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Woman in the Dunes: A very sandy Japanese classic

I am always on the look of for new films, one reason why I like to comb the pages of Twitter is to find out what others are watching. It is the reason why I enjoy reading websites like Criterion as it is a treasure trove of information on some well known and not so well known classics. It is also why I am attracted to podcasts featuring those who share, discuss and wax lyrical about Criterion releases. Living in the UK means that Criterion releases are both few and far between as well as quite expensive, which is why I have not yet purchased any of them. Yet I dream of the days when I will be able to afford and collect these wonderful films myself, especially when I see that, amongst those limited UK releases, are such classics as Cat People, In A Lonely Place or 12 Angry Men.

It was whilst listening to an episode of Wrongreel with Dave Eves and James Hancock (WR230 here) that I first heard of the US Criterion release of Woman of the Dunes. I'm not sure why it passed me by for so long, I'm a lover of Japanese Cinema, especially Ozu, Kurosawa or Honda, and those giants whose work I have yet to experience - Kenji Mizoguchi or Sadao Yamanaka - I am well aware of their reputations. Yet I had never heard of this film or it's director Hiroshi Teshigahara.

Having listened to Dave Eves enthusiasm for it I was determined to track it down but without much initial success, but I have now discovered that it is available on the British Film Institute's BFI Player. I have already posted two recent reviews of films I have seen on this service – Rashomon (here) and Rossellini's Stromboli (here). One of the great things about online streaming services is that they give you the opportunity to scroll though the available films and create a Wishlist. It was as I was doing this that I discovered the elusive and mysterious Woman of the Dunes.

The story is an odd one. A teacher and 'bit of a' scholar is wondering around some sand dunes searching for bugs. The day gets late and he is offered the chance to stay in the house of a local, which he accepts. The house is little more than a shack and it located at the bottom of a very high wall of sand and the man can only get there by climbing down a rope ladder. When he gets to the bottom he meets his host, a woman who feeds him and helps him settle down. All is well.

The next morning he gets up early, eager to continue his bug hunt, and notices that the rope ladder is gone. He is trapped. The woman doesn't seem concerned and, although he doesn't really pick up on it, she seems to indicate that he is to remain. He is there, apparently, to help the woman dig the sand which is then lifted back to the surface by the locals who drop buckets on ropes down to them. As the days and weeks follow the man gets increasingly frustrated, rebelling against the trap he is in until he is driven almost insane by thirst. In the end he capitulates and reluctantly begins to join the woman digging the sand.

We are not told much about the man or the woman. We know he is from Tokyo and he says he is a teacher and that he has three days leave but beyond that there's almost nothing. We never find out if he is married or if he has children, or what he likes to do, beyond etymology. They are not important.

As far as the woman is concerned we never find out if she chose to live in this pit. We are told briefly that she had a husband and daughter and that they are both buried in the sand somewhere. We also know that other men have been there before this current captive. She seems to accept the situation and that of her guest (her words not mine) as if it is perfectly natural. In fact she takes a certain pride in her job and her home.

She has the obvious desires – to talk to someone, to work alongside someone and to touch and be touched by someone. She has passion within her that she has missed and, in one memorable scene, they have sex on the floor of the hut, her face distorted by the sand sticking to her face, the music almost discordant and antithetical to the scene we are watching.

In fact, there are two elements that really stand out here. Firstly, the music by Tôru Takemitsu which continually creates a conflict between what we see and what we hear. It keeps us on edge at all times making us question what exactly we are seeing and what we should be feeling.

The second element is the sand. It pervades every scene, probably every frame. Hiroshi Segawa's cinematography is stunning and really captures the heat and dust of the first half of the film. We have extreme close-ups of the protagonists in which it is impossible to tell if you are seeing the man's stubble on his skin or sand sticking to them roughly. These shots are in contrast with the vast expanse of the dunes themselves where the sand is always moving, always falling, a character in it's own right. Early in the film there is a shot of the woman sleeping naked, the curves of her body resembling the dunes that surround them.

It is difficult on one viewing to truly understand what the film is about. It is obvious that it is an allegory of some kind. I have read that it is about the Japanese sense of duty – the man soon develops a kinship and a loyalty for the hut, the woman and the job of shoveling sand although I think this could just as easily been a study of Stockholm Syndrome (where someone who has been held captive begins identifying with their captors). Initially, it seemed to me, that it was about life itself. The film begins with the man in the role of a child, helpless and entirely dependent on the woman, then becomes the rebellious teenager until finally accepting and embracing his adulthood.

After watching it I was also reminded of the Laurel and Hardy great The Music Box in which the two heroes continually attempt to carry a large crate containing a piano up a flight of steps only for it to fall repeatedly to the bottom again. In Woman of the Dunes it is not a piano but the endless shoveling of sand.

But these are just side issues. The important question is – is the film interesting? The answer is undoubtedly yes. Although a little on the long side (2 hours and 26 minutes), it never fails to keep your attention. The acting by Eiji Okada and Kyôko Kishida feels real and truthful and the direction is splendid. Woman of the Dunes is a mesmerising film that grips you from start to finish. It doesn't matter that the story is so odd and that it's meaning is ambiguous, it just has to be watched.

The moral of all this, of course, is that if you call yourself a film fan, a film buff or a cinephile, one of the most important things you can do is talk and share with others. If it wasn't for a podcast I wouldn't have heard of this film and that would have been such a pity as it should be on the list of any fan of Japanese Cinema.

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De Palma: The master of excess and suspense

There is no doubt that one of the great directors of the modern age is Brian de Palma, a director who has a long list of classics, near classics and interesting gems to his name. Scarface, The Untouchables, Carlito's Way, Obsession, Dressed to Kill, Casualties of War, Mission Impossible, Raising Cain or Carrie. Even his duds – Bonfire of the Vanities, Mission to Mars or Snake Eyes – have moments of great interest to cinephiles and reveal a director with a real understanding, not only of the technical aspects of filmmaking, but of the filmic possibilities of the camera.

In 2015 directors Noah Baumbach and Jake Paltrow joined together to make a documentary about the great man. I call it a documentary but in fact it is more of an appreciation, a fan's love letter to someone who has obviously entertained and thrilled them both over the years. I must admit that when I found out who the directors were I was initially surprised – Baumbach is the writer/director as such off-beat slices of life as Frances Ha and The Squid and the Whale whilst Paltrow – brother of Gwyneth and son of Bruce Paltrow and Blythe Danner – has only directed a handful of films and TV . But I realise that I was being unfair as it is obvious from the film that they are very passionate about the subject.

De Palma is not presented in the usual manner in which dozens of contempories or admirers wax lyrically about what makes the subject so great. Instead they rely on a long interview with Brian De Palma himself as he systematically takes us through his career. From his first forays into student and independent films, through the highs and lows of his studio career and finally his return to smaller budget films once more.

He is very candid about his failures – including his marriages – and also very thankful for his successes, calling The Untouchables 'lightning in a bottle.' He doesn't delve into gossip but does occasionally reveal enough snippets of the perils and difficulties of filmmaking to be of interest to those who want more than just a few hours fawning. For example, during Mission Impossible he almost had to juggle screenwriters and at one time had Robert Towne and David Koepp typing away in different rooms of the same hotel. Some of his stories are quite amusing, especially the tale of shooting Al Pacino in Carlito's Way (Pacino was in one train, he was on another when suddenly Pacino's train left the station taking the star with it!).

He is also very open about his obsession with Hitchcock claiming that the set piece was sometimes more important than the story (he uses Hitchcock's phrase – the McGuffin) and admits that, even if he had a very simple setup it would be in his nature to draw it out as much as possible.

As I was watching De Palma, I think I probably felt exactly as Baumbach and Paltrow must have. I was completely enraptured by the man and really enjoyed revisiting his fantastic filmography with him. You don't need talking heads talking about him, you have the real thing in front of you.

There is a certain amount of hero worshipping going on here, both by the directors and by myself, and why not? De Palma is not the type of director that has captured the wider public and media's imagination – he's not a Scorsese or a Spielberg – and he's not a filmmaker who is regularly worshiped in the realms of cinephilia as his successes occurred before many of the younger generation were even born. There are also too many so called film aficionados out there who dismiss him as a sub-Hitchcock clone (he admits that you will be judged by the fashions of the day and many criticise his obsession (pun intended) with violence and women), but for myself and those of the same age group, his films are very special. He made excess accessible, could ring tension out of the most ordinary scene, and all the while playing with the language of cinema.

The pool hall in Carlito's Way, the train station steps in The Untouchables, the prom in Carrie, Tony Montana's home or the little clearing in Raising Cain, are all locations which are burned into our psyche, we have been there, revisting them time and time again and will continue to visit in the future.

OK, you are getting a very one sided approach to the story here and there is undoubtedly another side to some of his stories and recollections but that's fine. As Tony Montana says in Scareface 'I always tell the truth. Even when I lie.'

As the film finished I just wanted reach over to my blu-rays and start watching them over again and when I finish, I think I'll watch the documentary all over again. I just want to sit at the feet of this great director, to listen to his stories one more time and to thank Baumbach and Paltrow for putting this together.

De Palma is currently available on Amazon Prime in the UK

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Okja: A Beautiful Story of Ugly Capitalism

In May this year a new film by a Korean director caused controversy and plaudits at the Cannes film Festival. Firstly, there were jeers at the screening when the logo of the production company was shown, then there were protests because the film was shown in the wrong aspect ratio. Finally, after the film was finished, there was a four minute standing ovation.

The film at the center of all this was Okja from director Bong Joon-Ho and the logo that caused so much distain and fury – the internet streaming service Netflix.

The reason for the uproar is a simple question with a very complicated answer – if a film is made for consumption primarily on small screens can it really be called a film? In other words does it deserve the same respect as something made for the big screen? At what point does a film cease to be a film?

This is particularly important to the French, who see themselves as the bastions of cinema arts and especially at their premier film festival at Cannes. Because of uproar caused by Okja reassurances were quickly made that, at future festivals, only films which receive a cinema release will be eligible for competition entry. This could spell bad news for Netflix as there is a three year window between when a film is shown in the cinema and when it is allowed to be streamed.

This is all interesting and is something that would make a good article in the future, the important question here is whether Okja can rise above the controversy and live up to the promise of previous Bong Joon-Ho films?

The answer is, thankfully, a resounding yes.

I am a huge fan of Bong Joon-Ho having first discovered him with his fantastic monster movie, The Host. It was an odd film which had a brilliantly realised monster, an interesting approach to the story (focusing on the effects the monster has on an ordinary family rather than official efforts to capture or kill it) and the most unusual and intriguing sense of humour. After my first viewing I was stunned but felt unsure about the direction the humour took the film – I just didn't expect it. On subsequent viewings I have learned to love his approach and embrace this very singular wit.

The same can be said for his film Mother which begins and ends with the film's titular character (played by Hye-ja Kim) in a field dancing alone, and it continues in Okja. Okja starts with the creation of a 'super-pig' and is the brainchild of the CEO of the Mirando corporation Lucy Mirando played with wonderfully manic desperation by Tilda Swinton. Twenty six of these super-pigs are sent around the world to be raised by various indigenous farmers using traditional methods to see who raises the biggest and the best pig. In Korea a 14 year old girl has lived with one of these pigs in a small bucolic farm in the mountains for 10 years. The pig, named Okja, is Mija's best friend and she doesn't realise that he will one day be taken from her to be turned into meat. When that day comes Okja is taken and she realises that she had been duped, she heads into Seoul to find her friend. Along the way she encounters the politest Animal Rights campaigners you've ever come across, a washed up TV animal expert, scores of PR and corporation suits and their private army.

What Bong Joon-Ho has excelled in in the past is the portrayal of the family. He seems to revel in exploring the tensions and peculiarities of the family dynamic and actively enjoys exposing the sometimes selfish personalities therein. Okja is no different. Mija is cared for by her Grandfather who has known the secret all along and held it from her. He is a selfish man who sees more value in coin than flesh, yet at the same time you get the feeling that he does it because he loves Mija and really believes he is doing the right thing.

Mija is a more straight forward character whose resilience and determination rivals Hye-Ja Kim's Mother. Ahn Seo-hyun plays her with a focused determination and unflinching love that is impossible to resist. In fact, all the performances are excellent even when pushed to the limits. This is perhaps best exemplified by Jake Gyllenhaal who approaches his character Dr Danny Wilcox, the TV anthropologist, with a manic zeal and outrageousness which shows how confident the director and actor were in their chosen concept for the character. This is in contrast to the head of the Animal Liberation Front Jay, played with an almost hippy calm by Paul Dano.

Ultimately Okja is an allagory on the extremes of capitalism and how far a corporation will go to sell a product and hide the truth. An odd coincidence is that, as I write this I have my headphones on and I am listening to my collection of soundtracks on shuffle and at this moment Lisa Gerrard is playing. The song is Sacrifice from The Insider OST (Dir: Michael Mann) – a film with a very similar theme but with a very different approach.

If you are an avid meat eater with a complete disdain for the source of your hamburger you may find Okja a bit preachy – that is always a risk when you make a film with this subject matter, however, this is not really the case here. The ending reveals the horrors of the slaughterhouse, the ruthlessness of the corporate mind and the cost of the world's need, not just for food which is how the pigs are marketed, but for tasty snacks (which undermines the idea that the pigs are there to help feed the world).

At the same time, the film is not pro-vegetarian propaganda as they too are the butt of a few jokes throughout (for example, Silver who won't eat a tomato in case it has man-made toxins even though he is extremely weak from hunger).

Okja is a fun, frenzied ride starting in the beautiful mountains of Korea, to the urban sprawl of New York. Bong Joon-Ho has put together an eclectic mixture and pulls off a very entertaining film. Whilst I would have loved to have seen it on the big screen – for it seems to have been designed on a scale much larger than television – I applaud Netflix for taking the gamble with this unusual material and giving the director the money and control that a film like this needed. You can't help but wonder if, given the size of the budget and the peculiarity of the script, Okja could have been made by one of the main studios. Given the fact that Snowpiecer still has not had a release in the UK because of a difference of opinion between Bong Joon-Ho and Harvey Weinstein, I doubt it would and so, despite the controversy, I am thankful for Netflix for giving us this gem.

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Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans and the purity of Cinema

F W Murnau's 1927 classic Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans is a film about sex and love, about lust and family, about money and poverty. It is a paean of marriage, a film in which a man is torn between the seductive dreams that belong to the young and the comforting yet sometimes unappreciated familiarity of home.

Indeed, the film begins with a man for whom familiarity has bred contempt – or at least malcontent. He is a farmer with few pennies to rub together but with land and cattle. He is seduced by a vamp from the city. She is everything that he may once have dreamed of – she dances with energetic sexuality, her clothes are the finest satin, her hair bobbed in the latest fashion, she smokes cigarettes and conjures up images of nightclubs and the bright lights of the big city.

His wife has nothing on this woman. She works hard, dresses poorly, lives for her home, her child and her husband. She belongs to the very village that he dreams of leaving.

The man and the vamp (we are never told their names) hatch a plan to kill the wife, to sell the farm and escape into the city. Of course, we know that she will love him only for as long as the money lasts. After that he will be left with nothing. We know and so do the older members of the village - It doesn't take a sophisticate to see through her, just someone who hasn't been blinded by the frenzy of her shaking hips.

The story is extremely simple and has few surprises. The man and his wife do set off on a boat to the mainland, he does intend to kill her but at the last moment he realises that he can't do it. Once on the other side, having understood his intentions, she flees and he pursues her.

It's difficult to explain what happens next, not because its complicated but because it is the exact opposite. It is so straight forward, so sentimental, that to put it in words diminishes it. Sunrise is a visual experience, a perfect example of how Silent Cinema was able to break through the limits of its technology and become pure cinema.

Alfred Hitchcock, a man who understood the true nature and language of the cinema arts, said that silent pictures were the purest form of cinema. He told Francios Truffaut that this purity had been replaced with what he called 'Photographs of people talking.' If anyone wanted to understand why the great director held silent film to such esteem, they should look no further than Sunrise.

The film was made after producer William Fox (whose company later merged with 20th Century to create the juggernaut that is 20th Century Fox) brought German filmmaker F W Murnau to the US and gave him free rein to make whatever he wanted. He did this based on Murnau's excellent filmography which included Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, Faust and the great The Last Laugh. The final result, reportedly costing a whopping $1Million was released in 1927, the year that Warner Brothers gave the world The Jazz Singer and the history of film was forever changed. Murnau built huge sets, lit from every possible angle so the camera could move with a freedom that wouldn't be seen again for many years. At the first Academy Awards it won the prize for best Artistic film and it is easy to see why. You won't see it on any lists of Best Picture winners, however, as the Artistic Film award was never to be given again (the winner of best Entertainment Film – Wings – is officially listed as the first Oscar winner for best film).

The photography (Charles Rosher and Karl Struss are credited as the cinematographers) is truly a thing of beauty. It looks like an early Noir but has a lightness to the character that Noir would have cowered from. It is a romance with moments that would suit Wuthering Heights yet it is in no way gothic. It is just a simple, honest film.

Murnau wasn't a great lover of titles (The Last Laugh famously only has one intertitle in the whole film) but here he uses them ingeniously. A great example is when the man and the vamp are conspiring together. She says, referring to the wife, 'Couldn't she get drowned' the title of which seems to melt on the screen as if it too was being washed away with water.

The subtitle - A Song of Two Humans - sums up the film perfectly, capturing its lyrical, ephemeral quality.

Yet, despite the vastness of the sets and the beauty of the frames, the film is about just two people. Yes, we are introduced to the vamp early on but she is merely a plot point. Sunrise is about a relationship being reborn. From the moment the lovers step out of the church, where the man is confronted with the betrayal he had agreed to and the promise he had made when he said his vows is laid before him, the film is not concerned about anything else.

Murnau obviously had great affection the two main characters (played by George O'Brian and Janet Gaynor), making fun of their country-ness but never judging them. They are not sophisticated, they are in an environment which is quite alien to them, yet it doesn't matter. Even when the band leader chooses a peasant dance for them towards the end of their date, they care little about his condescension. They just want to have fun, that's all that matters.

I was first made aware of Sunrise many years ago when I saw one image of it in a book. I am not sure why but that one still, taken towards the end of the film when the husband is on a boat looking for his wife who, it seems, has been lost at sea, made an impression on me. The night is punctuated by the lights on the many lamps that the searchers are carrying. It is an image that stayed with me for many years and I became obsessed with finding and watching this film.

Sunrise is a magnificent movie. It is, in my opinion, the greatest of the silent era, which is high praise itself. It is, quite simply, a masterpiece. Warm, romantic, tense, comedic and terrific.

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An Autumn Afternoon: Ozu's Last Masterpiece

I have written in these pages numerous times of my love for cinema, of the moments captured on celluloid, of those magical images that speak, not only to the intellect, but to my very soul. The wonder of cinema is that it can take the mundane, the ordinary, and make it enchanted; it can pour mystery into the simplest and most natural occurrences. It can reveal depths to the everyday humdrum. There has been only a chosen few directors who have been able to achieve this transcendence with regularity over a sustained period of time, and o f these few, is a director I am getting to know more and more and to love whole-heartedly: Yasujiro Ozu.

When putting on a Yasujiro Ozu film you know what you are going to get. It’s the reason to watch them, the familiarity of themes, of actors and, most of all, of style.

I am not sure if there has ever been a director with such a singular vision as the great Japanese filmmaker. He was a man who developed a way of looking at the world, of capturing it on film and transposing his obsessions from mind to image, rarely deviating from the well-used blueprint he created - a unique style that has been distinctly influential yet singularly his own.

It is this style, and for the themes that he was determined to explore over and over again, that repeatedly brings me back to his work. They are films which stay with me for days and weeks after I have seen them, films that I return to in my mind even when I am unable to watch them.

Ozu made 54 films in a career that spanned 35 years, starting in 1927 – the year that gave us the birth of sound in Hollywood - and ended in 1962, a year before he died on his sixtieth birthday. I have written about Ozu before and the most recent film of his that I had the privilege to see this week was his very last - An Autumn Afternoon.

It is a film which tells the same story as many of his others and maintains the same themes – the difference and the conflicts between the older and younger generations in a Japan that was going through some fundamental cultural changes. It tells the story of Shūhei Hirayama (played by the the great Chishu Ryu who appeared in 52 of Ozu's 54 films), a successful aging business man and widow with three children – two sons and one daughter. He lives with his youngest son, Kazuo (Shin'ichirō Mikami)and his daughter, Michiko (Shima Iwashita). In the absence of a wife and mother Hirayama and Kazuo rely heavily on Michiko. She works for a living then comes home and does the cooking and cleaning and generally looks after the men's needs. In many respects, she represents the traditional image of a woman, looking after her home and the men who live therein. Yet she is not a typical housewife. She is conflicted between her duties, especially to her father, and the desires and needs of a modern woman. Because of this she rarely smiles and often gripes at the men who take her for granted.

Yet Michiko is expected to get married one day and leave her family for her new one. Everyone sees this except Michiko and her father, yet Hirayama begins to come under pressure from his friends and then, while at a party in honour of an old school teacher, he witnesses the sad decline of the teacher who now works in a struggling noodle parlour with his daughter who has now grown too old to marry and is herself living a lonely depressing life.

In contrast, Hirayama's oldest son, Koichi, has left home and is married to Akiko. Their relationship is a modern one, one in which the husband and wife enjoy far more equality and both have similar expectations out of life. This in itself causes conflicts as neither Koichi nor Akiko make enough money to indulge in the conveniences of this modern post-war japan (they have to borrow money off Hirayama to buy a Fridge, while Koichi wants to buy some golf clubs and Akiko covets her neighbour's vacuum cleaner). Both husband and wife wear the aprons, and it is Akiko who seems to control the purse strings. Akiko is one of the highlights of An Autumn Afternoon and his played with an attractive feistiness by the wonderful Mariko Okadaand it is a role that seems like a very natural progression from Okada's performance in Ozu's earlier film Late Autumn (1960).

Yet the film is not about Michiku, Koichi, or any of Hirayama's friends, family or acquaintances. It is a film about Hirayama himself, a man struggling to reconcile himself to the fact that one day he will be alone. It is the same struggle that Ryo also faced at the end of Tokyo Story and Setsuko Hara faced at the very end of Late Autumn. In both endings the characters slowly folds clothes, their eyes lost and vacant, almost forlorn, as they contemplate the future. Of course, Hirayama, being a man who likes to drink, greets this same future with alcohol. After Michiku is finally married, Hirayama goes to a bar, still dressed in his wedding suit. The barmaid (who is the reason he goes there as she reminds him of his wife) asks him if he has been to a funeral. 'Something like that,' he replies.

Ozu never married, he lived with his mother for most of his life (she died a year before he did) yet the inevitability of loneliness was something he explored time and time again. Maybe it was his way of confronting the inevitability of facing his mother's death one day and the prospect of living alone that consumed him, yet he never addressed it directly – focusing on the loss of a child to marriage rather than the loss of a parent. What he did explore with great conviction was the inevitability of change. Whilst he served during the war and was stationed in China, he didn't seem to hold any bitterness of defeat. In one scene, Hirayama – who had been a captain during the war – takes part in a mockery of the Naval salute with a worker who had once served under him. Later in conversation he states 'Maybe it was better that we lost the war.'

This seems to me as of unique importance to Ozu. His films do not run from the past or from the future. While accepting the difficulty modernism has on the older generation his films also accept and embrace youthful change. This conflict between the generations is important and can be amusing, but it is a change that must be accepted, even if it means leaving the older generation behind.

Few filmmakers could explore this generational dichotomy with the subtlety or beauty of Ozu. To watch his films is to be immersed in a quiet gentleness of expression which envelopes you entirely. His films are leisurely paced and often allow conversations to develop, for jokes to be repeated, for events to play out. They are not flashy or obviously stylised yet they are distinct. An Autumn Afternoon may not hit the heights of Tokyo Story or Late Autumn but this is not a criticism as it is a wonderful movie which had me captivated throughout. There is also a sadness that this was Ozu's final film and I can't help but think that, at the end as Hirayama drinks for a future without his daughter, Ryo was drinking for a future without his director.

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Three Films by Yasujiro Ozu: Japanese Poetry on Film By Stephen Amos

There have not been many films made which have managed to balance being stylistically distinctive, psychologically interesting, culturally enlightening and, to top it all, entertaining. It's a list populated by some of the true greats of cinema - Citizen Kane, The Godfather, Taxi Driver, Sunrise.

These films were made by directors who understand the nature and art of cinema – Welles, Scorsese, Coppola, Murnau and few others. One of these giants is a Japanese director who died before the world discovered his films and so was never able to appreciate the influence and love he now commends – Yasujiro Ozu.

If you haven't heard of him then that is understandable. He was known as being 'the most Japanese of directors' and his films are glimpses into the culture, hierarchy and personality of Japan and show little interest of the outside world, yet, for many filmmakers and critics he is revered and ranks with the greatest names in filmmaking – Renoir, Hitchcock or Welles.

His films tell small personal stories which, considering the time they were made and the transformation that Japan went through before and after World War II, they eschew politics, focusing, instead on the minutiae of Japanese life. When they do address change it is illustrated through generational politics rather than state politics.

The renowned critic Roger Ebert once said 'To love movies without loving Ozu is an impossibility.'

I have been trying to watch some of Ozu's films recently having been a big fan of his most respected film, Tokyo Story, for a number of years. It is a film that doesn't get mentioned by the mainstream media very often but it's importance is undeniable. A lot was written a few years ago when Sight & Sound magazine published their 10 yearly poll of the greatest films of all time. People focused on the fact that Hitchcock's Vertigo had finally disposed of Citizen Kane off he top position (where it has sat for 40 years!). Kane dropped to number two on the list but commentators seemed not to notice it shared this position with Tokyo Story. So high is the regard for this film that it was given the same esteem as Welles's much trumpeted masterpiece.

It tells the simple story of an elderly couple who travel to Tokyo to spend some time with their children and grandchildren. When they arrive they discover their family doesn't have time for them and eventually are shipped off to a very inappropriate spa (where the couple have to listen to youngsters listening to music long into the night). The only person who has time for them is Noriko, the widow of their son who had died in the war. Played by the wonderful Setsuko Hara, Noriko understands the disappointment of life and has learned to live with it. This gives her empathy and understanding for her in-law's plight that the others seem to lack.

I have seen Tokyo Story four times now and each time I am moved by the callousness of the family members and how the apparent passiveness of the parents makes it all seem worse. The couple do feel it though and the cracks in their armour do show occasionally. This is why Ozu's films are often seen as 'too Japanese' because the characters react to their problems within the expectations and culture they live in and not with the histrionics we would expect from an American melodrama of the time. But this objection misses the point – to watch a foreign language film should not have to mean watching a Hollywood style film in another language. We watch films from around the world to discover and enjoy the cultures of the world. To expose ourselves to the influences of other people and other approaches.

I bought Tokyo Story a few months ago on Blu-Ray and was happy to discover another film in the pack – Brothers and Sisters of the Toda Family – which I watched and devoured with relish. Like Tokyo Story, Bothers and Sisters is about generational tensions. The father of the family dies leaving the mother and the youngest daughter homeless. They move into the home of the eldest son whose wife resents their presence. After a while they are moved to another sibling and then end up living in a holiday cottage that earlier the brothers and sisters had declared destitute.

Again the mother acts perfectly stoically and it is the youngest daughter who complains, although in the familial hierarchy of Japanese society, she has very little influence. It is a very simple premise told simply, however it is handled with such efficiency and with characteristic style that it is elevated above what could have been a maudlin and depressing tale.

Ozu developed a very distinct style early in his career and apparently didn't deviate from it. He would use long takes shot from low angles, viewing the action as if from a kneeling position. He often created frames within the frames and rarely used close-ups. Between scenes he would place shots of rooms or inanimate objects which seemed isolated yet added to the atmosphere. They have been labelled 'Pillow Shots' and act as moments of quiet reflection between the action allowing us to contemplate what has happened and what will happen.

Another method which is very distinctive of Ozu is his approach to filming conversations. Normally filmmakers follow the 180 degree rule in which the two people speaking are placed on one side of an imaginary line and the camera on the other, recording each person from an angle. This gives the impression that the characters are looking at each other. Ozu often dispensed with this rule instead filming the speaking character face on, as if they are speaking directly to the camera. Instead of the camera being the other side of an imaginary line, it is between the speakers so the camera becomes the character. Initially this approach seems quite odd – we are certainly not used to it – but after a while it seems the most natural thing in the world.

What these innovations do is being some poetry to the films which is surprising and very beautiful.

The third Ozu film I have seen recently was Late Autumn. Whilst this continued many of the themes of the previous two films, it approaches them with more humour. Like Brothers and Sisters of the Toda family, it concerns a widow and her daughter. On an anniversary of the husband's death his friends – three middle aged businessmen – decide it is about time that the dead man's daughter, Ayako, marries.

She, however, does not want to marry as she does want to leave her mother, Akiko (played again by the wonderful Setsuko Hara) alone, so the three matchmakers set out to find second husband for her. For me the humour came from the generational differences, especially the contrast between the old man and the daughter's best friend. There is no animosity between the generations yet their approaches and their expectations differ greatly. There is also some real pathos, especially in Akiko's acceptance of her impending loneliness which mirrors her character in Tokyo Story.

I can understand if the films of Yasujiro Ozu are not to everyone's tastes in the 21st century. We want our stories to be to be told in a quick, almost snappy manner. We don't have time to let the story develop, to peer into the lives of others, of other cultures and wait for the story to unfold. Yet, these films do draw you in. I resisted for many years before I finally watched Tokyo Story because I thought the praise of arthouse critics just masked an inaccessibility that I would struggle with, yet, when I finally watched it I was moved, profoundly so. There is a beauty in the films of Ozu that I now find impossible to resist and I am so glad I gave in and watched them. Tokyo Story is now in my top 10 films of all time – alongside Star Wars, Pan's Labyrinth, The Exorcist and King Kong – proof that they do have a place alongside the length and breadth of filmmaking styles.

To return to Ebert's wonderful eulogy, 'to love movies' you simply must love Yasujiro Ozu.

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Spike Lee's Chi-Raq: Sex Vs Guns

Back in the early 90s I saw a film which had a profound affect on me – Spike Lee's masterpiece Do The Right Thing. On the surface, the issues in the film were very remote to me, the only people of colour I remember seeing growing up were Indian or Pakistani, however, the raw power of that film broke through my cultural naivety and spoke to me directly. The reason for this wasn't because of my life experience but because of the sheer majesty of the direction.

It is my contention that Do The Right Thing is directed so well it could easily be considered as the Citizen Kane of the eighties. I love so many films from that decade – it was, after all, the decade I discovered films and fell in love with the medium; they have moved me, made me cry, sent my pulse racing, and immersed me in bold new worlds. Indeed, my favourite film of all time – Cinema Paradiso – was released in 1988, the year before Do The Right Thing.

What sets Do The Right Thing apart from all these other films is the sheer ferocity of the direction – At first glance there is little in the way of subtlety. Spike Lee breaks all the conventions of narrative cinema including smashing the fourth wall in one of the most explosive and racially charged scenes ever filmed. It is an exercise in style, very much like Citizen Kane was, and it works wonderfully.

In the years since I have discovered the subtlety I was only subliminally aware of before and my admiration for the film has grown deeper.

Since then I have loved many of Lee's films: Jungle Fever, School Daze, Get On The Bus etc. I have revelled in the atmosphere of Mo Better Blues and Crooklyn, the mystery of Clockers and the epic yet personal scope of Malcolm X (the only film I have ever seen in the cinema which resulted in the audience applauding at the end!)

I haven't seen many of his films in recent years, partly because they have not always been released in the UK, but also because I have been a little nervous, especially with Oldboy as I loved the original so much I can't imagine any good coming from a remake. I will watch it some day because of Lee, but haven't managed to do it yet.

When I heard that Amazon were producing Chi-Raq I was pleased – at the very least it would mean the film would be available for me to watch (Da Sweet Blood of Jesus and Red Hook Summer have not been released on VOD in the UK as far as I know). Now, after some wait, it is finally available on Amazon Prime Video UK and I have finally managed to watch it.

The term Chi-Raq refers to the fact that more Americans have been killed on the streets of Chicago between 2001 and 2015 than were killed in both Iraq and Afghanistan in the same period. The deaths overseas were constantly reported yet those at home went unnoticed. After the latest tragedy - a young girl is caught in the cross-fire of a drive-by shooting - the women of Chicago decide to withhold all sexual privileges from their men until the gang war is ended and peace returns to the streets.

The film is split into two parts which run side by side – the strike and the reaction to the girl's death. The first is told as a very broad comedy – almost a sex farce in places – a battle of the sexes in which bullets are replaced with abstinence. It is a very sexy story focusing on Lysistrata played with gusto by Teyonah Parris, the girlfriend of local gang leader and rapper Chi-Raq, who starts leading the movement. The slogan of their movement – No Peace, No Pussy – gives an indication that this is not the most subtle of approaches.

The other story is more serious and focuses on Irene, the mother of the slain child, beautifully played by Jennifer Hudson, and the white minister of the local church – John Cusack. This story is perhaps more impactful because it preaches directly to us and it shows us the repercussions of the violence. The centrepiece of this story is the impassioned sermon given at the funeral of Irene's daughter.

Guns have become part of America's wardrobe.

The two stories are held together by Samuel L. Jackson's narrator who speaks directly at the camera and gives insights and information as to who various people are and what is going on. The film is very loosely based on an ancient Greek play - Aristophanes’ Lysistrata – and is told mostly in rhyme and, even when this is not the case, the dialogue is still highly stylised. This doesn't get in the way, however, and soon it seems quite natural – at least within the artifice of the film.

The question that must be asked is do these two approaches come together fluidly? The answer is yes and no. On the one hand the power of Jennifer Hudson's performance make you want more of it and it could be argued that it is lessened by the bawdy comedy that moves alongside it. I would also have liked to see more of John Cusack's Father Mike Corridan - a white preacher working in a predominantly black neighbourhood.

However, if you accept the stylistic approach that Lee uses, then the film does work very well. Rap music has been renowned for addressing issues of sex, sexual politics, race and violence and Chi-Raq seems to me like a visual rap song. The absurdities of the comedy (especially the men's reaction to the embargo) work to highlight how the whole issue of gun violence in America is not being taken seriously by those who are not directly affected by it (which includes those in power). It is the powerless that pay the price, who are stuck in the middle. These are the people who, as Samuel L Jackson points out, are scared of the gangs and don't trust the police. This film is about them.

Chi-Raq may not be Lee's best film but it is an important one told boldly. It might not entirely work but it is angry and very relevant especially given some of the things that have been happening in the US and around the world. It does highlight the power of this great director and it is filled with great performances, including an small but significant role by Wesley Snipes as the gang leader Cyclops.

Last year I saw the Netflix documentary 13th, another powerful film about guns and I would recommend both as a double bill. Chi-raq approaches the subject in a very unique way and it is a strong reminder of why we need to sometimes hang around a Spike Lee Joint.

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Hidden Figures: A Crowd Pleasing Film about Ground Breaking Women

By Stephen Amos

There is a moment in the opening scene of Hidden Figures that reminded me of Who Frames Roger Rabbit. You remember when Roger and Eddie are handcuffed together, Eddie tries to saw the cuffs and asks Roger to hold still. Roger slips out of the handcuff and holds the box they are leaning on. Eddie realises what Roger has just done and says:

'Do you mean to tell me you could do that anytime?'

'Not at anytime,' Roger replies. 'Only when it was funny.'

In Hidden Figures the three women at the centre of the story stand next to their broken down car arguing about whether they should ride (the back of) the bus next time. A policeman comes along and, after a brief conversation in which he discovers these three black women work for NASA, he offers to take them into town to call the recovery truck. No need they say because one of them is an expert in engineering and with a quick tap of the engine the car starts. The policeman is astonished and the audience laughs.

This couldn't have happened at any time, only when it was funny.

It is this artifice that defines Hidden Figures, this is not about reality, it is about effect. This true and remarkable story concerns three black women in the 1960s, Katherine Goble (played by Taraji P. Henson), Dorothy Vaughan (Octavia Spencer) and Mary Jackson (Janelle Monáe). They work as computers, women who were employed to do calculations for the Space Flight Programme at NASA.

The race into space is hotting up and Katherine is told she is needed by the head of the Space Task Group, Al Harrison (Kevin Costner), so becoming the first African American woman to work at the heart of NASA. At the time the Space Agency was a very segregated place to work and Katherine is quickly dismissed by her new colleagues (who even give her her own kettle with the word 'Coloured' on it.) But Katherine is determined and, more importantly, a genius with figures.

Meanwhile, Dorothy, who has been leading the 'coloured' section, struggles in vain to get the pay rise that reflects her work load and realising the days when human computers are numbered, decides to teach herself and the other women she leads, how to become programmers for the new IBM computers that are being installed.

Finally, Mary Jackson, a woman who, if she were white, would have already been an engineer but can't because the only way to get onto the training programme is to attend classes in a segregated school.

Each of these women have to face prejudice because they are black, because they are women and because the system is completely stacked against them.

The film is told in a very conventional way with Director Theodore Melfi ensuring that no filmic boundaries are pushed (which is ironic considering the film is about women pushing and breaking boundaries) but while this does limit the story, it also ensures it remains very entertaining. Whilst the film does cover what you would expect it to do, there are still moments which highlight the absurdity of segregation – especially Katherine's half a mile run to the toilet any time she wants to relieve herself (there is only one 'Coloured' restroom and that is in a completely different building to the one she works in).

The performances are all excellent and there are the requisite number of scenes when the audience can punch the air as the women succeed.

If I seem to be coming across rather cynically I don't mean to be. I love films which are visual, which understand the language of film and stretch our expectations to the limit but there is still a place for films which just tell a simple story well. Hidden Figures is one of those films. I love moments when the underdog overcomes, when the powers that be who reinforce the barriers are humbled, sometime humiliated and Hidden Figures does this very well.

One person who show be singled out is Kirsten Dunst who as the supervisor in charge of personnel, is the villain of the piece. She is the face of the institutional racism and the one who has to change for the woman to succeed. It is not a flattering role to play and Dunst handles it was a cold efficiency which makes the racism personal. Yet she is not a cold white supremacist who has to be pulled down and abjectly humiliated, instead she is someone who doesn't recognise her racism for what it is, instead seeing it as just the way things are. This heart is what elevates this film beyond the ordinary.

Similar in theme and approach to 2011's The Help, Hidden Figures is not going to be a classic of film history but it is still an entertaining and enlightening crowd-pleaser which reveals a part of history I was not aware of and for that, I am grateful.

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Michael Mann's first criminal masterpiece, Thief (1981)

I think its fair to say that Michael Mann is known for a certain type of film. Stylish peeks into the criminal underbelly, focusing on hard, tough men who are sometimes impeded by their own psychological complexities. He makes thrillers which, when they are at their best, are more interested in the characters of the protagonists than they are the central story. He has, in fact, been accused of telling the same story over and over again with different characters.

I don’t think this is entirely fair.

For Mann the attraction is not the story, it’s the character, it’s the man at the heart of it.

The origins of this obsession with flawed masculinity can be traced back to his feature debut as a director – Thief (1981) – a film that many still consider his best work. It tells the story of Frank (James Caan), a professional thief, who is trying to achieve a version of the American Dream in a way that only a career criminal can do. There is little room for niceties, just sheer determination. For example, he wants a wife so he goes out and gets her, ignoring any objections she may have. Initially Jessie (Tuesday Weld) is a bit reluctant after Frank appears two hours late for the first date, so he grabs her, forcibly removing her and pointing a gun at whoever complains about his treatment of her. His approach is not exactly romantic but it is straight to the point.

‘ let's cut the mini-moves and the bullshit, and get on with this big romance.’

He is equally direct at work. When he is threatened or double-crossed, he deals with it himself being both cautious and reckless at the same time. After he loses money when his fence is thrown out of a window, he goes to the man he thinks is responsible and demands the money he lost. He takes a gun and makes sure there is someone in the car waiting for him to make the getaway then barges into an office terrorising the women working there.

When he is double-crossed by the local mob boss, Leo (Robert Prosky) Frank holds back no punches – he tells him his position, making demands without thought of consequences.

It is this duality that makes Frank is an interesting and complex character. He may seem to be in control at all times but is in fact being controlled by his emotions. He can’t see this but it is obvious to others who, realising this weakness, wish to control him. In Mann’s 1995 film, Heat, Robert De Niro’s character Neil McCauley repeatedly says ‘Don't let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.’ Frank has a similar philosophy which he developed whilst in prison and as a child being brought up in the system – don’t get tied down to anything. But he also wants to settle, to live an ordinary life. He doesn’t see the conflict between these two perspectives but we can.

This is a flaw that is open to manipulation and that is exactly what Leo does. For example, after Frank rebukes Leo for suggesting this pay should be invested into the ‘company’ (which would increase the mob’s grip on Frank), Leo changes tack and offers to help Frank and Jessie get a child (they can’t adopt because of Frank’s criminal past). Frank jumps at the chance, ignoring the entire preceding conversation and the threat of Leo’s control. This, off course, is going to be used against Frank later. We can see it, Leo can see it but Frank can’t as he is too emotionally involved. He can only see what he wants to see – his dream of family life.

What makes Thief so interesting is that, although it has all the ingredients of a thriller – The Mob, guns, a heist – it is really a character study. It is all about Frank and the pay-off, the explosive finale that one expects with thrillers, is dictated not by plot but by character. How Frank reacts to this manipulation and control dictates the outcome, not a twist or storyline. This is the strength of the film – whatever happens feels psychologically true.

My favourite scene is a simple one, in a diner, sitting across from one another, Frank tries to convince Jessie to be with him, to buy into his dream for the future. He shows her a collage of images cut out from magazines he had made in prison which summed up what he wants out of life. On the surface it resembles the legendary meeting of De Niro and Pacino for the first time on camera in Heat. There the cop and the robber discuss their respect for each other and their willingness to take their pursuits all the way, wherever that may lead. They are articulate and focused.

Frank is not an articulate person, especially when trying to discuss themes and aspirations that he has little experience of. His monologue is rambling, he repeatedly hesitates and mumbles. But this only seems to add to his determination and reveals so much more about the man he really is. Jessie’s response is similar – they are the same person and want the same thing. It is a beautifully acted scene by both Weld and Caan, who consider the scene the best of his career.

The film is beautifully made with some stunning photography, especially the city at night (a Mann speciality – see his film Collateral) and the scenes of the sparks flying towards the camera during the set-piece safe cutting are gorgeous. Who needs 3D!

But despite the stylish photography there is also a sense of work involved. This is not an easy job, it is manual labour and each stage of the operation, although almost wordless, is punctuated with grunts and murmurs. You get a real sense that this work is real, that Frank and his partner Barry (an almost monotone James Belushi, in his first role) have done it countless times before. When the job is complete, Frank sits back and smokes a cigarette, a look of exhausted satisfaction on his face. As I watched I couldn’t help compare it, not with other heist films, but with the industrialisation in the opening scenes of Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter.

The performances are excellent throughout but a special mention as to be made of Robert Prosky as Leo. Before watching Thief I only knew him from playing the drunken letch in Mrs Doubtfire, the kindly cinema usher in The Last Action Hero and the slightly crazy vampire/Late night TV host in Gremlins 2: The New Batch, none of which prepared me for this manipulating mob boss with a truly vicious streak.

Ya kids mine because I bought 'it. You got 'im on loan, he is leased, you are renting him. I'll whack out ya whole family. People'll be eatin' 'em in their lunch tomorrow in their Wimpyburgers and not know it. You get paid what I say. You do what I say, I run you, there is no discussion.

Blues fans like myself will see a brief scene of The Might Joe Young Band playing in a bar and a scene missing from the final cut but well worth looking up on YouTube, of the great Willie Dixon.

Rounding out the cast is Willie Nelson as Frank’s mentor and an early appearance of Dennis Farina as one of Leo’s men. John Santucci,, who had a brief role as a corrupt cop, also acted as a technical adviser on the film and was himself only recently paroled for doing the same job as Frank! The film was also co-written by Frank Hohimer (whose real name was actually John Seybold) a career criminal who wrote the book The Home Invaders: Confessions of a Cat Burglar on which the film was based.

Thief is well worth going back to. It is a solid film with great complexity, brilliant performances and spot on direction.

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Under The Shadow: Horror, War and Family Life

It has always been my contention that a good horror film has to be about something. There should be a theme, a discussion going on with the horror acting as an extension. The fear, the terror, the reactions, should emerge from something tangible, something real.

Yes, there is a certain attraction to mindless horror but I never feel these films last. As a teenager some friends and I once watched all the Friday the 13th films in one summer, each of us trying to predict beforehand how many unlucky victims will be dispatched (if I remember correctly Jason Takes Manhattan got the record). This was fun, not because the films were any good (they weren't) but because of the social aspect. We laughed throughout enjoying the naffness of the films and sharing the joke.

Similarly I watched a few of the Final Destination films a few years ago. The attraction there, of course, is the increasingly ridiculous ways another group of victims are dispatched. Ask me today and I admit I can't remember exactly what happened or who was who because the pleasure was completely ephemeral.

Compare these with the best horrors – The Exorcist, The Innocents, The Devil's Backbone or the 2014 Australian film The Babadook. These are all genuinely scary films with memorable highlights, great characters, and, crucially, very strong and relatable themes.

The Exorcist – probably my all time favourite horror – had two thematic motifs. The first focused on the struggles of a successful actress coping with single-parenthood and a high profile career; the second concerned a priest suffering a crisis of faith, intensified by the death of his mother who regains his faith not through proof of God but because he is confronted with the most diabolical evil. The first theme, the strained relationship between a mother and daughter, is a common one in horror. The Babadook explored a mother's attempt to bring up a very troubled child and we ask whether the creature who terrorises them is real or just a figment of a strung out and exhausted mind. In The Innocents Deborah Kerr plays a surrogate mother coming up against a history which just won't let go of the present.

It is a theme which is also explored in the 2016 British film Under The Shadow. It opens up with Shideh, a Iranian woman who dreams of becoming a doctor but is told by the authorities that the dream will never come true because she had once been political in college. She struggles to reassert her femininity and her personality in a country that doesn't value women and she is married to a man who has achieved exactly what she dreams of. The film is set during the Iran/Iraq war and soon her husband, Iraj, is called to serve close to the front line. He implores Shideh to leave Tehran because the Iraqis have promised to bomb the city but, of course, Shideh refuses.

This is the theme of Under The Shadow – a woman, constrained by politics, gender and convention – who is struggling to be independent. She wants to succeed on her own so much, to look after her home and provide for her daughter, Dorsa, that leaving is just not an option.

Of course, once she's alone the bombs do fall, ripping a hole in the building's roof, damaging her neighbours home upstairs and cracking her ceiling. It is the moment that her terror becomes real. There is an Iranian superstition that suggest that 'When bad things happen and a wind blows' a Djinn may come into your life. The Djinn, a malevolent spirit, focuses on Shideh and Dorsa, attacking them where Shideh is most vulnerable and undermining the very things that the mother holds most dear - her independent spirit and her ability to look after her home and child.

Under the Shadow has a good share of scares, it can be creepy, tense and there was one moment which actually made me jump but it does this not by manipulating the viewer with loud music and putting its protagonists in preposterous situations, but my making us really care for the characters. Despite Shideh's reactions and insistence on being in control when she clearly isn't, we do not judge her. Instead we sympathise with her.

What makes the film special though is that it affords us with a glimpse into the everyday lives of Iranian people. Yes the start seems to follow the usual path of government control, but this is a McGuffin of sorts. As soon as Shideh gets home we see how ordinary and universal family life is. We could easily believe there is no difference between Iran and Europe but, occasionally, we are shown just how fragile this façade is: The fear of letting anyone know they own a VCR, the fact that, anytime someone knocks the door Shideh has to put her head scarf on. One stand out scene is when mother and daughter flee the spirit in the house only for Shideh to be arrested for not wearing a headscarf (you have to wonder what would happen if a building caught fire and the women had to escape quickly or perish – would they be arrested for not having enough time to cover their hair?). The Djinn, of course, is the embodiment of the flimsiness of the façade.

Under The Shadow is an interesting mixture of a film – a British Production, set in Iran, filmed in Jordan and in the Farsi Language. It is excellently directed by Babak Anvari with a great central performance by Narges Rashidi as Shideh. It was the UK submission for Best Foreign Language film at this year's Oscars and although it didn't get nominated, it is still an excellent addition to the Horror genre.

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Donnie Yen: The Beauty of Kung Fu

Since the release of Rogue One: A Star Wars Story in December one man seems to have caught the world's attention. He is someone who, it seems, also caught the world slightly unawares. It was as if he had come from nowhere and, for many viewers and critics alike, this could well have been the case. This is especially true in a world which seems to try avoid films in any language other than English.

The man in question is, of course, the great Donnie Yen.

Rogue One had a plethora of action scenes, massive special effects and huge set pieces, but it was Yen's performance as the blind Chirrut Îmwe which got people talking. His relationship with Baze Malbus (Wen Jiang) provided an unexpected heart to Rogue One which millions of viewers seemed to connect to. He was the spiritual link with the main saga, the only proponent of The Force. But what began as a way of attracting an Asian audience to a franchise that many in China (the world's second biggest market) had not yet bought into, turned in to something a whole lot more.

The fact that an actor like Donnie Yen could be so new to so many people even though his career spans over thirty years and over 70 films, is unfortunate but absolutely predictable. Not only is there a language barrier, as most of Yen's films are in Chinese, but there is an availability factor too. If you want to find some of his best films you really have to search them out, although the rise of Video On Demand services like Amazon Prime and Netflix will hopefully remedy this.

Firstly, I need to be entirely honest and admit that I have not seen a great deal of his films. There are huge parts of his filmography that I have yet to watch, but I have seen enough to realise what a great talent the man is. So this is not an overview of a career, not an appreciation of a complete filmography, but a personal perspective, an attempt to put into words my admiration for this great artist.

I think the first time I saw Yen was in the 1993 film Iron Monkey. Donnie Yen plays Wong Kei-ying, a physician and martial artist who is suspected of being the mysterious Iron Monkey – a Robin Hood character who the people of the town adore. The real Iron Monkey is another local physician - Yang Tianchun (Dr Yang) who dispenses traditional medicines to the town's people for free (he is able to do so by overcharging rich customers).

Early in the film the two physicians meet and fight, Wang does so in order to prove he is not the Iron Monkey, but eventually they develop a friendship and at the end, both adopt the Iron Monkey persona to defeat the bad guy. Iron Monkey is full of the most amazing fight displays of Martial Arts, including traditional fight scenes - the final act in the fire, balancing on burning poles, is outstanding - to a wonderfully brief moment when someone opens a door and the wind blows papers into the air. Dr Yang and his wife jump into the air, collecting the papers as they float around the room. I've always enjoyed Martial Arts because they are a form of exquisite dance and this scene illustrates this perfectly.

Iron Monkey was the film which opened the door to Kung-Fu for me and a short while later I was able to see the Once Upon A Time in China movies. Although known as a vehicle for Jet Li, part 2 features two brilliant fights with Yen. Here Yen plays a bad guy to Li's hero. Once Upon A Time in China 2 was made before Iron Monkey (1992) and was probably the film which brought Yen to prominence. I would highly recommend all three films which are great fun and feature some brilliant moments.

Throughout the 90s and into the new century Yen continued to flourish with parts in the TV series Fist Of Fury (based on the Bruce Lee film) and Guillermo del Toro's actioner Blade II but for me his next great role was one which he is possibly most famous for these days – Ip Man.

For me, the three Ip Man movies that have so far been made, are amongst the greatest Kung Fu films ever made. It is a genre that has some truly great films – from the beauty of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Hero or House of the Flying Daggers, to the sheer joy and daring of Jackie Chan and energetic beauty of Jet Li. They are films which can be packed to the rafters with the most elegant fight sequences whilst becoming more than mere action flicks.

Ip Man is a rich man. He spends his time devoted to his friends and practising his martial arts. He is a quiet man who is completely in control of all aspects of his life apart from his wife who wants him to spend more time with her and their son. He takes challenges amiably, treats people with respect and is never boastful of his achievements. He is also the very best in the town and, when a new gang defeats every martial arts teacher, they all turn to Ip Man to preserve their honour, which dutifully he does (a great fight in which he uses a feather duster as a weapon).

The tone turns darker as China is invaded by the Japanese and Ip Man and his family are left with nothing. Too proud to beg, he pawns off everything they have for food. After a friend of his fails to return from fighting the disciples of a Japanese general who believes Karate it better that Kung Fu, Ip Man's frustrations, rage and national pride comes to the fore. The finale is a tense battle between men, cultures and loyalties.

Ip Man is a great character wonderfully played by Donnie Yen. The way he stands, the purposeful way he moves, the passive strength in his eyes, all combine to make a very fascinating character.

Yen returned for two more Ip Man films, in the second taking on an arrogant English boxer, and in the third the bad guy is none other than Mike Tyson. It is a character that is so well rounded and likeable that even going head-to-head with the former world heavyweight champion doesn't come off as too preposterous. A fourth Ip Man film is currently in production and I, for one, can't wait.

Kung Fu films don't always hold a great deal of depth or beauty. Not all films can be like Wong Kar-wai's masterpiece The Grandmaster (another telling of the IP Man story, you can read my review here), a film of almost transcendent beauty, where fights are allegories for seduction, where each kick is a kiss, each punch a flirtation. Most are there to simply entertain, to present beautifully intricate fight sequences in which the very best battle the very best.

The last film in this very brief appreciation of Donnie Yen is Kung Fu Killer. As you can tell from the title, the film is not about subtlety. It is a straight forward thriller about a convict who joins forces with the police to tackle a killer who is determined to beat, and to kill, the very best in each of the various Kung Fu disciplines.

The film maybe a straight forward actioner but a very good one, especially the final battle on a busy road where lorries barrel passed the hero and his opponent as they fight to the death. Yen's character is very different to the others I have described here but there are certain things which hold each role together.

Firstly, of course, it’s his athletic ability: in each film the fight sequences are presented as forms of modern dance. This is the reason I love Kung Fu and Wuxia films. The fights can be brutal, they can sometimes be bloody, but they are always beautiful to behold. Even simple moments like preparing a meal are presented stylishly with intricate and precise motions (see Iron Monkey, for example). This is one of the reasons a small man like Donnie Yen can beat Mike Tyson – it's not about power, it's about grace and poise.

Secondly, Yen portrays each of these characters with a quiet dignity which commands respect.

Finally, there is an issue of faith: Be it his belief in the Force, a belief in the law or a simple belief in honour. This is the core feature that Yen can bring to a good guy and makes him so relatable.

I started out with a little disclaimer – this is not an overview of a complete career, it's an appreciation of a selection of those films which are readily available and which represent the very best of this great action star. This article is, in my own small way, an invitation to all those fans of the action genres who have never seen a Kung Fu and Wuxia (or any form of Martial Arts) film to take that leap, to plunge into a strange and foreign world in which a battle between two or more people can be as beautiful and elegant as dance. Donnie Yen is the Fred Astaire of modern action movies and I encourage everyone to discover why.

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13th - Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime!

Black Lives Matter is a movement, started in the US but now spreading throughout the world, which was started as a way of protesting the killings of black men and women by Police. We all know what has been happening in that country – the protests, the videos on the news and YouTube and the reaction by the police and politicians.

Now a new documentary – 13th – directed by Ava DuVernay (Selma), attempts to chronicle the road from Slavery to the current system of mass incarcerations in the US. It argues that the abolition of slavery was not the end of injustice but a transition from one form of subjugation to another. In the immediate aftermath of slavery there was a movement to focus on punishing Blacks for, well, just about anything. This developed in the ‘Jim Crow’ system in southern states. After the civil rights movement the war on drugs was used as a way of punishment – drugs predominantly used by Black and minorities were attached larger sentences than those used by White users.

This was not an organic development on the ground but one controlled and promoted by the president himself (according to Nixon’s advisor John Ehrlichman) in order to win support from white voters in the South.

Today the prison population stands at over 2 million. Twenty-five percent of the world’s prisoners are in the USA. 42 % of the prison population is Black even though just 12% of the country’s population is Black.

This is a film, of course, with an agenda but it is highly persuasive, intelligent and thoughtful. There is no denying the power of the images and the interviewees are erudite and scholarly. There is not much in the way of a counter argument which is a pity as it could have been used to further strengthen the argument. For example, there is one clip of a rich white man arguing that the country needed prisons and there was nothing wrong with someone making a buck out of it. This type of argument, a basic principle of the profit-motive and libertarianism in America, is something that is rarely presented by proponents of the theory in this type of documentary.

I can’t see it changing the outcome though. The current issues America faces, the rhetoric of Donald Trump, the silent protests of San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick, the proliferation of social media and YouTube, paint a compelling argument that is difficult to deny.

13th is currently available on Netflix in the UK and the US and has had a limited cinema release, probably to make it eligible for the awards season. It is undoubtedly an early contender for a Best Documentary Oscar Nod and deserves to be seen.

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Rashomon: An appreciation of the language of Japanese Cinema

Warning: Spoilers!

A long time ago, during those first flourishes of cinephilia that would consume my life, I made it my duty to watch as much as I could. I wanted to experience movies from all parts of the world, all corners of the earth as it were.

The first flourishes of this obsession with the movies were fed and watered by America, specifically Hollywood, but soon films from elsewhere would make themselves known to me and my pallet expanded. I discovered the various new waves that seemed to pop up occasionally and all those new and exotic names that now seem as familiar to me as, well, as family. Names like Rossilini, Truffaut, Godard, De Sica or Almodóvar. These were names that have continued to pop up over and over again as my appreciation continued to grow.

But there were two names which seemed, to my small-minded, limited experienced imagination, more strange and peculiar than all the others – Yasujiro Ozu and Akira Kurosawa. Maybe it was because many of the other behemoths of cinema came from the relative proximity of France, Italy and Spain; European cousins who were both unusual in language yet possessed a sameness which was easy to identify with, whereas Japan was thousands of miles away with a very singular culture and history. Or, and this is I think more likely, it was because they just made brilliant movies.

I have written of my love for the small number of Ozu movies I have so far managed to track down here, a love that was first kindled with the sublime Tokyo Story. Both he and Kurosawa examine the minutiae of Japanese culture that was both peculiar and universal. I think that this was because the themes, whilst specific in their use of Japanese cultural norms, were also understandable to the outside world as well. We might not understand the significance of the tatami shot used so frequently by Ozu in Tokyo Story (and all his other films) but we do understand the emotions that the film explorer – disappointment, grief, loss, etc.

The same can be said of Kurosawa. A samurai may look particularly strange to western eyes, the histrionics of the great Toshiro Mifune may bring a smile to your face when you first see them, but you can’t help but be moved by the plight of the villagers in The Seven Samurai (reviewed here)or the hopelessness of those trapped between the two warring factions in Yojimbo.

One of those films I saw during this blossoming of my filmic adulthood was Kurosawa’s (and Japan’s) first real international success – Rashomon. It has been a long time but thankfully, today, I revisited this 1950 masterpiece.

If there is one film that proves the point that I have been trying to make, it is this. Rashomon is the story of a murder, or more specifically, the stories of a murder as the details of what happened change ever so slightly with each telling.

The story is told by a Woodcutter (the wonderful Takashi Shimura), a Priest, a Wife, a Bandit and even the victim himself, who speaks through a medium. The facts are these, a man and his wife are travelling through a forest and are spotted by Tajomaru, a bandit well known in the area. At the end of the encounter the man is dead. Beyond that the truth becomes diluted behind a veil of lies and deceit.

Afterwards the Woodcutter and the Priest take shelter from a storm beneath the ruins of the Rashomon Gate and are encouraged to tell their stories to a passerby who shelters with them.

First they tell their own stories – the Woodcutter found the bodies and the Priest was the last person to see them alive – then they recount the versions as told by the other characters involved. Tajomaru claims he was the killer, the wife suggests that it may have been her and the ghost of the dead man claims he took his own life. These are not people lying to save their own lives as they all claim to be the murderer themselves, they are lying to hide a bigger, more fundamental and important truth. This is what drives the film and is slowly revealed through the astute questioning of the passerby.

I am not sure if I have the vocabulary to explain each person’s individual’s motives and do them justice but I will try. The priest is troubled by the possibility that man may harbour a deep rooted sin which he finds difficult to understand; The Woodcutter wants to stay out of trouble (the only way, for a westerner, to possibly fully appreciate the situation he finds himself and the dilemma he faces in is to watch other Kurosawa’s films, especially Seven Samurai which explores the desperation poor villagers live with. Of course, for a Japanese audience this would not be an issue.)

The bandit’s lust is perhaps the most understandable although his later decisions regarding the woman are far more subtle as is the husband’s rejection of her. Finally, as we don’t have any back story for the man or woman, it is difficult to understand her flipping between the man she is married to and an uncouth stranger they meet on the journey.

But this where the understanding of Japanese culture derived from watching and rewatching the films of these wonderful filmmakers bears fruit and the real theme of the film becomes clear – Honour.

Each retelling by one of the three principals involved in the murder acts as a way of preserving the honour of the teller: the wife doesn’t want anyone to know of her shame at rejecting her husband in favour of the bandit, the husband doesn’t want to live with the fact that his wife would reject him like that and so seppuku (suicide) is the more honourable outcome. As for the bandit, he knows that he will be paying the ultimate price for the death and doesn’t want anyone to believe he could be manipulated like he was.

Of course, the truth does come out, the woodcutter saw everything but did not want to tell and because of this the priest rejects him. To the priest the woodcutter briefly represents all the lies and deceit that he has been witness to that day, but as they hear the cries of an abandoned baby, the Woodcutters unselfish attitude wins him over, restoring a little faith in humanity one more time.

Watching the films of Kurosawa one can’t help by notice the over exaggerated performances: words are spat out, the characters continuously throw themselves to the ground, the fights last a long time until the characters are completely out of breath and reduced to wild lunges with their swords, the medium trashes about, speaking with the dead man’s voice, when slighted characters seem to run a great distance away from the others to mope in solitude. But a Kurosawa Samurai film is not about reality, they are not depictions of real life, they have much grander themes than this.

It is also important to note that the judge to whom the parties tell their stories is off camera and silent. The protagonists speak directly to the camera so it is as if we, the viewer, is the judge. The fourth wall is almost compromised making us complicit with the actions onscreen.

In many respects Kurosawa and Ozu represent two sides of the Japanese coin – Kurosawa’s grand gestures compared to Ozu’s focus on the tiniest details, but at the same time they speak to us the same way. They may seem alien to a western audience and their language may sound strange to our ears but their words are easily translatable into our own understandings and experiences. We know what they are saying even if we have to learn the language they are speaking. The best way to learn this language (by which I mean filmic language rather that dialect) is to watch the films of these greatest of filmmakers, to sit at the feet of these masters and consume every nuance like a dutiful student.

Whether it is in the movement of Kurosawa or the stillness of Ozu, this language is visual. Ozu began his career in silent films and Kurosawa proclaimed his appreciation for Silents on many occasions. So I implore cinephiles and would-be cinephiles wherever you are in the world to watch these films, to learn their language and I guarantee you will get a better understanding of the world, of cinema and of yourself.

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Universal Monsters: the search for a new Cinematic Universe

Whatever you think of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, there is absolutely no doubt that it's impact has been tremendous.

Firstly, and most obviously, the box office has been huge. According to Boxofficemojo.com the fourteen films Marvel has so far released as part of the MCU have generated over $4.2 Billion at the US box-office in less than 10 years (that's an average of over £300 million each!).

Marvel's approach of taking well established characters, giving them individual origin stories and then bringing them together into one universe, has been such a successful business model, that it was inevitable that other production companies would try to emulate it. And you can't blame them. It had often been said that the difference between the movie business and any other business is that each time a new film is released it is, effectively, a brand new product. In addition, although the life span of these products covers a number of different formats (cinema, DVD/Blu-Ray, VOD and finally Television), the success of a film mostly relies on the income generated over a very short period of time.

Imagine Coca Cola having to release an entirely new drink every month, to raise awareness for this new drink, to market and distribute it and to move as many units as possible before the release of the next drink! It would be a crazy yet this is the environment that filmmakers find themselves every day. It can also explain the need for so many remakes which was recently covered by Skye Wingfield in his excellent recent article spurred on by the news that The Fly and The Matrix were being remade.

Marvel comic book rivals DC have attempted a similar approach recently with their Justice League films which include the Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman films and, although they have not met with the same type of critical acclaim as Marvel, they have still been extremely successful (Batman Vs Superman generated over $870million at the international box-office despite it's critical drubbing!)

Legendary, is also trying this formula: after having success with Godzilla and, more recently, Kong: Skull Island, they are now developing King Kong Vs Godzilla for release in 2020 and if that hits there will undoubtedly be many more involving various MUTOs (Massive Unidentified Terrestrial Organisms). As a lover of monster movies this, for me, is certainly something to look forward to.

As anyone who knows me will attest, I love the Star Wars Universe and Disney and Lucas film are taking a similar approach. The main Star Wars saga has been well established so, instead of making the origins films first we have the situation where many of the beloved characters of this galaxy far, far away will be subject to retrospective origins. The, as yet untitled, Han Solo film will be first (currently 25th May 2018) followed by possible Yoda, Obi Wan Kenobi and Boba Fett films coming in later years. Alongside these, the new saga will continue to introduce new characters whilst slowly fading out older ones. In addition, we can perhaps expect more films expanding on major events of the Star Wars Expanded Universe as we did with last year's excellent Rogue One: A Star Wars Story.

All these attempts at creating a cinematic universe are very understandable, however I must admit a certain trepidation with regards to the upcoming reboot of the Universal Horror movies.

Lets go back a little. When I was a child the BBC used to broadcast double-bills of horror on Saturday nights from 1975 to 1983 and I was often allowed to stay up and watch them. Many of my earliest memories of watching movies comes from this time and I was introduced to such classics as Frankenstein, The Bride Of Frankenstein, The Black Cat, Them! etc. A quick glance at the double bill schedules that can be found on Wikipedia takes me back to the 9th of July 1983 when myself and my brother bossed our babysitter into watching Dracula with Bela Lugosi (10pm), followed by Karloff in Frankenstein at 11.15! We couldn't watch Frankenstein in its entirety unfortunately as my parents came home and spoiled it for us.

These films are very dear to me and I watched them at a very important stage in my life, when I was first discovering the full potential of filmmaking that was out there. Watching such films before I was even a teenager also, I believe, cured me of the common prejudice many people have of old and Black & White movies (see my recent article on King Kong (1933)). They are films I have returned to many times over the years and I revel in their history. How many people can say they actively searched out the Spanish language version of Dracula solely because it was made at the same time as Lugosi was filming his version (the English Language version was made in the day-time and the Spanish version at night on the same sets).

These stories have been remade many times using many different approaches but for me, the universal films of the 30s through to the 50s were the best. They weren't necessarily the first or the most successful but there is something about the production approaches and values of Universal, initially under the direction of the great Carl Laemmle Jr, which really speaks to me.

Universal has rebooted their films numerous times over the last few years, most successfully with Brendon Fraser in 1999 and 2001 (the combined box-office for The Mummy and The Mummy Returns was almost $850 Million!) and, given the success of the MCU, it may have been inevitable that a Universal Monsters Universe was soon mooted (in 2014). The first of these ��� the Tom Cruise starrer The Mummy – is due to be released in July 2017.

Anyone seeing the trailer for this new Mummy will immediately see that there is a very different approach taken from the original classics. Gone is the gothic horror to be replaced with massive special effects and none stop action. The trailer makes it look spectacular with one scene involving zero gravity during a plane crash apparently needing an astonishing 64 takes to get perfect. Universal is trying to sell it in a similar way to World War Z or, perhaps I Am Legend, as an action horror which have been very successful in the past.

My issue is, however, whereas each other cinematic universe are modern retellings in the similar vein as their previous incarnations, this new Universal approach are not. Think about it, is there anything really new about how Marvel have made each of their superhero films? A part from ramping up the budgets and focusing on quality (something that was definitely missing in 20th century Marvel productions, for example the 1978 Spiderman Strikes Back!), I would say no. They are very true to their comic book roots.

The same with Godzilla and King Kong who have previously done battle in 1962. The Star Wars Universe, again is slightly different as it is emulating the success and the production values of the first trilogy. But Universal is taking a whole new approach, essentially taking the characters from those 30s classics but not the style and atmosphere that makes those classics so good.

You could well argue that times have changed and there is no longer a call for these types of Horror but I would counter that is not necessarily the case. As long as it is good and socially relevant Horror still has an important place in Hollywood. Some of my favourite films of the last few years have been Horrors and have shown us that Horror is so much more that just a vehicle for the odd scare. 2014s The Babadook and last year's Under The Shadow are perfect examples of this and the current release Get Out has grossed a whopping $168 million (as of the 06/04/17) having only cost $4.5 Million.

So why are Universal taking such a different approach? Well, as with everything in Hollywood, it comes down to money. Blockbusters, whilst risky, can generate masses of income and The Mummy is trying to tap into a gap in a summer market dominated by action adventure. If it succeeds the rewards could make many an accountant weep with joy!

Now, please, don't get me wrong. I am not a hater willing this approach to fail. I love movies too much to wish failure on anyone. I would love to go to the cinema and watch The Mummy and have the time of my life. I want it to be great. I approach each film I see hoping that it is going to be one of the greatest films that has ever been made and I will want the same for The Mummy. I don't want to spend my money on crap, I want to be entertained, to be moved, to me thrilled, to be engaged emotionally, and it may fulfil all of these wishes.

But at the same time I want the original classics to be remembered. If remaking them is the best way to do that in this modern world, then so be it. If a youngster discovers these greats because of a remake then I will be certainly pleased. I am just worried that by approaching these stories in just different ways, this may not be the case.

So my message to Universal would be this – I wish you the very best in creating a new Cinematic Universe, I sincerely hope that these new films are great, but please, please, please, please, don't forget those originals. Remember Universal studios was built on the shoulders of giants, of vampires and of the undead. Don't take this for granted. Reference them in your new films, have a morgue attendant watch them as Tom Cruise is waking up in a body bag next door, have two characters talk about how good they are and, hopefully, some youngster out there will be curious enough to look back and discover the true origin stories.

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Finally, The Warriors come out to play

Having been a cinephile for over 30 years now there is one thing that I have learned that will always be true – the more movies you watch, the more you expose yourself to new filmmakers, the more you realise that there are huge gaps in your film knowledge. Each time I look at the filmographies of my favourite directors I will see films listed I have never sat down and watched before and the more I listen to recommendations from people I like and admire (both filmmakers and fellow cinephiles) I discover yet more films that I should have seen but haven't got round to yet.

Many of these films are known to me. They are not always unknown gems which have passed me by, they are often well known films which, for whatever reason, I just haven't seen. An example is a recent Twitter conversation with fellow Cultjer.com writer Haydn Leigh who mentioned the film Gatacca. Now, I've heard the reviews which are really good, I've got friends who love it and the trailer certainly looked interesting – yet I've not seen it.

And it is not an isolated case, my cine-bucket list is chock full of potential gems.

One of these films, which I can now thankfully tick off my list, is Walter Hill's 1979 film The Warriors.

This is a film that many cinephiles take for granted that you have seen. Many have spoken to me about it as if it is inconceivable that I have let it pass me by. I already knew some of the major events – the fight in the toilet, the ominous roller-skater – solely because others have spoken about it. They don't normally even ask me if I have seen it first, they automatically assume that I have. I've also read many reviews as it is a film that has achieved a certain cult status. Skye Windfield wrote his own retrospective in these pages (click here to read his take)

Well, I hadn't seen it before. Part of me thought that maybe I had. A memory from the mists of time was, I thought, of this movie, but no, as I watched it a few days ago it was very obvious that it was all brand new to me.

For those others who have yet to see it, The Warriors starts with a huge meeting of all the various gangs of New York. Cyrus, the Leader of the Riffs – the biggest of these gangs – has called this meeting with the hope of bringing everyone together, working as one unit, to take control of the city. The numbers are their side as they have more members that the police have uniforms. The city could be theirs, he argues, total control. Before the meeting can conclude, however, he is shot by the leader of one of these gangs - the Rogues. The gangs scramble in panic and Luther sees the opportunity to pin the blame on the Warriors. Their leader, Cleon, is beaten (presumably to death) and soon the word is out to all gangs that the Warriors are wanted men. They have to make it from the Bronx, back to Coney Island, in one piece without knowing that they were being held responsible.

What follows is a tense story of survival in the urban jungle, punctuated by a few excellent fight scenes as the boys get slowly closer to home.

Anyone who has ever seen a Walter Hill film will know that there is not a lot of fat on them. There is little in the way of story (although it is based on a Greek Tragedy - Anabasis by Xenophon) and little in the way of character arcs. Hill is not interested in revelations about the individual's background, no explorations of why the gangs members are who they are. Instead we get a lean and trim story, full of brilliant and iconic moments.

It was filmed mostly on the streets of New York and the cast and crew were repeatedly threatened by the locals – rocks were pelted at them in the Bronx, a double homicide interrupted filming at one point and one of the real local gangs actually challenged the cast to a fight one night. The one scene that was filmed on a set is probably the film's highlight – the fight in the toilet. And what a scene it is. Cramming over a dozen gang members into a small area and letting all hell break loose!

The final scene is at once really cool but also quite poignant. On the one hand you have the great moment when Luther (David Patrick Kelly), having tracked the Warriors to their home base, teases them from the hearse he has used to stalk them - 'Warriors, come out and Play-ay' - but you also have the anti-climax of returning home. What should have been a celebration, instead is a realisation that there was nothing much to come back to. Swan, the new leader sums this all up as he scans the run down rooftops of Coney Island 'This is what we fought all night to get back to?' He asks dejectedly.

It must be said that The Warriors is not without heart, despite who these people are and what they do, we still empathise with them and there is one small moment that perfectly encapsulates the position they inhabit at the bottom of society and the fact they know it.

They are on the train in the last stages of their journey. At one of the stops two couples get on and sit opposite Swan (Michael Beck) and Mercy (Deborah Van Valkenburgh). They are rich, clean, care free. One of them glances over at our couple which makes Mercy very self aware of the fact that she is dirty from head to toe and her clothes are cheap. She automatically reaches for her hair, as if to tidy it, to cover some of her flaws. Swan stares at the couple, his hatred projecting toward them, not taking his eyes off them. He takes her hand to stop her. He knows his place, he is not ashamed and neither, he is telling her, should she. It is a wonderful little moment that gives these characters a true humanity and rises The Warriors from a mere exploitation piece that it could have easily been.

The performances throughout are excellent with Beck and Van Valkenburgh really shining. David Patrick Kelly is sufficiently manic as Luther (he worked with Hill as number of times, most notably in 48 Hours, playing another character called Luther – alongside James Remar who played Ajax) but the star of The Warriors is undoubtedly the streets of New York City. This is not the New York of today, it is a time when the threat of violence was around every corner, in every glance.

When the film was released in 1979 it caused quite a stir and there were reports of violence (and three killings) at it's screenings. This was a time when New York was a very violent city and for some screenings the theatre owners had to hire extra security. Walter Hill perfectly summed up the challenges and the reasons for this violence: "I think the reason why there were some violent incidents is really very simple: The movie was very popular with the street gangs, especially young men, a lot of whom had very strong feelings about each other. And suddenly they all went to the movies together! They looked across the aisle and there were the guys they didn't like, so there were a lot of incidents. And also, the movie itself is rambunctious — I would certainly say that."

It has been a long time coming but I am very happy I have seen The Warriors. It is fun, tense, and gritty and certainly deserves it's status as a cult classic.

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The Abyss: An open Letter to James Cameron

Dear James Cameron

I have been a fan of your work for as long as I can remember. I first saw The Terminator when I was too young to see it and too young to fully understand it. I loved the action, loved the stone faced bad guy who later became known as Arnold Schwarzenegger, had a secret crush on Linda Hamilton who was far too old for me at the time (which may have been part of the attraction). In later years I re-watched it and enjoyed it even more – loving the use of time travel and probably crapping myself that such a thing could happen. The simplicity of the idea is one that people still discuss today and no other than Stephen Hawking recently raised the specter of Artificial Intelligence taking over the world and destroying humanity. I, like millions of others, latched on to that iconic phrase that Schwarzenegger promises before shooting up the police station - 'I'll be back!' As catchphrases go, it's up there with 'You looking at me?', and 'May he force be with you.'

Around the same time I watched your classic sequel to Alien! Aliens became one of my favourite films of all time! Still is. Another brilliantly quotable film, especially the wonder that is Bill Paxton (who was, of course, in The Terminator) - 'Game over man, game over', 'What are we supposed to use? Harsh Language?' 'Stop your grinning and drop your linen!'

Aliens taught me so much about what to expect from a modern action film, lessons which I continue to judge other films by even today over 30 years later. The way you introduced the story through the characters and not just through exposition. In fact, in this and other films of your's, Character and Exposition are the same thing. The tension is cranked up slowly but not leisurely. There was so much going on, wonderful characters to meet, technology to explore, emotions to feel, before we even get sight of an Alien.

And when we did – wow! The action is supreme and what sets it apart from so many other films, when one of the characters died in evil hands of the Aliens, we felt it personally. We have spent time with these people and we like them so when they meet their end we, as an audience, lose something too.

The first time I saw one of your films in the cinema was in 1989. The film was The Abyss. It was the first of many I would see on the silver screen – Terminator II (how the hell did you manage to top the first one?),True Lies – a wonderfully underrated comedy spectacle, Titanic – a film that caused my sister, who I had seen the film with, to burst into tears halfway up Bute Street, Cardiff, and Avatar. This last film seems to have lost some of its aura over the years, with many people turning against it but I still love it. The planet is brilliantly realised, the characters (again) are real people, the climax is astonishing. The only issue I have with this film is – when are you going to pull your fingers out and make the next one? You do realise you could have made a number of other films in between don't you?

But this is not what I wanted to speak to you about today.

Let's go back to 1989. The Castle Cinema, Merthyr Tydfil. I was seventeen when I witnessed the breathtaking undertaking of The Abyss. I don't think it was marketed really well as it seemed to concentrate more on how hard it was to make that what the film was actually about, but I went to see it based on that fact that it was directed by you, Mr Cameron.

The story is great and, at the time, very pertinent. A nuclear submarine crashes near the Mariana Trench after coming into contact with an unidentified underwater object and a group of workers on an underwater oil drilling platform are commandeered into helping some marines with the rescue mission. Like Aliens, this motley crew is made up of real, believable and, despite their faults, likable characters. We even end up liking the 'queen bitch of the universe' Lindsey, played perfectly by the fabulous Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. Her relationship with her ex-husband bud (Ed Harris) may not be the most original, but it feels real. There is both love and resentment there. In fact the characters are so well drawn out that, in one memorable scene, we even have empathy with a rat!!!!

When the Aliens turn up the film takes us in completely the opposite direction to Aliens the movie. They are beautiful and you can't help but gasp when we first see them. They are not violent, they are NTIs (Non Terrestrial Intelligences) which want to share this planet with us and are actually feeling threatened by us. In this respect the film mirrors one of my favourite Sci-Fi films of all time – The Day the Earth Stood Still.

The ending of the original released version, I admit, didn't make a lot of sense. It seemed abrupt, as if something was missing. A few years later we were given another version, almost 30 minutes longer. It fleshed out the characters further, added a few small scenes throughout and transformed the ending. All of a sudden it didn't just make more sense, it was overwhelming!

The performances are outstanding with one scene above all showcasing the superiority of the writing and the skill of the actors. Lindsey has drowned, Bud carries her onto the rig, the situation is lost. Bud's emotions swing from determination to resignation to downright hostility to the possibility of death. 'Goddammit, you bitch! You never backed away from anything in your life! Now fight!' he cries out in anguish. It is a stellar performance especially considering that, when he was saying these lines, they delivered directly into the camera, she wasn't even there! Apparently, Mr Cameron, you were particularly hard on Mastrantonio, making her do take after take for this scene, lying on a cold hard floor for hours, her breasts exposed to the world, until finally she had enough and stormed off the set.

The film was beset with problems: issues with the water tanks, the tarp that kept the tank in darkness ripped which meant filming had to be done throughout the night to ensure no ambient light lit up the water, and at one point Ed Harris panicked whilst doing a solo swim without any breathing equipment. This could have resulted in his death – something he was well aware of. And these just touch the surface (pun intended) of what went wrong.

The film was indeed arduous.

Now I understand that it wasn't the mega success you have been used to – before or since – but it has accumulated a huge following in the last 25 years. People, like myself, really love this film, yet we have been criminally forgotten. Remember, it is cinephiles like myself who spend our money on films just like this. And it works. Blade Runner was a flop that became a huge success (and has spawned a sequel) because Cinephiles have kept the flame burning. We have had multiple releases, special additions, boxsets and crucially, excellent Blu-Ray releases.

Which brings me to the point of this open letter. Why is there no HD version of The Abyss? How come we cinephiles, we fans of your work, the people who celebrate you always – not just when a film is released – have never had our wish for a Blu-Ray version of this brilliant example of Cinema come true?

There is an appetite for it. We want to see it, to experience it in a format that The Abyss would look perfect in. There are many films that get a HD release without it adding a great deal to the viewing experience but this is not the case for The Abyss. Your film was made for HD! We want the commentary, the extras, the Behind The Scenes, the artwork, the Director's cut. If there ever was a film that Blu-Ray Special Editions were made for, its this.

There have been many rumours over the years – a 4K release in 2017? Well, we are halfway through the year and still nothing.

So I ask you, I beseech you, I beg you, on behalf of cinephiles around the world, on behalf of all those people who were too young to see the film on it's initial release, please release the Blu-Ray of The Abyss.

I trust that the film will be available soon. I write this with the soundtrack playing through my earphones, with the film playing in my memory.

My trust is in you Mr Cameron.

Steve

[peeringthroughthe4thwall]

Red Cliff: John Woo's Spiritually Epic Action

When we think of the films of John Woo a certain style and recurring motifs come to mind - slow motion, doves, incredible actions scenes, beautiful and serene music over hyper stylized violence - however, after watching his 4 ½ epic Red Cliff, something is revealed that may not necessarily obvious in his earlier films: Spirituality.

I first discovered the Mozart of Mayhem with his 1989 classic The Killer. It is a kinetic film with excellent characters, an interesting take on a familiar story and, perhaps most surprisingly, a lot of heart. I enjoyed one scene in particular, Inspector Li Ying (Danny lee) comes face to face with the titles hero – The Killer Ah Jong (Chow Yun Fat) at the home of Jennie (Sally Yeh), a woman who was blinded by a muzzle flash from Ah Jong's gun. He has taken pity on her and is now sponsoring her to get an eye operation. The two men face each other, their guns drawn in a Mexican stand-off, and introduce themselves to Jennie (who, oblivious to the fact that the two man are close to killing each other) as Tom and Jerry. It is a thread of humour in a very tense scene.

After that I saw hard Boiled – possibly my favourite of his films. It starts slowly, building up to one of the biggest and best action crescendos that have ever been filmed.

Inevitably that Hollywood came calling, although to only mixed results. Face/Off was great, Broken Arrow and Hard Target were ordinary, Mission Impossible 2 was middling at best and Paycheck was completely forgettable.

Even when the results were not that great, it has always been Woo's ability to film action that stood him apart from many of his peers (then and now). Slow motion shots of Chow Yun Fat jumping through the air, firing guns from both hands, furniture exploding at bullets rip them apart, are filmed as if violence is a form of visual poetry.

Moments like these look cool, they make fans of the action genre punch the air and feel the adrenaline flowing through their veins. For cinephiles it is great to see the work of a director who understands the language of film, can do so confidently and can also peer below the surface of the style and finding something deeper, a meaning possibly.

This significance of this style may not be obvious in isolation but does reveal itself over the career of a man who must be considered an auteur.

After returning to China from his stint in the US, Woo's first film was perhaps his most ambitious. At $80 million it was the most expensive Asian film ever made and it brought together some of the biggest names of China. It is truly a film of epic proportions.

Originally released in two parts – or one severely cut version in the UK (which I have never seen), Red Cliff is based on the real historical battles which led to the end of the Han Dynasty and formation of the Three Kingdoms period of ancient Chinese history. The Han Prime Minister, Cao Cao, manipulates the Emperor into declaring war on two warlords who, he claims, want to secede from the Han Dynasty. These two warlords - Liu Bei (Yong You) and Sun Quan (Chen Chang) join forces to resist the invasion into their lands, although they are still vastly outnumbered. The film follows the three leaders, their leadership and their families, to weave a fairly complicated tapestry which looks truly beautiful and lives up to its epic reputation.

It has all the elements that you would want from a John Woo film, despite the change in era, all the things that tells us who the director is, are intact. Even his obsession with doves is revealed once more, in a wonderfully audacious shot. The bird is thrown into the air from the Red Cliff revealing the limits of the Liu/Sun army and navy (approx. 200,000 men). it then flies across the vast river until it gets to the Han Navy which is extraordinarily huge (approx. 800,000 men). Thousands of ships are revealed followed by a fort which is home to men who can be seen riding, training, playing a form of football and then, finally, to Cao Cao himself who is surrounded by acolytes and generals.

The film details two major battles – the first in which a Tortoise shell is used as inspiration of possible formations – and the Second, the battle of Red Cliff itself, which is fought both on sea and land. Both battles are impressive, massive in scale yet Woo keeps in total control throughout and keeps us completely involved. It is a remarkable feat that may not have been achievable with a lesser director at the helm.

Throughout the film it is obvious that Woo's style is not just about a surface coolness but an expression of something much deeper. There is a spirituality there that is perhaps more obvious in his films than his others precisely because of the era it is set. This is not a new thing in Asian movies. In Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, House of the Flying Daggers, Hero and so many more, movement is poetry – it has meaning, like the intricate hand movements of a Chinese opera. Woo slows the image down time and time again, dissolving from one person to another revealing a connectivity that is not otherwise apparent. Think of that scene in Mission Impossible 2 as Tom Cruise and Thandie Newton, their cars spinning out of control on the mountain road. Woo focuses on them, dissolving between them – bringing them together, their futures entwined. He does the same here on several occasions, each time speaking to us purely in images.

The films are particularly Asian, and some of this subtly can and are easily lost to a western audience. You need to accept and look for meaning even though it is not immediately obvious to us. If you do, it will reveal itself and the experience is greater because of it.

Red Cliff, parts one and two, is a long film but a beautiful one. It is epic in length, scale, style and subject. The cast are fantastic, especially Takeshi Kaneshiro as the spiritual Zhuge Liang, a man who can read nature itself, completely in control at every moment. His ingenious way of accumulating 100,000 of the enemy is a certain highlight. Superstar Tony Chiu-Wai Leung, Wei Zhao (who was great in Mulan) and all the others perform wonderfully, making Red Cliff a must see for Asian film fans, Action fans and cinephiles everywhere.