Co-Presented by the Hong Kong Arts Centre and U.S. Consulate General Hong Kong & Macau July 29 – August 6, 2022

The Hong Kong Arts Centre (HKAC) and the U.S. Consulate General Hong Kong & Macau will co-present a moving image programme focusing on Lee Isaac Chung, the director of Oscar-winning Minari – Cries and Whispers: Film Retrospective of Lee Isaac Chung – at the Louis Koo Cinema, Hong Kong Arts Centre from July 29 to August 6, 2022. This programme screens five feature films by Chung, from his Cannes recognised debut Munyurangabo to his Oscar honoured historic milestone Minari. The screenings will be accompanied by talks and a masterclass with Chung. Guests to attend the live talks virtually include Lee Isaac Chung, Amanda Plummer (multiple Emmy and Tony Award-winning actress, roles include Honey Bunny of Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction), Samuel Gray Anderson (Director, Screenwriter and Producer), and Eugene Suen (Producer).

This retrospective honours one of the most celebrated and extraordinary filmmakers of our time, Lee Isaac Chung. It was supposed to take place in May, the Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander Heritage Month, which pays tribute to Asians and Pacific Islanders who have enriched the country’s development and history. Yet, due to Hong Kong’s sudden Covid-19 outbreak and the subsequent temporary closure of cinemas, this programme now takes place from July – in a safer place.

Chung’s stories, like the recent happenings of Hong Kong arts programmes and life, are trajectories subject to their time and fate. While Hongkongers and other peoples have been painstakingly coping with the tragedies of the pandemic and other earthshaking events, Chung’s characters exemplify how humans survive the chaotic nature of life – be it personal or communal – in fury, in tension, in dazedness, in tenderness, in humour and in other emotional complexities, along with resilience, versatility and hope.

The programme title, Cries and Whispers, might recall the masterpiece of the Swedish director Ingmar Bergman. All outstanding filmmakers are primarily great for their primal urge and distinct artistry to carve profound human conditions onto film. In Chung’s oeuvre, concerns are wide-ranging – such as war, illness, discrimination, displacement, loneliness and death. He strives for authenticity in his filmmaking, and his stories are full of cries and whispers from the depths of human psyche. But Chung’s style is gentle and subtle, always allowing space for audiences to observe and evolve with the characters as their journeys ebb and flow. His films are not only about Americans or Asian Americans – they are about human beings – hence their appeal to people far and wide.

About Lee Isaac Chung (Director, screenwriter and producer)

Lee Isaac Chung’s most recent film Minari won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress and was nominated for six Oscars total in 2021, including Best Picture. Chung is a writer and director who grew up in Lincoln, Arkansas, on a small farm in the Ozark Mountains. His first feature film was the Rwandan family drama Munyurangabo, which premiered at the 2007 Cannes Film Festival to great acclaim. His other feature films are Lucky Life, Abigail Harm, and I Have Seen My Last Born. 

Opening Film: Minari 

29.07 (Fri) 7:45 PM 
*Director Lee Isaac Chung will attend the virtual after-screening talk. 
Director: Lee Isaac Chung 
Cast: Steven Yeun, Yeri Han, Alan Kim, Noel Kate Cho, Youn Yuh-jung, Will Patton  

Best Supporting Actress, Academy Awards 2021 
Best Supporting Actress, British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) Awards 2021 
Grand Jury Prize and Audience Award for U.S. Dramatic Competition, Sundance Film Festival 2021 

USA | 2020 | 115 mins | DCP | Colour | In Korean and English with Chinese and English subtitles 

“Minari is truly the best. It grows anywhere, like weeds. So anyone can pick and eat it. Rich or poor, anyone can enjoy it and be healthy.”

A tender and sweeping story about what roots us, Minari follows a Korean-American family that moves to a tiny Arkansas farm in search of their own American Dream in the 1980s. The family home changes completely with the arrival of their sly, foul-mouthed, but incredibly loving grandmother. Amidst the instability and challenges of this new life in the rugged Ozarks, the film shows the undeniable resilience of family and what really makes a home.

Minari is a semi-autobiographical take on the upbringing of Lee Isaac Chung. Many critics declared it one of the best films of 2020. The director has cited Fyodor Dostoevsky and Willa Cather as inspirations when he wrote the story. In Chung’s words, the film is about “a family trying to learn how to speak a language of its own. It goes deeper than any American language and any foreign language. It’s a language of the heart.”

Lucky Life

30.07 (Sat) 7:45 PM
*Co-writer and producer Mr Samuel Gray Anderson will attend the virtual after-screening talk.
Director: Lee Isaac Chung
Cast: Daniel O’Keefe, Megan McKenna, Kenyon Adams

Nominated for Best Narrative Feature, World Narrative Competition, Tribeca Film Festival 2010
Nominated for Grand Prix, Bratislava International Film Festival 2010

USA | 2010 | 97 mins | Digital | Colour | In English with English subtitles

“Dear waves, what will you do for me this year? Will you drown out my scream?”

A beach trip from the past lingers in Mark and Karen’s minds as they prepare for the arrival of their newborn. One year, the ritual of a seaside vacation shared by a group of friends becomes a farewell for Jason, who is diagnosed with terminal cancer. Steeped in tenderness and affection, the friends continue their laughter and camaraderie in even the most quotidian activities, and conceal their grief to face the last days of Jason. As memory plays back, the couple embraces another phase of life.

Lee Isaac Chung’s contemplative, understated second feature on companionship, memory, life, and loss is inspired by the poetry of Gerald Stern, whose work lends the film its title. With much of the dialogue absent from the film’s outline, the actors improvise in the scene. The film has been shot in natural light without a storyboard, and Chung describes this spontaneous journey of filmmaking to seem like “an exercise of faith”. Eric Kohn of IndieWire praises the director for “his uncanny ability to elevate seemingly minor exchanges to a place of deeper significance”.

I Have Seen My Last Born

31.07 (Sun) 7:45 PM
*Co-director Mr Samuel Gray Anderson will attend the virtual after-screening talk.
Directors: Lee Isaac Chung, Samuel Gray Anderson
Cast: John Kwezi

Nominated for Best Documentary Feature, Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival 2015

Rwanda, USA | 2015 | 79 mins | Digital | Colour | In Kinyarwanda with English subtitles

“I thought about what it means to be a true human, and that’s what I chose to be.”

Lee Isaac Chung and his frequent collaborator, Samuel Gray Anderson, return to Rwanda to co-direct a documentary on 39-year-old Jean Kwezi, who was marked profoundly as a young adult by the 1994 genocide: separated from his family, only re-uniting with them years later, long after they had assumed him dead. The dramatic events of Jean’s reunion with his parents and, much later, the daughter that he once abandoned, have already taken place; but his deep emotions remain present. Each moment echoes the continuing power of these events and the vitality with which Jean has emerged from a dark past to live with a new purpose. What is he? How to be a Rwandan? What is Rwanda?

Chung’s only documentary continues to demonstrate the co-directors’ strengths as keen observers – respectful, unassuming and thoughtful. I Have Seen My Last Born is a powerful companion to Munyurangabo.

Abigail Harm

05.08 (Fri) 8:00 PM
*Ms Amanda Plummer (lead actress) and Mr Eugene Suen (producer) will attend the virtual after-screening talk.
Director: Lee Isaac Chung
Cast: Amanda Plummer, Tetsuo Kuramochi, Will Patton

Grand Jury Prize for Best Narrative Feature and Special Jury Prize for Best Director, Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival 2013 

USA | 2013 | 80 mins | Digital | Colour | In English with English subtitles

“It has nothing to do with love.”

Abigail Harm reads books to the blind and lives at the edge of the city, where no one can see her. “You have no idea how it would be if one day you were the only person left in the city,” Abigail whispers to herself. She keeps her eyes turned away, but secretly she watches, listens, and hopes. She remembers an old story about a woodcutter who saves the life of a deer and is granted a wish. The woodcutter wishes for a companion. Before long, this tale seems to come alive as a mysterious man appears in Abigail’s world, and she falls in love with him.

Lee Isaac Chung’s daringly original take of the Korean folktale The Woodcutter and the Nymph exudes the air of a surreal urban fairy tale. Multiple Emmy and Tony Award-winning actress, Amanda Plummer, plays the titular heroine. She has starred in numerous films and TV series including Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction as the unforgettable Honey Bunny, and Terry Gilliam’s The Fisher King. Violet Lucca of the Village Voice praises Plummer’s arresting and emotive performance, which “exudes more emotion in a wistful sideways glance than most actresses do over their entire careers.”

Munyurangabo

06.08 (Sat) 7:45 PM
*Masterclass on Film Directing with Lee Isaac Chung will take place right after the screening.
Director: Lee Isaac Chung
Cast: Cast: Jeff Rutagengwa, Eric Ndorunkundiye

Grand Jury Prize, AFI Fest 2007
Best First Film, Mexico City International Contemporary Film Festival 2008

Rwanda, USA | 2007 | 97 mins | Digital | Colour | In Kinyarwanda with English subtitles

“What is your battle?”

Munyurangabo is orphaned by the Rwandan Genocide and is eager to seek justice for his Tutsi parents. After stealing a machete from a market in Kigali, he and his Hutu friend, Sangwa, leave the Rwandan capital and return to their impoverished village, where Sangwa gets loving care from his family, and Munyurangabo is met with hostility from the family. “Hutus and Tutsis are supposed to be enemies,” Sangwa’s parents balk at this friendship. As the two adolescents confront and reconcile their differences, they also learn to survive the aftermath of the Rwandan Civil War.

This debut of Lee Isaac Chung is also the first narrative feature in the Kinyarwanda language. It started as a project to allow genocide orphans, returned refugees, the undereducated, and those barely making a living who were not film professionals to become Munyurangabo’s cast and crew. In the words of Chung, “[T]his is a film that focuses on memory, a collective one, and it was a quest to discover spiritual elements within memory.” American critic Roger Ebert calls it “in every frame a beautiful and powerful film – a masterpiece.”

Masterclass on Film Directing with Lee Isaac Chung

*Starts right after the screening of Munyurangabo in the Louis Koo Cinema, Hong Kong Arts Centre

Guest: Lee Isaac Chung (Director)
Moderator: Maggie Lee (Film Critic and Curator)
*Chung and Lee will join the masterclass virtually.

After a screening of his debut feature Munyurangabo (festival participation includes Cannes, Berlin, Toronto and Rotterdam), Lee Isaac Chung will share his journey of filmmaking with the audience – from starting his career as an independent filmmaker to receiving popular international recognition. Chung has been persistent in his art with an authentic vision and determined efforts. His is more than a story of success, but of a film artist who is brave, sincere and faithful to his medium and his viewers.

Tickets are available now on POPTICKET and for full details, see the programme website.

During a funeral soon after his release, Mo Sanmei (Zhu Yilong), a funeral director, meets an orphan, Wu Xiaowen (Yang Enyou), whose presence unexpectedly changes Mo’s attitude towards his profession and life.

‘What do I do now?’ trembles Yuko (Mihiro Kaneko) in the aftermath of having her ordinary life turned around in an instant. With the growing trend for single-take, small budget films from Japan, Tetsuya Mitsuhira creates an intense and claustrophobic look at an hour that will change one woman’s life forever.

One Day, A Woman is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

Yuko is a 30-something woman on her way home from work, discussing her life and loves with a colleague, before making her way to her small apartment. After preparing a meal, she sits down to some work when there is a ring at the doorbell. It is her ex-lover, Morimoto (Jin Arai), a married man who seems determined to still impose himself on her life. Forcing himself upon her physically, Yuko retaliates, the knife she used to prepare her meal close to hand, resulting in catastrophic events that leave Yuko not knowing where to turn next.

Shot in one-take in various locations, the cameraman (Tomokazu Tsukuda) has to follow Kaneko like a shadow, on screen for almost every second as she is. This is at times clumsy: the camera having to turn following her into the elevator, with close-up shots of elevator walls; and shots through a doorway as if the cameraman couldn’t fit through, so just stood back as she moves ever so slightly out of shot. But this limitation works in its favor, creating an intensity similar to that of Laszlo Nemes’ “Son of Saul”, closely following the lead in their struggle, creating a claustrophobia of the small setting and a voyeurism that adds to Morimoto’s stalker nature.

Mitsuhira also choreographs the action well, zooming in and dimming the lights for a flashback scene as if in a stage production. Much like Shinichiro Ueda’s “One Cut of the Dead” and Daigo Matsui’s “Ice Cream and the Sound of Raindrops”, this is ambitious in moving the camera within a single take, and is similarly successful with it, no doubt putting a lot of strain on the crew.

To start, this feels like a video from YouTuber Ramblac, as the camera glides in front of Yuko as she walks home, picking up the sounds of the street and people walking out of doors in the background. The real-time pacing does mean we have moments of filler in between the action, but this adds to the realism of the aftermath, from the mundane to the manic in minutes.

And indeed, Yuko’s response feels natural, unsure of what to do; a seemingly normal night sent into to disarray. She struggles, but tries to carry on, not knowing what to do about the situation, before the reality of it all kicks in and leaves her lost. This relies on a strong performance from Kaneko, and she duly delivers a full range within a single hour, looking like a different person come the end.

We sympathize with her against the typical patriarch with a wife and children who still demands of her, trying to put her down to maintain his control. He is a man who deserves what he gets. A sense of redemption is offered to Yuko, though the religious iconography towards the end feels a little out of place and unnecessary.

But this is another single-take film short in length, but high in creativity. It does not just feel like a gimmick here, however, but a useful tool in creating the necessary mood to tell the story, magnifying its strengths. On day, a woman; one hour, an intense ride.

Debao and his lowlife friends con the visitors to their village, robbing them by day on the road and by night in their scam hostel. When he is framed for the murder of a visiting government official, Debao finds sanctuary with a monk from the long-lost Shaolin Temple who trains him both in martial arts and in having empathy for his fellow man. When his master is unexpectedly poisoned, Debao respects his burial wish only to be cornered by government soldiers. Fleeing into nearby catacombs, he uncovers Shaolin Temple’s buried secrets. Underground Debao masters his kung fu before resurfacing to confront the man who scapegoated him, killed his master, and now plots to assassinate the Crown Prince. But finding a whole city corrupted by greed, Debao sets aside plans for personal vengeance to fight for social justice in the true spirit of Shaolin.

“The Key of Savior” is a strange superhero story. It’s not very easy to tell what the plot of this short film exactly is. Searching for official information on it, you will find the following: A young woman has to save the world from a mortal virus. We see that she is upset, a bit scared. Still she walks with a certain confidence through the streets of Tokyo. It’s night.

The Key of Savior is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

The girl’s final destination seems to be a special tall building. Once she reaches it, the two towers on it incline, are directed towards the sky and fire a powerful blue-whitish laser light into the clouds. The world is saved, the girl is happy.

It seems clear that the story is only a pretext to experiment with colors and light. There is not much to interpret here on an intellectual level. The short rather attempts to touch its viewers on an sensual way. The result is not very convincing. There a few symbols that we know from video games, science fiction or fantasy stories. The atmosphere is that of a dystopia.

Everything is bathed in blue, a cold blue. Prominent pictures of the Tokyo skyline are lined up as in a promotional tourist video. The camera is alternately steady or hand-held, it follows the protagonist in her journey through the city. The play with the colors, the dominant blue and the yellow scarf of the girl, is quite intriguing. The music however is cheesy, predictable.

More than a narrative short film, “The Key of Savior” is more like a music video.

Chang Cheh is recognized as perhaps the greatest martial arts director of all time and 1977’s THE BRAVE ARCHER provided him with one of his biggest box office successes.

Reinventing the kung-fu formula in the era of Bruce Lee knock-offs, this period-set bout of fist-to-fist fighting and swashbuckling action used the hit Cantonese novel The Legend of the Condor Heroes as its basis.

With a whimsical sense of ‘old China’, THE BRAVE ARCHER undoubtedly paved the way for such later wuxia blockbusters as ONCE UPON A TIME IN CHINA and CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON by weaving a lavish costume-packed story of rival kung fu schools pitting their best fighters against a series of trials and tribulations.

Featuring an ensemble cast that includes Alexander Fu Sheng (HEROES SHED NO TEARS) and Ti Lung (A BETTER TOMORROW), the action comes furious and fast, the atmosphere is so strong you can almost taste the Far Eastern fog and the battles are some of the most mesmerizing ever produced! Leading to two sequels THE BRAVE ARCHER is one of the standout Shaw Brothers adventures and 88 Films is thrilled to bring this classic to UK shelves in glorious HD.

Last year, with “Dosuemon”, Shingo Kanemoto gave us one of the worst Japanese movies of all time, not only for its lack of any kind of cinematic value, but also due to the offensive comments on raping, beating and stealing (from the elderly). Surprisingly, this year, he came up with a new one, which may not be as offensive as the previous one, but is definitely as amateurish. 

I’ve Died a Lot Lately is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

Satoko Sato is a 32 years old woman, who after her grandmother’s death from Covid (in a blood vomiting scene indicative of what is about to follow), she has quit everything in life, including her job, and is just living in her parents’ house in Nara. Her parents try to make her search for a job, but she is having none of it, instead staying in her rather colorful room, and shooting videos for YouTube of her playing dead or indulging in any kind of activities to pass time. Eventually, and after ending up in the room of a fortune teller, she decides to become a monk, but her training is not exactly ideal as she keeps failing, despite the fact that she has shaved her head. 

Evidently, there is very little, if any coherence in Shingo Kanemoto’s film, which essentially comprises a collage of bad ideas executed in even worse fashion. The comment about the post-Covid depression seems to be the central idea, and maybe that religion can be a solace, but even if these remarks are actually here on purpose, they are lost in the amateurish absurdity of the narrative. 

Even worse is the overall acting, with Sari Tachibana being rather hyperbolic in most of her delivery, and the rest of the actors looking like they were just picked from a crowd, and have very little to do with cinema at all. Maybe an exception could be made for Rikiya Kaido as the monk, and the old lady in the end, but barely.

The cinematography is non-existent, the editing just helps in jumping from one disconnected scene to another in a way that even the 64 minutes of the movie’s duration seem too long, and the sound has a number of issues, but not as many as the various FX (I would not call them special)  in a production that is evidently of the no-budget variety.

What remains in the end is the passable job in set design, with Satoko’s room, a painting of the sea and sky as background and the strawberry tapestry being pleasant to the eye. 

That is all there is however, with the only good thing one could say about “I’ve Died a Lot Lately” is that is better than “Dosuemon”

Producer and owner of Mongol Film Distribution Tsogtbayar (Tsogo) Namsrai talks about the path that led him to movies, Mongolian cinema in the past and today, its issues and its advantages and its future, notable filmmakers and movies, and many other topics.

It is always reinvigorating to find films that deal with the supernatural and particularly the concept of the ghost in a unique way, in a category that occasionally seems to have surpassed the borders of being preterit even. Yu Eun-jeong’s debut feature effort does exactly that by giving a distinctively social essence to the concept, in a film that won the Audience Award in BIFAN.

“Ghost Walk” is screening as part of Women Direct. Korean Indies! – Korean Women Independent Film Series at the Hong Kong Arts Centre

The story begins with a note rather different than the rest of the film, as we watch Hye-jeong strolling in the night with a man, before she turns down his love confession, with a rather pragmatist statement about not having any interest in relationships, because they are time consuming. Thus, a portrait of a depressed woman begins to take shape, although it is soon revealed that this is not a social drama, particularly when Hye-jeong realizes he has become a ghost. Her decision winks to the crime film, although with a supernatural twist: she goes back in time and tries to find how she became a ghost, and eventually to prevent the events that led her to it. During her trip, she is reacquainted to her roommates, Ji-yeon and her sister Mi-sook, who practically ignored her while she was alive and Su-yang, a young girl she stumbles upon in the streets as she walks around during the nights, who seems to cry for help. Soon, a crime that seems to have everyone involved starts to take shape, while Kwang-sik, a loan shark, comes to the fore.

The narrative’s main trait is formed through the combination of Yu Eun-jeong’s writing, Lee Young-lim’s editing and Lee Ju-hwan’s cinematography who create an atmosphere of extreme eeriness that begins as something similar to “The Sixth Sense” but soon turns to something completely different, particularly through the concept of the “time travel” and the rather intense crime case. This sense of disorientation actually carries the film for the majority of its duration, through an approach that lingers between the art-house and the mainstream, particularly due to the relatively slow pace, that occasionally, though, picks up speed. I mention the majority, because in the end, the story somewhat falls somewhat short, particularly regarding all the questions that were raised during the progress of the story. This fault however, is not enough to ruin the overall sense the movie leaves, which is quite good.

Add to all that the social comments regarding alienation, the difficulty of relationships in contemporary Korea, both friendly and romantic, and the financial issues many people have to face nowadays, along with the extreme solutions they occasionally end up choosing, and you have the backbone of the movie. The element that left me impressed however, is that finally a film like that has somewhat of a happy ending, despite the fact that its general premise is that of the drama.

The almost exclusively female cast is quite on par with the movie’s aesthetics, headed by an excellent Han Hae-in as Kang Hye-jeong, whose transformation from a depressingly meaningless individual to someone who manages to change almost everyone around her is one of the film’s better aspects. Lee Ja-min as Yoo Ji-yeon and Choi Sol-hee as Cha Mi-sook provide great secondary performances, while little Gam So-hyun as Soo-yang steals the show a number of times.

“Ghost Walk” could have been better with a bit of more careful writing, but in general is a really good film that manages to make the most of the many components that form its narrative.

The original practice of the 88 Temples pilgrimage (henro) was established in the Heinan period of Japanese history (on the border of the Early and the Developed Middle Ages in European terms) and it takes places on the island of Shikoku. However, the tradition has been passed to the different Japanese regions which have their own pilgrimage routes, and some of them are direct, scaled-down (distance-wise) imitations of the original route. One of them, in and near the town of Kojima, is the setting of Koichi Kawata’s drama film “Stonesteps” (“Ishidan” in the original language) that enjoys an international and festival premiere at Japan Film Fest Hamburg.

Stonesteps is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

The film is set around two characters and their unlikely friendship. Natsuki (Kanna Fukui, a singer and former Japanese idol) is a troublesome teenage girl who has a dream of becoming a famous pop singer, but has fallen in with a wrong crowd at school, while her needs are not supported by her hardworking, yet harsh mother. On the other hand, Tsotumu Katayama (Akitoshi Otaki, a stuntman and an actor) is a middle-aged man doing the Kojima 88 Temples pilgrimage in Okayama Prefecture.

Their first encounter is not a pleasant one, since Natsuki’s gang beats up Mr Katayama due to the misinterpretation of his benign comment, but Natsuki’s loving grandmother (Mitsuko Hoshi, a veteran actress best known for her role in the “Ultraman” TV series in the early 70s) is the person who offers him shelter and first aid. She also persuades her granddaughter to offer help to the pilgrim on his trip, which Natsuko unwillingly does. As the two keep visiting temples and revealing things about each other (for instance, he has a lung cancer diagnosis that does not leave him much to live, and her father died from the same thing) and about the very nature of the specific rituals of the henro, they forge a bond and support each other in their strvings to become better persons.

Noble intentions aside, “Ishidan” seems like an amateurish, semi-pro at best, effort in filmmaking. Regarding the scriptwriting, it seems that Kuwata is following the basic guidelines he could adopt from a workshop, but he is way out of his league when it comes to directing. His creative decisions are nonsensical and the cast and crew is constantly under pressure due to them.

Production values are pretty low, making the assumption that “Ishidan” is a no-budget work quite viable. Sound design is almost non-existent, and the film’s soundscheme, when it is not filled with pop- and gentle acoustic tunes (that sound generic), is riddled with a terrible feedback noise from the microphone, while colour grading is nowhere to be seen. The DoP Yutaka Watanabe shows some promise when it comes to framing particular pictures, but he is not always in position to follow his own instincts. The same goes also for the editor Yousuke Kamano who keeps the material easy enough to follow, whenever let to make decisions, which is not the case in one particularly erratic scene.

With the lack of proper guidance and tasked with stenciled characters and rigid lines of dialogues, the actors usually go into over-acting mode, which is never corrected by Kuwata. As the most seasoned one, Mitsuko Hoshi infuses the granny with a bit of soul, while Fukui and Otaki show that they come from some other lines of work and compensate the lack of skill with zeal.

Finally, “Stonesteps” looks overlong even in its 72 minutes of runtime and the post-credits epilogue that feels glued to the rest of the film does not help. Maybe the thing to be salvaged from the movie is its general humaneness and interesting information about one lesser-known tradition.

Cambodian-French director-producer Davy Chou made a sweet revisit to Festival de Cannes after a 6 years break – during which he was preoccupied with establishing himself as an adherent of Cambodian new talent pool as a producer – and lighted up the Un Certain Regard sidebar with his third film, a South Korean and European co-production, “Return to Seoul”. His feature debut, “Diamond Island”, was set in Cambodia and marked a strong presence among Semaine de la Critiques in 2016, but this time, it is South Korea’s Seoul that becomes a stage for Chou’s next venture. Born and raised in France, where his parents found asylum after fleeing away from the Khmer Rouge atrocities in the 1970s, Chou conveys a seemingly autobiographical depiction. In his film, a 25-year-old Korean-descent French woman, Freddie (Park Ji-min), plunges herself in an erratic effort onto the vibrant tissue of Seoul to reconnect with her biological parents and – more than everything – to rediscover her identity within the liminal, transcultural frame.

A few days after the buzz of Festival de Cannes has already cooled off, we met with Davy Chou over a zoom call to extensively tackle the premise of his “Return to Seoul”. We managed to discuss the general idea behind the unpredictability of Freddie’s character, the back-and-forth navigating between the underground club scene and the figure of the Korean table – and the inspiration of Hong Sang-soo – as well as the audiovisual side of the film, with its psychedelic soundtrack and beautifully ecstatic expression of Freddie’s dancing, and finally – the film’s transcultural notions that make the whole production simply important for many Asian-descent people.

“Return to Seoul” screened at Festival de Cannes!

I’d like to start with the protagonist of your film, Freddie. Even though “Return to Seoul” is partially based on a real story, there is a strong element of your experience and your perspective included in the film. What did you think about when you wrote her character? In other words, who is Freddie for you?

I think she’s a force. It’s that kind of a notion that is neither positive nor negative but rather abounds in contradictions. Life is full of contradictions, real people are so too, so I wanted to portray a force that would reflect on the nature of contradictions. In the case of Freddie, she also has this thing about somewhat constantly refusing – people, things, society, but also, in a way, herself. Particularly with the latter, I guess it comes with the fact that, at some point, she’s striving to define herself. But ironically, the force I’m talking about always resists any sort of plain definition. And it’s not just a teenager rebellion she’s going through; it’s way stronger, as it derives from her personal background – feeling of abandonment, adoption, growing up in the country with a sense of displacement. And it gets stronger because once she’s in South Korea, she’s anticipated to act as Korean, which only makes her even more reluctant to embrace the anticipation. In fact, the desire becomes the necessity: to simply say ‘no’. But there’s the capacity to one refusing everything; the question indeed becomes ‘What are you, then?’

The film deals exactly with that. I think Freddie is really brave. She keeps on confronting herself. She’s going through many difficulties. I imagine it’s so easy to say ‘yes’ to all the things she’s facing, as there are many unanswered questions or doubts. And she really wants to know the answers. It can get into your guts, and pierce through your bones. She also has this instinct, a survival one, from the day she was born; thanks to that, she’s able to maintain a distance, and keep on refusing. But in a way, her responsibility becomes about reinventing herself – this time around, on a new cultural ground – whilst not falling into fake illusions. This is her journey. For me, her character is about the process of reshaping one’s self through freedom, bravery, and emancipation, but also – what’s even more important – through anger. She becomes a vessel for pure anger. I don’t want her to lock it down, but to bring it and liberate through it, both for better or for worse. The beauty lies in there – to see her in the process, seeing her doing all of that, that is, finding herself.

How did the process of writing Freddie’s story come about? What was her trajectory?

That’s an interesting question. The whole process of writing is always a bit mysterious for me because you never know what happens during that time. And it’s a long period of time, it can last up to three years or longer. I’m also a producer, so in between writing, I normally produce other films. Oftentimes, I have a feeling that my memories get mixed to the extent it becomes almost impossible to clearly distinguish the genesis of an idea at some point. As far as I remember Freddie’s story, there was a lot of attention to the biographical axis; the story itself is based on a real character – a friend of mine – as you mentioned earlier, so I wanted to include as many details of her story as possible. Since I accompanied my friend on her journey, I witnessed the meetings with her biological father twice, including the very first one in 2011 and the second one in 2017. With that, I knew I want to rely on my observations, but I guess the real thing was my extended conversations with my friend.

The film indeed starts as a journey of finding one’s cultural and biological roots, but then it becomes more universal and holistic; the process of redefinition starts to revolve around the notions of identity in general. The story unfolds over the time span of eight years in total, with Freddie coming back and forth between the different aspects of her identity in the South Korean landscape, familial, cultural, and gender. How did you approach the timeline of the story and the structure of the narrative?

I think that structure-wise, I wanted the story to have three parts from the start. The question of time was supposed to be vital as well. Both my friend and I had the experience of delving into our roots. This is the kind of journey that evolves with time. It takes time to be able to look back. You start to question your relationship with that country; the story of one’s origin becomes a story of constant evolution. Some stories don’t need that much time, but with this one, at some point, I knew very deeply that I need time so that this story can unfold organically. I simply felt there was something in it, that only time can extract. Otherwise, I would be telling a lie or showing an illusion. The three-part structure allowed me to show Freddie’s evolution. Obviously, I was very fascinated with the background of her story: adoption and cultural roots. However, I started to feel there’s more to it; I realized it’s actually about a woman and her relationship with her native country. It’s way more complex. And that was something I really wanted to see myself in. When I started to write the script, I remember the feeling of being lost. I doubted my legitimacy – I’m neither woman, nor Korean, and I capitalize on my friend’s personal story. So, what’s my take?

I wasn’t familiar with the sense of being abandoned and adopted, so the question became how can I actually relate to it. In fact, I might never be able to do so. It also comes with the fact that my parents experienced trauma when they had to fly off to Cambodia. I’m always scared that I will project myself and that I will never be able to really feel what they did back in the day. Thus, the matter of representation and legitimacy came back and forth as I was working on the script. The thing is, however, that it’s always good to be lost in the writing process – until the point you’re not lost anymore. This is when you reconnect with that something – it’s the moment when I understood I need to put everything into the film, every inch of myself, all my guts. Only then I could be assured that I might establish some sort of personal link between me and the topic. That’s why the story becomes the narrative of finding oneself on a more holistic level, as you mentioned; it receives an enlargement treatment of the real topic of the film, with finding ways to answer some pivotal questions about who we really are, regardless of our biological roots.

Since Freddie tends to lead us toward many unexpected moments – although the journey is filled with amazing, unpredictable energy – I was wondering if there were any unscripted scenes that were improvised during the shooting?

It wasn’t possible, so absolutely not. Production limitations. It was a very short shooting schedule, with only 29 days in South Korea. Lots of pressure on all of the team and we needed to organize all of the shooting very neatly. But, I love when you’re able to do that. I did it with “Diamond Island” – I rewrote some of the last scenes at the very last moment before our final shoot, as I was very frustrated with the way things went back then. But here with “Return to Seoul”, the Korean crew was somewhat very rigid – in a good way – so it would be impossible.

The idea of unpredictability and the desire to give the audience the element of surprise derives entirely from writing. I remember when I pitched the idea for the film, I said in my statement that one of the goals of the story is to achieve some level of unpredictability. But when you pitch the film, people really want to know the general premise of the story – what is it about, what’s the story, what’s the direction. Here, it starts with the idea of adoption, meeting biological parents, moving to South Korea, etc. It’s a huge part of the story, but it’s only a part of it. I wanted to challenge that, but I was also scared – I was hesitating, how predictable the story should be. And I think the essence of Freddie, and now I come back to the first question, is that she’s that unpredictable character.

The crucial factor was balance. I could navigate between the idea of a classical narrative and that character whose energy can guide the audience onto these unexpected moments. I wanted the first 15 minutes of the film to overwhelm with unpredictability so that one can immediately tell that Freddie is full of contradictions. She first says she doesn’t want to meet her parents, but in the next scene she’s talking at the adoption center, and we don’t really know why. I wanted the audience to say to themselves: “okay, whatever, I just follow Freddie, and see what happens”.

How did you work on that notion of unpredictability in terms of editing?

Editing was the key to maintaining the right tension of the story. The first cut was actually 165 minutes and it not only felt too long but also too predictable. The editing controls the rhythm and the tension of the film, but also it gives the ability to control the emotional states of the character – and in some way the actress as well – so that you’re able to maintain the constant tension on a certain level. The unpredictable also comes with bodily movement – when you film the party scenes or dancing, you might have a general concept of the scene, but eventually, you turn to the accidentality, moments. The way I showed the club scenes in my film might look quite precise, but there’s a lot of attention to preparing the space to find the unexpected. I guess the same might be said about fighting scenes – I’ve never shot any before, so when Freddie is suddenly fighting with the wrestler, it was all based on spontaneous energy. Sometimes you just have an idea, you stick to it, and with that, you jump right in the middle of the scene and see what happens.

There is somewhat of a dissonance about the meta-level of your film. It conveys a portrayal of transnational identity but the film itself stands out as a transnational project. As a festival programmer who deals with Asian Cinema, I got into several discussions about the identity of your film and it seems that “Return to Seoul” is a bit problematic in terms of framing it. My question would be – is this Asian Cinema? Or is it not?

I hope I won’t get blocked too much! [laughs] It’s a funny comment to hear, though. And I will take it as a compliment. Jokes aside – it’s true, I’ve been living between Cambodia and France for the past ten years and I’m doing most of my films in the former, which includes producing (e.g. “White Building”, Kavich Neang, 2021). When I’m in Cambodia, I live in a very cosmopolitan area, where I’m surrounded by many Koreans, Americans, or Taiwanese people. At work, I always have a mixed team of people from either Cambodia or France. And the whole international tissue – it’s not an easy matter to deal with. It’s actually very complex, as there’s always something to deal with; it’s a constant ongoing process. In a way, we will never be able to understand each other completely. But this is the core of the experience – a never-ending process of learning. And I guess I wanted to include that in the film as well – the complexity of internationality.

How did it translate to your way of working with the actors?

As a matter of fact, I think that meeting my actors was a formative experience for the film’s sake. More than the production itself, I think the aspect of transnationality derived mainly from them, really. And it was the most exciting part of prep work. The main actress, Park Ji-min, was a non-professional at the beginning. But it was a choice. The story is based on a real character, so when I met Ji-min, I was absolutely amazed. Even though she had no prior experience, she was incredible from the start. Freddie’s best friend, Tena (Han Guka), is also a non-professional actress who’s currently a writer based in Berlin; or Lucie (Emeline Briffaud), who appears in the second part of the film as a young adoptee. With all of them, we had to make some actor training, but it was all worth it.

Why didn’t you go for Korean actors, though?

I did casting in South Korea, but it was difficult to find someone who would speak both Korean and French. Of course, South Korea abounds in amazingly gifted actors, and the talent pool is vast, but since most of the time they don’t speak French, we decided to go for the non-professional choice. We could go for a hard-learning process and make the actors learn French, but that would be a risk of having a fake language sound. Instead, we had this amazing instinct and natural energy. However, we did cast famous actors as Freddie’s biological family, with Oh Kwang-rok (Park Chan-wook’s “Vengeance Trilogy” or “Bittersweet Life”), playing the father, or Kim Sun-young (famous for her k-drama roles) embracing the role of the aunt. Even with the scenes in South Korea, we mixed the cast with European professional French-speaking actors as well, or in some of the scenes in the club, there are professional Korean actors – the wrestler, Freddie’s boyfriend Kay-Kay, women at the adoption centre – and I think that particular configuration emphasizes Freddie’s experience, being at the liminal verge between two cultures, two languages (or even three, if we consider English), and builds into the politics of the film.

Another set of contradictions, I guess.

Kind of, yeah. It’s this awkwardness created by uncontrollable two worlds that belong to different spheres.

Speaking of the cultural frictions that appear in the film, I was thinking about Freddie’s attitude and character. At times, she seems incredibly self-confident and proactive compared to Korean people, but her confidence and self-awareness might as well be recognized as arrogance. Weren’t you afraid that, at some point, you might embrace this sort of patronizing gaze? That you will look down on the landscape you’re not necessarily familiar with?

Of course, and that was a big thing for me – not to have that gaze. Even the fact that you mention it, it simply means it’s somewhat there, this gaze. For me, it is also somehow problematized, but then again, integrated into the story. We had a lot of discussions about it with my actress, Park Ji-min, prior to the shooting. When we were re-reading the script, she was very sensitive to so many things, asking me many questions about the dialogue, gender issues, and cultural things. And then we came to the first scene and she was suggesting that Freddie is like a new colonialist appearing in South Korea. And she was right – I’ve seen so many real scenes of French people in Cambodia, frankly speaking, just being arrogant. And that was something I didn’t want to omit in my film as well.

What you described as self-confidence and arrogance, for me, works as a shield for Freddie; this is the way she tries to protect herself at the beginning. But this is also the result of the necessary re-education she had to go through to prove herself as a French person, just to make sure she’s really that French. In a way, the film becomes the process of deconstructing one’s facade – of arrogance. But Ji-min, even though it’s vital to do all of that, pointed out the lack of critical perspective from my side. So it made me question myself, too. That’s why I decided to challenge Freddie through other characters – some people look childish, some play around with Freddie’s irony with their irony, and the family will constantly seek agency in regard to her. I wanted the dialogue to sustain this cultural tension and the whole process of working on it made me realize how many layers were built into Freddie’s character.

Aside from the dialogue and the attitude, there’s also the body language. The way Freddie moves is something else; in a way, it doesn’t fit, but the energy is just captivating.

It’s actually tied with my observations from different countries in Asia. Ji-min was actually born in South Korea but moved to France at the age of eight, so at that time she was definitely more Korean than French. When we’re talking about body language, for me, as soon as I see someone, I guess I’m able to tell whether that person was born in France or some other country, or if someone moved to France at a very young age. The body speaks it all. The body language doesn’t have to tell anything about confidence, but it tells a lot about the way you occupy the space. Again, it’s tied with the notions of colonial history – it’s like the place belongs to you. You can just feel at ease wherever you are. On the contrary, when you live in Asia – depending on the country, of course – you can notice that people focus more on the center of their little spaces, trying to be as much spatially unobtrusive and non-invasive as possible. It’s a generalization to some extent, but there’s a lot of truth in it. That said – I was trying to push Ji-min so that she could develop the ease of feeling the space and somehow become the colonial intruder.

That’s so fascinating about Freddie, as the body movement is her other language of communication. Especially when we see her dancing – it’s so powerful and it tells so much about the character and her incompatibility with the space she occupies. And I must say, it made me want to go for a techno night. How did you approach the dancing scenes?

Thank you for saying this. I love watching cool dancing scenes, but there are not too many to find. If I were to give you my list of favourite ones, there would be definitely Claire Denis’s “Beau Travail” (1999), but with this, you can’t really compete. The other example doesn’t necessarily have to do with the choreography of dancing per se, as the joy and power don’t come from the actors dancing, but it has something to do with the music and the camera movement – Nadav Lapid’s “Synonyms” (2019). In both cases, there’s this particular attention to Euro-dance and for me, it’s just amazing. One of my personal favourites is Naomi Kawase’s “Shara” (2003), with the rain-dancing at the end making it perhaps one of the best dancing scenes in film history. And to frame the list, I would also add James Gray’s club scene with Joaquin Phoenix in “Two Lovers” (2008), which for me is also incredible.

Anyway, writing dancing scenes is always scary. I wrote one for “Diamond Island” but it didn’t go to the final cut eventually. With “Return to Seoul”, I wasn’t sure about it either. When you write it, it’s like when you write about sex scenes: “and now they have sex.” We’ll see how we’re gonna approach it, once we’re shooting the scene. It’s just a script with a theoretical character, a concept, so at that point, you don’t really know what kind of dance you want to have yet. What I like to do with my non-professional actors is to play games. We do lots of alcohol games – but without alcohol – so that people can relax and just have fun at first so that we can get to know each other. And at some point, I ask others if they can be their own DJs and then we start to dance to their favourite music.

On one of these nights, I saw Ji-min dancing for the first time. It was a bit similar to the way she dances in the film. And I must say, I was fascinated by it, but also amazed because she told me before that she wasn’t feeling comfortable with her body in a general way. The film itself tackles the bodily representation in many ways, so we had plenty of margin to work with. There’s tension in her body, which is slowly released throughout the whole story, but when she starts dancing, you can feel some density in the muscle. But at the same time, it translates to something absolutely exploding. When I saw her dancing for the first time, I took a hand-held camera and started to record her, so that I could show it to my DP and the gaffer afterwards. I wanted to come up with the camera movement through which we would be able to capture that unique sort of force, the electricity that is both bright and dark at the same time.

How did you shoot Freddie’s dancing scene eventually?

It was crazy. We had so many technical problems that we lost three out of ten working hours, which is a lot on one day. We decided to schedule the dancing scene at the end of our shooting day, which was risky, as we didn’t know what to expect. We did one take, which was great but there was some minor mistake with one extra who was very present in the scene in a way I would have to edit it out. And I wanted to have it in one sequence. So the day was almost over and, along with the producer, we begged the team so we could have the second take. And we did – ten minutes after finishing it, everybody started shouting out of happiness, as we all knew that it was that good. If you think about it, it’s just text in the script. But the way it was embodied was just miraculous.

I also noticed the work you’ve done around the setting. On one side, we have a very vibrant underground club scene of Seoul, a noisy space where Freddie spends a lot of time; on the other, the more dramatic setting of the figure of a family table – something that reappears in Korean Cinema on many occasions, either in family dramas or Hong Sang-soo’s oeuvre. You seem to have found the right balance between the two contradictory realms and I was wondering how did you approach it to find the right tone?

Oh, that’s a good question. The starting point was to, indeed, establish a contrast between the party scenes and the family meetings. But, actually, at the very beginning of thinking about the film’s concept, I thought it will only consist of table scenes. It might be the case I was too inspired by Hong Sang-soo; so I thought it will be Freddie, only having food with different family members over the course of ten years. But I changed that premise, as I subconsciously felt it wouldn’t be right for the film’s DNA. I’m a fan of Hong Sang-soo, but it would be stupid of me to copy-cat him, but I did rewatch his work and other films as well, and I felt that I need something else to find my expression.

With table scenes, more than Hong, I think I was inspired by David Fincher or classic American Cinema as I found there is more authenticity in terms of dynamics between the people, but also setting in general. Coming back to the contrast thing – I think it was more about Freddie being rendered as some sort of agent of chaos, a bomb that might as well explode at any given moment. For me, the most crucial was to convey the tension of her presence. It translated to the formula of the scenes: I start with a purely Hong Sang-soo style long take, then it is shot-reverse-shot, and then suddenly Freddie jumps out after an unexpected confrontation, deconstructing the whole dramatic point of the mise-en-scene so that the scene turns into a more chaotic shoulder camera. I was also a bit worried that the film might look like two different loose parts and I guess I relied on my trust to match Freddie’s energy – on the diagram I wrote at the beginning I remember there was playing around her tension and intensity, that sometimes she would destroy the scene, and sometimes she would remain calm.

I must say that one of the major influences was the work of the Safdie brothers. Especially “Good Time” (2017) and “Uncut Gems” (2019) – I discussed these films thoroughly with my team before we plunged ourselves into making “Return to Seoul”. Their work is basically about creating chaos and maintaining control over it. It’s extremely difficult to do, but their ability to work around tension is perfect. Another thing was Lapid’s “Synonyms” in which there is also a very distinctive energy: of an actor who keeps on provoking the gaze of the camera. There’s this feeling of a dance with the movement of the camera or some sort of fighting choreography. I guess I also aimed for the feeling that Freddie would be provoking, fighting and battling with the camera.

Much of the film’s charm also comes from the music. Freddie’s journey is framed in between the electronic music of Jérémie Arcache and Christophe Musset, with whom you worked before, and psychedelic South Korean folk-rock from the 1970s, mostly composed by legendary songwriter Shin Jung-hwa. I’m especially curious about the choice of the latter – where did it come from?

Jérémie and Christophe made an amazing job as the music feels as if it is a pre-existing one, but it was actually composed for the film. And that simply helps the film – you automatically have the feeling it’s integrated into the story. With Korean music, I came across several times on multiple occasions. For instance, the song ‘Petals’ (composed by Shin Jung-hyun, and performed by Lee Jung-hwa) appears in Bong Joon-ho’s “Memories of Murder” (2003), but more importantly, I made some research on Korean drama, that I wasn’t familiar at all before doing “Return to Seoul”. There’s a lot of great music in there, especially in the productions that deal with a historical setting. My first trip to South Korea was in 2011 when my first short got into Busan IFF, and I met with my friend back then – the one whose story inspired me to make “Return to Seoul” – after spending one week on my own in Seoul, at the guest house my friend also used when she came to Seoul for the first time in 2008, when she was about to find out about her biological family. Back then, I had no clue about making the film, I just wanted to have fun. So I was just enjoying it – hanging out alone, drinking with strangers, discovering things. One night I met this Korean guy on the street, who said he will take me to the best bar in Seoul. And so he did. It was a vintage bar, where people were dancing to music from vinyl records. The music I instantly fell in love with was the 70s psychedelic South Korean rock. But films are like that, right? It all derives from personal experience; sometimes you just don’t know.

Although sometimes there is no better material than a personal story, and however tempting the story might be, I guess it is very complex in terms of navigating between one’s background.

I think so, absolutely. I’d say one needs to be very cautious about the temptation to go too easy on the autobiographical route. The risk is huge. I mean, I think I will never be able to tell the story of a 25-year-old guy coming back to Cambodia to meet his biological parents. That would feel very strange to me. Fiction can liberate you. It can make you distance yourself from your story. Eventually, it can also bring ‘you’ into it. It’s a matter of dialectics – fiction allows you to emancipate yourself from yourself. And it’s not the case that it’s because it’s fiction, it’s not going to be personal – quite opposite. Many people tell their stories, so it’s legitimate. But for me, it’s a bit frustrating at times.

Why do you feel frustrated about it?

It’s about the perspective. A lot of times, if the film revolves around specific characters, the whole depiction resembles the image of self-indulgence. One gets too close to the material and one’s own story. There’s a lack of liberation because there’s no distance from the story – many people just want to tell their stories right, because these are their stories. For me, it’s a form of self-oppression. If I had to project myself in such a direction, I would feel a bit too proud or even shy.

The concept of the bar that exists in a timespace continuum has been explored before in the Japanese industry, with the anime “Bartender” being an excellent title that moves in that specific path. Jun Kitamikado, after 25 years of hiatus returns to movies with a title that is based on the concept, but eventually moves towards sci/fi dystopian paths.

Reunion is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

The bar’s name is “Reunion” and as the story begins, Mika, a girl who finds that her legs have become robotic, is to take the place of the previous bartender, Yuri, who has been serving there for 100 years, according to the instructions of Doc, a mysterious man who claims to have saved the former girl. Mika is perplexed but agrees with no particular protest, soon beginning to serve a series of patrons who come from everywhere (and every when) to relax and have a drink. The story then proceeds through Mika’s interactions with them, including a duo who discuss “47 Ronin”, a man who keeps forgetting, and Marco, a man who is in search of his sister. The story actually goes as far as to present the interaction with her booze provider, in a style that seems somewhat mundane, but still manages to be quite pleasant, particularly through the permeating calmness and Mika’s cheerfulness, with Keiko Aizawa being quite convincing in the part.

At one point though, a strange and quite dangerous duo appear in Reunion,, and have an intense interaction with Doc, while another man appears eventually who has some clues about her past, spiraling an adventure for her in the side of Doc in a rather dystopian setting, with the film taking a completely different direction after this point.

The main premise of the movie is quite interesting, with the bar in the middle of nowhere and the mystery of its existence, as much as Mika’s background, working quite well for the duration this part lasts. The switching to a more sci-fi/action is well placed, since it appears at a moment where the repetition of the first part has become a bit tiring. At the same time, the low budget of the production becomes quite evident here, as the anime-like action is quite demanding, and the result is definitely subpar. The dystopian setting and the overall presentation of the two “dangerous” cyberpunk entities that start the whole thing compensates somewhat, but not to a point to “save” the whole of this part.

In the end, the less than 50 minutes “Reunion” would have been better if it only focused on the bar scenes, which do take, though, the majority of its duration essentially deeming it a movie that deserves a watch.

A stylish debut from filmmakers Oxide and Danny Pang or the Pang Brothers, this gritty Thai action drama is about a silent hitman in the shady underworld of Bangkok. It also attracted a fair bit of attention and won the International Critics’ Award at the 2000 Toronto International Film Festival.

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Growing up in a poor neighborhood, Kong (Pawalit Mongkolpisit) is both deaf and mute and gets bullied constantly as a child. As an adult he works as a cleaner in a gun shooting range where he meets Joe (Pisek Intrakanchit), a hitman and his girlfriend Aom (Patharawarin Timkul). Impressed by Kong’s shooting ability during a brief target practice, Jo takes him in and trains him as a small time hitman. Since they work so well as a team, they get more assignments and their bond grows even stronger.

In the meantime, Kong happens to meet a beautiful drugstore assistant Fon (Premsinee Ratanasopha). Intimidated from childhood because of his disability, Kong now finds love, security and acceptance in her. The two get along well and Kong slowly falls further in love with the caring Fon who of course doesn’t know he is a hitman. The truth finally comes out one day, leading Fon to break off their relationship. however, by that time Kong is too deeply involved and finds it hard to part with her. Heartbroken and torn between love and his hitman job, he begins to question his life. To make the situation worse, while working in a bar, Aom unfortunately offended a gang member and as a result he raped her. In a rage, Jo goes after the gang for revenge but being outnumbered, it ends badly. Naturally, Kong steps in to help his only true friends and this eventually leads to a bloody gun battle and a tragic end.

Although this is the Pang Brothers’ first feature, they manage to bring life and mood to the shady underworld of Bangkok for their characters to live in, with arresting visuals of back streets at night, sleazy strip bars and their inhabitants. Together with some pulsating music, the Pangs are able to make the nightlife of Bangkok seem beautiful but sinister at the same time.

The filmmakers are obviously paying John Woo a tribute here, as the action and the shootouts might look unrehearsed but they feel fresh and unhurried nevertheless. There is the abundant use of slow motion, freeze frames and long takes to push the plot along. On one occasion during a hit in Hong Kong, the action that takes place in the subway and is quite stylishly shot with quick edits and effective use of music to create tension and mood. In general, the production has a gritty, sleazy and down to earth look, the world of hitman Kong is anything but glossy but it’s full of atmosphere and tension just the same. The overall action is not the hyperactive kind that is common in Hong Kong action movies, but it’s enough to emphasize temperament and induce excitement to the story telling.

The characters are all very well drawn out and you can feel their pain, joy and anger. Pawalit Mongkolpisit who plays Kong, the cold but professional mute hitman, is able to convey a variety of moods through his expressive eyes and movements even though he doesn’t speak at all. The pretty shop assistant Fon, played by Premsinee Ratanasopha is equally effective as Kong’s caring girlfriend through her soft and gentle ways, besides being easy on the eye. All the other supporting actors do their jobs fairly well, and they seem very comfortable in their settings.

Even with obviously little budget to play with, the Pangs are able to create a production which is visually satisfying even though their screenwriting skills need enhancement. The Bangkok setting with its local colors also helps to give it a unique look which breaths life on to the screen. Interesting in 2008, the Pang brothers remade “Bangkok Dangerous” into a Hollywood movie starring Nicolas Cage with a bad haircut. Although it is a better looking movie because of a bigger budget, it’s never as charming as the original.

The short “Little Wonder” by Japanese director Kento Izawa is a real curiosity. The title of the film says it all: “This is a little wonder story. Mysterious little people lived in the secret tower.” These creatures, who physically are indistinguishable from normal people, are having fun. They jump up and down in their elegant clothes, and think of the tricks they could do to tease each other. One of them is a doctor sitting in his office, one is a mother who runs the household and two others are the ones playing around. At some point the earth trembles. Another person founds in his closet a Yenga tower and starts to break it down. The tower is the little people’s home.

Little Wonder is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

It’s an interesting idea for a story. Since “Gulliver’s Travels” the motif of particular small persons living among the “normal-sized” ones is very popular. It doesn’t matter why they are so small, if they have been shrunk or are small for other reasons. It is an old fascination of humans and especially storytellers to think of things populated by miniature creatures.

Elves, dwarfs and creatures of other kinds can be good or bad. The little people in the short film by director Izawa are neither. Actually they don’t have any specific function. This has not per se to be a weakness of the film. But unfortunately the characters seem random. We do not learn about their background, about their future or even enough about their present. The film is not absurd enough to convince.

As for the esthetics “Little Wonder” follows the form of a silent movie. It is in black and white, the gestures and expressions of the actors recalls that of silent movie actors. We see a few boards with indications that loosely function as chapters. The use of a split screen that shows all the little people moving at the same time is interesting. This reinforces the claustrophobic feeling of them living inside this toy.

For the short length of four minutes, it is undoubtedly funny to watch the film. For a longer duration, however, the idea is just not pertinent enough.

Originally planned for 2020 but pushed to 2021 due to the pandemic, “Snakehead” is a passion project based in New York’s Chinatown, and it’s worth taking note.  

Dazzler Media presents this powerful crime drama, inspired by true events, coming to DVD and Download-to-Own from  August 1, 2022. 

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Directed by Evan Leong and originally financed because of a Kickstarter campaign, “Snakehead” is the director’s first feature film. The story entails a Chinese immigrant coming to New York to find her daughter, and is inspired by true events, even though the story is fictional. The film is based in New York’s Chinatown, featuring Shuya Chang as anti-hero Sister Tse, Jade Wu as underground Chinatown boss Dai Mah and Sung Kang, known for his roles in the Fast & Furious franchise, as the troublesome son of Dai Mah, Rambo.  

Director Evan Leong said that this film is about humanizing the immigrant experience, and the movie showcases this in a really intriguing way. Instead of choosing to make every immigrant a product of their environment, helpless and pitiful, “Snakehead” chooses to form more interesting and less one-dimensional characters. Some characters are still victims of their environment, but others, like our protagonist Sister Tse, do much of what they do because of their own will to do so.  This doesn’t only give the narrative more depth, it also makes the title more distinctive, and worth watching. Despite its budget and being cinematographer Ray Huang’s first feature, it’s a rather grand film, showing locations with charm and low-key shots that would not look out of place in large Hollywood films.  

The director in turn was able to make the whole world feel real and rich, whereas the editing and pacing was great for most of the film. Unfortunately, it did feel rushed near its ending, not fitting of the grand structure that went before it. “Snakehead” seems to miss its grand finale, and it takes away from the great set-up beforehand. However, the acting by Shuya Chang was impressive, showing a notable amount of intrigue for an anti-hero. Jade Wu in turn felt commanding in her role as respected and feared leader Dai Mah, and she was able to put some interesting notes to her character. Sung Kang, Perry Yung and Branden Smith all had good supporting roles, revealing an interesting family full of ambiguous characters. These characters then lift the film to a higher level, making it unique enough to recommend. 

“Snakehead” shows off an intriguing story revolving around a part of Chinatown that is often underrepresented, and its story is worth telling. Despite its rushed ending, the production’s surprisingly full narrative keeps you on your toes throughout, making this film stand out. 

Iconic Japanese All-Girl Rock Band SCANDAL Announces Summer 2022 North American Tour

North American shows coincide with band’s 15^th Anniversary and the release of Scandal’s 10^th album ‘MIRROR’ – available now! 

“In 1977, America unleashed The Runaways on Japan. More recently, the Land of the Rising Sun countered with all-girl Japanese J-pop band Scandal.” – Music Connection 

The iconic Japanese rock band SCANDAL has announced a North American summer concert tour. The summer trek kicks off in Toronto on July 9^th and coincides with the band’s 15^th anniversary and the release of their highly anticipated 10^th album, “MIRROR,” which is out now. SCANDAL says, “Finally! We are coming to see our North American fans with our new album “MIRROR!” It was very sad and painful for us to postpone our US tour due to the pandemic. However, even during this difficult time, we have received so many messages to our radio show and social media. We are very touched and saved by all your love. Thank you so much from the bottom of our hearts! Now is our turn to share our love and support you though our music! We are looking forward to seeing everyone – Let’s have amazing time together!”

The band adds, “Our 10^th album, “MIRROR,” was made during the pandemic, and it was also our 15^th anniversary year.”

“Like everyone else, it wasn’t easy for us to be apart from each other, but we all had a chance to think about who we are as a band and as individuals. We titled this album “MIRROR” because we feel it reflects all of our different personalities and shows who SCANDAL has become.” 

“Each of us wrote music, lyrics, and sung main vocals, so each song has a different personality to allow listeners to enjoy different genres through our music. Our lead track “AI Ni Narana Katta No Sa” (It Was Never Love for Me) is a sentimental love song and for the music video, we created a story based on lyrics so that you can feel just like you are living in the world of this song. Enjoy!” 

Watch the new “Ai ni Narana Katta No Sa” video here: 

SCANDAL WORLD U.S. SUMMER TOUR 2022 “MIRROR”

7/9 (Sat) Queen Elizabeth Hall, Toronto, ON 

7/11 (Mon) Sony Hall, New York, NY 

7/13 (Wed) Big Night Live, Boston, MA 

7/15 (Fri) The Masquerade, Atlanta, GA 

7/16 (Sat) House of Blues, Chicago, IL 

7/18 (Mon) The Imperial, Vancouver, BC 

7/20 (Wed) The Neptune, Seattle, WA 

7/22 (Fri) House of Blues, Anaheim, CA 

7/26 (Tue) Legacy Hall, Dallas, TX

Formed in 2006 in Kyobashi, Osaka, SCANDAL made its major debut in 2008 with “DOLL” on indie label Kitty Records. The following year, they won the Best New Artist category at the Japan Record Awards with “Shojo S.”

In 2008, the band made its major-label debut on Epic Records, Japan (Sony Music Entertainment, Japan). With massive support radio and media support (Billboard, CNN, ABC, etc.), and an energized international fanbase behind them, the band went on to perform the theme songs for several successful anime series, including “Shōjo S” and “Harukaze” for Bleach, “Shunkan Sentimental” for Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, “Pride” for “Star Driver” and “A.M.D.K.J.” for “GeGeGe no Kitaro.”

The band’s 9^th studio album ‘Kiss From The Darkness’ was released in February 2020. The album peaked at number five on the Oricon weekly charts, extending Scandal’s streak of having all nine of their albums reach the top 5 of the charts upon release. 

The band’s digital single “Spice” (a collaboration with Xflag for their animated film “Xpice”) followed in July 2020. 2021 saw the release of the single “Eternal” and the documentary series “her” Diary 2021 on YouTube. 

The group has a massive herd of followers at home and abroad and performs shows throughout the world. In recent years they have also attracted attention as fashion icons, and as producers of their own clothing line “Feedback!” In 2019 they founded their own label imprint, “her” (under Japanese label Victor Entertainment) where they continue to release a steady stream of chart-topping singles and albums while bringing their music to venues and fans across the globe. 

Translation by Lukasz Mankowski

Born in 1963 in the Kagoshima prefecture, Daihachi Yoshida has been working as a commercial director for over 18 years. He has directed over several hundred commercials up to date, and has won many awards such as Cannes, IBA, CLIO, NY, AdFestAsia Pacific and is considerated a top rated director in the advertising world. In addition to commercial, he has directed music videos, television dramas, and short films. Past short films include Otokonoko Wa Minna Hikoki Ga Suki (Every Boy Loves Airplane, 2002) and Mitsuwa (2003). Since 2006 and “FUNUKE Show Some Love, You Fools!” he has also been directing feature films, having won awards from Japanese Academy (2013, Best Director for “The Kirishima Thing”) and Busan (2017, Kim Ji Seok Award, “The Scythian Lamp”). “Kiba: The Fangs of Fiction” is his latest work.

On the occasion of “Kiba: The Fangs of Fiction” screening at Toronto Japanese Film Festival, we speak with him about adapting Takeshi Shiota’s work, Yo Oizumi and Shinya Tsukamoto, printed media nowadays, the Japanese movie industry and other topics.

Why did you decide to adapt “Damashie no Kiba” by Takeshi Shiota? Do you prefer directing your own scripts or adapting other people’s work? 

I felt that since I haven’t really openly dealt with any of the contemporary Japanese social issues so far in my career, it might be a good opportunity to change it. As a matter of fact, the setting of the literary industry is a world that I’ve been familiar with since I was a kid, so it also became the reason for opting for that particular topic.

The novel was written with Yo Oizumi in mind as the protagonist. How did that happen and was it easy to convince him to play the role? How was your cooperation with him?

 I think that he was able to play a very difficult role of someone whose mind is difficult to read, and he delivered his character with this beautiful, yet puzzling charm – and that was precisely what I was aiming for. I guess I want the audience to endorse something that hasn’t appeared in my work so far: a glamorized character that abounds in ambiguity.

What do you feel is the place of printed media in the current, Internet-driven society? Do you read magazines? 

Personally, I’ve started to read way more stuff published on paper since the beginning of the pandemic. I also noticed it’s not just me, but a lot of people around. That said, the publishing companies and bookstores still seem to be struggling, barely making it through, so I guess the polarization of digital and traditional media is still progressing. Unfortunately, all of my favorite magazines have vanished.

What kind of research did you do regarding the particular industry in Japan? 

Aside from the books or texts I’ve read through in order to get the research done, I’ve conducted plenty of interviews with people who work for publishing companies or as editors in the magazines or observed them at work. There was a lot of material or real situations that inspired me throughout this time and I eventually included it in the film as well.

The cast is rather impressive. Can you give us some details regarding the casting process? How is it working with an actor that is also a director in the case of Shinya Tsukamoto? 

I think that casting is the most important part of the pre-production. Of course, in order to make a better casting, you need a good script. Then there’s the balance between the actors, the chemistry that makes everything interesting and appealing – I’m always looking for these things in the actors I select for my films. With this film, I was mostly concerned about Oizumi-san’s role of Hayami and how he can lose himself within the character’s facial expression, so that he can attract with it.

As for Tsukamoto-san, he’s the filmmaker from the industry I respect the most. I’ve known him from the times he was engaged in the activity in a very small theatre, where he was giving all his heart to the work he was doing back then, so I wanted to ask him to play the role of the bookseller based in the city that is also going through a hard time. He praised the script very highly, so it made me believe in the story I wanted to convey even more.

How was your cooperation with DP Hiroshi Machida and what was your purpose in the visual aspect of the movie? 

Since I’ve worked in commercials and had a lot of prior experience in short films, we were able to work with the team very smoothly from the very start of this project. As for the visual style, I had a very clear image in my head about the rhythm of the storytelling. From the stage of writing the script, we aimed for a visual language that would be accurate to this tempo – very sharp, very quick, and lucid.

What is your opinion of the Japanese movie industry now? 

I think that the current structures of Japanese film industry are approaching its limits. I have no choice but to persistently keep on looking for solutions for my own sake and my own future, so that I can continue on working in film.

Are you working on any new projects? 

With my next project, I’d like to do something that would be the exact opposite of ‘Fangs of Fiction’ – a small, personal project that would equally pierce through the audience’s sensitivity with a poignant storytelling. I’m currently in the process of developing the film.

For his feature-length directorial debut, Japanese filmmaker Koji Uehara treads on familiar territory as he tackles a subject close to his heart, that of musicians, their world, the mania and the madness that comes with it. A vocalist of a rock band himself, Uehara creates a film that strips the journey of rockstars of any glitter or glory, however. “Before The Rainbow Falls,” instead disabuses audiences of the notion that being an up-and-coming rockstar is a sex and booze-galumph; on the contrary, it’s just a sobering struggle where trust gets broken and dreams, for the longest time, don’t take you anywhere. 

Before the Rainbow Falls is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

The movie introduces us to Kohei Kazama, a down-and-out musician who’s racing against time to make things happen for his band. Comprised of men almost in their 30s, their band has been eclipsed by younger, newer acts which were able to clinch their place in the limelight even if Kohei’s band is as talented, maybe even more.

While Kohei may have fire in his belly, he is self-effacing to a fault and drowns himself in self-deprecation. He apologizes for mistakes that aren’t his and even asks forgiveness for trying. His partner, Tamae, is the one who painstakingly reminds him that he has a gift and supports him in every way she can. 

Kohei also chooses to either see the goodness in people unconditionally or just be blind to their maleficence. It is this unhealthy trust in people or just sheer naivete which blindsides him as one of his bandmates, Yoichi, takes off with the money that was supposed to be paid to a music label, one which finally takes notice of them after years of playing thankless gigs. The catch here is that the money was not even Kohei’s – it was the hard-earned money of both Tamae and the life savings of his father. 

Yoichi’s reason for taking the money takes the viewers to the underbelly of Yakuza culture, their codes of honor and respect and the violent payback for violating them. Uehara does not entangle these worlds in a convoluted manner, though. The transition of the storyline comes across as very organic as he does this through exploring Kohei’s friendships in his younger years. Those ties run deep, though Uehara, who also wrote the script, stops short of explaining why. This exposition could have benefited the movie; but on one hand, the music producer-cum-director could have also just wanted the audience to run free with their own imagination and create their own backstory. In this case, however, it will be better if the foundation of such fealty was spelled out clearly.  

This is where the misgiving of the film lies: in reining in and opting for shortcuts. For one, as it approaches its conclusion, it settles for a quick, almost implausible happy turn of events. It doesn’t give ample time nor sufficient buildup that could explain how Kohei suddenly found the resources which enables his band to record an album. If this transpired because of negotiations and returning of favors within the Yakuza world, it wasn’t again, made clear.

The film soars though with a good ensemble cast. Ryunosuke Moriyama as the docile Kohei and Hitomi Uneda as the supportive but discerning Tamae create relatable dynamics as a couple which goes through and tries to survive both the quiet and difficult moments of life together. Itagaki Yudai as Yoichi is simply effective in being deplorable and amoral.

Uehara’s shots are clean and basic, an approach that befits the way the story is told as they give a peek of the routine that Kohei lived until things unraveled. But if there’s anything that’s refreshing and remarkable in the production, it’s the scoring also by Uehara and Hidetoshi Nishihara which consists not of rock music, but mostly of soulful piano accompaniment. 

“Before the Rainbow Falls” distinguishes itself from other films about the journey of rock bands by focusing on what makes it tenebrific rather than going the glitzy, colorful route. Its emotional pull, however, due to a half-baked, rushed storyline, falters and fades just like an unfinished song. 

Hot off the back of “Kaguya-sama: Love Is War – Final”, Hayato Kawai returns with his second feature of 2021, “First Gentleman”. An adaptation of Maha Harada’s 2013 novel, the film dives into the world of contemporary Japanese politics with indifferent results. A convoluted comedy of sorts, Kawai’s sanitised feature leaves much to be desired.

“First Gentleman” is screening at Toronto Japanese Film Festival

A keen zoologist and bird watcher, Hiyori (Kei Tanaka) comes home from a Hokkaido research trip to find that his wife, Rinko (Miki Nakatani), has become the first female Prime Minister of Japan. Naturally, Rinko’s drastic career move puts Hiyori in the unlikely position of being Japan’s First Gentleman. Not accustomed to the spotlight but desperate for his wife to succeed, Hiyori must fend off troublesome parties on all fronts to protect Rinko and help her to become a force for change in the country.

For much of “First Gentleman”, Hiyori finds himself in increasingly uncomfortable scenarios, as he adjusts to being in the public eye. This fish out of water situation is charming, to begin with, but the novelty soon wears off as the hapless protagonist is frustratingly passive. Many of the comedic setups that involve Hiyori being used to harm Rinko are tired, predictable, and executed with little visual flair. In fact, the direction overall is painfully stale, with minimal visual humor being utilised and many scenes comprised of static conversational scenes that are more befitting of a soap opera.

There’s a distinct lack of energy to the film, in everything from the performances to the camerawork. This issue is partly due to the fact that there are no real stakes in any of the plot developments. As soon as a potential antagonist arises, they’re quickly batted down with little to no effort. Hiyori and Rinko’s marriage would be the obvious focal point for conflict, but the two show nothing but support for one another throughout the film. Some sort of ongoing feud between the couple would at least add an element of tension to this overly-safe endeavour. The half-hearted ‘change the world’ rhetoric in the finale is woefully tagged on to round out a frankly uninteresting narrative.

Perhaps the most confusing aspect of “First Gentleman” is the conflated message that the film is clearly trying to convey. Rinko is, of course, the first female prime minister of Japan, a fact that we return to over and over again throughout the narrative. However, despite pushing this idea of equality and representation in politics, the story sees Rinko constantly bombarded with issues that are exclusive to her gender. The film’s resolution, in particular, is more than a little patronising, derailing some of the goodwill built up earlier concerning progressive politics. Whatever the intention behind Rinko’s character arc, it’s accidentally conflicted at best and loaded with contempt at worst.

Miki Nakatani comes across as suitably ministerial in the role of Rinko, while Kei Tanaka is charming as the simplistic Hiyori. However, the two share zero chemistry throughout the movie, which is a sticking point given that their relationship is the emotional heart of the narrative. The pair come across more like chummy colleagues than husband and wife, with their shared scenes severely lacking in intimacy. It’s hard to get attached to the couple and believe in their love for one another outside of what we’re told. Hiyori is dutifully supportive, but there’s very little to grasp onto in terms of actual feeling.

Overlong, uninspired, and underwhelming, “First Gentleman” is a disappointment considering the promise of its premise. Rather than take the opportunity to explore real issues concerning representation and influence in Japan’s governmental system, Hayato Kawai opts for a safe and sanitised comedy that neither humours nor excites.

Shintaro Tanaka is showing his new film at the Japan Filmfest in Hamburg. The director presents with “Memory” a thriller that generates from a very good idea. Unfortunately its execution is defective.

Memory is screening at Japan Filmfest Hamburg

Maezono (Yuya Maeji) has been homeless for several months. He doesn’t remember why he got there, he doesn’t even know who he is. One morning a young woman, Rina (Haruka Nagao), comes to him, saying that she is his sister-in-law. She tells him her sister and respectively his wife Aki (Kasumi Taguchi) is dead, she has been murdered. He has to go with her, to regain his memory, so that they can try to figure out who really killed her.

The two embark on a painful journey into the past. They find Aki’s diary in which she tells how she met a charismatic guy, Suzuta (Hideto Suzuki), how she fell for him and how she got addicted to ecstasy thanks to him. It gets even worse, since Suzuta has a ring of prostitution. He forces Aki to have sex with men and in return, she gets the drugs she can’t afford otherwise. In all this, Maezono plays the role of the trigger. When he lost his job, he began to drink too much and treated Aki badly.

It is in itself a good idea to use the memory loss of the protagonist to unveil bit by bit the crime story at the Centre of the film. Tanaka reveals in several flashbacks more and more about it. One twist follows the other. On a methodic point of view he we see a classical whodunit thriller with a considerable sense of suspense.

But the characters in this film are extremely superficial. There are no nuances. The men are the ones who do and decide things. The women are submissive. They can very easily be manipulated, actually they don’t have an own will. In general, the film presents a very old-fashioned and quite annoying view on women. But despite that, the presentation of drug addiction, alcohol abuse, sexuality, corruption or financial distress is also problematic. There is not one thread of the story one can take particularly seriously.

The poor acting makes things even worse. It was surely difficult for the cast to relate to the plain dialogues. Still their gestures are overall exaggerated. This is evident for example in a very striking way in the recurrent headaches of Maezono who tries to gain back his memory. Same goes for Taguchi’s interpretation of Aki, no matter if she is sad, blushes or is in her delirium.

The set design, the lighting, and the framing are, unfortunately, as amateurish as the rest of the movie. The handheld camera is too wild. Its form is meant to give a particular dynamic to the film but it is more form than really a narrative need.

Unfortunately “Memory” lacks of know-how on all levels. Moreover, it is too long and extra tiring. Like a Greek tragedy, the plot gets from scene to scene more and more dramatic – and in this case less credible.