Showing posts with label 1999. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1999. Show all posts

Friday, March 21, 2025

MOVIE REVIEW: CHARISMA (1999)

Written and Directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa

Cinematography by Junichiro Hayashi

Edited by Junichi Kikuchi

Music by Gary Ashiya


Starring

Koji Yakusho as Yabuike

Hiroyuki Ikeuchi as Kiriyama

Jun Fubuki as Jinbo

Yoriko Douguchi as Chizuru

Ren Osugi as Nakasone

Akira Otaka as Tsuboi

Yutaka Matsushige as Nekojima

. . .

“things are gonna slide . . . in all directions

won’t be nothing . . . you can measure anymore”

-Leonard Cohen, “The Future”


“The past is a vast open sea on which you have drifted

A spell they call history that now has been lifted”

-Lucy Monostone, “Strange New World”


“Call the twenty-first century

Tell it

Give us a break”

-St. Vincent, “Every Tear Disappears”


“Restore the Rules of the World.”

-ultimatum issued by an armed hostage taker in the movie Charisma (1999)

. . .

Review by William D. Tucker.


Charisma is a mystery thriller revolving around a disgraced cop who finds himself in a dark forest where various people are fighting over a strange tree. This is from writer-director Kiyoshi Kurosawa whose eerie horror thrillers Cure and Pulse have been well-established as cult classics by this point. Charisma falls between these other two movies both chronologically and in terms of its genre fidelity. I wouldn’t call Charisma a horror film, exactly, although it does have some unsettling scenes. Like Cure it stars Koji Yakusho as a police detective in a long coat who wrestles with difficult moral dilemmas. Like Pulse it portrays a world spinning out into chaos. Unlike Cure, the Koji Yakusho character is much less attached to his view of the world. Unlike Pulse there’s no discernible supernatural influence upon events as they unfold. In Cure a sinister man with hypnotic powers corrupts previously normal people triggering a chain reaction of brutal murders. Pulse depicts a world in which the Internet becomes a reality shattering incubator for unhappy ghosts. Charisma portrays a world in which humans approach the world rationally, profits or glory or ideals in mind, and cannot help but destroy everything including themselves, no malicious Mesmerists or World Wide Web spirits necessary. You could say that the people in Charisma hypnotize themselves by projecting their phantom visions onto an otherwise indifferent Nature which acts as a mirror or screen for various human desires.

Charisma begins with a man suffering beneath the weight of his job: an overworked police detective who seems to be living in the basement of a police station. His name’s Yabuike, and we first meet him as he sleeps on a bench in a dim, dungeon-like room. Yabuike’s superior wakes him up to give him a hair-raising assignment.

A gunman has taken an elected official hostage. Yabuike is sent to resolve the crisis. The hostage taker has a simple demand written on a sheet of paper: Restore the Rules of the World. Yabuike walks into the office where the gunman has holed up with his hostage, draws his gun . . . but then he re-holsters it, and walks out of the room. The gunman executes the politician. A half dozen cops blast the gunman. The situation is a disaster. When asked by his superior why he didn’t shoot when he had the chance Yabuike says he thought he should try to save both the criminal and the victim. Yabuike is placed on mandatory leave, essentially scapegoated for the catastrophe.

One might question why, exactly, such a fraught situation was placed upon one man’s shoulders, but maybe it is because Yabuike is a Movie Cop Protagonist who is expected to resolve situations with quick thinking and quick shooting. Like, say, Dirty Harry. But Yabuike doesn’t work like Dirty Harry. Yabuike isn’t a right wing jerk-off fantasy, an exterminator of human vermin. He perceived the gunman and his hostage as the tragic outcomes of a larger systemic failure. Perhaps one could say Yabuike was right to refuse to live up to the expectations of being a Violent Movie Cop Protagonist. And yet his actions got both the perpetrator and victim killed. From this low point of failure, Yabuike decides to leave the city for a vast forest, perhaps never to return, as there are dark implications of suicidal depression driving the disgraced cop. Or maybe this is just how Yabuike likes to spend his vacation time. To his credit, he calls home to check in with his family, which is nice, but this phone call is the first and last communication he has with them in the entire movie. Perhaps Yabuike is in the process of a divorce? Is that why he was sleeping at the police station? Is crime so out of control that a Movie Cop doesn’t have time to go off the clock let alone sleep? We’re never given an answer. We the Audience are left to deduce Yabuike’s detachment from his wife and child-children?-by judging his words and deeds as they happen on screen. Yabuike seems to walk away from his job, his family, and from whatever kind of life he had in the city without too much inner static, as though he had made up his mind some time ago. Yabuike is a man of both ideals-in the civic arena-and surprisingly hard-hearted pragmatism-in the domestic arena. You could look at what happens in Charisma as a playing out of this profound inner conflict between a duty to the larger world and a self-serving personal desire.

Out in the forest, Yabuike finds an abandoned car in which he tries to spend the night. Someone lights the car on fire. Yabuike suffers burn injuries, but survives. Somehow he manages to crawl free of the torched vehicle, and makes his way to a clearing in which stands a withered tree supported by an improvised framework of metal pipes and joints. Later, Yabuike meets someone who claims to have rescued him from the burning car. Even later we are led to suspect that Yabuike’s rescuer may have also started the fire. The whole sequence plays like a shadowy, unsettling dream-and maybe that’s how Yabuike experienced this ordeal. 

Yabuike’s brush with fiery death leads him to convalesce in a set of abandoned buildings where what appears to be a forestry survey team has set up base camp. This team is led by a man named Nakasone who consults with another man named Tsuboi who claims to work for an environmental protection agency. Nakasone asks Yabuike a few questions, but makes it clear that everyone out here in the woods isn’t too concerned with prying into each other’s pasts. Nakasone even refers to the area as being a town, although the buildings are all decrepit, and the survey team seems to be its only population. Yabuike is provided some food, and Tsuboi allows the recently burned policeman to accompany him on a trip into another part of the forest. On this trip Yabuike again encounters the withered tree supported by the kludged together gantry-like structure. Tsuboi informs Yabuike that they shouldn’t go near the tree because it is defended by a strange man who attacks anyone who approaches. Yabuike goes up to the tree. Tsuboi voices concern even while he takes lots of pictures of the tree up close. Tsuboi appears to be emboldened by Yabuike’s presence even as he is obviously nervous about being attacked by the tree’s defender. Even though Yabuike hasn’t outed himself as a cop at this point there’s just something about the way he marches forward into situations that projects authority. I think Yabuike, despite his disillusionment, still clings to his role as an arbiter of law and order. 

Yabuike soon enough encounters Kiriyama, the strange, aggressive young man who guards the tree. Kiriyama wields a sword in defense of the tree which he has named Charisma. Yabuike hangs out with Kiriyama for a while thus putting the cop at odds with the forestry survey team who want to cut down Charisma. Yabuike isn’t sold on Kiriyama’s whacked-out eco-fascist speeches justifying his defense of the tree, but he also suspects the survey team is not what it appears to be, and so the policeman drifts between the camps trying to figure it all out. 

There are also a pair of sisters-Jinbo and Chizuru-who are conducting scientific research on the ecology of the forest. Jinbo believes that Charisma is a toxic invasive species that needs to be destroyed which puts her at odds with Kiriyama and the survey team. Yabuike drifts among these different factions like a more benign version of Toshiro Mifune’s Yojimbo. Mifune’s mercenary creates chaos for profit by manipulating rival gangs into destroying each other. Yabuike sorta just meets people where they’re at, asks questions, accepts food when offered, and gradually climbs out of his depression and despair as he finds new purpose in the heart of a forest of confusion. 

Inevitably, Yabuike must return to the city he abandoned. I don’t want to give it away, but Charisma builds to a helluva final scene. The implications are both disturbing and exhilarating. Yabuike’s quest to understand the “Rules of the World” leads him to face the limits of his power with renewed moral strength. It’s not necessarily the case that Yabuike can save the world, but he is no longer afraid to do what he can. A tough road to walk for sure.

Also, think about how Yabuike learns to use his gun by movie’s end. He’s no Dirty Harry, but he finds his own way to throw a shot . . .

Thursday, February 24, 2022

VIDEO GAME NOVELIZATION REVIEW: RESIDENT EVIL: CITY OF THE DEAD (1999)


by S.D. Perry


Adapted from the video game Resident Evil 2 by CAPCOM.


Published by Pocket Books in May 1999.

Republished by Titan Books in September 2012.


. . .


"He'd make it or he wouldn't; either way, he didn't think he'd be surprised. "


. . .


Review by William D. Tucker. 


1998 . . .


Once upon a time in Eagleland, U.S.A. . . .


In the mountainous Midwest . . .


In Raccoon City . . .


Infectious zombies, devil dogs, and long-tongued head eating leapfrog whatsits-terrible demons!-have gone on a wild killing spree decimating the cops, the government, the voters, and no one beyond the Arklay County line seems to have a clue what's going on or who's to blame. Is it an occult force? An xtro invasion? A secret experiment gone awry?


Into the devastated city come a rookie cop, a college student, and an industrial spy each with his or her own goal. The rookie cop is looking to start his career in law enforcement. The college student seeks her missing brother. The industrial spy is after a sinister lab-created 'treasure.' Each must face down external monstrosities as well as internal conflicts if they are to survive the night. 


This is an adaptation of the popular Playstation One game Resident Evil 2, the Godfather Part 2-esque sequel to the survival horror flag-planter Resident Evil. RE2 was bigger, bolder, and more beautiful than its predecessor. It carried forward the dual protagonist structure; the panic-inducing tank controls that encourage you to tread lightly when monsters that are faster than you are about; the limited quantities of ammo that compel you to choose your battles wisely and place your shots carefully; limited healing items; and, crucially, limited ink ribbons-which means limited saves. The game mechanics are calibrated to keep you on edge with each step as you cross each threshold . . . what's gonna kill me next? Am I gonna get stuck in a bum save with life threatening wounds, no bullets, and nothing but a combat knife to fend off the undead hordes?


Now, we're not talking about the game. We're talking about the novelization. A video game novelization. How does it adapt the gaming experience into prose fiction? Why read the book when you can just play the video game? Isn't reading supposed to be boring? If all these video game movies suck, wouldn’t a boring-ass book version suck at chrome-removal levels? 


Depends on who you ask. If you're asking me, well, here are my answers . . .


Author S.D. Perry's (not so) secret weapon is the internal monologue. She adapts the dual protagonist structure into a multi-protagonist structure. I don't want to give you an exact number, but you have three mains . . . and then you get some other perspectives-a few more than what you get in the game. Perry cycles through a variety of subjective points of view on the ghastly disaster that has befallen Raccoon City. Everyone's got their reasons for being in a monster hot zone, and that is where the strength of this novelization lies. In the original video game, you get absorbed in maneuvering carefully through treacherous, confusing environments, and that raw experiential tension defines the player characters. In the novelization, we see how different characters bring different agendas and different kinds of expertise to the bewildering succession of horrors whether they be human or monstrous in nature. Or both. 


Some characters are very earnest in wanting to help other people survive and escape. Others have selfish agendas. One especially sick fuck is a murderous monster hiding behind a facade of respectability. 


Perry's novelization also evokes different styles of horror: Gothic obsessions; being stalked by an invincible killing machine; mutational body horror; oversized critters . . . yes, there's some zombie stuff, but not quite as much as I would've liked, but that's a minor lapse.


The tricky thing here is that this novelization is technically the third book in a four book sequence. So, maybe Perry didn't want to overdo the zombies after the first two volumes? Aside from this, City of the Dead mostly stands on its own, although there's no reason not to read all of the Perry authored Resident Evil novelizations, which consists of seven books overall. But if you were to only read one . . . then this is the one to read. 


I like the multi-POV structure. I like the way Perry sticks very close to the characters and settings, but ruthlessly streamlines the goofy-ass lock and key puzzles that gatekeep the different sections of the game. I really like Perry's rhythm for how she writes the setpiece clashes between humans and monsters. Perry's words go faster when danger's afoot, the violence is crunchy and grisly, and the characters are believably freaked the fuck out. 


And it isn't so much that Perry's trying to make the source material more realistic, so much as she's embracing the B-movie craziness of the monsters, the plot twists, and the atmosphere, whilst filling up the characters with engaging emotions and varied levels of understanding about the horror that's engulfed Raccoon City. 


It ain't Proust. It's not Shakespeare. It's not even Dostoyevsky. It is media tie-in product. But it's also a lot of fun for what it is. Proceed with caution. Use as directed. 


Sunday, March 31, 2019

The Lynch Meditations 20: The Straight Story (1999)


We begin with stars, with cosmos.

We don’t see our hero, elderly World War II veteran Alvin Straight (Richard Farnsworth in the role of a lifetime), right away, but we see the exterior of his house. We hear a noise as he falls to the floor of his kitchen inside his house, but only because we are an audience for a movie, and the movie’s sound design is made for us to pick up on such cues. But the next door neighbor is oblivious.

Down at the neighborhood bar, people are waiting up for Alvin. Alvin is rarely if ever late, despite only being able to walk with the use of two canes, and so one of the gang decides to check in on Alvin, and it is revealed he has suffered a serious fall.

Life is quite precarious. It is possible, in this world, especially for those who are vulnerable, to fall through the cracks, to suffer in silence, unnoticed, and, in the event of death, maybe even die unmourned.

Alvin gets word that his estranged brother, Lyle, has suffered a stroke, and may not be around much longer. Alvin and Lyle have hated each other for years, the cause of this animosity long forgotten, and now Alvin feels the need to make amends, to patch things up before it’s too late, before everyone is dead and gone. Alvin is poor, he cannot legally drive, and he doesn’t even own an automobile to break the law if he was inclined to do so, and so he decides to drive from his home in Iowa to his brother’s home in Wisconsin-a journey of 260 miles-on his riding lawnmower.

Alvin is a stubborn man. He sees his doctor after his fall, and has little interest in taking advice, or getting anymore treatments or procedures. Alvin senses the presence of the reaper, and he no longer sees the point of submitting to the will of his healthcare provider. Alvin’s been to war, raised a family, lost a family to his own alcoholism, and now is only connected to his grown middle-aged daughter Rose (flawlessly played by Sissy Spacek) who was declared mentally incompetent in a court of law and lost custody of her kids after a tragic house fire for which she was held responsible. Both father and daughter tried to raise families, and ultimately lost them.

During an evening thunderstorm, Alvin sits in his living room, while the the shadows of rain pouring down the front window crawl across his anguished face, like amplified tears of the very soul, in a possible homage to the 1967 movie version of Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood,  in which a similar scene plays out involving a psychopathic murderer contemplating his impending execution. Alvin isn’t exactly a serial killer, but he does carry significant guilt from his World War II service, a guilt which he has held onto for decades without any kind of relief. We don’t know this until much later in the film, but I mention it here, because, well, the scene takes on a new significance once you know that . . . and if you’ve never seen this movie before . . . spolier?

Sorry, but I shouldn’t say too much more. I’m not sure how popular The Straight Story is among Lynch’s films, but it’s a journey you will be grateful for taking. The journey takes many sharp turns, and if your primary understanding of Lynch’s work comes from movies like Blue Velvet, Eraserhead, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, and Mulholland Dr. you are in for a shocker of a different kind. Yes, this is a G-rated film, so, yes, you could watch it with just about anyone, including children if you got some of those. But . . . dammnit, you really need to see this one. Although it is not my favorite Lynch work, it might be the one I would absolutely recommend above all others. It is firmly set in the real world-excepting maybe one scene of mechanical comedy-with not a trace of Lynch’s surreal supernatural weirdness. As much as I love wild fantasy, a movie set firmly in unforgiving, unadorned reality has increased value in this era of nonstop comic book spectacle, rampant online misinformation, and endless lies emanting from authoritarian governments around the world. The Straight Story does not exist to distract you, to anesthetize you,  or to whip you into a frenzy against a scapegoat. It exists to get you to pay close attention to a vulnerable human being making a profound series of existential choices as he nears the end of his life.

The DVD has no chapter skips. You can skip back to the very beginning. But you can’t skip ahead. (This was also done for the Mulholland Dr. DVD release-but we’ll get to that one later.) You’ve got to take this ride from the beginning, with no interruptions, no distractions-I mean, you can pause the DVD, if you want, if you need a piss break or something like that, but the film is intended to be watched in its entirety, and all in one sitting. If you can, do It.

One last spoiler: the film ends in stars, cosmos.