Just who is the Monster?

Saori Mugino is a widow, raising her young son Minato and working in a laundry in a small city in the Nagarno region of contemporary Japan. When the boy starts behaving oddly – and returns home from school one day with an injury – she grills him until he says that his new teacher, Mr Hori, had inflicted it.

Saori goes to the school, demanding action against the teacher, but only receives overly deferential apologies, particularly from the principal, who herself seems oddly distant.

But when Hori himself claims that Minato is bullying sensitive classmate Yori, she becomes ever more determined to get at the truth and the situation escalates.

Written by Yuji Sakamoto and directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda, the story is told three times. First from Saori’s perspective, then from Hori’s and finally, from that of the two boys.

It is subtle, affecting and very sensitive. Kore-eda himself has denied that it’s an example of the Rashomon effect – storytelling centred on the unreliability of witnesses – and certainly it’s more of a jigsaw than an enigma.

There are manifold themes here: respect, acceptance – not least of self-acceptance – bullying, grief and loss, the concept of rebirth in Japanese Buddhism, and the problems that can be caused by overly strict structures.

Kore-eda’s direction is excellent – not least of his child actors. He coaxes an extraordinary performance in particular from Soya Kurokawa as Minato, who won the best newcomer at Japan’s Blue Ribbon Awards, as well as from Hinata Hiiragi as Yori.

Sakura Ando as Saori, Eita Nagayama as Hori and Yuko Tanaka as the school principal also produce fine turns.

The film includes the last music for film written by legendary composer Ryuichi Sakamoto – delicate piano pieces that add to the poignant atmosphere.

Monster’s world premiere was at Cannes last year, where it competed in the Palme d’Or. It won the Queer Palm and the award for best screenplay. It’s not difficult to see why. It is a very special film.

Rashomon: Superb filmmaking from Kurosawa

More catch-up cinema, as I increasingly appreciate streaming. This afternoon’s choice came from browsing the ‘international’ section on Sky Cinema. I’ve seen a couple of iconic Japanese director Akira Kurosawa’s films, but I only knew of Rashomon by name.

In the last period of classical Japanese history, a woodcutter and a priest are sheltering from a torrential downpour in Kyoto’s Rashomon Gate. Joined by a commoner, they are discussing a recent case of the rape of a woman and the murder of her Samurai husband.

Having both given testimonies at the subsequent trial, they are bemused by the how much all of the accounts differ, including that of the murder victim, which the court receives via a Shinto medium.

The priest insists that the dead can’t lie, but even he has doubts. Who to believe?

The screenplay is by Kurosawa and Shinobu Hashimoto, from Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s short stories In a Grove and Rashomon, while cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa contributed plenty of ideas. He’s particularly famous for his tracking shots and there’s a superb one early in the film, as the woodcutter travels through a forest.

The music from Fumio Hayasaka is also worth noting – not least a bolero that echoes Ravel’s iconic one, using exactly the same beat, though changing the melodic line.

In terms of the cast, Toshiro Mifune (pictured above) shines as Tajomaru, a notorious bandit.

Machiko Kyo as the wife, Masayuki Mori as her Samurai husband, Takashi Shimura as the woodcutter and Minoru Chiaki as the priest all deserve praise.

It was awarded the Golden Lion in Venice in 1951 and an Academy Honorary Award at the 1952 Oscars and is generally credited with introducing Japanese cinema to an international audience.

Rashomon also gave its name to the Rashomon effect, which notes the unreliability of witnesses.

And it’s not difficult to see why this work has regularly featured in lists of the greatest films of all time. Extraordinary filmmaking, with an enigmatic story that ultimately finds a reason to continue having faith in humanity.

My Neighbour Totoro – taking joyful to the extreme

Back in mid-autumn, as I was coming out of the initial dark phase of my partner of 34-plus years having died, I started rather frenetically booking cultural events. The quoted reviews on the trailer for the return of the RSC production of My Neighbour Totoro at the Barbican particularly caught my eye. One, from The Stage, declared that it was a “huge healing hug of a show”.

Got me right there. I had no knowledge of Studio Ghibli or any of its films, but a “healing hug” sounded like a bloody good idea! I bought a ticket.

I mentioned this to my niece who, while envious of the theatre ticket, told me in no uncertain terms to ‘see the film first’.

Then, as we neared Christmas, I saw cinema trailers for a new Studio Ghibli film, The Boy and the Heron. It looked worth watching – so I made it the centre of my Boxing Day. And was blown away.

I subsequently ordered Tortoro and Spirited Away on discs – better than streaming, not least given the home cinema set-up I have.

Spirited Away was the centrepiece of my New Year’s Day – and I loved it.

And so I came to watching Totoro this evening, as my theatre date with the Japanese troll is on Monday.

Wow – just wow.

It’s set in 1950s Japan, where kind university professor Tatsuo Kusakabe and his daughters Satsuki and Mei (10 and four years old, respectively) move into an old house in a rural environment, close to a hospital where their mother is recovering from a long-term illness.

The children start seeing – and interacting with – varied sprites and supernatural beings, including Totoro, a giant (fluffy) troll.

There are familiar themes from the Ghibli films I’ve previously seen: children finding themselves in new environments after a move; lonely, disoriented and distressed by family loss; nature, adventures that lead to supernatural encounters.

It is a short film (blessings be upon the studio!) but absolutely gorgeous and utterly joyful! By the end, I had tears streaming down my face while also wearing a Cheshire cat (like the cat bus) grin.

Directed and co-written by Hayao Miyazaki, it is an absolute joy. Wondrous.