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Spirited Away is easily Hayao Miyazaki's most praised and well known work, especially in North America. My cousin is a few years older than me, and was totally obsessed with Studio Ghibli films back when we were kids. She had all of them on VHS and DVD back in 2006 and we watched them in order of release. We started with Castle in the Sky, which utterly enchanted me. Then we watched Naussicaa of the Valley of the Wind, which is still Miyazaki's magnum opus par excellence in my opinion. After that we got to Princess Mononoke, which is second only to Naussicaa in my eyes. Finally, we got to Spirited Away, and I got so scared by No Face that I had to stop watching. Why No Face scared me more than anything I'd seen in the other Ghibli films we'd watched, I have no idea, the mind of a child is an oft inexplicable place. Some fascinating background about the film itself, it had a budget of about 19 million dollars, which is extremely high for anime production. John Lasseter of Pixar and Disney fame is actually close friends with Hayao Miyazaki and personally led the English localization efforts.

Coming back to the film itself, Spirited Away follows Chihiro and her parents as they're moving to a new neighborhood. The family discovers what seems to be some kind of abandoned amusement park, and Chihiro immediately gets nervous. Her father rushes towards a food stand with her mother close behind, and they start stuffing their faces into ramen bowls. Chihiro walks towards a bathhouse and meets a handsome young lad named Haku, who tells her to take her parents and leave immediately. Alas, her parents have already been pigified and they can no longer return.

The rest of the film follows the fish-out-of-water, Allice in Wonderland-type confusion and wonder of being thrust into another, mysterious world that works very differently from our own. Yubaba is able to take away Chihiro's memory by taking her name, specifically by erasing the second kanji in her name, reducing it just to 千, which means "1,000". Chihiro, now "Sen" has to go up top to work at the restaurant portion of the bathhouse. While working up there, a bizarre, silent spirit named No-Face comes in, and lures in another patron with gold coins and swallows him whole. He continues to demand more food and starts dumping loads of gold on the bathhouse workers.

Upon watching this movie again for the first time in a while, it got me thinking about the "Journey to a mysterious world" trope in media and how differently it's handled in this film. The Spirit World is dangerous, but it isn't Hell. There are good spirits, bad spirits, and what-the-hell-even-is-that spirits. Chihiro and her family are just passersby in this world, and though they aren't really treated well this time, who's to say that if they had landed in another part of the spirit world it couldn't have been better overall?

I'm now ashamed to admit that I had never heard of Naomi Kawase before this film. I seriously enjoyed this movie, and to my slight embarrassment, I actually cried a little. Films that center around the elderly aren't too common, and I personally feel that they're important given how much of our society is elderly. This movie to me, was about dignity and purpose as one ages, and how elderly people, especially elderly women, often have to push quite hard to be taken seriously. We're introduced to Sentaro, a middle-aged man who runs a small dorayaki shop, that's moderately successful selling to primary schoolers. Sentaro's pancakes are exceptional, but his bean paste (餡) isn't even his own, he buys it from a supplier. The school girls like it enough, so they keep eating it. But one day an elderly woman named Tokue comes by and is thoroughly unimpressed by Sentaro's bean paste. She says that she's a 50-year veteran of bean paste making, and that Sentaro should hire her. Sentaro notices that her hands have some kind of deformity (which I immediately identified as leprosy) and thinks that the pace of the kitchen would be too intense for a woman her age. However, the next day she brings Sentaro some of her own bean paste. Skeptical at first, Sentaro tries it and immediately realizes that her bean paste is really special and decides to hire her. What follows next is probably my favorite sequence of the film, where Tokue teaches Sentaro her perfected bean paste making technique. This whole sequence is just super well shot and really heart warming. Ultimately the shop ends up becoming a success thanks to Tokue, and she feels fulfilled. A great deal of the film revolves around the nature of our relationship to food itself. I think the part where Tokue cheers the beans on as their cooking illustrates that pretty well. Later we find out that Tokue had pneumonia the whole time, and passes away. She leaves Sentaro and his new employee Wakana a cassette of her voice, telling them that people are not valuable just because of what they can do, but because they are people, and should simply be valued for the miracle that life is. This is where I started to ugly cry, since my grandmother told my brother and I this all the time while she was in hospice care with cancer. I learned that Kirin Kiki actually passed away only a few years after this movie, and am deeply saddened that she can no longer grace us with her exceptional acting.

In Kiyoshi Kurosawa's 2001 horror film "Pulse" (known in Japanese as 回路かいろ "Kairo"), the internet isn't just a place to connect – it's a yawning abyss of loneliness, threatening to swallow any user whole. The story unfolds in Tokyo, the most populous and densely-packed city on the face of the Earth, yet where our characters feel utterly alone. This isolation fuels a supernatural horror unlike any other, where ghosts aren't confined to graveyards, but slither through the very cables promising connection.

Pulse follows several characters, their paths converging as a strange phenomenon grips the city. Many residents begin inexplicably taking their own lives, and those left behind are plagued by disturbing visions – pale, faceless figures appearing on computer screens. This imagery isn't just jump scares; it's a slow, creeping dread. The faces represent a surge of loneliness, a hollowness that spills out of the internet and into the real world.

Michi, a young woman working at a computer help desk, witnesses this firsthand. People call in, their voices laced with terror, describing the spectral encounters. The internet, supposed to bridge distances, has begun its transformation into the existential garbage disposal we know today. Meanwhile, Ryosuke, a hacker, stumbles upon a disturbing website promising a connection so complete, it erases your very existence. This website embodies the film's central fear: the internet as a Faustian bargain: it can connect you to anyone in the world instantaneously but at the cost of your sense of self and reality.

Kurosawa's cinematography is absolutely on point for the whole film. We see characters dwarfed by empty apartments, their faces illuminated by the cold glow of computer screens. The sterile hum of technology underscores the lack of human connection. The ghosts themselves are unsettling – distorted figures with vacant eyes, mirroring the emptiness they represent. The hollowness of their eyes showing clearly the yawning gap between reality and internet simulation they experienced before dying.

The film doesn't shy away from the dark side of human connection in the digital age. We see people using the internet for fleeting moments of intimacy in online chatrooms, only to be left feeling more isolated afterward. The characters yearn for connection, yet their attempts through technology only push them further away. Like a digital Chinese finger trap: the harder you try to force it, the worse you're stuck.

Pulse isn't a film that relies on gore or jump scares. It's a slow burn, a meditation on the anxieties of a hyper-connected world. It forces us to confront the chilling possibility that the very tool designed to bring us together might be driving us apart (honestly "might" isn't even necessary). Even today, the film feels eerily relevant. Social media can be a breeding ground for loneliness, with carefully curated online personas masking the emptiness underneath. A neologism for this phenomenon is "parasocial". Pulse serves as a stark reminder of the importance of face-to-face human connection in a world entirely dominated by screens. It's a film that will stay with me like Ghost in the Shell or Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade have.

Hideo Nakata's 1998 film, originally titled "Ringu" in Japan, departs from the conventions of the slasher genre. Rather than relying on graphic violence, "Ring" instead evokes a pervasive sense of dread that taps into contemporary anxieties. The film centers on a cursed videotape that, upon viewing, transmits a fatal curse to the recipient. Reiko, a tenacious investigative reporter, becomes determined to unravel the mystery behind the deaths of her niece and several of her friends, the only connection between them being their prior viewing of the enigmatic videotape.

Reiko's investigation, alongside her former husband Ryuji, leads them down a path fraught with peril. The grainy, unsettling imagery of the cursed videotape foreshadows the sinister secret they are about to uncover: the vengeful spirit of Sadako Yamamura, a woman trapped within a well and inextricably linked to the malevolent tape. Eschewing jump scares in favor of a slow-burning atmosphere of dread, "Ring" preys upon the audience's subconscious. Long, darkened hallways and distorted visuals punctuated by VHS static contribute to the film's unsettling mood. The specter of Sadako herself, characterized by her long, disheveled black hair and pale visage emerging from the television screen, is a truly haunting cinematic image.

"Ring" transcends the horror genre by incorporating thematic elements that resonate with the viewer. Reiko's unwavering determination in the face of her impending demise is a testament to the power of maternal love and the will to survive. The film explores the complex themes of motherhood, self-sacrifice, and the courage to confront one's deepest fears, even in the face of a seemingly inescapable supernatural threat.

The influence of "Ring" extends far beyond the critical and commercial success it achieved within Japan. The film is credited with revitalizing the Japanese horror genre, spawning a wave of J-horror films that found international acclaim. Notably, "Ring" inspired a highly successful Hollywood remake, further solidifying its place within the horror pantheon. However, the enduring appeal of the original film lies in its ability to transcend cultural boundaries. The fear of the unknown, the anxieties associated with modern technology, and the unforgettable image of Sadako continue to resonate with audiences, solidifying "Ring" as a chilling classic of the horror genre that will undoubtedly leave viewers wary of watching any unmarked videocassettes – or perhaps even clicking on mysterious digital downloads. One of the key factors that contributes to the film's enduring legacy is its exploration of the anxieties surrounding new technologies. Released in 1998, "Ring" predates the ubiquity of the internet and social media, yet it taps into a nascent fear of the unknown lurking within the realm of technology. The cursed videotape serves as a metaphor for the potential dangers of unregulated media and the unsettling ease with which sinister content can spread. The film compels us to consider the responsibility that comes with new technologies and the potential consequences of blindly trusting the media we consume.

Furthermore, "Ring" delves into the complexities of human relationships, particularly the bond between parent and child. Reiko's primary motivation throughout the film is to save her son Yoichi from the curse. Her relentless pursuit of a solution and her willingness to confront unimaginable dangers are fueled by a mother's unwavering love. The film explores the depths of parental love and the sacrifices parents are willing to make to protect their children.

Imagine a Tokyo of the future, but not the shiny, robot kind. This is Yentown, a sprawling metropolis where immigrants hustle and dream under a sky choked by pollution. That's the world where our story begins with Ageha, a teenager adrift after her mom dies. Bouncing from one stranger to another, she finds a lifeline in Glico, a flamboyant prostitute with a heart of gold.

Glico's world is a rough one. Yentown's underbelly is a mix of ethnicities, all trying to scrape by. There's Ren, a Chinese kid with a knack for fixing things and a mischievous glint in his eye. There's his crew of misfits, each with their own story of struggle and resilience. There's Feihong, a shady but charismatic guy who runs a salvage yard, his past shrouded in mystery. Ageha falls in with this group, a makeshift family navigating the chaos of Yentown's streets.

Feihong hatches a plan to escape the daily grind – counterfeiting yen. It's a risky proposition, but the promise of a better life is tempting. They use their combined skills – Ren's tech smarts, Feihong's connections, and Ageha's sheer moxie – to get the operation rolling. They even open a happening nightclub, "Yen Town," as a front.

For a while, it's almost idyllic. The money flows, and Yentown's underdogs finally have a taste of freedom. Ageha, blossoming into a young woman, even finds love with one of the guys. She explores her own creativity, her artistic spirit blossoming alongside their newfound wealth. But this dream can't last. The Yakuza, the Japanese mafia, catch wind of their scheme. Threats turn violent, and the fragile sense of community cracks.

"Swallowtail Butterfly" isn't your typical crime flick. Sure, there are shootouts and double-crosses, but it's more about the characters and their struggles. Director Shunji Iwai captures their energy with a frenetic, handheld camera style, mirroring the film's raw and pulsating vibe. The soundtrack is a mix of Japanese pop and Western classics, reflecting the cultural melting pot of Yentown.

The film doesn't shy away from the darkness. Poverty, violence, and desperation are all part of the characters' reality. But there's also a glimmer of hope. Even in the face of hardship, they find moments of joy, love, and connection. They fight for their dreams, even if they know they might not win. Ageha, the caterpillar who found herself lost and alone, transforms into a vibrant butterfly, a symbol of hope and resilience taking flight in the face of adversity.

"Swallowtail Butterfly" is a wild ride, a genre-bender that's part crime drama, part social commentary, and part coming-of- age story. It's a film that stays with you long after the credits roll, a reminder of the resilience of the human spirit, even in the face of a harsh and unforgiving world.

Imagine a cop movie where the good guy wrestles with guilt and a world teetering on the edge. That's the vibe of "Hana-bi," a 1997 film by the one and only Takeshi Kitano. Kitano, a real-life comedian with a knack for deadpan humor, also directed, wrote, and starred in the film, lending it a unique blend of darkness and wry observation.

The story centers around Nishi, a detective haunted by a past shootout that left his partner paralyzed. Wracked with guilt and facing his own wife Miyuki's terminal illness, Nishi decides to throw in the towel and quit the force. But with Miyuki's treatment costing a fortune, Nishi makes a desperate move – he borrows a hefty sum from the yakuza, the Japanese mafia. Big mistake.

Now Nishi is on a collision course with disaster. He pulls off a bank robbery to pay back the loan, only to find himself deeper in the yakuza's clutches. The violence unfolds in a slow-burn kind of way, punctuated by moments of unexpected brutality. Kitano's signature stoic gaze adds another layer to the film – you never quite know what's going on behind those impassive eyes.

There's a tenderness to "Hana-bi" that cuts through the gritty crime drama. The relationship between Nishi and Miyuki is beautifully portrayed, their quiet moments together a stark contrast to the chaos swirling around them. These scenes are little pockets of warmth in a film laced with melancholy. We see a genuine love and connection between the couple, their unspoken understanding a testament to the years they've spent together.

The score by Joe Hisaishi is another highlight, weaving melancholic melodies and soaring strings that perfectly capture the film's emotional core. The music is like a character in itself, underscoring the characters' inner turmoil and the sense of impending doom that hangs over the film.

"Hana-bi" isn't your typical action flick. Don't expect shootouts galore. The film is more interested in exploring themes of loss, regret, and the lengths people go to for those they love. It's a meditation on mortality, with fireworks – the film's literal translation – serving as a poignant symbol of fleeting beauty and the impermanence of life. The use of fireworks is particularly striking in a scene where Nishi and Miyuki watch them illuminate the night sky. The fireworks are a temporary spectacle, a burst of brilliance against the vast darkness, mirroring the fragile and fleeting nature of life itself.

The ending is a masterclass in ambiguity. Kitano leaves things open to interpretation, forcing viewers to grapple with the characters' fates and the lingering questions about their choices. It's a film that stays with you long after the credits roll, prompting reflection on the fragility of life and the complexities of human relationships.

So, if you're looking for a crime film with a difference, one that's equal parts brutal and beautiful, "Hana-bi" is definitely worth checking out. Just be prepared for an emotional rollercoaster ride.

Wow, what a phenomenal film. Wada-sensei actually recommended this film to us in Advanced 2, and I was considering watching it. The question sensei asked us in class was about using our "real names" in the US and if we felt comfortable doing so. The US, being a nation built by countless different peoples, isn't in the same position as Japan. It's quite common for people here to have "mixed" names of Anglo-Irish, German-Dutch, Spanish-Basque, on and on. What it means to be American is an ever-evolving discussion.

Lee's father is my favorite character from this film. His frustration and grief are extremely relatable, and the sacrifices he makes for his family are admirable. Obviously he goes too far with just how hard he hits Lee, but you can understand why he does, it's not totally arbitrary. His complex relationship with his North Korean identity was very fascinating to watch, since you typically see ex-pats from pariah states portrayed simply as despising their home nation and willing to do anything to stay away from it. But he describes himself as a committed Marxist even after living in Japan for (presumably) decades and watching North Korea devolve even further into tyranny and poverty. I think he finally starts to come to terms with the true nature of his home country when his brother dies and Lee insults his retelling of fond memories of him. He understands that the only path is forward with his family in Japan (or maybe America).

This is either my third or second favorite film we've seen so far, mostly because I've seen it before. This film is just a delightful acid trip from start to finish. It keeps you on your toes the whole time and will leave you scratching your head, but with a stupid smile on your face. It's only 115 minutes but feels like 3 hours, in a good way. I was shocked to learn Roger Ebert actually gave it a 4/4, pretty rare from him.

The film proclaims itself as the first "ramen western", which is a funny little play on "spaghetti western". Tanpopo certainly feels like a western during many segments of its runtime, and like a "oh I had this cool idea let's do that" kind of film during other parts. During either part though it's shot very well, has great music, acting, and especially set design. One of my favorite moments being the homeless cookout scene, really feels like the film crew just rocked up to a bunch of homeless guys and started filming them cook.

Tanpopo simply exudes soul from every fiber of its being. The titular character is extremely relatable and believable. She struggles a lot with her shop, learning how to make it better, learning how to cook better, helping her son, and so on. Everyone can find some aspect of Tanpopo that they've experienced in their own lives and relate to her. Kind of strange that the other truck driver just kind of vanishes for most of the film though.

The film almost feels like it's in constant but dynamic motion. Sometimes it's slower, sometimes it's faster, but it's always moving towards the goal of Tanpopo building her restaurant. Well except for the very end when the camera watches a woman breastfeed her infant for ... several minutes?? That was really strange, felt like an invasion of this woman's privacy.

The scene where the man in the white suit is gunned down in the street is still very strange to me, partly because we know very little about him and his lover but also because we can't see where the shooter was. I think it's supposed to be a kind of Twilight Zone-esque tragic-ironic ending for him since he "wanted his life to be like a movie" and he dies in a very cinematic way, but it's a bit odd.

I definitely want to watch more of Itami's movies, especially after learning that he was murdered by the Yakuza for trying to expose their involvement with a cult. Absoluete mad lad.

Throughout the entire watchtime of this film all I could think of was Whiplash, the 2011 film where J. K. Simmons mentally and physically torments a young jazz drummer. However, this film isn't so much about the relationship between master and student as Whiplash is. It's much more about the strained family dynamics of early 1980s Japan, the demands on every family member from society writ large, and the lengths that families were willing to go to get their children into prestigious universities. One facet of this film I found particularly interesting was the relationship between Shinichi and Shigeyuki.

Shinichi, the older brother, has already gotten into the prep school that his father wanted him to get into, Seibu High. Shinichi experiences a kind of post-accomplishment aimlessness; he's lost motivation to study since his motivation was to get into Seibu in the first place. He has reservations about going on to university since it doesn't seem to fit his life anymore. Shinichi is now much more interested in talking to girls and hanging out with friends for the vast majority of the movie. He's almost switched places with Shigeyuki.

Shigeyuki is struggling a lot with school, but not because he's simply not smart enough, he just has little to no drive to do so. He's much more invested in drawing and reading about rollercoasters than Japanese language class or English. It's not until his father has had enough of his slacking and gets an at-home tutor that Shigeyuki sees any improvement in his grades. This tutor quickly proves to be far more than Shigeyuki's father bargained for and ends up being physically abusive almost immediately.

The tutor, Mr. Yoshimoto, is a tall, imposing man who immediately establishes his dominance over the Numatas. He goes to a second-rate university, but carries himself as if he were a Toudai alumnus. He enforces his regime of studying onto Shigeyuki, slapping him and harassing him in public until Shigeyuki bends to his will. As we see later in the film, what Yoshimoto is actually trying to do is to teach Shigeyuki to stand up for himself and act on his own. We can see this when Yoshimoto smiles when Shigeyuki blocks his slap and slaps back. What Yoshimoto did is still assault and he should be charged as such, but it wasn't senseless assault.

Yoshimoto represents the cold reality of what it takes to make it in our hyper-competitive society. If you're not completely dedicated to the grind, not utterly focused on making it to your next goal, you'll end up like Yoshimoto himself: slapping 9th graders across the face for a couple hundred bucks. The very end of the film, where the whole family falls asleep midday to the sound of a helicopter flying overhead, is emblematic of just how exhausting the grind is. I think all of us can relate to just passing out midday when the lack of sleep from studying catches up to us.