WONDER (2014)

“Dedicated to my teacher Masahiro Katayama, 

who opened up my eyes to the WONDER of animation.” 

- Mirai Mizue, WONDER, end credits

“Wonder” is the word I would use to describe the emotion that I felt when I first discovered the animation of Norman McLaren as a child exploring the NFB video tape collection in my local library.  I had been exposed to NFB animation in school, but this was something new and exciting, and it changed my understanding of animation forever.  I imagine that feeling of wonder is what Mirai Mizue and his peers (Kunio Katō, Akino Kondoh, among others) felt when Professor Masahiro Katayama (read: In Memory Of) introduced them to the world of independent animation as undergraduates at Tama Art University in the early 2000s.  Thus, it was moving to see that Mizue had dedicated his latest animated short, the aptly named WONDER (2014) to his late sensei.

I am reminded of that sense of wonder whenever I see a new film by Mirai Mizue because like Norman McLaren, he is constantly challenging himself with innovative animation projects.  WONDER is the end result of the WONDER 365 ANIMATION PROJECT executed by Mizue between April 1, 2012 and March 31, 2013.  In this project, Mizue set himself the goal of producing a one-second film – 24 images – per day for 365 days with the support of sponsors.  At the completion of that year, Mizue’s producers, CaRTe bLanChe, set up a kickstarter campaign to transform the resulting sequence of 8,760 images into a complete film (8 minutes in length) – including a 35mmm print and a soundtrack by the acoustic band the Pascals – that could be sent to international festivals.  So far, WONDER (see: official website) has made the Jury Selection at the Japan Media Arts Festival, and last week it competed in the shorts competition at the Berlinale.  

ゴールドベアーはもらえなかったけど、ゴールドフィルムを受け取った！ 映画『ワンダー・フル!!』2/22~ヒューマントラストシネマ渋谷 http://t.co/CFLLiOl1ob pic.twitter.com/UB93StzpBE

— 水江未来／MIRAI MIZUE (@MIRAI_MIZUE) February 16, 2014

映画祭終了後の翌日の上映は100%一般観客対象。日曜の夜でもソールドアウトで感嘆！活発なQ&Aを終えたあと帰りにレッドカーペットを歩いていたら、水江さん女性観客たちに「素晴らしかった！とっても気分が良いわ」と話しかけられてました♪ pic.twitter.com/qibaLH2FPG

— 岡本珠希｜Tamaki Okamoto (@tmk_kmt) February 17, 2014

Mizue animated WONDER using his signature “cell animation” technique that he has been wowing audiences with since his debut animation Fantastic Cell in 2003.  The cells in question refer not to celluloid (as in the traditional animation technique “cel animation”), but to organic cells which make up the basic structures of the weird and wonderful creatures that Mizue brings to life in his abstract films. In the programme to the Berlinale, Mizue’s technique is compared to a colour organ (Farbenklavier), “in which visual effects are produced when a musical key is struck,” they describe Mizue’s latest film as “a journey to the world of cells and structures.” (Source: Berlinale).  In addition to the cells animation, WONDER features a wide range of abstract paintings that by turns complement and contrast with each other. 

MIRAI MIZUE × PASCALS【WONDER -Trailer -】 from MIRAI_MIZUE on Vimeo. 

Mizue does not use storyboards in planning his films, but instead improvises using his intuition.  This imparts a lyrical quality to his work and results in a film in which every new transformation surprises the viewer like fireworks exploding in the sky.  When presented on a programme with his fellow CALF animators, whose work often explores deep and troubling psychological issues, Mizue’s films lift up the spirits with their warm colour palettes and they inspire audiences with their creativity.  Thanks in part to the Pascals’ upbeat soundtrack, WONDER is Mizue’s most joyous film to date.  The colours dance across the screen with an ease that belies the tremendous amount of hard work and dedication that went into its meticulous execution. 

WONDER will be screened along with 14 other shot by Mirai Mizue at the Human Trust Cinema Shibuya on February 22^nd.  They are also hosting an exhibition of the animator’s illustrations called WONDER FULL until the end of the month.  Learn more at the official website WONDER FULL.  Clips of the film from the WONDER 365 ANIMATION PROJECT can be found of Mizue’s official Vimeo and Youtube profiles.  Keep an eye out for WONDER at international festivals because it is a real treat for the senses when seen on the big screen.

2014 Catherine Munroe Hotes

Soliton (2013)

The devastation that the Tōhoku tsunami and its aftermath wreaked on the communities on the Pacific coast of northeastern Honshu in March 2011 has been described by many observers as resembling a war zone.  In his latest experimental short film, Soliton (2013), Isamu Hirabayashi uses this motif as a metaphor to express the lingering trauma left in the wake of the tsunami.  Soliton had its international premiere this this week at the Berlinale as part of its Generation 14plus Short Film programme.

Most of the film is shot from the perspective of a man looking downwards as he walks over uneven terrain.  The man’s legs, garbed in military camouflage, move at a slow, deliberate pace.  The sound of his feet crunching as he walks is interspersed with the sounds of gunfire, high-pitched buzzing, and garbled radio noises that create the impression of a modern war zone.  It is a disorientating and unusual perspective. The lurching of the camera creates a sense of unease to the point of near nausea.

Hirabayashi denies us an establishing shot of the landscape for the first 7 minutes of this 12 minute film.  Instead, he forces us to examine the minutiae of the terrain to see the scars left by disaster: beach interrupted by corrugated tin that may once have been a roof or shed of some kind, concrete with rivulets worn into it by water, concrete interrupted by vegetation, the earth cluttered with debris.  Finally, the man's leg is freeze framed and turned into an animation of dots next to the formula for a soliton wave. 

In the world of mathematics and physics, a soliton is a self-reinforcing / non-dissipating wave that was first observed by the Scottish civil engineer John Scott Russell (learn more about solitons here and here) in a canal.  Although they are difficult to observe in mid-ocean, many speculate that a tsunami wave is an example of a naturally occurring soliton.    For me, Hirabayashi’s use of this scientific term for the title of his film brings up many of the thoughts and feelings I had as I watched the Tōhoku tsunami footage on March 11, 2011.  When one lives in coastal Japan, one is acutely aware of the theoretical threat of tsunami.  There are markers of the levels that previous tsunami reached, regular evacuation drills, tsunami and earthquake resistant shelters, and man-made tsunami barriers.  But knowing the scientific likelihood that a severe tsunami may come during one’s lifetime is not the same as the reality of the experience of the event itself.  Scientific knowledge cannot prepare an individual or a community for its physical and psychological impact.  I found myself reacting viscerally to Hirabayashi’s film as it brought up the shock I felt at the human impact of the tsunami on 3/11 all over again.  There is this wonderfully contemplative shot of the ocean as if looking down from the sky.  The deceptively calm-looking ocean gives no hint in that moment that when the conditions are right it can wield an unimaginable, deadly force.   

The man continues to walk, through puddles and ragged earth, through thicker and thicker piles of debris littered with the signs of lives destroyed including a lone tatami mat, a single shoe, an open photo album, a child’s doll.  The walk continues until the man encounters the feet of a child in shoes with a heart pattern on them holding a stuffed toy (the Berlinale description of the film differs from the screener that I saw – I noticed no black and white in the opening and they also describe the girl as being barefoot). The man stops and places the shovel we did not see he was carrying until now gently into the sand, suggesting that he is part of the recovery effort. 

In case any spectators were uncertain as to the setting of this film, the closing credits make it clear with a series of still images of buildings destroyed by the Tōhoku tsunami.  The text of the closing credits are artfully shaped around these monuments to lives once lived.  The images chosen for the closing credits reminded me of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial (Genbaku Dome) – the skeletal remains of the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall destroyed by the A-bomb.  These shells of buildings are poignant symbols of humanity's frailty:  for all of our technological advances, we have still so much to learn.  The emotional impact of Soliton’s imagery is heightened by the excellent music of Takashi Watanabe – a long-time Hirabayashi collaborator.

Many short film fans will be familiar with Hirabayashi’s Noburo Ofuji Award winning animation 663114 (2011), which tackled the long-term consequences to the environment due to the nuclear disaster that came on the heels of the tsunami.  Soliton continues Hirabayashi’s consideration of the impact of these events but from a new and unique point-of-view.  Definitely keep an eye out for Soliton at international festivals in the coming year.  It is the kind of film that will affect you on more than one sensory level.  If you are unfamiliar with Hirabayashi’s experimental work, I recommend checking out his YouTube channel.  A Story Constructed of 17 Pieces of Space and 1 Maggot (2007) is a personal favourite of mine.  663114 appears on the DVD/BD L'Animation indépendante japonaise - Volume 1. 

Catherine Munroe Hotes 2014 

Combustible (火要鎮, 2012)

“Fires and quarrels are the flowers of Edo, yet the greater essence is the fireman”

The ancient city of Edo was known as the City of Fires because of the frequency and ferocity of its fires.  This was due to a combination of factors from the high flammability of the densely built wooden nagaya (長屋/row houses) to arson.  Between 1601 and 1867 alone, the city suffered nearly 1800 fires – 49 of them considered “great fires” that killed hundreds, if not thousands of people. 

The record of these fires appears in paintings, wood cuts, and scrolls – many of which can be viewed on the Institute for Fire Safety and Disaster Preparedness website – and the popular legends surrounding many of the fires have inspired everything from kabuki plays about the arsonist Yaoya Oshichi of the Great Fire of Tenna to Laura Joh Rowland’s mystery novel The Fire Kimono, which is set during the Great Fire of Meireki.  Popular manga-ka and animator Katsuhiro Ōtomo and his design team at Sunrise used woodblock print artists the inspiration for his unique animated short Combustible (火要鎮/Hinoyōjin, 2012).

Set in the 18^th century, the story begins with the unfurling of a cloth-bound emakimono (scroll painting).  The camera tracks slowly left, in the direction that one reads a scroll, over a highly detailed depiction of 18^th century Edo from the busy river, over the working class Shitamachi (low city) to the more affluent Yamanote (“foot hills” – or “high city” as in Edward Seidensticker’s 1984 book).  A male chorus sings a kiyari – a ritual song which was sung by hikeshi (Edo firefighters).  Traditional kiyari would list the tools needed by the firefights but with the words all drawn out like a chant. 

During the slow tracking shot, a hinomi-yagura (fire lookout tower) appears in the foreground to foreshadow the events to come.  The camera pauses in a large garden of the affluent home of a young girl called Owaka-chan (Saori Hayama).  Bored on her own in the garden, her spirits are lifted by the appearance of the boy next door, Matsuyoshi (Masakazu Morita), on the tiled garden wall.  A lyrical sequence ensues showing their varied play together, their agile figures dissolving in and out to show the passage of time as the garden subtly changes seasons. 

The children’s cheerful voices become a memory of the past as the camera dissolves to a red room with a hanging scroll painting of the garden on the wall.  Owaka is now a young lady in a formal kimono sitting with her mother.  The women’s response is interrupted by the sound of hanshō (alarm bells) in the distance.  Owaka’s mother sends a boy up onto the roof to the lookout to discover the location of the fire.  All across the black sky of Edo, men have climbed onto their roofs to observe the fire – all except Matsuyoshi.  He surprises the women by climbing the wall, running through their garden to escape from his family. 

The next scene shows Owaka as the dutiful daughter, serving her family’s guests under their watchful eyes.  As soon as she is in the privacy of her room, she weeps.  Owaka is much more adept at hiding her displeasure from her family than Matsuyoshi whose father has become violent with rage.  Matsuyoshi kneels on the floor in front of his father, his shirt sleeve torn off to reveal a tattooed arm.  The hikeshi firefighters – who normally came from the lower classes – were as heavily tattooed as today’s yakuza with water symbols such as dragons to give them courage and bring them good luck on the job.  It seems that Matsuyoshi has run away from home to become a heroic firefighter.

We hear Owaka and Matsuyoshi talking about the contrast between their childhood and their present situation against still scenes from Owaka’s empty house and garden.  Owaka is then seen reclining in apparent misery next to her koto – the stringed instrument she has doubtless had to learn to play in part of her training to be a nobleman’s wife.  Night falls and Owaka sits in her room with a beautiful wedding kimono and her elaborate trousseau.  A voice-over of her father’s bragging tells us that they are just waiting on the final touch: the obi for her wedding kimono.  Owaka sighs in misery and throws a fan across the room.  She doesn’t notice until it is too late that the fan has landed in her lantern.  Before long, the lantern bursts into giant flames.  Owaka’s first instinct is to run for help but then she reconsiders.  Perhaps this fire can alter the inevitability of her fate?  The drums and hanshō thrum loudly as the hikeshi firefighters gather to fight the fire as it rages through the Yamanote district.  Matsuyoshi is one of the brave men who nimbly ascend tall ladders onto the rooftops to assess the situation.  Will he be able to rescue Owaka or will her foolishness lead only to tragedy and devastation?

12th Century Animation (12 seiki no animation)

Isao Takahata

Watching Ōtomo’s short but masterful film, I was reminded of Isao Takahata’s fascinating illustrated book 12^th Century Animation (十二世紀のアニメーション, 1999) which examines how the composition of Heian picture scrolls prefigure the techniques used in modern animation.  It even includes examples from picture scrolls that dramatically depict Heian era fire – a scroll that Ōtomo may be referring to in an interview with Asian Beat last summer.  Using a complex mixture of traditional and CGI animation techniques, Ōtomo and his team have created a film combines the quiet beauty of 18^th century emakimono (picture scrolls) with the dynamism of CGI movement.  I particularly love the added touch of the letterboxing using traditional Japanese cloth instead of black bars.

This duality is expressed in the dramatic structure of the film.  As Ōtomo explains in Asia Beat, the first half of the film represents “stillness” and the second half “movement” with its “intense fire and action sequences”.  The slow tracking camera using mostly long and extreme long shots used in the first half contrasts with the fast cutting action shot from a variety of angles in the second half.  Similarly, the quiet sounds of garden birds of the early scenes are replaced by the drums and bells of the traditional dance music employed during the fire sequence as the film rages towards its abrupt end.  My two favourite shots in Combustible employ very different techniques: the glorious slow tracking opening establishing shot of Edo and the exciting CGI sequence of Matsuyoshi and his fellow firefighters flying up onto the rooftops by ladder.  As our POV ascends the tall building like a weightless crane shot, I believe I even said “wow” out loud at the sight of the rows of houses up in flames.  Fire and water are notoriously challenging for animators to get right and this film is a tour de force in the animation of fire. 

Available on the Short Peace DVD (JP only)

Short Peace BD (JP only)

Short Peace BD Special Edition (JP only)

Katsuyoshi Ōtomo won the Noburō Ōfuji Award for Combustible at the Mainichi Concours last year.  The film was also shortlisted for the Oscar for Best Animated Short and was nominated for the prestigious Annecy Cristal.  Although it started making the festival rounds in 2012, Combustible was theatrically released as part of the omnibus Short Peace alongside Shuhei Morita’s Oscar-nominated animated short Possessions (九十九/Tsukumo, 2013) as well as shorts directed by Hiroaki Ando and Hajime Katoki.  Short Peace was released on DVD and BD in Japan this month.  No word yet on any English DVD/BD/download release dates.  For fans of animation, the special limited edition BD is well worth the investment if you don’t mind the lack of English. 

Catherine Munroe Hotes 2014

Direction/Screenplay:

Katsuhiro Ōtomo

Music:

Makoto Kubota

Cast:

Masakazu Morita (Matsuyoshi)

Saori Hayama (Owaka)

Character Design:

Hidekazu Ohara

Animation Director:

Tatsuya Tomaru

CGI Director:

Shūji Shinoda

Animation:

Hidetsugu Ito

Hiroyuki Horiuchi

Koji Watanabe

Kouichi Arai

Mari Tominaga

Masaaki Endou

Shuichi Kaneko

Takahiro Tanaka

Background Art:

Junichi Taniguchi

Yoshiaki Honma

Effects Animation Director:

Takashi Hashimoto

Visual Concept:

Hidekazu Ohara