Requiescat in pace: Kon Satoshi, 1963-2010

I just found out that anime director Kon Satoshi (or Satoshi Kon, as he's known in the West) died on Tuesday, at the age of forty-six. The cause of death was a pancreatic cancer that was already late-stage when discovered in May.

I'm not really a fan of anime. Most of the examples I've seen seem more concerned with attaching flashy visuals to cardboard characters and absurdly convoluted plots than with actually engaging the audience on an emotional and/or intellectual level. Kon was one of the few counterexamples I found. His filmography is brief—the dark Hitchcockian thriller Perfect Blue, the touching drama Millennium Actress, the powerful and funny Tokyo Godfathers, the surreal fantasy Paprika, and the television series Paranoia Agent—but easily establishes him as a significant and masterful filmmaker. Generally eschewing the fantastic and the bizarre for their own sakes (the exception to this being Paprika, his only misstep among his films; I haven't seen Paranoia Agent), his films focused on real-world situations—a celebrity stalked by an obsessed fan, an elderly actress reminiscing on her life, a homeless trio finding an abandoned baby in the trash—and how they impacted relatively ordinary, realistic characters. Fantastic elements—for instance, the documentarians comically finding themselves included in Chiyoko's memories in Millennium Actress—were usually only included to support the story, not the other way around.

Kon's focus on story, character, and genuine emotion and drama set him apart from the vast majority of anime filmmakers. His animes weren't the only ones more interested in telling affecting stories than with showing off the most bizarre robot or mutant designs, but in my (admittedly rather limited) experience they're few and far between (Grave of the Fireflies, the films of Miyazaki Hayao). I own only one anime DVD that isn't a Miyazaki film or The Animatrix, and it's Tokyo Godfathers. Not Ninja Scroll, not Ghost in the Shell, not even Akira. As pieces of storytelling, Kon's films stand head and shoulders over the vast majority of the competition in the world of anime. It's a true shame that such a creatively fruitful career should end so soon. Kon's death is a loss to anime and to cinema as a whole.

— — — — —

Before his death, Kon wrote a farewell message, which can be found in translation here.

End of the Days of Devin

Though this blog has never been in the tertiary-source business of discussing film criticism and critics themselves (for fear of creating a Moebius strip of critical self-referentiality so profound and powerful as to risk tearing a hole in space-time itself), I believe it's worth making an exception in this case.

Devin Faraci, editor and chief contributor to CHUD, is leaving that site. It sounds like it's completely amicable—simply a matter of pursuing other opportunities elsewhere—but I have to admit that it's a bit shocking and disheartening. When Nick Nunziata founded CHUD about ten years ago, Devin was but a lowly poster on its message board; from there, he began contributing reviews and articles, then became a site editor, eventually writing a substantial portion of CHUD's content (for a while he wrote virtually every film review and at least half of the news stories), conducting film-set visits and interviews, and becoming CHUD's public face in such venues as G4's Attack of the Show. To a great extent, he has become the voice of CHUD—a site he's helped to make one of the best, if not the best, in online film news and analysis—as well as one of the most intelligent and reliable film critics writing today. His strong opinions and take-in-or-leave-it attitude have rustled a few feathers—you can thank him for reigniting the Great Online Video-Games-as-Art Wars recently—but he always backed them up with thoughtfulness and an understanding of and appreciation for film history and theory. As you can tell from how often I mention it on this blog, CHUD is my primary source for film news and analysis, and Devin's contributions there have been a huge part of making that so. (The fact that we're currently making our way through the Planet of the Apes series is thanks to him.) During the past few years that I've been regularly visiting CHUD, Devin's reviews and articles have done a lot to increase my appreciation for and critical thinking about film, and I would unhesitatingly recommend them to anyone else interested in enlarging his cinematic world.

I wish him all the best and plan to continue following his work. And despite losing him, CHUD still has too many immensely talented contributors to cease being an enlightening and entertaining source for all things filmic.

Richard Kelly = Orson Welles

In that they each only need to have made one film to solidify their respective places in filmmaking history. Maybe that seems a bit hyperbolic, but I just rewatched Donnie Darko for the first time in several years and was just astounded by the confidence, complexity, and vision on display; it's a joy to behold. I was one of the few to have seen Donnie Darko in its theatrical run back in the fall of 2001, and even then I got the sense that I had seen something unique and special. Not even Southland Tales can dim that burning flame. Excelsior, Mr. Kelly!

P.S. — I'm not afraid to admit that this is a drunk-post, so I reserve to right to retract it at the time and place of my choosing.

Scott Pilgrim & the Infinite Awesome

SCOTT PILGRIM VS. THE WORLD

This has been kind of a weak summer movie season. That's not to say it's been a complete disappointment—Toy Story 3, MacGruber, I Am Love, and The Other Guys were all good (for very different reasons), Iron Man 2 and Predators were fun, and I'm looking forward to seeing The Expendables in the very near future—but going in there were really only two films I could honestly say I was really excited about: I've already seen one of them three times, and I just saw the other for the first time less than an hour ago. I can now say with complete confidence that those two definitely make the rest of the summer worth it.

Having just finished (as of last night) the sixth and final volume of Bryan Lee O'Malley's Scott Pilgrim saga, "Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour," and watched the great Edgar Wright's adaptation, I'm just astounded at what a perfect match these two artists, the graphic novelist and the filmmaker, are for each other. Both the Scott Pilgrim comics and Wright's work—Spaced, Shaun of the Dead, and Hot Fuzz—combine a high-energy, cartoony aesthetic with interesting, realistic, full-bodied characters and genuine, honest stories about those characters' search for meaning and connection in life. Scott Pilgrim, a goofy, well-meaning but immature young man clumsily, painfully feeling his way into adulthood, fits right in with Tim, Daisy, Shaun, and Danny. However, despite the similarities, Wright isn't just reciting O'Malley's story but telling his own, and isn't afraid to make the characters his own. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is just as much an Edgar Wright film as it is a Bryan Lee O'Malley story.

— SCOTT PILGRIM'S PRECIOUS LITTLE SPOILERS (for both the comics and the film) —

That said, the film borrows very heavily from the comics, especially for its first two-thirds or so (covering roughly the first four volumes). During that part of the film, virtually every change Wright made was merely taking things out rather than adding his own material—though what's there, while originating with O'Malley, still bears Wright's distinct stamp. Despite how much from the comics Wright was able to cram into the film (without overdoing it or slowing down the pace), there are a number of elements that didn't make the cut: Ramona's glowing head, Knives Chau's father and Scott's old friend Lisa from vol. 4, most of the details about Scott's history with Kim and Envy (to which the film merely alludes), the trip to Honest Ed's in vol. 3, the recording of Sex Bob-omb's album, and Scott's battles with various robots in vol. 5. As the film progresses, though, it differs increasingly from the comics: Scott's battles against Roxy, the Katayanagi twins, and Gideon are very different, Envy's "weak point" behind her knees is transferred to Roxy, and Ramona's battle with Knives is moved from vol. 2 to the film's climax. I'm not really complaining or anything, it's just interesting to see the degree of faithfulness to the source material change over the course of the film.

Speaking (some more) of faithfulness to the source material, it's worth mentioning that the film was already in production before O'Malley finished the final volume (which was only released last month), so the two versions of the Scott Pilgrim saga's finale differ greatly. — ÜBER-SPOILAGE TO FOLLOW, OBVIOUSLY — What's interesting are the elements that the two versions share (but utilize in different ways): the NegaScott, the final showdown at the Chaos Theatre, Scott's death, his resurrection thanks to his 1-up. So there must have been some collaboration between O'Malley and Wright regarding these details. However, the overall "message" with which the story concludes differs significantly between O'Malley's version and Wright's. In vol. 6 of the comic, Scott comes to realize that the source of his immaturity is his unwillingness to address his past actions truthfully and learn from them; instead, he's always remembered his past in such a way that he's always the good guy and those he's hurt either were evil or weren't really hurt at all. Though alluded to throughout the series, it doesn't become explicit until Scott visits Kim in vol. 6, when she contrasts the reality of Simon Lee, her harmless high-school boyfriend Scott beat up to date her, with Scott's fantasized memory of a "villain" from whom he had to rescue her in vol. 2. By perpetually lionizing himself and demonizing or ignoring those he's hurt, he never had to change or improve; as Kim tells him, "if you keep forgetting your mistakes, you'll just keep making them again." That puts the entire premise of the series—"Scott Pilgrim vs. the World," the good guy forced to battle bad guys and win the day—into an entirely different light, as an expression of Scott's childish, selfish view of himself and the world. It's only when he owns up to his own failings that he's able finally to overcome Gideon and get another chance with Ramona. The film doesn't include this thematic element other than several references to Scott's being an irresponsible "heartbreaker" and his incredulity at this; instead, the lesson he learns is "self-respect," which involves his admitting to cheating on Knives with Ramona (and vice versa) but has more to do with his fighting his battles for his own reasons rather than just to win the girl. That's fine in itself, but it doesn't fit especially well with the failings we've seen Scott exhibit previously or with how he plans to go forward at the film's end; if anything, doing things for himself rather than others seemed to have been much the problem in his life, and in the end he still ends up winning the girl anyway. This doesn't really take away from the film, but it does make its conclusion a bit less meaningful and "earned" than the comic's. — BACK TO REGULAR SPOILAGE —

But what, you may be asking, about the film as its own beast, independent of O'Malley's comic? Pretty darn great. I'm already a substantial fan of Wright's work, and Scott Pilgrim fits right in: energetic, imaginative, hilarious, with real characters dealing with real issues. Though Scott isn't dramatically different from the kinds of characters Michael Cera generally plays, he isn't just channeling George Michael Bluth for the umpteenth time; Scott's much more of a spazzy slacker than the uptight, rather nebbish Bluth boy. Mary Elizabeth Winstead's Ramona is exactly the right melding of sexy, sympathethic, and cold, coming across, like O'Malley's Ramona, as multifaceted rather than schizophrenic. The rest of the cast is great too, especially Kieran Culkin as Wallace, Scott's gay room- and bed-mate. Strangely enough, while Sex Bob-omb frontman Stephen Stills mostly hangs in the background in the comics, I really liked him in the film (played by one Mark Webber). Each of the evil exes gets his (or her) moment to shine, except for the Katayanagi twins, though, to be fair, they don't make much of an impression in the comic either. My socks were thoroughly knocked off when the Vegan Police who showed up to exact vegan justice on Todd for his vegan transgressions were played by Tom Jane (who just wants his kids back!) and Clifton Collins (who just wants his testicle back!). (Funny, Jane appeared in an episode of Arrested Development with Cera, while Collins appeared in Mike Judge's Extract with AD alum Jason Bateman, so feel free to use that info the next time you're playing six degrees.) Since music is a pretty significant part of the story, it's a good thing that the original music composed for the film (by Beck, among others) happens to rock. And no mention of the film's music would be complete without saying how much it warmed my geeky little heart to hear samples from The Legend of Zelda, like mother's milk to one raised in bygone days on the NES.

Indeed, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World is awesome, surprising no-one.

Digging into the ol' O&MTM mail bag...

In response to a recent comment by "M" (taking a break from sending 007 on his latest mission, I assume) asking which directors' films would I see, no questions asked, knowing only that they were the director. An interesting question. The Coen Brothers and Nolan were the first to come to mind. Tarantino, Aronofsky, P.T. and Wes Anderson, Fincher, Spike Jonze, Guillermo del Toro, Judd Apatow, Edgar Wright, and Jody Hill would fit the bill as well. (As you've probably noticed, these are all relatively recent filmmakers, with only the Coen Brothers' directing career beginning earlier than 1990. This list may make me look like some philistine who never watches anything older than Star Wars, but a glimpse at our "Movies We've Seen in 2010" sidebar list easily puts the lie to that. Rather, I've limited the list to living directors; otherwise, Kubrick would certainly lead the pack.) 

There are several other directors for whom this would generally apply, were it not for one or two counterexamples from their respective filmographies. Spielberg would have qualified, were it not for The Terminal, which I've never had the slightest interest in seeing. I've been a Terry Gilliam fan since childhood, but I've heard too much negative to feel too enthusiastic about seeing Tideland. I'm also a Lynch fan, but I confess that I haven't yet mustered the courage to see Inland Empire, from what I've heard the Lynchiest of his body of work. Scorsese is certainly one of the greatest filmmakers of the past fifty years, but his last few films, though mostly quite good, haven't been up to his earlier career's high standard, and from what I've heard Shutter Island is merely OK but not Scorsesian. There was a time when I probably also would have said Ridley Scott and Tim Burton too, but lately both of their careers have tended more toward predictability, mediocrity, commercialism, even self-parody. (Is there any more fitting word for Burton's Alice in Wonderland?)

Of course, the nice thing about the great filmmakers, even ones who, at times over the course of their careers, become hit-or-miss, is that even the misses are usually at least interesting misses, failures that still contain some vision or spirit and are still worth visiting, if only once.

Actors, on the other hand, are a completely different matter; they're by no means merely incidental to a film's final quality, but generally they have a far smaller role to play in making a film what it is. In cinema, the creative buck stops at the director, so in the end the success or failure of an actor's performance is the success or failure of the person directing him. So I honestly can't see myself watching a film solely on the basis of a particular actor's being in it.