Air Doll (2009; Hirokazu Koreeda) is what you would
get if Nagisa Oshima adapted a Hans Christian Andersen or Grimm’s fairy
tale: a doll gets a heart and becomes human—with all the resulting pain and
suffering that that offers.
But in this case, the doll is the type you inflate and
have sex with—including a removable polymer vagina; and the overall film is a
bleak metaphor/comment on the routine and system-wide subconsciously reinforced
dehumanization of women, grounded by an impressive performance by lead Doona Bae.
In other words, a doll gets a heart and finds out that
it’s not worth it.
Like my description above might indicate, Air Doll is a unique and special film,
although problematic as well.
that will be very tough going for those not used to
the pacing of more thoughtful and philosophical Asian films, akin to Ozu’s
work, or Spring Summer Fall Winter… and
Spring (2003), or the more recent Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives.
But I am, of course, only a Yankee barbarian.
There is a slow lyricism about the film that is tough
for monkey minds like myself to deal with, but I never felt the film or its tangents
were inconsequential or mere “padding.” There is a philosophy at work here, and
rewards to be found.
Nozomi is Hideo’s sex doll, but rather than deflate and
put her in the box once he’s done sexing her up, he keeps her around, usually dressed
in a maid’s outfit. When he’s home, Hideo speaks to her constantly, pouring out
his heart. He’s middle-aged, seems to have no friends or family, and works at
as a waiter in a more-upscale eatery, but is no position of power.
Although plastic and full of air, Nozomi comes “alive,”—
“Because I found a heart,” she says, a phrase that
becomes the girl’s sad mantra.
Every night hopeful Nozomi returns to Hideo and
“pretends” to be a doll again. But even when the evidence is right there, it’s
only when she literally gets in his face that the waiter notices she’s “alive.”
Like many guys he doesn’t think of her as her own person…and
then he gets a “Real Doll.”
It would have been so much more preferable if Air Doll had spun off into Miike-esque
lunacy, or like the conclusion of the highly recommended Big Man Japan, totally subverted itself.
Even if Nozomi had done something now-clichéd as grown
a machine-gun arm, that would have been a welcome relief to how things just
sort of…fizzle…
The film is an excellent showcase for Korean actress
Doona Bae, who never splashes into bathos of self-pity, and totally taking over
the viewer’s heart and sympathies.
Familiar to many as the archer from The Host, Doona Bae also has a large
role in the recently released epic Cloud
Atlas—but the flick you must
catch her in Linda Linda Linda (photo at bottom).
Released in 2005, the film is a subtle and
heartwarming musical/coming of age story that never veers into the goofball
histrionics that plague “teen flicks” in the States.
If anything, by concentrating on being as realistic as
possible, Linda Linda Linda feels
more universal than the Hollywood product that always takes place in some bland
universe where everyone is rich and their problems are ridiculous and unrealistic.
In Linda Linda
Linda, Doona Bae plays a quiet Korean transfer student in a Japanese high
school (a US-centric analogy would be that she’s a black girl transferred to a mostly-white
school) who’s recruited into an all-girl power-pop band.
Her standout scene occurs when she sneaks solo into
the school’s auditorium the night before the “big show.”
Climbing the stage, the quirky Asian schoolgirl grabs
the microphone, and, usually shy and reserved, starts pattering as if she’s on
a talk show, segueing into a wonderful monolog about “The Secret of My
Success.”
Then, she bursts into giggles at it all.
If you don’t fall in love with Doona Bae after seeing
that, you have no heart.
Dr. Goldfoot and His Bikini Machine (1965; Norman
Taurog) Some wonderful claymation opening credits are followed by an incredibly
dumb-ass cornball flick—that almost seems like it’s trying to be a spoof of
1930s screwball comedies—heavy on the camp; but running on fumes in the genuine
humor department, with far too much time spent on the personality-lacking
Dwayne Hickman or Frankie Avalon.
A flick I’ve heard about forever but never seen, Dr.
Goldfoot and His Bikini Machine is currently available on Nflix Strmzing—
The overall soundtrack is great, with Diana Ross and
the Supremes providing the theme song during the opening credits. Designed by Gumby and Davey and Goliath creator
(and Pomona College alum!) Art Clokey, the flick’s worth turning on just for
the opening credits—fun in themselves, but also as a low-budget spoof of the
elaborate openings the James Bond films inspired.
Clokey also engineered fabulous,
better-than-the-rest-of-the-flick credits for How to Stuff a Wild Bikini, also
for AIP (although he was uncredited).
After he died, Hart inherited a significant portion of
the old AIP library, and her incalcitrant greed in negotiating has prevented
the DVD release of many films, including the classics I Was a Teenage Werewolf and Roger Corman’s It Conquered the World.
Vincent Price is a hoot (as always) in Goldfoot, his sidekick is amusing, and
the gurls are hot, and there’s some excellent Panavision cinematography, but
otherwise the flick perhaps best as video wallpaper, to be observed out of the
corner of the eye, and then forgotten.
Meanwhile, Air
Doll was watched specifically because I needed something 180-degree in the
opposite direction of what I’d just come from seeing:
Flying Swords of Dragon Gate (2011; released in US in
2012; written, produced and directed by Tsui Hark), the best action film in 3-D
and IMAX that I’ve ever seen,
using the technique in a much more artistic intelligent way than before—yes,
better than Avatard, in my opinion.
Hark creates depth and ‘in your face’ effects without having
to keep the camera always moving.
A motionless camera filming a massive Buddha statue
from a low angle feels overpowering; Jet Li’s headband practically slaps you as
he stands still, glaring at the villain; the subtitles are even “raised!”
But even without the 3-D, this is a damn fine piece of
wuxai, exquisite stuff, with an
all-star cast of veterans and newer action stars, so packed with…stuff (plot, action, intrigue, comedy,
head-spinning acrobatics—and more!) that with the additional 3-D and IMAX, it
didn’t feel like I was going to the movies, it felt like a long-awaited rock
concert, an event.
** = Comments about Lili, one of mine written in May 2012 for Sergio Leone Quiz:
16) Most effective faith-affirming movie?
If you mean by that, the film that touched my soul as
no other one has, and made me actually feel good to be part of the human race—not
in any intellectual “I’m glad about civilization” way, but in a spiritual,
“holy moly I’m glad to be alive way!”,
then
I’d say Lili.
Released in 1953, directed by Charles Walters, and all
about fixing broken hearts, the supremely magical Lili starred Leslie Caron (very young and lovely), Mel Ferrer and a
bunch of puppets. The film is a favorite of both John Waters and H.L. Mencken
(Baltimore loves Lili, eh?), and has
never been available for home viewing, except for a rare showing on Turner
Classic Movies.
Charming and (bitter)sweet, Lili really gets under your skin—probably because like its main
character, the film is guileless: perfect for melting cold, cold hearts.
ALSO RECENTLY SCREENED:
The girl speaks in an Eastern European language the
climbers don’t understand, but the breathing tube indicates this is a
kidnapping of sorts, and the climbers start down the mountain to alert the
cops.
But the kidnappers are a ruthless and cruel lot, and
begin picking off the climbers one-by-one.
After about 20 minutes A Lonely Place to Die becomes a tiresome mess, with zero suspense.
Director Gilbey excessively abuses slow-motion cinematography with random and
inexplicable inserts, and the flick’s editing scheme actually reduces any
tension that’s been built.
It doesn’t help that the movie’s dialog is tepid, and
the characters come off as cardboard cut-outs or absolute jerks.
A major problem is how the kidnappers are dealt with:
bouncing between Jason Voorhees-esque super-killers with almost magical murder
powers; and blockhead morons who blast away indiscriminately at anything that moves.
A big disappointment, especially after the spectacular
mountaineering footage that starts this film.
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