I mentioned the online Japanese Film Festival on Purple Tern the other day. This is a more detailed impression of the movies we saw (six in all -- one of the advantages of having the event online is that you can watch more...)



First up, we had Suo Masayuki's Lady Maiko, a musical that's very much a Japanese version of My Fair Lady. There's little in the way of a plot (an unlikely candidate for the role of trainee geisha does in fact make good, thanks to the efforts of various teachers, including the linguistics professor who smooths out her country bumpkin accent). But it makes up for that with barrel-loads of warmth: "When Haruko officially transforms into the maiko Koharu and the city breaks out into song (again), only the stoniest in the audience could remain unmoved by the old-fashioned 'niceness' of it all."

And, visually, it's a treat, leading us into the highly rarefied world of geisha culture, and reminding us of beautiful Kyoto (which is where the photos in this post come from).





Our next one, A Story of Yonosuke, directed by Shuici Okita, is one of those movies that unfolds really slowly, doesn't have a particularly strong story-line, and yet really stays in your mind. Yonosuke is "ordinary", as one character reiterates. He's shy, somewhat goofy, somewhat sweaty. Yet he's good-looking, sociable, and affable enough to become not some strange outsider, but rather a kind of unworldly, floating positive spirit. You can't really pinpoint any outstanding qualities or attributes, and yet people feel "luckier" for having known him.

I don't think it's too much of a spoiler to say that we're told quite early on that Yonusuke will die at the age of 35. This plot detail enables the movie to ask "one of the biggest questions of all: What do our lives really mean to those around us? How can one person have an impact, especially if he hardly seems to have a clue?"

Indeed, at his grandmother's funeral, Yonosuke wonders, "When I die, would anyone cry?" "No, everyone will laugh when they think of you," his girlfriend replies. Actually, they do both. Character after character, when reminded of Yonosuke, explains how he "enriched their lives immeasurably and they feel privileged to have known him".

Which is comforting, I guess... We don't have to have done anything too amazing for people to miss us and appreciate us. We just have to be nice...

And, seriously, the glimpses of Japanese interiors are half the reason I watch these movies every year...





The Flavor of Green Tea Over Rice was made in 1952 by Yasujiro Ozu (who also made Late Spring, which we saw in 2015 just before our first visit to Japan).

This is an examination of marriage. On the one hand, Taeko, the female half of a no-longer-young couple, is scathing about the dullness of her husband, Mokichi. She doesn't give any indication that her arranged marriage has brought her much happiness. On the other, she enthusiastically backs her niece's arranged marriage, and does not appreciate her husband's much more hands-off attitude in this matter. Meanwhile, Taeko's friend Aya is discomfited to find her husband entertaining a woman from his office at a baseball game. But she argues that telling the truth is not what marriage is all about; the truth is only for couples who have given up completely, and can't be bothered to lie.

You can't help but feel sorry for Mokichi. He sees right through the ruses his wife employs to run off to the country with her female friends and relations. But he doesn't blame Taeko. He knows this is just her way. He obviously has enough gumption to become a trusted executive at the engineering company where he works, and his young protege Non also seems to value his help and advice. He gains further cred from an old army comrade, who really values his old platoon leader (and reminisces with him about their time in Singapore...).

But Taeko seems to know nothing about her husband. It's only after their big bust-up that she finds out about his tastes -- for cheap cigarettes and third-class travel -- and finally shares the ochazuke (green tea over rice and condiments) that he loves. Finally, it seems, they have made something together (normally the maid, Fumi, does everything in the house), and are enjoying the smell and taste together.

Again, there are interiors to admire. Such beautiful configurations of lines and shadows... And you can't help but be moved by the little cameos of past days. When Mokichi has to fly to Uruguay for work, all his friends and relations (well, except for his wife, who is very cross with him at this point) gather at the airport, and stand out on the tarmac to wave as the plane taxis off. They're waving for minutes on end. It's touchingly quaint. Then again, maybe we'll all go back to doing that when we finally get to fly again...

I'm not at all an expert on cinematography, but as this review points out, the camera hardly moves, giving a stillness to the shots, and when the characters talk to each other, the lens looks right at them, giving a striking immediacy to the scenes.





Railways, directed by Yoshinari Nishikori, is a totally delightful movie.

Thematically, it's about beginnings and endings. The world of 49-year-old middle manager Hajime Tsutsui is turned upside down in a series of shocks. He is assigned the task of closing down one of his company's factories, his elderly mother suffers a heart attack, and a friend is killed in a car accident. Not content with the way things are going -- his wife is constantly busy with her new business, and his daughter is rude and alienated -- Tsutsui uses this convergence of events to steer his life in a radically different direction, and follow up his childhood dream of being a train driver.

Which brings us to the real star of this show, the Ichibata Electric Railway. This line has covered the  42-kilometre distance from Izumo to Matsue since 1912, and I tell you what, if we ever get travelling again after this covid fiasco, we're going to ride this route... The two-car, baked-bean-coloured unit that played the central role in our movie is absolutely adorable, and I could have coped with many more of the scenes where it just chunters along through beautiful scenery picking up unassuming local passengers.

It's not all plain sailing, of course, but the conscientious and caring Tsutsui makes a great train driver. Although the decision has probably not been great for his marriage (they agree to stay together, but his wife continues to live and work in Tokyo), the change in his lifestyle and mindset has improved relations with his daughter (who has herself become a more likeable person since her assumption of responsibilities towards her grandmother). And Tsutsui's mother, moving towards the close of her life, is just pleased that her son is finally doing something that makes him happy.

Warm fuzzies.





Ecotherapy Getaway Holiday, another movie by Shuici Okita, is gentle, funny, and observant.

Seven women (of varying ages, but none less than 40) are inadvertently abandoned by their guide half-way through a modest little hike through beautiful forest, the aim of which was to take them to a waterfall.

The rest of the film follows them as they move through a series of emotional stages (patience, impatience, annoyance, resignation, compassion, excitement, initiative...) The women are very different, but gradually they open up to each other, and learn from and about each other. For some, the experience is cathartic, and releases torrents of pent-up emotions. For others, it offers a chance to be children again.

This review puts it very nicely: "[Okita] knows, more than many of his comedy-making peers, how to time a joke and tell a story. However, there’s always something sharply observed, if not immediately obvious, bubbling beneath the pleasantly entertaining surface, which can draw tears as well as laughs."

A succession of scenes -- for example, the women bedded down under picnic cloths and piles of leaves, like so many babes in the wood; or jumping rope together; or running away from (and then cautiously cooking and eating) a snake -- quietly bring you alongside, to a position where you feel both empathy and sympathy for these feisty women, who are all -- as we all do in life, in fact -- just having to make it up as they go along.

The cast had little or no acting experience (but I certainly wouldn't have known that from watching them), and Okita actually rewrote the script based on the lives of the seven women chosen for the parts.

Okita sounds like an interesting person: "I’d rather make movies about the world that surrounds us than getting uptight aspiring to some highbrow ideal." Totally.





And finally, we watched The Great Passage, directed by Yuya Ishii. The action begins in the mid-1990s, as a publishing team sets about making a dictionary (the passage in question is the means by which readers can navigate the infinite sea of words).

Again, it's a gentle, rather moving story. Mitsuya Majime, a painfully shy and bookish young man, is recruited to work on the dictionary, and we watch him slowly coming out of his shell, falling in love, and ultimately making a success of the project (although you do worry about his health, with all those long hours...).

The social context is also interesting. As this review puts it: "Inside the rapidly changing setting of the 90s, with the explosion of youth culture through video games, mobile phones and the Internet, Ishii manages to present the traditional Japanese values (patience, dedication, diligence, teamwork and the respect towards the elders) in the most appealing way."

The backdrop is a bibliophile's dream, with offices and houses piled high with books. And there's also a wonderful ginger cat...





So that's it for another year. As always, you have the feeling of having been transported to another world. And the desire to return to Japan is strong. When this is all over... When this is all over...