taiwan | 2022 | 109 mins
Love Life | Dir. Kōji Fukada | Japan | 2022 | 123 mins

COMPETITION
Anima | Dir. Cao Jinling | China | 2021 | 120 mins
Pretty Heart | Dir. Terry Ng Ka-wai | Hong Kong | 2022 | 98 mins
The Abandoned | Dir. Tseng Ying-Ting | Taiwan | 2022 | 128 mins
The Apartment with Two Women | Dir. Kim Se-In | Korea | 2021 | 140 mins
Missing | Dir. Shinzô Katayama | Japan | 2021 | 124 mins
The Sparring Partner | Dir. Ho Cheuk-tin | Hong Kong | 2022 | 135 mins
Mama Boy | Dir. Arvin Chen | Taiwan | 2022 | 98 mins
Manchurian Tiger | Dir. Jun Geng | China | 2021 | 118 mins
A Hundred Flowers | Dir. Genki Kawamura | Japan | 2022 | 104 mins
Virgin Blue | Dir. Xiaoyu Niu | China | 2021 | 100 mins
Hunt | Dir. Lee Jung Jae | Korea | 2022 | 131 mins

DOCUMENTARY COMPETITION
Fanatic | Dir. Oh Se-Yeon | Korea | 2022 | 84 mins
To My Nineteen-Year-Old Self | Dir. Mabel Cheung | Hong Kong | 2022 | 136 mins
Salute | Dir. Yao Hung-i | Taiwan | 2022 | 136 mins
Far Away Eyes | Dir. Wang Chun-Hong | Taiwan | 2021 | 79 mins
Virga | Dir. Won Ho-Yeon, Jung Tae-Kyoung | Korea | 2022 | 75 mins

ACTOR FOCUS: LEE JUNG JAE
The Young Man | Dir. Bae Chang Ho | Korea | 1994 | 115 mins
The Housemaid | Dir. Im Sang Soo | Korea | 2010 | 107 mins
New World | Dir. Park Hoon Jung | Korea | 2013 | 134 mins
Deliver Us From Evil | Dir. Hong Won Chan | Korea | 2020 | 108 mins
Hunt | Dir. Lee Jung Jae | Korea | 2022 | 125 mins

FILMMAKER FOCUS: CINEMATOGRAPHER MARK LEE
Let The Wind Carry Me | Dir. Chiang Hsiu-Chiung, Kwan Pun Leung | Taiwan | 2009 | 88 mins
Flowers of Shanghai | Dir. Hou Hsiao-hsien | Taiwan | 1998 | 113 mins
Anima | Dir. Cao Jinling | China | 2021 | 120 mins

CLASSICS RESTORED
A Confucian Confusion | Dir. Edward Yang | Taiwan | 1996 | 121 mins
Flowers of Shanghai | Dir. Hou Hsiao-hsien | Taiwan | 1998 | 113 mins
The Young Man | Dir. Bae Chang Ho | Korea | 1994 | 115 mins

HALLOWEEN HORROR SPECIAL
Warning From Hell | Dir. Danny Pang | Malaysia, Thailand | 2022 | 80 mins
Tales From the Occult 2 | Dir. Frank Hui, Doris Wong, Daniel Chan | Hong Kong | 2022 | 93 mins
The Funeral | Dir. Shen Dan-Guei | Taiwan | 2022 | 103 mins

For more information about tickets, please visit LEAFF Official Website

In his third, but first documentary feature, Mohsen Ostad Ali continues the recent legacy of Iranian films that present brutal truths in the most artful and realistic way possible.

“Femininity” focuses on an establishment that provides nightly shelter for women who abuse drugs, with the two women who run it also offering counseling, along with some seminars about sexual conduct, since a number of these women are sex workers, that also includes the offering of syringes and condoms.

Femininity was screened at Life After Oil International Film Festival

The documentary follows five women, Sanaz, Saedeh, Tala, Ladan and Beheshteh, whose stories are as harsh as they are realistic. One (maybe a transsexual) has been kicked out of her house after beating her father, ending up in the streets where she frequently offers sex in exchange for drugs. Another one has suffered on the hands of justice, and is trying to raise enough money to rent a house and bring her family back again. Another is a compulsive thief, two others have been together since the younger of them was three years old, sharing their time on the streets, in prison and wherever their tragic fate brought them.

Listening to their stories is heartbreaking as it is shocking, as most of them have experienced drug abuse, imprisonment, domestic violence, prostitution, and are obviously suffering from mental issues, also having to do with their sexual identity, but most of all, with despair. As we listen to one saying, “All I want is a roof over my head and to be able to switch the light on and off”, it is rather difficult not to be touched by the lives of these women who live in the borders of a society that is bankrupt in ways more than the financial.

The women who ran the asylum do their best to help, with their efforts being literally heroic. However, there is so much they can do, since their lack of funding is more than evident, as mirrored in the rundown establishment, which provides, though, a shelter and a place of solace for women who would sleep in the streets otherwise.  Inevitably, as all these women have learned to fight even for the smallest scrap, violence is also frequent in the shelter, a tendency that makes the job of the caretakers even more difficult. The apathy the rest of the women show each time a fight commences is rather indicative of their overall mentality, while a scene during the ending, when one of them lashes against the crew for exploiting their misery, also speaks volumes.

In this setting, the title of the documentary seems ironic, particularly considering the way the term is perceived in the West. At the same time though, and particularly through the last scene, the fact that these women also feel the need to look pretty and take care of themselves physically also becomes obvious, in a comment that is also highlighted through the way DP Farhad Talebinezhad’s camera frequently focuses on their hands and particularly their manicured nails.

The many close-ups, particularly inside the asylum, work quite well in the narrative, allowing the viewer to feel as if he/she was almost present during the interviews, while the long shots also aim to show the lives of these women outside of the asylum, and the overall situation of the “slums” of Tehran. Babak Heidari’s editing also works quite well, with the many changes in the person of focus and the way the story flows from one individual to another being one of the best aspects of the film.

Mohsen Ostad Ali tried hard not to succumb to the tropes of “misery porn”, by also showing that the women share some moments of happiness, singing altogether, “reading” their cigarettes, and by highlighting their dreams and their will to change their lives. However, their situation is so dire, even more so since most of them seem to have families that are separated from, that a sense of misery inevitably surrounds the whole narrative. Furthermore, there is something missing and that is the back story of the women running the asylum, with the lack of this elements actually dulling the impact of the whole narrative, since it would also shed more light on how the “protagonists” ended up there.

As in the case of “Khatemeh”, “Feminity” offers another view to a kind of life that any script-writer would find troublesome to imagine. Mohsen Ostad Ali has managed to capture this concept and the reality of a number of women in the most eloquent, realistic, and artful fashion, coming up with a documentary that is shocking due to the truths it communicates.