13 March 2012

Two Tea Two (2010)




Hiroco Ichinose’s quirky animated shorts have been delighting festival audiences since 2006.  The Last Breakfast (2006), HaP (2008), and Cow’s Day (2009) combine stylistic sparseness with a touch of the surreal much like the films of her mentor Taku Furukawa.

Her most recent independent work, Two Tea Two, has a very tactile feel to it, with its inky lines drawn on a textured paper.  An alarm clock rings, awakening a long-haired woman with an angular face sleeping naked in her bed.   She tilts her head and contorts herself into a round shape, as if stretching her body awake.  She rushes off-screen and we hear a door close.  She reappears again in a loose fitting dress.  The sound suggests she is now on a public street and we see her gaze in a window, her face reflecting in a window as if she were a two-headed creature as she observes a cup of tea.

Cut to the woman seated in a low chair, her body oversized and contorted, as she tries to drink from her tea cup.  She looks up and a lovely short sequence unfolds in which we see traces of the world outside the café window – black ink on yellow paper.  A shadow of another female figure appears outside the window looking in at our protagonist.  Two women or the woman’s face reflected in the window?  She tilts her head inspecting the reflection of herself.  When she straightens, her mirror image remains contorted.   She pokes the contorted mirror image of herself and the mirror image rounds into her chubby form again, knocking the lid off the sugar dish as she floats to the other side of the table.  A small insect spreads its wings and scurries past the sugar dish.

We now have two identical women – or the same woman reflected – sitting in low chairs facing each other, with the coffee table hidden under the tangle of their long legs in high-heeled shoes.  They stare at each other, steaming tea cups in their hands.  In a split screen, the mirror image appears to speak to her original.

The woman with her bare shoulders above the red dress now stands in a storm, her long black hair streaming to the side in the wind.  A second head and long neck appear – a two headed woman staring at the audience.  She then curls herself into a ball and floats away. 

Back in the café, the winged insect wanders around a stray sugar cube on the table.  It splits in half then reforms before munching on the sugar cube.  The chubby version of the woman jumps past the cashier with a chink of change hitting the counter, then sheds her clothes as she jumps off screen.  A door squeaks as it closes on the vignette.  The alarm clock rings as the end credits roll.  The animated short finishes with a reprise of the city setting and the woman jumping to the coffee table in her two-headed form.

For me, Two Tea Two captures the ambivalent relationship many women have with their bodies.  Rationally we may have come to terms with our physical selves, but first thing in the morning, pre-tea/coffee and depending on what phase of lunar cycle it is, our bodies may feel heavy and bloated.  Looking bleary eyed in the mirror or at one’s reflection in a café window first thing in the morning, it is not unusual for a woman to search her own face as if it were a stranger’s, trying to reconcile our external selves with our internal selves. 

I love the little touches in this animated short of the action of city life passing by in fragments, and I identify with the feeling of being elephantine and klutzy in a tiny café.  This is a nice film to watch together with Aico Kitamura’s Getting Dressed (2010) as both films explore the relationship between a woman’s physical self and her state of mind.
Hiroco Ichinose (瀬皓コ, b. 1984) is, together with her husband Tomoyoshi Joko, one half of the creative animation team Decovocal.  She is a graduate of the animation department of Tokyo Polytechnic University, where she has taught part time since 2009.  In addition to her independent animated shorts, Ichinose has worked on commercial animation including the Rita and Whatsit and Bee TV animated TV series.

11 March 2012

Isamu Hirabayashi’s 663114 (2011)



The artistic response to the devastation wrought by the Tohoku earthquake and the ensuing tsunami and nuclear fallout at Fukushima over the past year has been immense.  The Yamagata International Documentary festival was inundated with documentaries addressing a wide range of responses to the events of March 11, 2011.  Some artists, such as TOCHKA have become directly involved in the effort to restore a sense of normalcy to the lives of the people of the region.

One of the most profound responses to the disaster is Isamu Hirabayashi’s Noburo Ofuji Award winning animated short 663114 (2011).  The environment and the problematic nature of the relationship of human being to the environment has been a recurring theme in Hirabayashi’s experimental films from the highly allusive piece A Story Constructed of 17 Pieces of Space and 1 Maggot (2007) to the overtly political Conversations with Nature (2005).

The title looks like a code, but it is actually a collection of significant numbers.  The Fukushima disaster occurred 66 years after the dropping of the atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  3/11 marks the date of the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, and 4 are the number of reactors that were damaged at Fukushima Daiichi.

On the surface, 663114, is a simple, straightforward animation, but upon closer examination one finds that it has as many layers as a tree has rings.  An ancient cicada crawls slowly up a vertical surface, which we learn through the first person narration is representative of a tree.  The tree’s surface is decorated with inkan (印鑑), the familiar red stamps that are used in lieu of signatures in Japan.  The cicada tells us that he is 66 years old, born the film implies, at the time of the atom bomb. 

In addition to being spoken aloud in a deep, guttural, masculine voice, the narration also appears in shaky, black handwritten English:

Once every 66 years,
I emerge from the ground, leave offspring and die.
Before mating,
I shed my hard shell at the risk of my life.
Our ancestors have continued this cycle countless times.
The soil of this country is very fit for us to live in.
It is free of strong pesticides and there are no landmines.
The water is delicious so the sap is delicious as well.
I will climb as high as I can.
Aiming higher and higher.
It is our natural instinct.
To survive and leave offspring.
Since the moment of shedding skin is life risking.
We choose a tree that is tall, sturdy and won’t shake that much.
Our ancestors have continued this cycle countless times.
Through the various hardships.




Though slow, the cicada’s pace is steady and its movements repetitive.  In contrast to the reassuring movements of the cicada and its narration, the music and groaning voices of the soundtrack create a growing sense of unease.  Soon, the cicada pauses and begins to moult.  Just when he is at his most vulnerable, moments after emerging from his skin, the earthquake strikes.  The vertical surfaces representing the tree are thrown off kilter, and many of the red inkan stamps go flying. 

The cicada, resilient creature that he is, has survived this initial onslaught by clinging to his shed skin.  He says that he needs to stretch his wings as soon as possible, but before he can do so the tsunami strikes.  Black waves resembling claws reach out towards the cicada and soon the screen is awash with black undulating waves.  The terror of the tsunami is expressed on the soundtrack in guttural growls and the haunting cries of voices that are suggestive of the thousands of innocent victims of this natural catastrophe.

The waves recede and the cicada, though injured, still clings on with one remaining leg to the damaged husk of his shed skin.  “I won’t die” the cicada declares, determined to survive and leave offspring as his ancestors did before him.  A buzzing sound announces the arrival of a black, inky cloud signifying the radiation from the manmade nuclear disaster. 

Black rain and deep-voiced throat singing accompany the closing credit sequence.  When the rain has passed and the credits are complete, the screen goes black and then reprises the opening credit sequence.  However this time the inkan stamps are muddled together and blurred, and the voice is no longer deep and masculine but distorted and echoing.  We hear the approach of the cicada before we see him this time, and when he appears on screen we see that he has been altered beyond all recognition by the nuclear disaster. 

I am a 66 year cicada.
Once every 66 years,
I emerge from the ground, leave offspring and die.
66 years ago, when I was born
I’ve heard that there was a big earthquake and a big tsunami.
There was also a big accident.
I will risk my life to shed this hard shell before mating.
Our ancestors have continued this cycle countless times.
The soil of this country is very fit for us to live in.
I love this country.

It is significant that Hirabayashi chose a cicada to represent the living creatures, human and otherwise, of Japan.  Insects hold a special place in the hearts of the Japanese, and the cicadas are one of the important signifiers of summer.  One cannot imagine a summer in Japan without the song of the cicadas and children delight in discovering and examining the skins of the cicadas when they moult.  It is a symbol of reincarnation, appearing metaphorically in many significant works of literature such as The Tale of Genji.  Cicadas are also a symbol of longevity as they are one of the longest living insects who spend much of their life cycle underground (normally 2-5 years). 

The film looks like a cutout film made of washi paper and ink, but Hirabayashi made it using images and textures that he found on the internet.  The inkan stamps on the surface of the tree are metaphorically significant in the film.  In Western culture, we do still use rubber stamps to make documents official, and this tradition gave rise to the English idiom “to rubber stamp” something, which is usually used to describe a bureaucrat approving something automatically without proper consideration.  In Japan, the stamp culture runs even deeper with individuals, artists, and corporations all using stamps as their signature.

When watching 663114 the first time, I was reminded of the common hanko (判子) stamp that one would use to sign for the post, or to sign into work, and I thought that each of the stamps stood for individuals affected by the disaster.  But then I realized many of the red stamps were more complex than the kind used by individuals so I contacted Hirabayashi to ask him about their significance.  Hirabayashi told me that the inkan are a metaphor for contracts [of the kind we would call “red tape” in English].  He went on to explain that after the war in Japan contracts have been given preference over the feelings of people.  In the aftermath of Fukushima, he feels that this bad attitude has risen to the surface.  

Therefore, the red stamps in 663114 represent the negative force of bureaucracy, the rules that govern a society, in contrast to the enduring life force of the cicada, who struggles to survive at any cost.  It is a powerful film, and although it addresses a very specific Japanese historical moment, the universality of its message has not been lost on international festival audiences.  It received a warm reception at last year’s Viennale and it also got a special mention in the Generation Section at the Berlinale.  The jury in this division is made up of eleven children and seven teenagers.  They said of 663114:

Visuals and sound melded together flawlessly to create a philosophical and layered masterpiece. The director conveys his message, beyond all conventions. Through a simple metaphor he portrays the survival of a culture, even in the face of catastrophe. (source)


Hirabayashi used the platform to remind people around the world of the seriousness of the crisis in Fukushima: "Children are being exposed to dangerous radioactivity a year after the earthquake. It is our responsibility as Japanese adults to protect the children."

The soundtrack of the film is an artwork all of its own.  It was composed by Osaka-based sound producer Takashi Watanabe.  During the Viennale press conference for 663114, Watanabe explained that they approached the soundtrack as if it would be an offering to a temple.  He looked to Buddhism and Shintoism in his desire to create a new kind of sacred music.  Keitarō Iijima (Studio 301), the sound producer on 663114, explained that they used Japanese food for making the soundtrack including nattō (fermented soybeans), dried Japanese noodles and also cabbage.  He echoed Watanabe’s sentiments about the sacredness of the project for them, emphasizing that he tried to have a sense of respect for the food that they used throughout the production.

663114 will be screened at Nippon Connection in May.  Check out Hirabayashi’s website and youtubechannel to learn more about this fascinating filmmaker.

Director: Isamu Hirabayashi
Music: Takashi Watanabe
Throat: Hideo Kusumi
Voice: Midori Kurata
Sound Mix: Yusuke Toyoura
Sound Design: Keitao Iijima
Foley Assistant: Momoko
Art Director: Ken Murakami
Animation Assistant: Mina Yonezawa

This review is part of Nishikata Film Review’s ongoing series on Noburo Ofuji Award winners:




01 March 2012

A Wonderful Medicine (ふしぎなくすり, 1965)



This 15-minute stop motion animation is an important landmark in Japanese animation history.  A Wonderful Medicine (ふしぎなくすり, 1965) is the first independent film by Tadanari Okamoto (岡本忠成, 1932-90) after he founded his own studio Echo Productions (Echo Kabushiki-gaisha) in 1964.  It is also the first stop motion / puppet animation to win the Noburo Ofuji Award, which for 1965 was jointly awarded to Okamoto and experimental animation pioneer Yōji Kuri.  Okamoto was to go on to win this prestigious award more times than any other animator.

A Wonderful Medicine is an adaptation of the short-short story Nusunda Shorui (盗んだ書類) by novelist Shinichi Hoshi (1926-1997), acclaimed for his “short-short” science fiction stories – many of which were illustrated by another Ofuji award-winning animator Makoto Wada and one of Kuri’s fellow Animation Sannin no Kai members Hiroshi Manabe.  Short-short stories belong to the genre flash fiction, and as such tend to be not only short but also boast fresh, innovative storylines and unexpected endings. 

The evil genius imagines the medicine giving him powers of defying gravity / the winding road leading up to the scientist's lab

In an opening reminiscent of To Catch a Thief (Alfred Hitchcock, 1955), an open top convertible winds its way up a coastal hill to a lookout point.  But instead of Cary Gant and Grace Kelly, the car holds a tall, skinny, evil genius with a Poirot moustache and his short, checked-cap-wearing lackey.  The two men are targeting a moustachioed elderly scientist who quirkily has a boy assistant and a talking crow. 

Posing as a potential customer, the evil genius spies on the scientist and overhears him making a new discovery.  Believing this new “wonderful medicine” to be something useful for his plans for world domination, the evil genius and his lackey plan a bold mission to steal the “wonderful medicine.”  Comical at every turn, they are almost foiled by the alarm systems and the talking crow, but in the end their cunning allows them make off with their prize.  In a hilarious twist at the end (spoiler alert), the lackey – who is coerced into being the guinea pig – takes some of the “wonderful medicine” which turns out to be a cure for turning a wicked heart into a good and wholesome heart.  Overcome by his new-found sense of morally upstanding principles, the lackey confesses his crime to the scientist, who is delighted to learn that his new medicine works as intended.

Examples of special effects

Compared to Okamoto’s graduate work Mirror (1960), one can see an improvement in the fluidity of character movement and general expressiveness of the characters – skills which Okamoto acquired during his period working under Tadahito Mochinaga at MOM Productions.  In an amusing touch, the scientist and the evil genius, whose mouths cannot be seen, both talk via their moustaches going up and down.  The establishing shots, both exterior and interior, set the scene beautifully.  The most innovative sequences occur when the crow tries desperately to prevent the thieves from taking the medicine.  Scribbles and even foam have been overlaid on top of the scene in order to depict the chaos of the fight in a dynamic fashion – I am guessing that as with Eastern European puppet films of this period (hugely influential on Okamoto throughout his career), and indeed as with Kihachirō Kawamoto’s early puppet films, this film was shot on the horizontal surface of an animation table with the camera looking down from above.  This would have allowed Okamoto to add depth and special effects on plates of glasses placed at different camera distances above the puppets.

A Wonderful Medicine appears on the first DVD of the Collected Works of Tadanari Okamoto (JP only), which I reviewed for Midnight Eye.  This review belongs to my series on the Noburo Ofuji Award.

Catherine Munroe Hotes 2012


24 February 2012

Puppet Maker Sumiko Hosaka's Animation Top 20




Sumiko Hosaka  (保坂純子, b. 1930) has worked as a puppet artist since 1953.  Throughout her career she has made puppets for live theatre, TV, and commercials, but is perhaps best known for the puppets she made for the stop motion animation of Tadanari Okamoto.  She has also made puppets for the films of Fumiko Magari and the Noburo Ofuji Award winning team N&G Production.
Her first experience making puppets for stop motion animaton came in the early 60s when she was part of the original staff at Tadahito Mochinaga’s MOM Productions.  She was on one of the puppet-making  teams that worked on MOM Pro's first project for Rankin/Bass The New Adventures of Pinocchio (1960-61).  Starting in the late 1960s, she began working for Okamoto, her former colleague at MOM Pro, after he had set up his own independent studio Echo Productions.   She made puppets for many of his most significant stop motion works from The Mochi Mochi Tree (1972) to The Magic Ballad (1982).  She also occasionally worked for Kihachirō Kawamoto – including his greatest work Book of the Dead (2005).

Sumiko Hosaka currently teaches puppet making techniques at Laputa Art Animation School.  Examples of her freelance work can be seen in her profile at Puppet House.

Selected Filmography

The New Adventures of Pinocchio (Rankin Bass, 1960-61)
Back When Grandpa Was a Pirate (Tadanari Okamoto, 1968)
Home My Home (Tadanari Okamoto, 1970)
The Flower and the Mole (Tadanari Okamoto, 1970)
The Monkey and the Crab (Tadanari Okamoto, 1972)
The Mochi Mochi Tree (Tadanari Okamoto, 1972)
Praise Be to Small Ills (Tadanari Okamoto, 1973)
Five Small Stories (Tadanari Okamoto, 1974)
Are wa dare? (Tadanari Okamoto, 1976)
The Magic Ballad (Tadanari Okamoto, 1982)
The Little Bear Oof (Fumiko Magari, 1983)
The Fourth of the Narcissus Month (Suisengetsu no Yokka, Nozomi Nagasaki , N&G Production, 1990)
Home Alone (Rusuban, Nozomi Nagasaki, N&G Production, 1996) – won Noburo Ofuji Award
Book of the Dead (Kihachiro Kawamoto, 2005)

Hosaka’s picks for the Laputa 150 poll in 2003 speak for themselves: a cross-section of some the greatest films in world animation.  Reflecting her interest in puppets, the list is heavy with examples of stop motion animation by Jiri Trnka, Karel Zeman, Roman Kachanov, Jan Svankmajer, and, of course, Okamoto and Kawamoto.  At #1, Hosaka placed the Soyuzmultfilm classic The Little Grey Neck (1948).  In Japan, it was released on DVD together with Ivan Ivanov-Vano’s The Humpbacked Horse (1947/75) as part of The Ghibli Museum Library.  It is also available to buy as a download here.

Konyok-gorbunok & Seraya Sheika / Animation
Order from cdjapan

1.   The Little Grey Neck (灰色くびの野鴨, Vladimir Polkovnikov/Leonid Amalrik, USSR, 1948)
2.   The Emperor's Nightingale (支那の皇帝の鴬, Jiri Trnka, Czechoslovakia, 1948)
3.   Prince Bayaya (バヤヤ王子, Jiri Trnka, Czechoslovakia, 1950)
4.   The Hand (, Jiri Trnka, Czechoslovakia, 1965)
5.   Inspiration (水玉の幻想, Karel Zeman, 1948)
6.   The Fantastic World of Jules Verne (悪魔の発明, Karel Zeman, 1958)
7.   Tale of Tales (話の話, Yuri Norstein, Russia/USSR, 1979)
8.   Hedgehog in the Fog (霧につつまれたハリネズミ, Yuri Norstein, Russia/USSR, 1975)
9.   Cheburashka (チェブラーシカ, Roman Kachanov, Russia/USSR, 1971)
10. Dimensions of Dialogue (対話の可能性, Jan Svankmajer, Czechoslovakia, 1982)
11. Faust (ファウスト, Jan Svankmajer, Czech Republic, 1994)
12. The Fall ( 落下, Aurel Klimt/Derek Shea, Czech Republic, 1999)
13. The Cowboy’s Flute (牧笛, Tei Wei/Qian Jianjun, China, 1963
14. The Demon (, Kihachirō Kawamoto, Japan, 1972)
15. The Magic Ballad (おこんじょうるり, Tadanari Okamoto, Japan, 1982)
16. Creature Comforts (快適な生活, Nick Park, UK, 1989)
17. Nausicaä of the Valley of theWind (風の谷のナウシカ, Hayao Miyazaki, Japan, 1984)
18. The Man Who Planted Trees/L'homme qui plantait des arbres 
      (木を植えた男, Frédéric Back, Canada, 1987)
19. Otesánek (オテサーネ, Jan Svankmajer, Czech Republic, 2001)
20. A Christmas Dream (おもちゃの反乱, Karel and Borivoj Zeman, Czechoslovakia, 1946)

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