john davies
Stunt Coordinator
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2003
- Messages
- 122
MABOROSI (1995)
The debut feature of Hirokazu Kore-eda (director of the widely admired "After Life") is one of a small, precious number of films for which i have felt lovesick.
"Maborosi"'s story is superficially simple: affected by the death of her grandmother and her husband's unexplained suicide, a young Tokyo woman starts new married life, along with her son, in a remote seaside fishing village, but finds the past continues to trouble her .Eschewing close-ups,the narrative draws the viewer in gradually, so that, as Tony Rayns says,intimacy is earned, not frivolously given. It is haunted throughout by a dark, almost overwhelming sense of mystery. The film's masterfully controlled mise-en-scene, contemplative pacing, "off-screen space" and quiet investment of objects (a bike, a teapot, a wisp of steam...) with both beauty and meaning, all recall Yasujiro Ozu and Hou Hsiao-Hsien. Its lighting is refined, at times, to the point of abstraction, while Masao Nakabori's photography is utterly, immeasurably exquisite. It is another treasure from the land of Mizoguchi, the isles of cinematic wonders.
But "Maborosi" is not best served by hyperbole. It is an unassertive film, too shy, too pure and concentrated to seek the limelight. While compelled to tell of its elusive magic, i protectively fear its over-exposure. In publicising, am i breaking faith? It connects in secret. With the heart that is ready.
The debut feature of Hirokazu Kore-eda (director of the widely admired "After Life") is one of a small, precious number of films for which i have felt lovesick.
"Maborosi"'s story is superficially simple: affected by the death of her grandmother and her husband's unexplained suicide, a young Tokyo woman starts new married life, along with her son, in a remote seaside fishing village, but finds the past continues to trouble her .Eschewing close-ups,the narrative draws the viewer in gradually, so that, as Tony Rayns says,intimacy is earned, not frivolously given. It is haunted throughout by a dark, almost overwhelming sense of mystery. The film's masterfully controlled mise-en-scene, contemplative pacing, "off-screen space" and quiet investment of objects (a bike, a teapot, a wisp of steam...) with both beauty and meaning, all recall Yasujiro Ozu and Hou Hsiao-Hsien. Its lighting is refined, at times, to the point of abstraction, while Masao Nakabori's photography is utterly, immeasurably exquisite. It is another treasure from the land of Mizoguchi, the isles of cinematic wonders.
But "Maborosi" is not best served by hyperbole. It is an unassertive film, too shy, too pure and concentrated to seek the limelight. While compelled to tell of its elusive magic, i protectively fear its over-exposure. In publicising, am i breaking faith? It connects in secret. With the heart that is ready.
