Memories of Matsuko

Proclaiming itself a “fairy tale tragedy,” Memories of Matsuko is one of the more morally ambiguous flights of musical fancy I’ve come across. Director Tetsuya Nakashima (Kamikaze Girls) imbues this novel adaptation of a hapless girl’s decade-spanning existence with flourishing colors, show-stopping tunes, and a flawless cast—but the position the film holds, the message it’s trying to give, is hard to read.

The title character begins the film as a box of ashes, in possession of her formerly estranged brother, after being beaten to death near a river. Said brother hands the task of emptying Matsuko’s apartment to his son Sho, her nephew. As Sho fishes through his late aunt’s filthy, unlivable apartment, he unravels the details of her life after leaving home and being disowned by her family. Nakashima does a bang-up job with the visuals, the music, and the way both fit into their respective time periods. For the first half of the 130 minute runtime, it’s an utter delight.

Unfortunately, as Godlike figure Matsuko, the incredibly impressive Miki Nakatani is screwed over by nearly everyone she meets, while drifting from one abusive relationship to the next. She remains loyal, loving, and forgiving to the men who treat her like trash—an unpleasant trait that seems meant to provoke admiration. Too often her suffering is accompanied by zany music and comedy-scene camera angles. It’s a shame, because there are genuinely hilarious, touching moments here that are cheapened because of it.

Oddly enough, the film is nearly redeemed entirely by Asuka Kurosawa as a tough, smart, sexy pornstar/business woman friend of Matsuko’s—one of the few characters who never hurts her, physically or otherwise, and encourages her to leave her current Yakuza-member boyfriend. She breezes into the movie just as it’s starting to feel icky from the barrage of black eyes and Stepford Wife mannerisms our heroine displays, and steals the show, without even having a musical number.

Time

After seeing Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring, Samaritan Girl, and 3-Iron, while avoiding the widely-panned The Bow, I must have been spoiled on Kim Ki-duk. Those first three are recognizably his best-received efforts, and are nearly devoid of the unsympathetic rawness of his early work. When watching his latest film, Time, I suppose I expected something entirely separate from what I saw. Nowhere to be found is the quiet meditative-ness of 3-Iron and Spring, or the heartbreaking morals of Samaritan Girl. Instead, this is a frantic study of characters that are hardly relatable. A half-hearted expose of plastic surgery culture, that doesn’t seem to have a handle on what it wants to say. Time is kind of like a train going much too fast, and in the wrong direction to boot. Which is to say, it’s impossible not to stare at it and be simultaneously frightened and fascinated.

The story, set against the sleek and achingly hip backdrop of downtown (presumably) Seoul, throws us into the loving-but-mildly-stale relationship of Seh-hee (Ji-Yeon Park, of two Whispering Corridors flicks) and her boyfriend Ji-woo (Jung-woo Ha). They’ve been together for two years, and Ji-woo has acquired a harmless, but hurtful roving eye that—not five minutes into the movie—sends Seh-hee into an over the top jealous rage. She’s paranoid that he’s going to get sick of her “same old boring face,” and eventually leave her. So, in a ridiculous preemptive strike, she disappears and has her mug reformed to be unrecognizable to him, before resurfacing months later (now played by Hyeon-a Seong of the Scarlet Letter) as “See-hee.”

See-hee begins showing up at the regular hang outs of her unbeknownst ex, hoping he’ll take notice of the new and improved her. He does—but is still reserving the majority of his affections for his long-lost disappearing act, Seh-hee, should she ever return. Now, even though she is Seh-hee, this drives See-hee wild—and she’s just as jealous as before. Of herself. More insane acts of unreasonable obsession ensue, until we’re violently carried to the bloody final act, which loops the entire proceedings into a nonsensical, surrealistic psychological nightmare.

Though it’s difficult to watch, given these people seem so out of touch with reality—not to mention social niceties—there are still fleeting moments of tranquil poignancy. Seeing the mentally-unstable, fragile smile on See-hee’s face as she thinks she may have a second chance to be loved by Ji-woo is touching, just as Ji-woo’s attachment to the au natural and long-gone Seh-hee is. Time is strange, brutal, and off-putting, but enthralling in the way that Extreme Makeover is. And, of course, it’s refreshing to see a depiction of having one’s skin pulled, sliced, and sewn into new shapes not having a happy ending. For all the things that can be said of Ki-duk, he’s got no shortage of compulsively intriguing ideas.

Welcome

I set up this blog as a spot for me to stash my reviews (and otherwise) on Asian film. That’s really all there is to it. Enjoy!