One frustration about almost every new app and platform nowadays: it's all about discovery. It's about sharing, predefined content filters and pushed content. It's about the experience, the journey and the fluff in between. There are tons of music and film services out there (at least for those of you living in America), but whatever platform I try I don't feel really comfortable with the way it presents its data to me. What I think these platforms and apps lack is search. Good, old-fashioned, plain and straightforward, multi-faceted search.

For a while now I've been eying online music/streaming providers. Now that Netflix is finally announced in Belgium I did the same with film providers. The fact of the matter is that few platforms out there accommodate people with specific and well-defined needs. This morning I checked iTunes (movies), which is a complete disaster in this respect. Even a simple task like "give me all Japanese films" is virtually impossible to accomplish (or tucked away so deep that I wasn't able to find it after playing with it for 15 minutes). I've been using the Microsoft XBOX music service once in a while, but still haven't found a way to get label listings (give me all the releases on label X), my preferred way of discovering new music (and one that's infinitely better than algorithmed recommendations).

When it comes to film and music I do my own discovery. (Database-like) sites like discogs and IMDb are where I discover things. I do my own linking, mixing and matching and I would love to find a platform that combines this type of specific discovery with purchases and cataloging. Sadly I still haven't found it yet and looking at what's out there it doesn't seem to be a big priority for content providers. Instead people are expected to just sit back, being spoon-fed the crap these services think we might like. Maybe that's fine for others, but I'm not paying for that.

Kiyoshi Kurosawa is a director with depth. Here in the West he gained notoriety with two films (Kyua and Kairo) which happily hitched a ride on the Asian suspense wave (and to date there are still some people who primarily consider him a Japanese horror icon), but in reality Kurosawa's reach is a lot broader. He has worked in lots of genres, under wildly different circumstances and with a rich selection of prime Japanese actors at his disposal.

Even when he started out in the AV business (Kanda-gawa Inran Senso, Do-re-mi-fa-Musume no Chi Wa Sawagu) Kurosawa never really kept to the boundaries of the genre he was working in. The man likes to play around with genre tropes while fiddling with more complex and interesting themes right below the surface. It doesn't always result in great films, but it left him with a wildly interesting and varied body of films.

It's not easy recommending specific movies as it all depends on what you prefer. If you are into stilted dramas Oinaru Gen'ei is a good starting point, if you prefer the absurd eco-horror Karisuma is a saef bet. I personally like Kurosawa's Rofuto best when picking from his horror work, while Akarui Mirai is arguably his best drama. But he's an avid crime filmer too, with films like Kumu no Hitomi and the Katte ni Shiyagare!! series as prime examples. Whatever film you pick to start with though, don't give up too soon as there's a lot to discover in Kurosawa's oeuvre. Not everything will work for you, nor will everything be easy to find, but I assure it's worth the effort to dig deep in this man's work.

Best film: Kumo no Hitomi (Eyes of the Spider) (4.0*)
Worst film: Kanda-gawa Inran Senso (Kandagawa Wars) (0.5*)
Reviewed films: Eyes of the Spider

Toshiaki Toyoda is back on the scene and people better take notice. Yomigaeri no Chi was not just a desperate attempt to rekindle his lost career, nor was it Toyoda's final blowout before disappearing into complete anonymity. It's clear that the man still hasn't lost his heart for cinema and is far from ready to throw in the towel. With Monsters Club Toyoda picks up the thread and continues to expand his signature style, delivering what is arguably his best film to date.

Maybe more directors should take a sabbatical in prison, because it appears that it can have a pretty positive effect on a director's output. Not that Toyoda's pre-arrest films were bad, but I'm definitely liking the new Toyoda better. After his arrest for carrying "illegal substances" Toyoda suffered a forced 4-year setback. While the Japanese film industry started a slow decline Toyoda was left untouched by the cry for safer and more commercially-minded films. In a way both Yomigaeri no Chi and Monsters Club feel like a throw-back to the more daring Japanese output of 10 years ago.

Monsters Club starts out as a film that takes quite a few thematic cues from the recently deceased Koji Wakamatsu. A single individual (Ryoichi) distances himself from society and starts his own personal revolution. In a faraway cabin he builds homemade bombs and sends them to corporate executives. Even though the bombs seem quite effective against their targets, society itself doesn't really seem to take Ryoichi's actions seriously.

Little by little we find out about the reasons for Ryoichi's recluse and it soon becomes apparent that Ryoichi's revolution is little more than a way to postpone facing more dreary personal problems. One by one his (mostly dead) relatives appear before him, further obfuscating the justifications of his actions and actively questioning Ryoichi's motivations.

Monsters Club is by far Toyoda's most attractive film to date. Even though Toyoda had to make do with a relatively small budget the film looks absolutely stellar. The snowy outdoor scenes are some of the best of their kind and the dark, warm interior scenes make for a stunning contrast. The camera work is elaborate and controlled, the make-up cheap but extremely effective. All in all this film is a true sight to behold.

As always in Toyoda's films the soundtrack is a perfect companion to the visuals. Toyoda has a way with music, knowing exactly what and when to use certain pieces of music. From classical chansons to subdued rock and even some disturbing pieces of glitch, the score always manages to strengthen the atmosphere of a specific scene. The man is an example for all those directors out there neglecting the overall impact of their scores.

The main character is played by Eita, a somewhat inconspicuous actor who has managed to land quite a few impressive roles (Su-ki-da, Ichimei) nonetheless. He does a good job but he is a little overshadowed by Yôsuke Kubozuka (who plays one of his brothers). Ideally I would've liked it if the two had switched characters. Then again, the struggles of Ryoichi do match the body language of Eita better. The rest of the cast is solid, with Jun Kunimura making a remarkable cameo later on.

While the movie starts off as a typical revolutionary tale, Toyoda slowly turns it around to a film that digs deeper into the motivations for Ryoichi's solitary revolution. What Toyoda finds there is not a critique of society but rather a broken individual that redirects his attention from the problems he does not want to face. It's an interesting twist that makes for a welcome surprise and gives the film a unique perspective, clearly separating Monsters Club from more common activist films.

Monsters Club is my favorite Toyoda so far. The film is a beauty, the atmosphere is tangible and the imagery unique. Toyoda works with a more than solid cast and adds a surprising spin to what at first looks like yet another story about one person's distrust of modern society. It's a good step up from Yomigaeri no Chi and if Monsters Club is any indication for Toyoda's next film (I'm Flash) I'm pretty eager to get my hands on that one as quickly as possible.

Toyoda is back! At one point unsure whether he would even go back to feature-length film making, he returns with a blistering vengeance. I can only hope Blood of Rebirth is just the first in many to come, generating enough momentum for a true resurrection. Whatever happens next though, Toyoda delivers a pretty impressive come-back film, worthy of your complete and submissive attention.

Up until five years ago Toyoda's career plan was perfect. Cashing in on his potential, he kept on making one great film after another. That is, until the day he got caught with "illegal substances", apparently considered a pretty serious offense in Japan. Toyoda forcefully retreated from the film scene and went on to direct concert visuals for Twin Tail. A smart move as five years later Toyoda resurfaces with Twin Tail front man Nakamura in the lead role and the band doing the soundtrack for his new film. Talk about turning a setback into an opportunity.

It's easy to start drawing parallels between Toyoda's film and his own recent background, but what did you expect with a comeback film titled Blood of Rebirth. It's the story of a masseur killed by poisoned sake, then taken to a revival spring to have his revenge on the ones that killed him. Those looking for symbolism and hidden parallels will have a field day with Toyoda's latest film. Luckily there is more to Blood of Rebirth to keep all of us other film fans happy as well.

Toyoda tells the tale of Oguri, a freelance masseur traveling around Japan. When he happens to stumble upon an evil lord his days are numbered. He is drugged and left for dead by the side of the road. Oguri is eager to get his revenge though and decides to ignore the paths to heaven and hell for the time being. He returns to the world of the living, searching for the spring of revival which will grant him the means to revenge his death.

Toyoda's visual style hasn't changed much. Grim and dark colors, smart camera work and impressive slow-motion shots make up most of the visual impressions. Good stuff, but it only becomes truly great when paired with the amazing soundtrack. This kind of 70's-influenced rock isn't my thing, at all, but together with the visuals and long-stretched scenes Toyoda creates a mesmerizing effect that pulls the viewer right through the middle part of the film. Absolutely stunning stuff.

The acting is pretty remarkable too. Nakamura proves a superb lead, though his acting skills are mostly restricted to the start and finish of the film. He is assisted by Shibukawa and Kusakari who both put in terrific performances. Toyoda has a way with actors and even though the personalities here are quite standard, they are acted out with much energy and individuality. Even smaller roles (like the gatekeeper) make a pretty lasting impression.

The film is split into three separate parts. The first part is mostly narrative and follows the introduction of Oguri and Lord Daizen. From the moment Oguri returns from the dead the film switches gears. The middle part is almost completely carried by the soundtrack and contemplative visuals of rural Japan. Oguri's trip through various landscapes is an almost meditative journey which more than once reminded me of Apocalypse Now.

After Oguri's resurrection (a smashing 5-minute slow-motion scene) the film switches gears again and revs up for a crazy finale. Saying anything more would be spoiling but the stand-off between Oguri and Daizen is pretty far out there. Take it as you will, but scenes like these actually hint at the benefit of Toyoda's little time-out.

Blood of Rebirth isn't a very easy film, even for Toyoda fans. The middle part is extremely slow and even though his style hasn't changed too much the themes, setting and characters have. It's almost impossible comparing this to his earlier work, so people expecting a peaceful reunion might be in for a shock. On the other hand, if you're ready for a new kind of Toyoda (and you don't mind atmosphere-driven cinema) there could be plenty to look forward to.

I still need to see Hanging Garden and Unchain, that said I believe Blood of Rebirth belongs to Toyoda's best output to date and could be the start of something beautiful. I pray he continues on this path and I hope he isn't put down by some of the negative critiques this film will definitely wield. Come prepared and be blown away.

Once a novel concept, the breadcrumb has become one of the strongholds of just about every content-heavy website's interface out there. When you consider its place in the html though, it's a somewhat unusual component. It falls right in between the site frame and the actual content of a page, not really belonging to either. Most of the time I let the design decide where to add the breadcrumb, but here are a couple of things to consider:

The breadcrumb is clearly part of the meta data of a page (as it indicates the page's position within the entire website) and it varies with each different page. From that point of view, the breadcrumb probably belongs in the header of the page section. It does offer navigational means to get higher sections within the site though, so coming from that angle the site header doesn't sound like such a bad place for a breadcrumb. If you have a breadcrumb that separates the navigation part from the active page part (usually incorporating the h1 of a page) it makes even more sense to put it into the site header, leaving the h1 in the page header and faking the connection using css. But there's also an option to place it inside the introduction section (together with the site label and skip links) if you consider the breadcrumb a vital tool for your user to orient himself.

Personally I'd say the breadcrumb belongs in the #page > header as that's where I usually put my meta data when dealing with regular content types. The design may decide differently and in certain cases (where a lot of emphasis is placed onto the breadcrumb) the #introduction section may be better suited to house it. I wouldn't completely rule out the #site > header either, but only when dealing with a split breadcrumb that doesn't encompass the page's main heading. As for the nav/div discussion, I think breadcrumbs are usually secondary navigation means, so a div should suffice. But when placed into the #introduction section I think a nav element is probably the right choice.

Such a simple and well-known component, so many things to worry about.

Noboru Iguchi is without a doubt one of the liveliest directors of modern Japanese cinema. And he's not just famous for his weird, outrageous and outlandish films, his appearances on film festivals too are quite remarkable and entertaining. Iguchi's most famous film is also a pretty important one, as The Machine Girl kick-started the entire Sushi Typhoon (Japanese splatter) rage, a runaway (and unexpected) international success formula.

Like many others in Japan, Iguchi started off his career as an AV director. It was only around the turn of the century that he started directing more mainstream films (though mainstream is a stretch - Iguchi is for the bigger part a true niche director). His first attempts were pretty shabby (Oira Sukeban, Madara no Shojo) but with The Machine Girl he finally hit a good balance between cheaply-produced pulp horror and intensely insane comedy. Even though his films often borrow a lot from the horror menu (Zombie Ass, Dead Sushi, Mutant Girls Squad), the only true straight-faced horror flick Iguchi directed is Tomie: Unlimited, one of the better entries in the series. In the end, Iguchi seems more interested in pulpish charm and comedy, which resulted in his biggest budget film to date: Denjin Zaboga: Gekijo-Ban.

Iguchi earned his stripes, rightly landing him an entry in the prestigious The ABCs of Death anthology. Even though I find his partner in crime Yoshihiro Nishimura and fellow Sushi Typhoon director Yudai Yamaguchi to be better overall directors, Iguchi's films are always worth a peek, if only for the slew of demented, creative and original ideas that flourish in his work.

Best film: Sento Shojo: Chi no Tekkamen Densetsu (Mutant Girls Squad) (4.5*)
Worst film: Oira Sukeban (Sukeban Boy) (1.0*)
Reviewed films: Mutant Girls Squad, The Machine Girl

Noboru Iguchi (Mutant Girls Squad) unleashed a very special kind of cinema onto the world when he made The Machine Girl. He has been struggling to repeat that success and has since been bested by his Sushi Typhoon buddies. With his latest film Iguchi seems to have finally settled into an even smaller niche though. Zombie Ass must be one of the most outrageously embarrassing films currently out there, and for that reason alone it should be worth a small gamble.

Even though Zombie Ass isn't part of the official Sushi Typhoon catalogue, it's very much in line with other Sushi Typhoon releases. Bad CG, horrible actors and a pretty amateurish finish are all part of the deal, but in return you get some of the weirdest, sickest and funniest moments ever caught on film. If there ever was a "so bad it is good" flick, this one is definitely it.

Iguchi expands on the short he entered in the ABCs of Death anthology (F is for Fart). Never before has a director explored the CG fart in such devastating depths and with such great conviction. Ironically the longer running time actually plays in Iguchi's favor here, as the ever-increasing sense of embarrassment really adds to the fun. Not that the entire film is about farts, there are also a bunch on toilet zombies and a group of anal tentacles to balance out the narrative. Great art this is not, but if you're looking for 90 minutes of mind-blowing weirdness, Zombie Ass is a must see.

Benny Chan is the median of Hong Kong action cinema. He never really excels, but if you need quality genre filler he has some of the better films on offer. It's a small miracle that (like many of his peers) he never attempted to make the jump to Hollywood, then again that's probably for the best. The closest Chan ever got to Hollywood was when he directed Connected, a remake of Cellular.

Chan is somewhat of a film series man. He started the A Moment of Romance series (first two parts), made Gen-X and Gen-Y Cops and took over the Police Story series from Jacky Chan. He's worked with many of the greats of modern Hong Kong cinema (Andy Lau, Tony Leung, Jacky Chan, Nicolas Tse and Shawn Yue, to name a few) and considering the popularity of his films I don't think he's ever had to worry about working on a shoe-string budget. The mainstream character of his films also has a downside though. They never really differ from the norm and they tend to blend in with the millions of other Hong Kong action films out there.

Still, if you're yearning for a good action flick and you're running out of established masterpieces, Benny Chan's films are a pretty good option. Solid is the keyword here.

Best film: Bo Chi Tung Wah (Connected) (3.5*)
Worst film: Tian Ruo You Qing (A Moment of Romance) (2.0*)

The surge in mobile devices really changed the web. What used to be a theoretic ideal (one site to rule them all) suddenly became a reality. Almost overnight a myriad of devices sprung up, all web-ready and eager to serve your web page. Not too surprisingly, we weren't ready for that. And to cope with it, we made a few assumptions that led to bad decisions and misguided truths. Let's be clear once and for all: even though mobile kick-started the responsive revolution, responsive does not equal mobile.

A month or two ago I finally bought my very first smartphone. The first thing I did was download a selection of apps. The usual suspects: Twitter, WhatsApp, Skype, Facebook, RSS reader. I even tried out a news app, just to see what the fuzz was all about. Last month I deleted the Twitter, RSS and Facebook app. Not because the apps themselves annoyed me, but the fact that they acted as apps seriously disrupted my workflow.

When it comes to social communication, I think there is an important distinction to be made. Apps like Mail, WhatsApp, Skype (SMS and Phone) are all services that facilitate a direct form of communication. Notifications coming from these apps are important, as they mean that someone actively tried to contact me. Apps like Facebook, Twitter, RSS (and the news app) on the other hand, are different in that they are (mainly) based on subscription-like communication. While they too notified me of "new content", the content itself was not aimed at me and could be consumed at my own leisure.

Getting notifications from apps like Twitter, Facebook and RSS annoyed me no end, as I was inclined to react to these notifications immediately. But subscriptions aren't supposed to work that way. They should be consumed in sizable chunks, whenever I have a little time to spare. So I ditched the apps, favorited the websites and I'm a much happier person now. I think subscription-like communication has little reason to be disruptive, so cutting off these notifications actually took away some unnecessary pressure. If you find yourself needlessly checking Facebook and Twitter with each new notification, I suggest you try the same (at least if you have a decent browser to check their mobile web alternatives).

When Katsuhito Ishii (Smuggler, My Darling Of The Mountains) and Takeshi Koike (Redline) get together (Party 7, Cha no Aji), very nice things are bound to happen. Back in 2003 the two of them teamed up to produce an original animation series. While things didn't go as planned and the series was never realized, the pilot survived and made it on its own accord, living on as a sad but near-perfect relic of what could have been.

Looking at the pile of Japanese films and series that pass us by each year, it's nothing short of a miracle that Trava: Fist Planet made it onto DVD, English subtitles included (Japanese import though, so it's expensive). Of course Koike and Ishii were lucky enough to get backing from the Grasshoppa production house, a DVD-magazine that for some reason provided English subtitles with all its releases, still it's one of the most valued and treasured DVDs of my collection.

It's not just the production background of the pilot that makes this such a rarity though. The crux of Trava is a close derivative of a style of comedy that is pretty unique to Japan (manzai). Takeshi Kitano is probably the most famous manzai representative (as part of the Two Beat duo), yet even his work never made it to West. The cultural and verbal barrier is just too big a gap to bridge. Trava features a very similar sense of humor, relying on constant, deadpan banter between its two main protagonists in order to amuse the audience. If you're not used to it, it might come off as pretty awkward in the beginning (both pacing and delivery are very different from what we know), but I must say I warmed up to it pretty quickly.

Trava: Fist Planet follows Trava and Shinkai on their way to the Fist Planet tournament. To enter the tournament they first have to take on some odd jobs as the entrance money is quite steep. On their way to mark a planet they run into a leftover pod from the war. To their surprise the person inside the pod is still alive. When she wakes up she can't remember who she is or where she came from, so Trava and Shinkai decide to take her along on their trip.

From a visual point of view this is 100% Koike's work. His style is instantly recognizable, an insane mix of unique character designs and emotive deformations. His characters often look odd and even slightly off, but these "imperfections" always seem to communicate a certain state of mind. The animation isn't fluid but the direction is absolutely perfect. Radical, vibrant and overstated, Trava curls and twists like an animator's nightmare. The pilot was made in 4:3, which is a small downer (though it's not as bad as with live-action films) and the color scheme could've used a bit more variation, but these are just minor annoyances compared to the visual delight that whirls across the screen.

The soundtrack is pretty decent, although it could've done with slightly better music direction. If you compare this to Koji Morimoto's work (which I think, soundtrack-wise, could be put in the same category) you'll quickly notice that Ishii doesn't make good use of the strengths of the music. The score is quite varied and the right tracks are underneath the right scenes, but still there is a small miss-match between what you see and what you hear. Voice acting on the other hand is absolutely amazing. The delivery, the timing and the ad-libs are all spot on, crafting the characters into a very likable bunch.

Trava: Fist Planet is little more than a pilot, so don't expect to find a fully-fledged universe. It's clear that Koike and Ishii had plenty more planned for our unfortunate duo, instead Trava and Shinkai just manage to survive the first episode arc, leaving the main arc wide open (although they would get a small cameo in Koike's Redline a few years later). But even then I feel the pilot functions well enough on its own.

I used to compare Trava: Fist Planet to Dead Leaves, nowadays I'm not sure if that's a fair comparison. It definitely belongs in the same corner as Dead Leaves (and Heruzu Enjueruzu for that matter), but the pacing and sense of humor make it a very different experience. The combination of manic animation and dry, deadpan conversations is no doubt an acquired taste, still there is plenty to enjoy if you have a soft spot for animation. Koike and Ishii make a great team, so even though the DVD might be a little hard to track down it's absolutely worth the trouble.

Director Kei'ichi Sato (of Karas fame) returns with Asura. The film is an adaptation of a 70s manga that sparked quite a controversy when it was first released, due to some rather graphic cannibalistic content. Don't expect an average tentacles and gore horror anime though, as the story of Asura is surprisingly timid and humane.

Asura is young kid, part man, part beast. Left behind in the Kyoto wastelands at a very young age, he has learned to survive under barren conditions. He is an outcast of society and doesn't hesitate for a moment when all there is to eat is a passing fellow human being. Until one day he runs into Wakasa, a young girl who is the first to treat him like a real human. Asura has trouble leaving the beast in him behind though.

To be honest, the story is of the yada-yada variation. The film lacks emotional strength and even though it doesn't outstay its welcome with only 72 minutes on the clock, it does drag a little in places. You'll be wanting to see this film because of the awesome art style and the stunning blend of CG and traditional animation though. Sato created another technical marvel, there are a few moments where the CG is just a tad too apparent but otherwise the blend is pretty much perfect and makes for a very moody and grim atmosphere.

It's a shame the film itself isn't as slick as its visuals, but Asura is definitely worth a look if you like your animation a little different.

Intro text is hardly a new concept. Newspapers have had them for years, so have magazines. On the web they are a little rarer, but sites like Smashing Magazine have made good use of them. Typically intro text is a visualized a little bigger than the body copy, sometimes set in italic or rendered in a different font. The purpose of the introductory text is to tease the content of the article (not summarize it) and to provide a slick transition between the tease and the first paragraph of your body copy. The question is: where does introduction text belong, structurally speaking?

Or to put it differently: is intro text part of the header or does it belong in the main section of your article? Most sites seem to just include it together with the body text, providing an extra class for the alternate styling. Then again, the introductory text should not contain additional information that isn't part of the core article itself, meaning it could be left out without hurting the core content of the article. Not only that, the name "intro" seems to suggest all by itself that the header is actually a better location for this type of content.

So either we add the intro text as the last element in the header (since it transitions right into the text), or we put it as the first element in the body, right before the actual body copy. I prefer the first option, since it is little more than a standalone piece of text that functions as an introduction to the actual content (like all other elements inside the header) and it should not be considered an integral part of the article's core content, though reality (and designs) often learn us that this puts some serious strain on the css. Purely seen from an html point of view though, the header seems definitely like the right place for intro text.

One of the core basics of css is its set of specificity rules. Most of the time css specificity works well, as long as you purposely describe the elements you want to target (something to remember when refactoring css selectors), but there are some underlying flaws in the concept that could do with a little extra attention. Situations where the mind assumes things that cannot be expressed in css, often wielding unexpected or unfavorable results.

The heydays of Japanese full-length animation features seem to lie firmly behind us. While every year a few good films make it to the surface, none of them seems to match the quality and vision of the older generations. Mamoru Hosoda (Toki O Kakeru Shojo, Summer Wars) is one of the few younger talents doing his best to uphold the good name of Japanese animation, Okami Kodomo No Ame To Yuki (Wolf Children) is his latest endeavor.

Mamoru Hosoda is one of the front runners of a new generation of Japanese animation directors, but like many of his peers he has trouble breaking free from the works of earlier generations. While I'm craving for more directors like Masaaki Yuasa (Mind Game, Genius Party) Hosoda's work is more and more intertwining itself with that of Studio Ghibli and Makoto Shinkai (Hoshi O Ou Kodomo, Byosoku 5 Senchimetoru), making it that much harder to stand out from the rest.

Another problem for Hosoda is that the rest of the industry is finally catching up on trying to mimic the Ghibli success. Films like Summer Days With Coo, A Letter To Momo and The Light Of A Firefly Forest are all dabbling in the same pool of influences, making it a little crowded there. And the fact of the matter is that even though others are trying really hard, none of them are even coming close to matching Ghibli at their own game, let alone beating them.

While Okami Kodomo is a good, solid film, the fact of the matter is that Hosoda goes a bit overboard with the references here. There are scenes that appear to be downright copies of Tonari no Totoro and Omohide Poro Poro, mixed with a strong dash of Wolf's Rain. Hosoda takes his film to a difference place than any of the named influences could, but I felt it was a bit much to be reminded of other works in almost every other scene.

Hosoda's biggest perk is his amazing art style. Even though the characters may appear a little simplistic at first, with only a few lines Hosoda creates a myriad of subtle details that others could only dream of. The animation is spot on, carrying a refreshing and unique sense of realism that enhances the dramatic effect, while the ever vibrant and sunny colors make for a cozy and comfortable atmosphere. Okami Kodomo is a visual delight that manages to impress from start to finish.

The soundtrack is something else though. Hosoda constantly walks the line between bearable and overkill. When at times the story becomes too mushy the soundtrack falters with it, turning into a big pathetic mess. When Hosoda tones down the drama the soundtrack is okay, a predictable yet decent selection of piano and string-based tracks that suit the atmosphere, yet do little to enhance it. Luckily the voice acting is top notch and there is no English dub out there to sway people into not watching the Japanese one, though I'm sure that's bound to change once the film hits American shores.

The first twenty minutes or so are definitely lacking. The extended introduction is too melodramatic and never really hits the mark. Once Hana becomes a single mother the film makes a brisk u-turn and suddenly Hosoda finds himself on the right track. The middle part of Okami Kodomo is by far the strongest. The pacing is excellent, the characters flourish and even though a bit too idyllic at times, the atmosphere is absolutely lovable. The ending misses a sense of urgency, but even though it doesn't uphold the level of quality it doesn't really collapse on itself either. There's just not much of a climax to speak of, even though an extra dramatic arc is introduced.

Okami Kodomo is far from a perfect film and from the three Hosoda films I've seen so far it's clearly the worst. It's definitely not a bad film, but based on Hosoda's track record and the hype surrounding this film I expected a lot more. When Hosoda keeps it small and strays away from dramatic arcs the film is at its best, but Hosoda often overplays the drama and ends up with scenes that are far too mushy and melodramatic. If this all sounds a little harsh it's probably because Hosoda has a big legacy to live up too, yet lately he seems to be dropping the ball. Overall Okami Kodomo is still a good, solid film, but it could've (and should've) been a lot more than that.

Chinese cinema output these days is all over the place. You have your rich and wealthy historic epics, the over-the-topic slick and poppy comedies and the darker, humanistic dramas. But somewhere hidden in this pile of Chinese films is a glimmering selection of strong, modern and stylish genre films that are just waiting to be discovered by the West. The Chrysalis is one of those films, and it's in dire need of an appreciative audience.

The Chrysalis is a pretty basic mystery, but the execution is nothing less than spectacular. Sure enough, the template of the film doesn't hide too many secrets and if you've seen a couple of mysteries before you can probably read the film pretty well, but the specifics feel fresh and challenging. While watching I was reminded of La Boîte Noire (Richard Berry) a couple of times, though I'm pretty sure not many people have seen that one.

After a short introduction Guan Wenxin wakes up soaking wet, in the middle of the road. Her memory of the past three months is gone. All she remembers is that she was taken captive on valentine's day by Anne, her very best friend who's betraying her for the man she loves. After a short struggle the two of them collapsed on the floor, anything after that is a complete blank. When Wenxin looks for Anne after coming back to her senses, it turns out Anne is still missing.

Guan Wenxin tries to pick up the pieces of her life, but something feels not quite right. Little by little she uncovers what has happened to her during these three months, but the more she remembers the harder it becomes to make sense of it all. On top of that, Wenxin develops a secondary personality, posing as Anne, much to the horror of the people surrounding her.

A mystery like this traditionally relies on strong audiovisual impulses to get its atmosphere across and Chu-ji Qiu has his bases covered. The Chrysalis successfully blends more traditional shots with modern editing and some great visual touch-ups. The film looks beautiful throughout, sporting amazing imagery and superb settings, only the CG could've used a bit more work. Nothing serious, but there one or two fake-looking effects that take away just a bit from the overall effect.

The soundtrack too is pretty crafty. It may be a little too present for some (there are only a few scenes without at least some kind of background music) but it's a great and varied selection of tension-filled tracks that may not dominate the visuals, but at least they support them quite effectively. It's not a very memorable soundtrack, rather a functional one that in combination with the strong visuals sets a perfect mood.

Sandrine Pinna (Do Over, Yang Yang) takes up the role of Guan Wenxhin and does so with great conviction. At first it did feel a little awkward to see the French/Taiwanese actress in the lead role (maybe it felt like they were catering a little too much to the West), but as it turns out she fit the bill perfectly. The rest of the cast is solid but easily overshadowed by Sandrine's performance.

The second part of the film is reserved for twists and revelations and while they are skillfully executed (warning: go in fresh and don't let yourself be spoiled by trailers) they become a bit too explanatory. By the end of the film there is no stone left unturned, with all the mystery gone from the film. To each his own of course, but I prefer it when not everything is explained and some mystery is left to carry on after the film has ended.

The Chrysalis is pure genre cinema. It operates on textbook mechanics and follows an all too familiar path, but the execution is flawless while Chu-ji Qiu demonstrates his skills as a director. The result is a tense, mysterious and stunning looking film that may reveal a few too many of its secrets, but does so in a very slick and stylish way. Chances are slim the film will make it outside the Asian borders, but I'm already looking forward to Qiu's next one.

For years there was only a single Belgian film that I believed was worth watching. Before the 00's I had a pretty horrible relationship with Belgian cinema as a whole, C'est Arrivée Près De Chez Vous (Man Bites Dog) was the infamous exception to the rule. A dirty, gritty and ink black faux documentary, razor sharp and madly funny, but also a film that divided audiences and was possibly disastrous for your image when recommended to the wrong kind of people.

Long before The Blair Witch Project shocked the world with its faux documentary/found footage style, first-timer Rémy Belvaux took the world by surprise with C'est Arrivée Près De Chez Vous. This little low-budget Belgian film conquered the world (and even made it on the Criterion label) and for a long time it was pretty much the only Belgian film that international genre film fans knew about (not counting underground Z-cinema like Rabid Grannies).

C'est Arrivée Près De Chez Vous effectively set the bar for black comedies everywhere. Even now very few of them manage to come close to the mean-spirited humor that stems from Belvaux's first and only film. The setup is pretty simple though. A camera crew is shooting a documentary about a serial killer (Ben), following him around and trying to figure out what goes on in the man's head.

Ben isn't just your average serial killer. He has a good set of ideals and a solid, down-to-earth philosophy that make him different from the others. He considers killing people his job, just another way to earn an honest buck. His immediate surroundings know about Ben's "work" and they pretty much accept Ben's choices. Things start getting sour when the camera crew loses its objectiveness and Remy and his crew start helping out Ben with the killings.

Visually Belvaux relies on gritty (and extremely grainy) black and white photography to give the film an even darker edge. C'est Arrivée Près De Chez Vous is not a particularly pretty film but from time to time you'll come across a shot that looks a bit more polished than you'd expect to find in a regular documentary. Belvaux finds a good balance between realism and style though, never letting either of two dominate the film.

There isn't much in the way of a real soundtrack. Apart from ambient sounds and the odd song (sung by Ben himself) there isn't any additional musical support. You'll never really miss it though, as Ben is talking through most of the film anyway. There are a few sound distortions, giving the darker scenes a little extra push, but that's all there is.

Belvaux's biggest asset is Benoît Poelvoorde. Poelvoorde even received writing and additional directing credits for his work here and if there is one film in my list of favorites that relies so much on the effort of its primary actor, it must be this one. Poelvoorde is captivating and entrancing, genuinely funny and endearing, but also stark raving mad and a danger for everyone surrounding him. His rants are hilarious, his logic sound and his killings efficient. By far one of the most immersive and dazzling roles ever caught on camera.

While the first half of the film is mostly laughs, the second part turns darker by the minute, while the laughter becomes ever more grim. It's a pretty traditional setup that works well enough, even though it means there aren't too many surprises packed in the second part of the film. Still, there is plenty of material that even today would be deemed shocking, so if you're not into a-political comedy or in your face brutality this might not be a film for you and you should probably leave it for what it is.

C'est Arrivée Près De Chez Vous is a landmark film for Belgian cinema. It's one of the first (if not the first) Belgian genre film that went on to become a critical international success. Twenty years later the film has lost little of its initial shine. It's still wildly funny, surprisingly off-center and grimly amusing. It might be a little difficult film to blindly recommend to others, but if you're into black comedy and you haven't seen this one yet, make it your top priority.

Ben Wheatley is working hard on his career. He got himself noticed with Kill List, he provided one of the better entries for The ABC's Of Death anthology and now fully confirms his status of emerging talent with Sightseers. He is exactly what UK cinema needs right now, a man who can uproot some of the rusty parts while keeping faithful to the things that makes UK films worthwhile. Sightseers is a delightful dark comedy, but beware of its sharp edges.

UK cinema has been doing pretty well lately, but it still shows some disconcerting weaknesses. The biggest problem as I see it is that while UK genre films are definitely delivering, there isn't much happening in between the genres. Directors conform a little too much to the rules of the genres they're working in, with very little cross-genre mixing and blending going on. The result is a bunch of solid films, but nothing too memorable to really boost the image of their film industry.

A director like Wheatley can change that, point in case this weird little mix of British comedy, drama and horror. An unlikely combination of genres, especially when considering their British variants, but one that ultimately works very well and feels like a welcome breath of fresh air. Not that Wheatley can turn around the fate of an entire industry all by himself, but at least he's setting a good example for the others. Sightseers might not be the most accessible dark comedy out there, but film fans around the world are talking notice once again.

The film starts off as a regular British social drama. The combination of ugly realism, poverty and a bunch of social outcasts is unmistakable. It doesn't take too long before the first weird and morbid humorous bits start to pop up though. A bit hesitant at first, but halfway through nobody should be doubting the intentions of Sightseers. By that time we've also witnessed a few ruthless murders, taking care of the horror portion of this film.

I'm pretty much in two minds about the visual choices Wheatley made. I get that in order to resemble a (British) social drama this film needs some colorless and grey settings and characters accompanied by rather unattractive camera work, but I'm just not a big fan. Later on Wheatley does put in some more effort, making good use of the setting and using some cool lighting and editing tricks to give some polish to the visuals. The overall result isn't too mind-blowing, but I must admit that Wheatley's choices do support the goals of Sightseers all the way through.

The somewhat eclectic soundtrack further underlines the film's schizophrenic nature. Wheatley switches constantly between famous 80s pop songs and more traditional soft and less intrusive piano music. While the soundtrack isn't the most memorable bit of Sightseers, it functions quite well and it does have a positive effect on the overall atmosphere on the film.

At the heart of the film's success are Lowe (Tina) and Oram (Chris), who do a sublime job bringing the two main characters to life. They are so convincing in portraying these small-town subjects of pure misery that I'm sure it will be hard to see them in a different role for some time to come. Even though the actions of Chris and Tina become quite grotesque in the second half of the film, Lowe and Oram bring a certain level of believability to the table that is essential to the entire setup of the film. The secondary cast is pretty great too, though they are simply outclassed by Lowe and Oram.

While Sightseers has many different entries that may speak to a large collective, I'm not sure that the combination of drama, humor and comedy will leave many of them content after the film is done. Horror and comedy fans may be turned off by the film's drab setting, drama fans may not be too pleased by some of the more gruesome bits and the dry, unapologetic humor. In the end I think this film will appeal to a small but avid fan base who have the power to turn Sightseers into a nice little cult favorite.

Wheatley is a blessing for UK cinema. Even though his films may not reach a big audience (yet), he is paving the way from cross-genre blenders that will eventually find their way into the mainstream, giving British cinema some extra cachet. Fans of the unusual will have a great time with Sightseers though. The film is madly funny, Lowe and Oram are both excellent and there are some truly memorable bits packed in here. If you think you can handle the combination of drama, comedy and horror make sure to check it out.

Even though Japanese films enjoy a dedicated cult following outside the Japanese borders, some directors will remain forever unknown to the outside world. Seiji Izumi is most probably one of them and even though the odd individual may come into contact with one of his many films, chances are slim he'll ever garner serious international attention. For what it's worth though, Home: Itoshi No Zashiki Warashi (Home: The House Imp) is worth a little gamble.

There's really no way around it, Izumi's film feels an awful lot like a serious attempt to adapt the much lauded fantasy realm of Ghibli/Miyazaki to the world of live action cinema. The similarities between this film and Tonari no Totoro are at times almost uncanny. From the very first shots of a family arriving to a house in the Japanese countryside, to the exploration of the old house and overall feel-good atmosphere, the Ghibli influence is present from start to finish. Add a dash of Omohide Poro Poro and you know what to expect.

Instead of the majestic Totoro creature (Izumi didn't go that far) we're dealing with house imps this time around. We join the Takahashi family as they are moving away from Tokyo to the countryside. The reason for their move is Koichi's transfer to another department after failing his job in HQ. When the five of them arrive at their new home none of them is too happy with the situation, even though the location looks quite idyllic.

The entire family has plenty of trouble adapting to life in the countryside, especially when some pretty strange things start happening to them. They see stern faces peering in from outside the windows, eerie noises are heard during the night and small pranks start taking their toll on the family. Just when the Takahashi family is ready to pack up and leave they uncover the truth behind these strange occurrences and they decide to take a small leap of faith.

Home: Itoshi No Zashiki Warashi looks surprisingly lush throughout. The way the Japanese countryside is captured is absolutely stunning, the film is dominated by fresh greens and sunny blues and the camera work is soft and delicate. Everything put together, it creates a pretty magical atmosphere that stands in sharp contrast with the cold greys and blues from the (few) city scenes.

The soundtrack is pretty inconspicuous. It's not bad by all means but it's pretty much what you'd expect from a film like this. Light in tone, always humming in the background and never really making its presence felt. It does add a little to the overall feel-good atmosphere of the film, but it's difficult to see it as anything else but necessary filler.

Apart from a short Renji Ishibashi cameo there probably aren't too many faces you will recognize. The actors aren't too bad, though it's clear that quite a few of them have a background in TV-series work. Still, the characters aren't very complicated and each of the five family members has their own little moment to shine. The secondary cast is decent, but it's clear from the start that these actors aren't going to win any big prizes.

The difference between this film and your average Ghibli feel-gooder lies with the amount of drama applied. Where a film like Totoro hardly needs a dramatic arc and relies on feel-good alone, Izumi does add a portion of unnecessary tension to his film. It doesn't kill the film's atmosphere and the light-hearted tone never comes close to being compromised, but it does feel pretty flimsy at times. If Izumi hadn't done such a good job building a beautiful setting it could've been fatal, but because of this little bubble of magic he created I just couldn't care.

Home: Itoshi No Zashiki Warashi is a great film if you don't mind a serious dash of extravagant feel-good. The dramatic impulses feel a little cheap and the film clearly lacks the subtleties of Miyazaki's and Takahata's work, but while pretty fluffy it's a sublime piece of escapism that charms its way throughout its running time. Chances are pretty slim this film is ever going to make its way out of Japan, but if you happen upon it you should definitely give it a try.

Even though css has been getting a lot of love the past few years (with plenty of animation options, overall visual effects and more granular targeting controls added to the spec), positioning elements remains a big weak spot of css. While page layouting is slowly getting there (the grid and flexbox modules are advancing steadily), we're still missing out on some necessary tools when it comes to relative positioning of elements with css.

In many ways Tian Bian Yi Duo Yun (The Wayward Cloud) is a culmination of all of Ming-liang Tsai's previous films. Tsai (I Don't Want To Sleep Alone) has always worked hard to imbalance his films between absurd comedy and stilted arthouse, but nowhere was this imbalance as precious or extreme as here. Tian Bian Yi Duo Yun is an uneasy mix of drama, musical elements and porn, keeping you right at the edge of your seat.

Ming-liang Tsai dominated the Taiwanese film scene during the 90s and early 00s together with arthouse partner in crime Hsiao-Hsien Hou (Qianxi Manbo, Zui Hao De Shi Guang). While the pacing of Tsai's films is not unlike the pacing of Hou's films, Tsai's work is pretty different in the sense that he has always played around with a weird, somewhat absurd sense of humor. It's not always that easy to quantify, but certain actions and scenes often invoke a chuckle, even if you're not 100% sure it was actually intended.

With Tian Bian Yi Duo Yun Tsai makes the comedy a bit easier to spot (something he already set in motion when working on Bu San), not even counting the rather insane musical intermezzos that are clearly there for comic relief. People expecting a full-blown comedy should be aware that this is still very much a Tsai film though, meaning that there are many "dead shots" with absolutely nothing of substance happening in them. On top of that, Tsai adds some rather explicit comments on the porn industry, which might be a bit unsettling for those who didn't read up on the film.

The story is a direct sequel to Tsai's Ni Neibian Jidian, though the stories of both films have little in common besides the two main characters and their respective backgrounds. When Shiang-Chyi returns from France she runs into Hsiao-Kang, who is now working as an actor in the porn industry. While a drought is captivating Taipei and driving people to conserve their water supplies, the two hit it off. The only catch is that Hsiao-Kang hasn't informed Shiant-Chyi about his new line of work.

Through the years Tsai's visual style has remained pretty consistent. Tian Bian Yi Duo Yun is no exception, as the film is filled to the brim with long, static and uneventful scenes. The first shot is already spot on. We see a walkway that remains absolutely motionless for the first full minute, only then does the first character appear. In the end there's always a sensible explanation for the length of the scenes though and the position of the camera always turns out to be just perfect for what Tsai wants to show us. The musical interludes contrast sharply with Tsai's more traditional style, overflowing with colors and quirky camera positions. The musical numbers are evenly spread throughout the film and serve as some welcome visual variation.

Apart from the musical bits there isn't much music to speak off. Tsai relies heavily on ambient noises to fill the soundtrack, giving the scenes a more overall realistic feel. The musical numbers consist of a selection of classic Taiwanese pop songs, aptly dubbed by the cast. It's a pretty fun selection of songs, surprisingly up-tempo and pretty light-hearted while loosely reflecting on the plot.

Kang-sheng Lee and Tsai form an inseparable duo since the very beginning so it's definitely no surprise to see Lee taking up the main role once again. The bond between Lee and Tsai is essential considering the things Tsai demands from his main actor. Even though Lee has endured quite a lot from Tsai through the years, I'm pretty certain this was Lee's most demanding role so far. Shiang-chyi Chen makes a strong impression alongside Lee while the rest of the cast mostly operates in the background.

Tian Bian Yi Duo Yun is a pretty difficult film to recommend. Even if you're familiar with Tsai's style the direct and in-your-face comments on pornographic material are enough to put off the straight-faced arthouse crowd. The musical numbers and humorous situation on the other hand won't be enough to attract a more mainstream crowd as the film still relies heavily on static scene with very little happening.

Still, I think this is by far Tsai's best film to date. The unlikely combination of all these elements makes for a surprising and highly entertaining film, while leaving enough room for stilted moments of relaxation. The acting is top notch, Tsai's camera is spot on and Tsai's sense of humor is both unique and funny. That and the fact that this film has one of the most stupifyingly epic endings make this my favorite Tsai. If you're looking for something different yet challenging, this film is definitely worth a try.

What do the old Romans and the modern-day Japanese people have in common? What is it that binds these two cultures together so much that it can spawn an entire film? This question may stump you at first, but Terumae Romae goes all-out to answer exactly that. Hideki Takeuchi delivers a comedy that embraces its outrageous premise and molds it into a pretty coherent story about time travel and public baths.

The answer to the question is pretty simple really: both cultures love their baths. The Romans are still known for their thermae while the Japanese are one of the few cultures left today where (mostly elderly) people still go to public baths, while the rest of the country is driving off into the country to enjoy a good onsen (Japanese for a natural hot spring spas). It's a perfect excuse to bring both cultures together, the problem is that they live about 2000 years apart from each other.

While Takeuchi takes director's credits, the film owes a lot to the source material drawn and written by Mari Yamazaki. A lauded manga that quickly spawned an anime series and this live-action equivalent. The film remains pretty faithful to its source throughout, with many of the jokes and plot points taken directly from the manga. Takeuchi's own input may be a bit meager for those who read the manga already, but all in all he does a good job translating Yamazaki's vision to the screen.

Terumae Romae follows Lucius, a passionate thermae architect born in the wrong era. Lucius' designs are old-fashioned and while he favors peace and quiet the other Romans want more animation and services added to their thermae experience. Lucius' world is turned upside down when he is warped to modern-day Japan where he learns about Japan's bath culture. Lucius is pretty unaware of what exactly is happening to him, but he recognizes the potential of what he sees and whenever he travels back to his time he revolutionizes the Roman thermae, turning him into an overnight sensation.

Visually Terumae Romae is a pretty accomplished film. Takeuchi clearly had a decent budget to work with as he did he pretty fine job brining old Rome to life. Not in a very epic way mind, but the scenes in Rome still carry a level of realness I didn't immediately expect from a film like this. There's a clear difference in the visual approach between the two time periods (the scenes in Rome are a lot warmer dominated by reds and oranges while the scenes in modern-day Japan look cooler, characterized by blues). The camera work is decent and while the CG can be a little flaky at times, it's hardly in the way.

The soundtrack is pretty pompous, but used to great comic effect. Takeuchi chose a pretty classical selection of tracks, drawing a lot from (famous) opera music. Bits from the ever popular "Madame Butterfly" opera (Magnetic Rose - Memories) are featured throughout and some pretty funny opera inserts are used whenever Lucius travels through time. A pretty good (and fun) soundtrack, though not too original.

Crucial to the film's success is Hiroshi Abe who plays the perfect Lucius. He is one of the few Japanese men who can pass for a Westerner and his stern face fits that of a Roman thermae architect perfectly (not that I'm an authority on the subject). I'm usually pretty indifferent when watching Abe, but he really shines here, aptly translating the wonders of Lucius' experience through just a few facial expressions. Aya Ueto isn't half bad either and fans of Takashi Miike will definitely appreciate the Riki Takeuchi cameo.

The first half of the film is pretty episodic, somewhat betraying the film's source material. It isn't until the second half of the film that a story starts developing and while still pretty fun, I definitely preferred the funnier, less coherent first half of Terumae Romae. While the drama in the second part isn't bad and there are still enough funny bits to pass the time, some of the plot points feel a little too obligatory and the film definitely could've done without them.

Terumae Romae is a film that survives on the comic whims of Hiroshi Abe and the excellent premise cooked up by Yamazaki. It's an entertaining film that doesn't outstay its welcome, spreads its funny bits rather tactically and tacks on a decent second half. It's a bit hard to tell how much of the film's success can be attributed to Takeuchi's work, but looking beyond the input of the director this film is guaranteed fun.

Satoshi Kon made a very bold choice when being faced with the daunting task of following up his own Perfect Blue. Rather than to try and copy his previous success, he ventured into an entirely different direction and made an ode to Japanese cinema. The result is Sennen Joyu (Millennium Actress), a unique and nifty drama/comedy that guides the viewer through the highlights of Japan's rich cinematic history while fleshing out a solid drama at the same time.

Even though Kon tackles a completely different genre with Sennen Joyu, stylistically there is still plenty that links his second film to Perfect Blue. First of all there's Kon's somewhat static yet more realistic visual style, then there's his soft spot for scenes where the camera follows a person running and of course the constant blending of different realities. If you know what you're looking for, you will definitely recognize Kon's hand in just about every scene.

Kon didn't have to look too far for inspiration. Sennen Joyu is loosely based on the life of Setsuko Hara, one of Japan's leading ladies of cinema (and an Ozu favorite, most people will know her from Ozu's Tokyo Monogatari) before she became a recluse and disappeared from the public view altogether. The film is not a true biography, instead Kon uses Hara's life as a guideline to make his own homage to the popular genres of the past.

Rather than make a direct adaptation of Hara's life (she is named Chiyoko Fujiwara in the film though), Kon sends two reporters after her in order to make a documentary. They find Fujiwara living in a secluded area, somewhat reluctantly she agrees to an interview after one of the reporters returns a treasured memento from Fujiwara's past. From there on we shift between reality and film with the two reporters actively joining in while Fujiwara reminisces about times long gone.

Visually Kon has had a pretty consistent career. It's clear that he made progress with Sennen Joyu, the character animations are a little smoother, the camera work a little slicker, but all in all he kept faithful to his modest, rather realistic yet intricately style of animation. Where he truly excels is editing and timing though. Kon is a master in stitching together unrelated shots and scenes to reveal hidden dynamics and analogies, adding a whole new level of visual excitement. The editing is so sharp that at every point in a scene you could be transported to the next without ever expecting it. It's a true delight.

While Kon is clearly the leading man behind Sennen Joyu, he owes a fair share of the film's success to composer Susumu Hirasawa. Hirasawa was allowed to produce a score in his traditional but completely unique style and with that he helps to define the atmosphere of the film. Every time a song starts it demands just as much attention as the visuals and the story, making this one of the most extrovert and defining soundtracks I've ever come across. Absolutely gorgeous stuff and a great example for other films (and directors) out there. The voice acting too is impeccable, as always you should make sure to get the original dub to get the most out of it.

Sennen Joyu was made with a solid sense of humor. The two reporters sneakily enter the memories of Fujiwara, trying to help her along as secondary characters (either in her own life or in the movies in which she features). The blend of Fujiwara's personal life with the movies she makes is seamless (very much in the same way Perfect Blue seamlessly blends its distinct realities) and makes for a very dynamic and original way to tell Fujiwara's life story. It's just a shame that Sennen Joyu was Kon's last film to feature this dynamic in such a perfected way.

Kon's second feature film is a memorable ride through Fujiwara's personal life and Japan's canon of classic cinema. It's not too heavy-handed (even though there is plenty of drama to go around), it's quite action-packed and there is enough humor to keep a lighter tone. The animation is detailed, the direction solid and the the film avoids any kind of filler, keeping the running time below the 90-minute limit. Add to that a sumptuous score and Kon's perfect sense of timing and you have a beautiful film that will last you a lifetime.

Though technically links aren't a requirement to make the internet function (you can get by on just urls), they are the primary reason why the web took off so gloriously. Linking is an essential part of every web page out there, without links we would be copying urls the entire time (or we wouldn't because who likes to work like that). But the implementation of links (the html a-element) has been broken since the very beginning of the web and with the addition of block-level links things only got worse.

It took five long years before Mika Ninagawa would finally finish the follow-up to Sakuran, her somewhat flawed but still wildly interesting freshman effort. It was a pretty long wait for fans of Sakuran, but Heruta Sukeruta (Helter Skelter) was definitely worth it. The result is a fresh, sharp and detailed look into the Japanese pop industry, peeling away the layers of make-up and control in order to reveal a dark cesspool of despair and insecurities.

Heruta Sukeruta is a pretty straight-forward manga adaptation (the original manga was written by Kyoko Okazaki), though I must say that the manga never really managed to engage (I never got very far in it either). Story and plot points seem to match those of the manga, but the execution is what makes all the difference here. Mika Ninagawa is a pop photographer turned director and finds herself in the perfect position to tackle the themes that are pushed forward in Heruta Sukeruta.

The film plays like a twisted mix of Satoshi Kon's Perfect Blue and Snow White. The first part of Heruta Sukeruta sees a couple of parallels between Ririco's and Mima's trials. A young girl trying to break into different fields of the media in order to sustain her career, a manager (Kaori Momoi) that not only sculpts her pupils but even resembles a live-action version of Rumi and a descent into despair that equals (and even surpasses) that of Mima. The second half of the film reminded me more of the tale of Snow White, only explored through the eyes of the evil stepmother instead of Snow White herself. When newer, younger and fresher fan material starts to steal away the attention from Ririco, it proves to be the final drop in the bucket for Ririco's already fickle state of mind.

Ririco is your archetypical J-Pop idol/model. A product of society, but also a direct product of her manager's dreams and visions. Ririco's dark secret is that she is little more than a marvel of technology. Once an ugly country bumpkin, transformed through plastic surgery to become Japan's biggest pop/fashion phenomenon. Nothing about her is real, still she lives the life of a princess. But Ririco's talent is limited and the attention span of the pop world is short. On top of that Ririco's skin transplants are starting to wither, slowly turning her into a freak of nature.

Ninagawa is a trained pop photographer and she uses her past skills to superb effect in Heruta Sukeruta. The film looks absolutely, mindbogglingly beautiful from start to finish. Vibrant colors are jumping out of every frame, camera work and compositions are extremely precise and the indoor settings are all overly detailed and manically structured. This is by far one of the most lushly orchestrated visual experiences I have ever encountered, bar none. The entire film bathes in a lavish J-Pop style, never quite settling on a balance between artistically outlandish and numbingly plastic. It may not be for everyone, but I loved it every second of the way.

The concept behind the use of a fair selection of well-known classical themes is not unlike the musical score of Battle Royale. Famous classical pieces are used in a rather pompous and slightly ironic way. Ninagawa's execution isn't completely tongue-in-cheek though as the music does fit (and co-dictates) the atmosphere of the film. The remainder of songs is nice but not all that special. All in all the film has a pretty nice and memorable score, though not because of the original music.

Erika Sawajiri takes up the role of Ririco which proves to be an excellent choice. She carries the eerie-looking, plastic-fake J-Pop style with conviction and doesn't hold back in what could be considered a pretty edgy part. While she plays a downright annoying brat, she does manage to evoke sympathy for her character, even though most of the time the empathy is hardly warranted. Beside her Shinobu Terajima shines as Ririco's assistant, other smaller parts are reserved for a slew of famous Japanese faces (Anne Suzuki, Susumu Terajima, Nao Omori and even Sho Aikawa, to name a few).

The principal themes of Heruta Sukeruta may not be all that original (it's definitely not the first film to tackle the shallowness of the pop/fashion industry and films about characters slowly unwinding are far from uncommon), Ninagawa goes about the subject in a very direct and pleasantly unabashed way. She is of course in a perfect position to tackle the material and even though I feel that thematically the film owes a lot to the manga, Ninagawa brings a certain credibility to the table that a film like this deserves.

That said though, Heruta Sukeruta is above all an audiovisual experience. The film looks feverishly beautiful and is madly detailed in every possible way. Every new scene and each new shot is a true marvel. While 127 minutes is quite a stretch for the material at hand, I never felt bored and the combination of lush visuals, strong acting and a fun score prevented the film from ever becoming stale. The entire film is an oddly compelling and insanely stylized dream that left me completely dazed and fully perplexed. It's a big step up from Sakuran and even though I feel there is still room for small improvements left and right, this is the exactly the type of film that I crave. Here's to hoping Ninagawa doesn't take another 5 years to complete her next film.

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Even though Hayao Miyazaki (Tonari no Totoro, Ponyo) is without a doubt the most popular director of the two Ghibli founders, I'd pick Isao Takahata (Hotaru no Haka, Hohokekyo Tonari No Yamada-kun) over Miyazaki every time. Omohide Poro Poro (Only Yesterday) further fuels this belief as it is probably the best worst film ever made. It's a film I should be hating with a vengeance, but ended up loving nonetheless.

At least on paper Omohide Poro Poro looked like a film that had nothing to offer me. Not even so much because Takahata keeps a very female perspective throughout the film (I'm a pretty big Ryuichi Hiroki fan after all), but because the film thrives on melancholy and glorifies the country life. Two of my least favorite sentiments bundled into one single 118-minute film. Then again, the ultimate trait of a good director is to successfully convey sentiments through film that one would normally never experience, and if anything that's where Takahata ultimately succeeds with Omohide Poro Poro.

Takahata's film is quite special because it's one of the first Japanese animation films ever to take on the adult drama genre. Omohide Poro Poro is targeted at adults who appreciate a thoughtful (though still lighthearted) drama, something that was almost unheard of before Takahata released this film. In that way, it helped to pave the way for more adult-oriented animation films (of the non-erotic kind of course) in Japan.

The film is based on a manga (of the same title) written by Hotaru Okamoto and Yuko Tone. Taeko is a 27-year old single who enjoys her free life in the city, but dreams of visiting the countryside once more. Ever since she was small she dreamed of going on a trip there (a dream fueled by the summer vacation tales of her classmates), so much that the countryside became an obsession to Taeko. As she travels to a small family farm to help out with the farm work, she starts to remember various scenes from her childhood. Takahata took the flashbacks directly from the manga, but came up with the story of the 27-year old Taeko himself to strengthen the plot.

Visually the film is divided into two different parts. The flashback scenes enjoy a less detailed art style, definitely not as hardcore but you can already recognize the first seeds of Takahata's Yamada-kun here. The present day scenes are more detailed, sporting pretty realistic character builds and beautifully drawn settings. The sunsets in particular are of extreme beauty, the play of light is simply spectacular. The animation itself is spot on too, though that's a given when watching Ghibli films.

The soundtrack is an interesting mix of classic Japanese music, typical drama tunes and some weird Romanian folk songs that blend surprisingly well with the rest of the film. While not really my type of music it works splendidly. But Takahata saves the best for last. A superb Japanese adaptation of McBroom's The Rose is used during the final scene and sets the tone for a magnificent emotional climax. Definitely one of the best film endings ever. The voice acting too is of high quality. Takahata plays around with local dialects and stays away from typical overstated anime voice acting to lend the film an even more realistic feel.

Watching Omohide Poro Poro feels like going on a (very) short vacation, in that sense it reminded me a lot of Ogigami's Megane, a film that emits a similar vibe of peace and quiet. There aren't any big dramatic swoops, nor any major events or twists. The setup in simple, the setting is simple, but the execution is absolutely perfect. It's a feeling that lasts as long as the movie does, the film isn't convincing in the sense that after watching it I'm actually longing to go back to the countryside, but while the film lasts that doesn't matter a bit.

Takahata is one of the absolute masters of animation. He is without a doubt the most mature animation director there, making films that transcend the genre while still making use of its biggest strengths. Omohide Poro Poro is pretty much a perfect film. The themes may not be to my liking and I may not even agree with the things brought forward, but while watching the film that doesn't matter a single bit. And that I think is cinema at its very best.

Do not be fooled by the rather generic poster art, Boku To Tsuma No 1778 No Monogatari (1778 Stories Of Me And My Wife) isn't your typical or average Japanese drama. While you might be forgiven thinking that this is just another introverted, soft and light-hearted Japanese film, Mamoru Hoshi hides a more magical world underneath its wings. The result is a sprawling little film that overflows with charm and steers clear from any sentimental pitfalls.

Even though the marketing of the film makes it look a little inconspicuous, Hoshi doesn't waste too much time once the film starts. The first scene dives right into the action, baring Hoshi's intentions and suddenly making the outlook of a 140-minute drama a lot less daunting. From the very first seconds Hoshi managed to capture my attention, never letting go for even the slightest of moments until the last frames had faded from the screen.

1778 Stories (based on a true story, hence the rather specific number) follows the life of Sakutaro, a dedicated writer of science-fiction novels. Sakutaro is a pretty geeky guy, having decorated his entire house with old robots and other classic scifi memorabilia. From the front porch to key hangers and paper weights, everything inside Sakutaro's house breathes scifi. Even though Sakutaro's novels aren't too popular, he lives a pretty happy life with his supportive wife (and biggest fan), Setsuko.

When one day Setsuko visits the hospital thinking she is pregnant, the lives of Setsuko and Sakutaro take a turn for the worse. Not long after her first visit Setsuko is diagnosed with an advanced form of colon cancer, shattering the dreams of the couple. Sakutaro feels totally helpless, until the doctor tells him that laughter helps to strengthen the immune system. Sakutaro does what he knows best and starts writing a daily short story for his wife to enjoy. Instead of writing scifi though, he takes a crack at writing comedy.

Hoshi's visual style can best be described as dreamy. Even though the short intermissions (acting almost as short films) are the visuals stand-out moments of the film, the regular scenes are equally beautiful. A meandering camera, elaborately detailed settings, soft, warm and vibrant colors and some smart focus tricks make for a very cozy and fuzzy visual look that is not quite unlike the work of Jean-Piere Jeunet (only a little lighter in atmosphere). The CG is mostly functional, though its imperfections do match (and strengthen) the charm of old scifi films.

The soundtrack, while pretty classical in setup, is one of the best I've heard in the genre. Sure enough you'll find plenty of piano tunes here, ranging from dramatic to upbeat pieces, but Hoshi's timing is simply impeccable. The score never becomes too sentimental or mushy, instead it strengthens the atmosphere of certain scenes, making the drama all that more effective.

Tsuyoshi Kusanagi isn't one of my favorite actors but he fits the role perfectly. His voice-overs are warm and considerate while he emits a geeky vibe that doesn't immediately turn him into too much of a sap. Yuko Takeuchi does a solid job playing Setsuko; providing just enough support and care for Kusanagi to thrive. Ren Osugi is probably the most recognizable face of the film though, I bet he's the actor with the most supporting roles in modern Japanese cinema to date, always a pleasure to behold too.

1778 Stories is quite dramatic at its core, but the film presents itself in such a warm, upbeat and uplifting manner that you'll hardly notice any of that when watching this film. Even the finale, while far from a happy ending, is handled with the right amount of emotion, never overstating the gravity of the events. Even though you could say this is quite typical for Japanese dramas in general, 1778 Stories has a particularly gallant way of dealing with its potentially sentimental twists.

Hoshi creates a wonderfully magical drama, serving just the right amount of drama, geekiness, magical realism and love for his characters. The film looks and sounds amazing, the characters are extremely lovably and while 140 minutes is quite a demanding length for an upbeat film like this, I can't remember checking the clock even once. Hoshi's films may be few and far between (3 films in 12 years time isn't that much), but he immediately joined my list of directors to keep track of. 1778 Stories is recommended material for everyone with an interest in Japanese cinema.

I don't mind a good challenge once in a while, but there is one thing I will usually refuse on the spot: custom-styled input fields. Not just because most forms of input fields are notoriously hard to style cross-browser, but also because most "fake" solutions mess up accessibility and are far from future-proof. In most cases, the result isn't worth the effort and you're better off leaving the styling of input fields to the browser or OS. There is one notable exception though.

There is no stopping Takashi Miike (Izo, Gozu, 46 Okunen No Koi, Zebraman 2, Sun Scarred, Nintama Rantaro, Ace Attorney, Visitor Q). Ai To Makoto (For Love's Sake) will probably be sold as his latest film in the West, but in the meantime the man already completed Aku No Kyoten, he's close to completing Wara No Tate and he's busy filming Mogura No Uta. Even after releasing 80+ films, Miike is still going strong and if Ai To Makoto proves anything, it's that Miike hasn't dried up just yet.

Ai To Makoto isn't exactly new territory for Miike. It's not his first ever remake (think Graveyard Of Honor, Ichimei or Yokai Daisenso), it's not even his first musical remake combo (that credit goes to Katakuri-ke no Kofuku). Still, the film does differ quite a bit from previous Miike releases, so it's not just a a rehash of films he made before. In the end, Ai To Makoto plays more like a mix of Katakuri-ke and Miike's Crows series (Crows Zero, Crows Zero 2) . A musical about delinquent school gangs, based on the story of the original version of Ai To Makoto (1974), but with Miike's signature ever present.

Katakuri-ke was pretty camp and even though Ai To Makoto isn't entirely straight-faced either, Miike puts a lot more effort into the actual songs and dance routines here. Sure enough there are a couple funny choreographies and a few cute song tricks in here, but for the larger part the musical elements function quite well as an actual musical. The contrast with the over-the-top characters and settings remains though, making for quite the atypical musical experience.

The gist of the story is a simple copy of the original Ai To Makoto. A short introduction shows us how Makoto saves Ai when she's sliding down a mountain. Years later the two reunite and while Ai is prone to clear her debt with Makoto, he isn't the least bit interested in Ai's good intentions. Instead he pushes her away, ending up in a school for students deemed lost for society. Makoto fares quite well, but things get pretty interesting when Ai decides to follow Makoto and enlists herself in the same school.

Miike's latest films may have lost some of their crazy edge, but they sure make up for that with strong and telling visuals. Ai To Makoto looks absolutely stunning from start to finish. Bold colors, superb editing and great use of filters (the opening sequence is an instant classic), beautiful animation and amazing camera work make Ai To Makoto into visual bliss. I would even go as far as to say this is Miike's most beautiful film to date.

As for the music, the songs are actually pretty catchy. I don't count musical among my favorite genres and the Japanese language might not be the easiest to sing along to for us Westerners, but at times I was actually looking forward to the next song. Of course the funny dance routines helped, but for a musical the actual music was quite bearable indeed (unless you strongly detest all types of J-Pop, then it's probably better to avoid this film altogether).

The cast of Ai To Makoto seemed pretty well aware of the type of movie they were in. Not too many familiar faces in here, but overall they did a pretty good job bringing this film to life. I hadn't seen Takei act before, Tsumabuki I remembered from Lee's Villain. While I wouldn't go as far as to say the duo carried the entire movie, they did lend enough body to their respective characters to at least make the drama and the romance work out.

For once though I have to agree with the most generally cited critique people have on Miike's films. Ai To Makoto drags a little. While the first hour is fun and fresh, the second one seems to have a little trouble trying to keep the momentum going. It felt as if the drama took the upper hand, when the musical bits were actually the highlight of the film. It would've been better if Miike had cut the drama just a little, or if he had inserted a couple of extra musical routines. Even tough the second half of the film is far from bad, it's just not as exciting as the first hour.

That said, there is still plenty to enjoy here. It seems that with each new film Miike raises the bar on production level. Ai To Makoto looks absolutely stunning, from start to finish. The music bits are actually quite fun, there are enough wacky bits to make it a vintage Miike film and the acting is pretty solid. Miike fans should definitely check it out as Ai To Makoto is yet another great addition to the man's ever-expanding oeuvre.

Back in 2005 Chinese genre film were a rare breed indeed. China did (co)produce some martial arts stuff from time to time, but that's about how far they were prepared to go with their genre cinema offerings. The situation slowly changed after 2000 and Zhixi (Suffocation) was one of the first films to reach a broader international audience. And even though Zhang's effort is struggling to survive the test of time, there's still plenty to like here.

Even though Zhixi is available on DVD with English subtitles, some versions out there suffer from notable transfer problems. I own the Taiwanese version (it spells Soffocation on the cover) which features some obvious issues with sharpness, image stability and even VHS-like artifacts (quite remarkable for a film shot on DV I think). It's a shame for a film that relies heavily on its imagery to get the atmosphere across, though it's not so bad that it completely ruins the experience.

Even though Zhixi borrows royally from the horror genre, it's not an actual horror film. Instead Zhang's first (and only) could be cataloged as a mystery/horror cross-over that aims to confuse rather than scare or surprise. The horror scenes function as a shortcut to introduce extra tension, making for a tighter and more suffocating whole. Zhang balances these two stretches quite elegantly and it results in a film that professionally sidesteps any looming split personality pitfalls.

The film follows Xiao, a photographer who's cheating on his girlfriend Meizi. When Meizi finds out about it they end up in a fight and Meizi disappears, never to be seen again. Xiao contacts his friends to help him look for Meizi, but soon after people begin to suspect Xiao himself is involved in the disappearance of Meizi. When Xiao's neighbor becomes suspicious, Xiao confides in her and tells her the entire story. Still, not everything is what it appears to be and Xiao is slowly losing his mind.

Visually Zhixi is a very interesting project. The film bathes in beautiful and consistent green/yellow hues, benefits from sharp and strong editing and interesting camera positions. The less than stellar DVD quality and sometimes poor DV quality detract from the overall look though. Back in the day it wasn't too bad, but the base quality changed a lot since then and watching it now, it does feel a little outdated already.

The soundtrack suffers the same problem. The electronic-based themes sound nice enough (the discotheque scene in particular stands out by featuring some actual stone-cold techno music - a rarity in feature length films) but somehow they haven't aged that well. The soundtrack is still an interesting mix of film music, classical pieces and electronic-based inserts, but it sounded a lot cooler when I first watched Zhixi.

Acting on the other hand remains strong. You Ge is instantly recognizable and puts in a great performance. He has a very characteristic face and uses it to his advantage, carrying the film with ease. The secondary cast is good too, even when they don't have all that much screen time to prove themselves. Hailu Qin makes a pretty good impression though, especially considering the limited time she is actually on screen.

Zhang plays a lot with the chronology of the story, making for a somewhat confusing setup. The story gets a little clearer as the film progresses, but right when it all starts to make sense Xiao begins to lose his mind, casting another veil of mystery over the film. While the climax may not be the most original, it does work and even though it may not be the stellar ending you may have hoped for, it's far from a disappointment either. More important is the suffocating atmosphere that takes a firm grip on the audience, strengthened by the close-up photography, consistent color palette and strong performance of Ge.

Getting a good release of Zhixi may not be that easy (the film isn't brand new and I don't think too many DVDs were released back then) but it's definitely worth pursuing. I must admit that it made a bigger impact the first two times I watched it though. While still a very accomplished audiovisual experience, the film seems quite prone to aging, which could affect the longevity of Zhang's film. Then again, it will always stand as one of the first worthy Chinese genre films I watched, dragging me deeper into the country's filmography.

For me Hwal was the confirmation that Kim Ki-duk (Pieta, Bi-mong, Breath) didn't just land a lucky shot when he directed Bin-jip. Hwal has everything a good Ki-duk film is supposed to have, only it's a tad more refined than his previous efforts. This lead some people to call his work derivative (his manic release schedule didn't help much either), others just recognized Ki-duk's signature style and enjoyed another great film from his hand.

It's not that I don't like Ki-duk's work prior to Bin-jip, but somehow I never really expected the man to deliver a true masterpiece. Films like Suchwiin Bulmyeong, Samaria, Nabbeun Namja or Seom are all very good, but they somehow lacked that little extra bit of magic. Bin-jip was the first film where Ki-duk truly blew me away and with Hwal he perfected that feeling.

If you've seen some of Ki-duk's earlier films you should pretty much know what to expect from Hwal. The main characters are almost completely silent, save for a few muttered words left or right. They make weird and unconventional choices at times and Ki-duk makes little to no effort to explain their motivations. And of course the ending is the perfect blend of abstract and symbolism, setting the stage for a weirdly attractive finale.

Ki-duk seems to favor floating settings (Seom, Bom ... Bom), this time traveling to open waters to follow the lives of an odd couple living on a boat. The captain of the boat is an old man who lives there with a young girl he rescued when she was only 5 years old. He makes a living from visiting fisherman who get a chance to fish and hang out on his vessel. But many of the fisherman seem more interested in the company of the young lady, much to the dismay of the captain who is eagerly waiting for the girl to turn 17 so he can finally marry her.

Visually Hwal is a clear step up from previous Ki-duk films. It's may not be as slick or polished as some of his more recent ventures (Pieta, Soom), but there are plenty of beautiful shots and sequences to be admired here. The slightly slo-mo'd fortune telling scenes for one belong to Ki-duk's absolute best, while the setting itself provides plenty of opportunity for the cinematographer to go wild.

The magnificent soundtrack is a strong trump that brings the film's atmosphere full circle. Ki-duk's use of string-based music gives the film a sharp yet soothing edge, something that perfectly suits the visuals and the characters of Hwal. The only odd thing is that Ki-duk chose to let the old man "play" the songs on his self-made bow/drum instrument, while it is quite clear that the haphazardly put together contraption is actually incapable of producing the music you hear in the film.

The acting too is top notch. Both Seong-hwang Jeon and Yeo-reum Han deserve plenty of praise for bringing the characters to life. Even though their relationship seems odd and inexplicable at times, they make it believable for the audience, bringing the drama to full fruition. The secondary cast is guilty of a little over-acting, but luckily those moments are rare as the main focus of the film lies on the relationship between the old man and the girl.

Things go bad for the old man's plans when he brings a young student to his boat two months before the day the girl turns 17. The girl and the student grow quite fond of each other and the girl finally understands she is effectively held captive by the old man, never allowed to go off the boat or able to talk to other people. But she can't just leave the old man behind either as ten years of living together did create a strong bond between the two of them.

Hwal is a pretty logical evolution in Ki-duk's career. It includes many of the themes and stylistic choices from his older films while still lacking the slick execution of his newer ones. It still ranks as one of my favorite Ki-duk films though, as the setting is absolutely beautiful, the acting is strong and the ending is one of Ki-duk's very best.

Our old front-end best practices are crumbling. Not the big ones like "make a site accessible", but the more practical ones like "no non-semantic class names" are under scrutiny these days. We need to fill that void and several people have sprung up to try and update our way of working. Their intentions are no doubt noble, but their methods are less so. I feel that too many of us are marketing our own approaches with the intent to convert innocent souls rather than properly inform the future generation of front-enders.

After a lengthy absence, Sogo Ishii (Dead End Run, Kyoshin, Electric Dragon 80.000V, August In The Water) returns with a new film. Except, it's not really "Sogo Ishii" that's directing it. Sogo Ishii changed his name to Gakuryu Ishii and should you doubt his intentions, he had very good reasons to do so. Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka (Isn't Anyone Alive) is a great film, but not what you'd expect from a guy who started the Japanese punk genre.

When I heard Sogo Ishii was changing his credit name I found the move rather dubious. Struggling with your persona is one thing, but going as far as to possibly alienate yourself from a portion of your longtime fans is quite a move. Then again, if you look at the world of music, musicians are doing this all the time. The electronic scene in particular is quite prone to anonymity and it's actually the norm to take on a different identity when releasing music that is slightly different in style or tone.

Finally at ease with Ishii's motives, I still found it difficult to actually sit down and watch this film. Releases in the cyberpunk genre are few and far between and seeing one of the greater directors in the genre leave in a different directions isn't all that comforting. On top of that I had read somewhere that Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka was supposed to be a comedy, not the easiest switch to make for a director that had operated mainly in experimental territory. So when I finally took the plunge I was quite ready to be disappointed.

It took Ishii two whole shots to turn that feeling around. From the first moments of the film you can recognize the hand of a very experienced director, not just switching genres or teams, but trying to invent a new corner of cinema altogether. Not only is Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka a big step away from Sogo Ishii's previous films, it's a film that doesn't let itself be easily compared to any other films out there. AQbout two minutes in I'd forgotten all about Sogo Ishii and welcomed Gakuryu Ishii to do his thing.

Watching Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka is like watching a film of a first-time director with thirty years of experience in the field. Visually the film is impeccable. Wonderful framing, lovely use of color and some genuine visual artistry. There is none of Ishii's fast editing or crazy camera work here, instead we get very controlled and punctual scenes with clear remnants of Ishii's Kyoshin experiments. Visually this is on par with what the best Japanese dramas have on offer.

The music is less extreme, but still very purposefully used. There's a certain humor hidden inside the selection of tracks in combination with the unusual timing. The result may come off as a little weird at times, but the effect is spot on and it's nice to see that Ishii carried over his unique musical touch from his previous persona. Don't expect the noize-influenced mayhem from his earlier films and you'll find that Ishii still has a great ear for soundtracks.

The acting too is on a whole other level. Contrary to Ishii's earlier films Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka is filled to the brim with dialogue. There's hardly a quiet moment to be found with characters rattling weird and inconsequential dialogues at a pretty constant pace. While there are some familiar faces passing by Ishii clearly fished in a pool of young talents for his cast. It's just one more element that helps him break with his previous style. The acting is solid across the board too, with Kiyohiko Shibukawa stealing many of the film's best moments.

It took me a while to realize what kind of film I was actually watching. The first twenty minutes reveal very little of the film's plot and serve as a mere introduction for the many characters. The following events are quite mysterious and rather definite, something that is not immediately obvious from the rather light-hearted and comfortable atmosphere at the very start of the film. Only near the end of Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka does the film reveal its true intentions, making for a pretty good surprise.

While this could definitely be called a comedy, the humor can be quite dry and abstract at times. Most of the humor lies in the combination of timing and conversation subject, something I can't really remember seeing before. I would say that the closest film to compare it with is Tanaka's Monday, but that's quite a stretch already. It doesn't result in too many loud laughs, but it left me with a constant smile during the entire running time.

If you're a fan of Sogo Ishii, the success of Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka is probably dependent on how quickly you can forget the man's former films. Ishii truly reinvents himself here and comes with a film that's just as unique as his previous work, only very different in tone. It may be more poppy and less experimental, but it's just as incomparable to the work of other directors out there. Approach Ikiteru Mono Wa Inainoka as a film from a freshman director and let yourself be carried away by Ishii's unique sense of comedy coupled with a strong and mysterious build-up. In the end the man might have changed his name, but it's clear that he can't hide his talent.

Following into the footsteps of UK's positive horror film track record of late, Ireland is trying to breach the horror market with a few of its own efforts. The results have been pretty mixed so far (though I admit I've only seen Shrooms, Wake Wood and Spiderhole), but with Citadel things are definitely looking up. Ciaran Foy delivers a strong and confident genre film that deserves a special mention and left me begging for more.

Citadel is a pure genre flick so originality clearly wasn't one of Foy's main concerns. Broadly speaking, Citadel is a film that reaffirms UK's fear-inducing hoodie image (Harry Brown, Eden Lake), mixes it with the setting of Outcast and borrows quite liberally from Cronenberg's The Brood. Throw in a little Mutants and you may have a good idea of what to expect. Still, the combination of all these different elements make for a pretty interesting ride. Just don't be fooled by the poster art, even though Citadel may look like another film resembling the setup of The Raid, Dredd 3D or instigator La Horde, the poster art is where the resemblance ends.

Foy does add a couple touches of his own though. The depraved social setting may not be entirely novel (in fact, it seems one of the defining elements of many UK horror films) but Foy's decision to let his main character suffer from mental stress after the first assault is indeed quite surprising to see. Early on in the film Tommy sees his pregnant girlfriend Joanne being beaten up by a couple of hoodies. Unable to do something (he's stuck in the lift) he has to witness how his life is shattered before his eyes.

Even though the baby is saved, Joanna slips into a deep coma. Unable to deal with the senselessness of the violent act, Tommy starts to suffer from agoraphobia and ends up in the hospital where he is joins a program that should help him cure his mental illness. When he is finally released he has to take care of his newborn, but this responsibility only adds to Tommy's mental unrest. Things get even worse when soon after Joanna's original assailants return to get Tommy's baby.

The barren scenery asks for dark, gritty and grim cinematography and that's what we're getting here. The poor living conditions and deserted concrete cityscapes look almost as bad as what Tommy ends up finding in the "citadel". It's a great setting for a horror film and Foy makes perfect use of it. The lighting is moody, the camera work solid and the editing sharp. Overall Citadel offers a pretty great visual experience.

It's the soundtrack that really nails the atmosphere though. The gritty, almost illbient soundscapes lay out an uneasy blanket of noise, while the sound effects induce the true fear. The hoodies in particular sound gut-wrenching. Even though the film explains they are not "normal kids", the almost rabid-like baby screams they produce sounded so freakish and alien that they pushed me back far into my couch. Horror films always benefit greatly from an apt soundtrack, something that Foy understands quite well.

Another reason for the film's success is Aneurin Barnard's stand-out performance. Since the first part of the film relies on some dramatic sequences you need more than just your average horror cattle, luckily Barnard convincingly fills the part. While his Frodo-like appearance made me a little uneasy during the first few scenes of the film, Barnard's fear-ridden eyes actually made me feel bad for his ill-fated adventures. James Cosmo shines in the role of priest, the rest of the cast is solid but isn't tested that thoroughly.

Despite its many influences and connections to other horror films, Citadel sails a pretty surprising course. It doesn't really belong in a particular segment of the broader horror genre, featuring equal hints of demonism, zombie fare and vile social horror. While this mix alone makes for an interesting trip, it's Foy's accomplishment to successfully merge all these influences into a single solid horror experience, turning Citadel into a more than worthy genre film.

Foy is definitely one to watch. Citadel is one hell of a calling card and stands as one of the best horror films of 2012. It's a vile, gritty and hellish descent (or rise if you will) into an fear-inducing concrete structure, providing plenty of chills and uneasy moments that belong up there with the best the UK horror films have on offer. Let's hope it's the start of a bright career and the kick-off for a stream of more quality Irish horror films.

Takashi Miike (Gozu, 46 Okunen No Koi, Zebraman 2, Crows Zero 2, Crows Zero, Sun Scarred, Nintama Rantaro, Ace Attorney, Visitor Q) is known for making extravagantly weird films, but when he released Izo he went beyond the expectations of many of his fans. So much in fact that many of them caved in under the weight of the film's pretensions. Truth be told, Izo isn't an easy film and even though it's an impressively realized project, this is not a film for everyone.

The funny thing is that you could cut at least ten 2-minute trailers, each of them using unique footage of the film, that would make it look like a real hoot. Izo is filled to the brim with uncompromising genre fare, there's enough in here to fill up five regular genre films and still have leftover footage lying around. But that's just the surface, Miike didn't set out to make a great popcorn movie, instead he's using these scenes to set up a mental beating that will either break you or leave you gasping for air.

For a 128-minute film, there is surprisingly little plot to go around. For the greater part, Izo is a continuous repetition of mayhem and slaughter. The twist here is that it doesn't really add up to anything. Even though Izo has a goal he wants to complete, there is no clear path towards it. There isn't a simple bad guy he needs to beat up, nor is there a person he needs to save. Izo's quest is a futile one, which make his actions all the more vile and meaningless.

Izo is a samurai who was tortured and beheaded before he turned into a vengeful spirit. No matter how many times he seeks out revenge, the lives he takes aren't enough to make him forget the way he was treated. And so he sets out to kill the rulers of the universe, a guild of aristocrats who live secluded from the world they built. Unsure where to find them, Izo travels through time and space in order to locate them, killing everyone who crosses his path.

While Izo features some pretty cool camera work (Izo's entrance at the wedding is pretty spectacular), some scenes do look a little sloppy from up close. There are plenty of stand-out scenes, but the ones in between appear to be a little rushed. The lair of the aristocrats for example is a bit lacking in visual richness. Maybe it was a budget problem (it couldn't have been easy to finance this film, even though Miike was at his international peak when he made it), but the shifts in quality between scenes is a tad disappointing regardless.

For the soundtrack Miike made heavy use of folk-singer Kazuki Tomokawa (who also scored Landscapes The Boy Saw). Like him or not, but his unique and peculiar style defines the films he scores. His raw voice, strange rhythms and less than slick guitar work is instantly recognizable. I would never listen to his work outside film, but as part of a soundtrack he makes a strong impression and Izo benefits greatly from it.

Miike could count on a slew of famous actors to fill in all the roles, ranging from superstars like Takeshi Kitano and Ryuhei Matsuda to a long list of Miike regulars and even some international celebrities like Bob Sapp (not the biggest name in the film business, but still). They're all just secondary characters though, hardly lasting a couple of minutes (if that long) before their heads are cut off. The cutting is done almost exclusively by Kazuya Nakayama who no doubt played the defining role of his career.

Izo plays like a never-ending sequence of killing sprees. When Izo finishes one battle field he is simply transported to the next one, where he takes on the following batch of adversaries. Sometimes he fights samurai, sometimes police squads, but he could just as well appear in classroom and murder a whole hallway of schoolgirls. After a while the fun evaporates and all that is left is a vile succession of mean and evil-spirited murders. There are two times when Miike interrupts this structure. Once in the middle of the film when Izo is given a little background story, a second time near the end when Izo finally reaches the aristocrats.

Needless to say, this turns Izo into a pretty tough experience. As the minutes pass and the bodies pile up, the film starts to weigh on its audience. Some people won't appreciate this, others will thank Miike for an exhilarating experience that is rarely found in commercial cinema. I've seen Izo three times now and the film keeps impressing me, it's a superb mix of genre film making and arthouse cinema, an unlikely mix that we might never see again in this form.

It was just a week or two ago when I reviewed Stephen Fung's Tai Chi Zero, the first film in a fun and sprawling attempt to revive Hong Kong's 90s martial arts genre. In a unique twist, the second part of the trilogy followed almost immediately, upholding a strong momentum. The question is of course whether Fung would be able to keep the strengths of Tai Chi Zero alive while further evolving the saga in Tai Chi Hero.

Fung wouldn't be able to just pull the same tricks as he did with Zero. What came off as fresh and novel in the first film would feel like mere repetition and utter lack of creativity this time around, ultimately bearing down on the quality of the entire series. Fung obviously realized this and while there are still some references to some of the quirkier details of Zero (like the on-screen character introductions), Hero takes a slightly different route.

While Hero features less in-your-face gimmickry, it has the advantage that it can skip all the introductions and dive right into the action. Hero might be a bit more traditional in style, it makes up for that with a selection of awesome action scenes and stunning set pieces. The story starts with a quick recap and blasts off where it ended in part 1. There is no noteworthy time skip, just the logical continuation of the story.

Yang finds himself married to the Niang, the village elder's daughter. This grants him the right to stay in the village and learn the family's peculiar style of martial arts, but the village people are still weary of Yang and consider him an outsider. Things get even worse when Niang's long lost brother returns to the village, eager to upset the village peace. Yang is a perfect target for his plans and by revitalizing the believe in an age old curse laid upon the villagers he is able to upset the entire population.

Visually little has changed. The visual trickery is not as outspoken or outright flashy compared to the first film, instead Fung used his budget to create more steampunk machinery and bigger and more detailed set pieces. As a result the film looks stunning, featuring slick special effects, great sequences of destruction and impeccable looking wire-fu fights. Fung's agile and sometimes quirky camera further helps in leaving a strong visual impression.

Sadly the tone of the soundtrack remained virtually unchanged. The score is once again dominated by a selection of somewhat uneasy rock tracks that fail to ignite a real sense of adrenaline. The lacking score isn't a real issue as there are plenty of other things to focus on while watching the film, but it's still a missed opportunity to make the action sequences that little extra special. I guess Fung isn't going to change his approach for the third and final installment, but one can always hope of course.

The main cast is back in full force, Xiaochao is visibly more at ease in front of the camera, Tony Leung Ka Fai is having the time of his life and Angelababy once again shoulders the more dramatic moments in Tai Chi Hero. Feng Shaofeng joins the cast and brings with him a little extra intrigue, while Daniel Wu and Nikki Hsieh (Make Up, One Day, Honey PuPu) make noteworthy cameos. No award-winning performances, but the film consist of a very solid cast nonetheless.

Tai Chi Hero ends with a classic finale, somewhat reminiscent of the Iron Monkey end fight. While most action scenes in Tai Chi Hero are quite big in scale, the finale is a simple yet terrificly orchestrated one-on-one fight sequence, flawlessly executed. Once again Fung is helped by a more than generous budget but he handles the money well and delivers one of the best fight scenes in recent memory. If that wasn't enough, he also teases with one of the craziest-looking steampunk contraptions I have every seen. An iconic ending shot that will definitely keep me warm until the final episode arrives.

Tai Chi Hero tones down the gimmickry from the first film just a little, replacing it with more and bigger action scenes. It's a smart move that avoids too much repetition while still keeping a fresh and playful atmosphere. The production values are high, the acting is the right kind of tongue-in-cheek and the action scenes sparkle. Fung created a perfect sequel that leaves you begging for the final act. If you liked the Zero then I'm quite sure this film won't disappoint you in the least.

Nagai Sanpo is a modest Japanese drama that passed the West by virtually unnoticed, much like Okuda's other films. Okuda is a well-known face for people familiar with Japanese film, but his directorial efforts appear much harder to sell across the border. Not sure why though, if you look at the popularity of films like Koreeda's Dare Mo Shiranai and Aruitemo Aruitemo it's clear there is a solid market for these type of films.

Nagai Sanpo isn't my first Okuda, a couple of years ago I watched Shôjo and was pleasantly surprised by the most natural and non-dismissive way in which Okuda approached a rather touchy subject. Nagai Sanpo is comparable in the way that Okuda once again tackles a subject where he reverses the reigning moral code, pleading for more understanding and respect towards people and situations we as a society don't fully understand.

The film begins with Matsutaro abandoning his own house after his wife has died. Matsutaro's relationship with his family is sour and even though he leaves the house to his daughter, she isn't willing to forgive him that easily. Matsutaro rents a small, barren apartment, ready to whither away all by himself. His new neighbors aren't going to let him live his final years in peace though, as their rows, arguments and fights travel through the thin walls, keeping Matsutaro wide awake at night.

His neighbors also have a young daughter (Sachi) which they both neglect. Matsutaro pities the child and he suddenly sees his chance to atone for his past sins. When his attempts to get close to Sachi fail, he kidnaps the girl hoping to heal both himself and Sachi by organizing an extensive road trip for the both of them. In a sense, Nagai Sanpo is Okuda's Kikujiro no Natsu, only written from a more dramatic perspective.

Visually Nagai Sanpo matches the looks of a very decent, solid and traditional Japanese drama. The start of the film looks a little depressing at times, but once the road trip starts and the rural Japanese landscapes make their entry there are quite some beautiful shots to admire. The editing is not unlike Takeshi Kitano's, often cutting to static shots showing motionless characters in between more traditionally filmed scenes. All in all it's a pleasant film to look at, but there's little you haven't seen before.

The soundtrack too is textbook material. Expect violins, piano tunes and some heavy-handed J-Pop to cover most of the film's musical adventures. It's a solid score no doubt, it never comes off as too sentimental and it never feels as if you're tricked into feeling certain emotions, but if you've seen your share of Japanese dramas it may feel a little too familiar at times.

Films with debatable moral codes often rely heavily on their actors to convey the moral dilemma and so it was essential to the success of Nagai Sanpo that Okuda picked two very strong leads. I don't think I've seen Ken Ogata in a lead role before but he handles it with considerable ease, portraying a broken man that plans to do well in his life even when the law doesn't permit him to do so. Hana Sugiura also deserves her share of praise, it's never easy to work with children but she is absolutely perfect as the young Sachi. It's weird to see that she never played in a film again after this role. The secondary cast is equally strong, with Saki Takaoka deserving extra credit for taking on her less than sympathetic character.

While Nagai Sanpo has a couple of very powerful and emotional dramatic scenes, I feel that Okuda did have a little trouble keeping a good balance between all the dramatic elements. At times he pushes his luck a bit too much, introducing extra dramatic tension where the film didn't really need any. There are some scenes that could've been left out (also bringing the running time down a little) without the film losing any of its dramatic power and while these moments are rare, they do make you wonder why Okuda included them in the first place.

That said, the film left me with a very contented and warm feeling. These hesitant moments are quickly forgotten when Nagai Sanpo closes in on its dramatic climax and strings together a couple of most impressive scenes. Once again Okuda succeeds in delivering a slightly uncomfortable drama which doesn't really stray from the beaten path while still providing enough food for thought. A smart combination that only strengthens the question of why this film didn't receive broader international attention and appreciation.

Welcome back Mr. Ki-duk (Bi-Mong, Soom). The once so prolific Sout-Korean director disappeared from the scene four years ago, but has now returned with a new full-length feature. His comeback hasn't gone by unnoticed as Pieta won the top prize in Venice (although the victory was somewhat contested). After having watched the film myself I can only confirm that honor was justified as Pieta sees Ki-duk returning to form (though a little different from his old self) .

To say that Ki-duk disappeared completely would be incorrect. In 2011 he actually released two separate projects. First there was Amen, a shorter venture that led to Ki-duk's mental collapse, which was soon followed by Arirang, Ki-duk's documentary that retraced the steps leading to his own depression. Both projects received minimal international attention though and getting a hold of them is a rather daunting task. With that in mind, I think it's fair to say that Pieta is Ki-duk's first true release ever since he made Bi-Mong.

But Pieta doesn't just continue where Bi-Mong left off. Throughout his career Ki-duk has been fine-tuning his own particular style which ultimately resulted in a more dreamy, less edgy overall atmosphere. Not that he was mass-producing mushy dramas by the time he finished with Bi-Mong, but films like Bi-Mong and Soom did lack that dramatic "shock" value that characterized his earlier films. Even though many people often criticized Ki-duk for making films that are too similar to each other, comparing his first film with Soom shows you exactly how much Ki-duk changed his trademark style over the years. It may have been a gradual process, but the difference is clearly there. Pieta sets off to combine elements of both periods in his career. It has that gritty, unforgiving dramatic undertone of his older films, while coupled with a more stylish audiovisual approach.

The film starts with an average day in the life of Gang-do, a ruthless loan shark who does his own dirty work. He forces people to sign insurance policies and cripples them if they are unable to pay him back, running off with the money himself. Gang-do lives a solitary life, until one day a woman arrives on his doorstep. She claims to be his mother, the woman who abandoned him at birth. Gang-do isn't ready to accept her back in his life, but as it turns out she is quite persistent and she practically forces Gang-do to let her back in.

Pieta is visually grittier when compared to his previous films, but it's far from the random ugliness that defined his first few works. Ki-duk has a keen eye for color and composition and while he doesn't waste time to revel in visual beauty, the film presents a beautiful kind of ugly with enough attention to the color palette and framing. It's a nice balance that supports the drama while also leaving room for more cinematic delights.

The soundtrack is a true pleasure. Ki-duk chooses a more ethereal selection of tracks that contrast with the gritty visuals, but extract additional beauty from the dramatic bottom line. Even though there is plenty of pain and torment in Pieta, the soundtrack eases the blow just a little in between, though never during the film's more crucial scenes. A smart choice that helps to retain the balance between Ki-duk's older and more recent work.

The third pillar of Pieta is its extremely strong cast. Jeong-jin Lee excels as Gang-do and transforms into a character that is tough and merciless, yet still allows the audience to feel a slice of pity for his situation. But it's Min-soo Jo (Gang-do's mother) who takes the crown. Though not a true newcomer, her experience with starring in feature length films was minimal before she joined the cast of Pieta. Ki-duk is famed for forcing extremely intense performances from the lesser gods of acting and he affirms that status once again.

Even though Pieta is filled to the brim with Christian symbolism and the film emits a strong poetic beauty, it isn't exactly an easy watch for moderate arthouse frequenters. There are some genuinely shocking scenes and Ki-duk's characters are more than once found on the floor, screaming in agony. It's a film that hurts while you're watching, then again I believe that's one of Ki-duk's prime strengths that should be cherished.

I haven't read too many other Pieta reviews so far, so I'm not sure if the misogyny card has surfaced already, but I still would like to say a word or two about this (because Pieta sure has the potential). Indeed there is unmistakable violence directed at women in this film. Gang-do mistreats his mother in some of the worst imaginable ways possible, but in the end he does so because he's weak and powerless. Min-soo Jo is the only powerful individual in this film, headstrong and even more relentless in her own way. If anything, she symbolizes the strength and utter conviction that women have in them, more so than men who rely on that strength to survive.

Pieta is a pretty complete package. The film looks great, has a superb soundtrack, two extremely impressive leads and a boatload of symbolism for those who enjoy that kind of thing. On top of that it's an intriguing drama built on top of two enigmatic characters. It's everything I wish for in a Ki-duk film, which made me realize just how much I missed the guy these past four years. Here's to a great continuation of his career.

Party 7 was the second full-length feature film release for Katsuhito Ishii (Smuggler, Cha No Aji, My Darling Of The Mountains), following the success of Shark Skin Man & Peach Hip Girl. It's a film that helped Ishii hone his skills, combining witty yet pointless dialogues with absurd and outlandish events and characters. The result is pretty crazy, a zany film delivered with a near-deadpan sense of humor that is sure to alienate a good portion of its viewers.

There are many reasons why someone seeks out a film. A cool poster, a nifty trailer, peer pressure, commercial buzz or simply the name of the director pulling you towards the film. I first watched Party 7 because I noticed it featured a character named Captain Banana. How bad can a film like that truly be? That and the fact that the opening credits are animated by Takeshi Koike (Redline), one of the most gifted animators/directors working in the field of animation today (actual directing credits for the opening sequence go to Peter Chung though).

Party 7 is a film split in two separate universes which only collide momentarily near the end of the film. While these two universes are only a window apart from each other, the tone and feel of both segments is quite different. The film alternates between them quite often, as a result the comedy in both segments is saved from outliving its welcome, allowing the film to remain fresh throughout while avoiding a lagging middle part.

The first story is a typical Yakuza heist. On of the low-ranking yakuzas stole a pile of cash and is now being hunted by the chief in command. To make things worse, his ex girlfriend is tailing him for money too. The whole bunch of them end up in a hotel room where they try to figure out who gets what. What they don't know is that they are being watched by two perverts from behind a wall, descendants of a clan of peepers who built the hotel especially for spying on their guests.

Visually Party 7 is a pretty slick film. Ishii doesn't experiment too much but manages to keep an interesting level of visual trickery. While the peeping room looks pretty amazing, the hotel room is a little dull in comparison. Luckily the funky costumes help to brighten up the setting. There are some cool slomo's (the moment when Gashuin barges into the room) and some nifty camera work, making it a pretty pleasurable experience to watch overall.

The soundtrack is pretty much on par with the visuals. Not overly great or exciting, but it does contain a couple of fun and interesting tracks that help to establish and maintain the atmosphere. For a more subdued film like this the soundtrack may be a little over the top (lots of dnb-inspired dance-like music that's quite tap-worthy), but in the end it works well and it gives the film that extra bit of cool.

Party 7 is a film that relies heavily on humor, so it's a good thing Ishii gathered a slew of superb actors to make sure the elongated dialogues and scenes work out. It's one of those rare films that feature both Tadanobu Asano and Masatoshi Nagase, two of my absolute favorite Japanese actors. They both do a great job and each of them fuels one of the respective universes. They get help from a strong secondary cast (Morishita Ren Osugi, Kobayashi) and of course the film features hors category actor Gashuin in a somewhat small yet hilarious role. Extra special praise goes to Yoshio Harada who shines as Captain Banana, certainly one of the more memorable characters I've ever come across.

While deadpan isn't really the right word to describe the flavor of humor in Party 7, it sure is a more muted and subdued style when contrasted with its weird and freaky characters. It's not nearly as insane or over the top as you'd expect based on the screenshots or trailer, but that doesn't make it any less fun. All of this leads to a hilarious finale where Ishii finally brings his two universes together, which maximum comedic effect.

Party 7 is a weird mix of slightly perverted comedy and more typical crime/comedy antics, shaped by a range of weird characters and their absurd, lingering dialogues (make sure to sit through the end credits). The film looks good, sounds great, sports an incredible opening animation sequence and boasts a list of superb actors. The comedy is a little off-center though, so even if you appreciated Ishii's Cha No Aji you aren't fully guaranteed that Party 7 will suit your needs. Then again, Party 7 has plenty to offer, so if you're a Katsuhito Ishii fan you owe it to yourself to at least give the film a fair chance.

Hong Kong isn't planning on letting its martial arts heritage go to waste. The past few years we've seen a few interesting projects keeping the spirit of the golden years of martial arts alive (think the A Chinese Fairy Tale remake, 14 Blades or Tracing Shadows), now Stephen Fung is doing his part by releasing an entire trilogy of films. Tai Chi Zero is the first of the bunch and sets the stage for two more films of inspired and high octane fun.

First of all, Fung (or maybe the film's producers, not quite sure) deserves credit for the planned release schedule of this trilogy. Even though the film was broken down into three separate entries, you won't have to wait another year to catch the sequel. In fact, there was only 1 month in between the release of Tai Chi Zero and second installment (Tai Chi Hero), meaning you can watch them back to back by now. A smart move that won't drag out the hype of these films, I just hope other people in the industry are taking notice.

When I watched Fung's House Of Fury it left me quite unimpressed, so when this project was first announced I wasn't all that excited. Still, Tai Chi Zero promised to be the first steampunk/martial arts crossover and as the film seemed to be enjoying the benefit of a decent budget, I did keep one eye on where this was going. Having watched it, I must admit that Fung exceeded my expectations by a serious stretch.

Tai Chi Zero combines the lighthearted banter of the popular 90s martial arts films (Green Snake) with a more modern video game/comic aesthetic and a lovely injection of steampunk. Some people have been eager to point out the similarities between this film and Scott Pilgrim and while the comparison does make sense, I think it's one of those things that only clicks after having watched the film but would set the wrong expectations up front, so don't go in expecting too much from it.

It's clear that Stephen Fung had a sizable budget to work with. Steampunk isn't the easiest genre to bring to life, luckily he didn't let all that money go to waste here. The machinery looks damn detailed and impressive and cogwheels, handles and steam are omnipresent whenever something electrical whizzes across the screen. But maybe even more notable are the game and comic book-like additions that pop up left and right. Health meters, location indicators, KO signs, special move trackers ... add some animated sequences, mini biographies whenever a cameo flashes by and some slick and modern camera work and you have a film that plays like a visual rush.

The soundtrack hardly compares, featuring a set of rather lame and uninspired action-themed rock tracks. I'll admit that they aren't too bad while featured in the film, but it's hardly the score you would've wished a film like this to have. Also worth noting (for those watching the American trailer), even though these used some random dubstep track to liven up the trailer that particular piece of music is nowhere to be found within the actual film. Hopefully Fung makes some better music choices for the other two installments.

The film assembles an interesting mix of well-known actors and trained athletes to bring the story to life. Between names like Tony Leung Ka Fai and Angelababy in the bigger parts and Andrew Lau and Shu Qi in quick cameos, Fung still finds plenty of room to cast some true medal-winning martial artists. The lead role is reserved for Yuan Xiaochao, a 2008 champion who may lack acting experience, but more than makes up for that whenever things get rough. It's a fun and varied cast that isn't set out to win any acting prizes, but goes through great lengths to make it an enjoyable ride.

Tai Chi Zero is not high art, its intentions are purely focused on providing top-notch entertainment and that's what the film does best. It's been a while since I watched such an entertaining big budget production, which makes Fung's accomplishment all the more praise-worthy. The ending is satisfactory too, while teasing heavily for the upcoming sequel. It's a type of excitement that I haven't felt in a long, long time.

The release schedule, the economic running time, the use of superb athletes, the visual imagination and the overall first-grade production values make Tai Chi Zero one of the more entertaining films of 2012. Fung goes to great lengths to reinvent the 90s martial arts cinema and hits the sweet spot. I'm already pretty excited to watch the second intallment of the series, hopefully Fung can keep the momentum going. If he could only improve the soundtrack a little, this could turn out to be a landmark production.

Most Japanese comedies tend to be either extremely over the top (Milocrorze, Donju) or extremely dry and deadpan (Kofuku no Kane). Sutekina Kanashibari (also known as Once In A Blue Moon or A Ghost Of A Chance) aims for a more balanced combination of these two stretches and somehow gets away with it. The result is a witty, sparkling, amusing and at times slightly disturbing film that charms like there's no tomorrow.

After watching Miike's Ace Attorney earlier, Sutekina Kanashibari marks the second oddball court comedy I've seen this year. Even though both film have quite a lot in common, Mitani doesn't share Miike's anime/manga aesthetics and chases a different kind of funny. While still extremely rooted in Japanese culture, the comedy here is a lot warmer and aims to charm rather than go full-force for freaking people out.

Sutekina Kanashibari is characterized by a unique "laissez-faire" style of humor. All said and done there is plenty of weird stuff happening throughout the film, but somehow the characters are quick to accept these oddities, acting either mildly amused or severely interested in whatever they are told to believe. Because of that, it's much easier to go along with the weird story twists, which makes for a very different experience compared to other Japanese comedies.

The film follows the adventures of Emi Hosho, a failed lawyer who is just given her very last chance to prove her worth. It's a tricky case she's handling though, as the defendant's only alibi is a wandering ghost who held him hostage on the moment of his wife's murder. Realizing the ghost is her only chance of winning the case, Emi drags him along to court. While the judges don't seem to mind the appearance of a ghost as a witness, the plaintiff is eager to do everything in his might to invalidate Emi's case.

While not overly flashy or in your face, Sutekina Kanashibari is a very pleasant film to look at. It's a very colorful and delicately shot film that doesn't really experiment but still manages to one-up its competitors with some fancy camera tricks and smart visual touch-ups. There's even some CG and while not truly remarkable, these scenes are not just some cheaply tagged on computer animation inserts either.

The soundtrack is cute and often resembles that of classic cartoons. It's a collection of up-tempo, lighthearted music with some funny accents left and right that compliment the comedy moments on screen. It's not a very recognizable or unique score, I can't really imagine listening to it as a standalone piece of music, but within the film it definitely does the job and it enhances the already solid atmosphere, which in the end is all that truly matters.

If there is one stand-out performance in Sutekina Kanashibari it's Toshiyuki Nishida's role as the wandering ghost warrior. He is great as the gullible but slightly mischievous ghost with a golden heart. The rest of the cast is basically there to support him (Eri Fukatsu) or to provide some unrelated comedic relief (Tadanobu Asano). Hiroshi Abe puts in a commendable performance and Dolls fans are sure to recognize Kyoko Fukada in a small but important role. But my favorite character here is without a doubt the judge, who kickstarts most of the stand-out funny moments.

Even though the film lasts a whopping 140 minutes (which is stretching it with the material at hand), the film never drags or wears thin. The comedy remains at a constant level throughout the film, there's no change of tone to allow for a more serious and/or dramatic ending and there are still plenty of quality laughs during the final hour. There may not be too many laugh out loud scenes, but you're sure to spend the majority of the running length with a contented smile on your face, eagerly waiting to see whatever happens next.

The combination of strange plot twists and original turn of events with a warm but deadpan sense of humor is the true winner here. The rest of the film is tailored to maintain this tricky balance and Mitani handles it like a pro. There are no notable dips, no boring subplots or sentimental pressure to take away from the overall charming atmosphere. To be honest, I didn't expect too much when I sat down to watch this film, but it turns out to be one of those films that I would even recommend to people who're not really into Japanese cinema.

This past year I've featured a selection of posts that used data- attributes in order to define javascript behavior on components (more specifically, the behavior of the carousel, flyout and accordion components). Now, with 2012 running on its last legs, I'm going to explain why that might not have been the best idea. It's not that I'm going to renounce data- attributes from here on, it's just that I fear that I've been actively abusing them.

If Hong Kong's early 90's action flicks were dominated by flashy, speed-driven wire-fu, the early 00's introduced a more refined vision on the Chinese martial arts. Every consecutive year a slew of films were announced that promised to be bigger and better than the previous ones, but very few actually succeeded. Until Xiaogang Feng took a stab and raised the bar to a level that none of its peers would ever dream to match. To date, Ye Yan is still the finest film the genre brought forward.

Even though Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon probably deserves most credit for launching this particular sub genre across the world, it wasn't until Yimou Zhang made Hero that I started to take notice. The combination of hyper-stylized action sequences with superbly rich and lush settings was something quite novel at the time and people were obviously loving it. Others jumped onto the bandwagon, but no-one (not even Yimou himself) was quite able to match the success of Hero.

When Feng made Ye Yan (The Banquet/Legend Of The Black Scorpion - depending where you live) international interest had already dwindled, which sadly hampered the global success of the film. But that's not the only thing that stood in the way of garnering wide recognition. A small word of warning is needed when recommending Ye Yan, as it is not a true action film. Many people often refer to the action sequences in this type of film as ballet-like, Ye Yan actually treats them (quite literally) as dances. It makes for some extremely refined fight sequences, but it does take away from the action itself.

Ye Yan is an adaptation of Shakespeare's Hamlet and Ibsen's Ghosts, but since I'm not familiar with either of them I can't really judge how close Feng stayed to the source material. The story is a rather compact and highly theatrical throne room drama, where deceit, betrayal and romance all end up in a accelerating spiral towards a tragic ending. Nothing out of the ordinary I guess, just don't expect anything too epic as the film's amin focus is mostly confined to one single palace and its internal affairs.

The first time I watched Ye Yan the visuals blew me out of my chair. Having watched it again just now, I can safely say that time left the initial wonder intact. There is little CG involved and the little there is only has a very small effect on the film's overall visual look (apart from some CG blood everything looked like old-fashioned wire-fu to me). The film's settings are beautiful beyond description, from the scenery to the interior decorations and the costumes of the actors. The camera work is stylish and controlled, the slow-motion sequences some of the most impressive I've ever seen. There is not a single scene or even shot in the film that doesn't know to wow.

The soundtrack is a bit more traditional in nature, even incorporating some Western influences. But ultimately it goes well with the tragedy happening on screen. It gives the scenes a certain weight and accentuates the tragic moments without overstating them. There is plenty of melodrama present and getting that across with the right amount of pathos can be a little tricky at times, but Feng steers the soundtrack pretty well, avoiding some nasty pitfalls in the process and even scoring a few points along the way.

As for the actors, Daniel Wu (the main character) is probably the weakest link. He isn't even half-bad though, it's just that the rest of the cast easily outclasses him. Ge You is superb as the back-stabbing brother-in-law/emperor, Ziyi Zhang and Xun Zhou take proper care of the two female leads. This trio of actors is ideal to take on the more dramatic scenes in the film. There is also an extra saving grace for Wu, which is the fact that in many scenes he is required to act with a mask on, effectively hiding some of his acting imperfections.

Ye Yan arguably contains some of my favorite fighting sequences, but comparing them to more steroid-driven action sequences is pretty much impossible. There's no way that you can put Tony Jaa's work next to Woo-ping Yuen's ultra-stylized fight-dances and pick a winner. Ye Yan does offer some of the most gorgeously shot wire-fu sequences in the history of martial arts cinema though and compared to its direct peers I can't see any film that would hope to match Feng's masterpiece.

If you can stomach the classic tragedy that houses in the film's story, a world of unmatched cinematographic beauty opens itself and provides one of the most stunningly beautiful action films ever released. Just don't sit down hoping to be dazzled by a continuous stream of fighting sequences, there is quite a lot of dialogue here and a strong focus on the dramatic events that drive the four main characters. That said, Ye Yan is by far my favorite of all the wuxia films out there, even leaving Yimou's Hero to gravel in the dust.

The front-end development scene is more or less divided into two different teams of people. Those who build, experiment and hack their way around the web and those who make it their job to try and standardize everything by having a good, solid year of contemplating the pros and cons of a certain idea. It's a rather precarious balance that seems to work despite what common sense would tell you, but when these two worlds collide you can be sure the result isn't pretty. Let's talk media queries.

Daisuke Tengan's Sekai De Ichiban Utsukushi Yoru (The Most Beautiful Night In The World) is one of those typical Japan-only films. A certain breed of absurd comedy and down-to-earth drama that no other country seems to be able to produce. It's a rather lengthy film that demands a little effort from its audience, but Tengan keeps a tight grip on the script and does everything in his power to make it worth your while.

Even though Daisuke Tengan isn't too famous a director, he's quite notorious for writing a couple of well-known screenplays. He penned 13 Assassins, Audition and Imprint for Takashi Miike and wrote the screenplay for Shohei Imamura's The Eel and Dr Akagi. Tengan doesn't shun the absurd and as a director he is able to fully explore the weirdness in his writing. It may not be as all-out insane as Miike's most infamous films, but be sure to run into some very odd twists and turns along the way.

Tengan's Sekai reminded me a little of Nakashima's Memories Of Matsuko. On the surface you'll find a bright and fun film, but underlying all the joy is an unmistakable undercurrent of darkness. When all is said and done Sekai is a true comedy though, only using the darker segments as a diversion rather than the other way around. The finale in particular is one of the most effective feel-good moments I've encountered in a long, long time.

The film starts with the arrival of Kazuya in Kaname, a rather backwards and rural village in Japan. Kazuya was forced to join the local Kaname newspaper, which functions as a refuge for journalists who fucked up their career in Tokyo. Bored out of his wits, Kazuya starts wandering around town in the hope that there is something interesting to report about. It doesn't take him long to realize that this village has its own share of secrets, but uncovering them is a lot harder than he expected.

The mix of playful, absurd comedy and drama is perfectly reflected in the film's visual style. There are several sequences setting the actors to collage-like animated backgrounds, mostly to reveal some background story or just helping out with parts that would've been pretty difficult to film in real life. It's a pretty smart way to avoid sketchy CG while at the same time giving the film its own unique identity. The dramatic sequences are more traditional, sporting solid camera work and slightly murkier colors.

The soundtrack is a collection of up-beat and fun background tracks mixed with local folk, at times vaguely reminiscent of a typical Wes Anderson soundtrack. It's not a truly great or memorable selection of tracks, but it does help to give the film it's own particular atmosphere while further strengthening that typical backwards town feeling. The soundtrack doesn't make a lasting impression, but it does work very well within the confines of the film.

Taking up the lead role is Tomorow Taguchi (of Tetsuo fame). One of Japan's most under-appreciated actors, he has a keen eye for interesting films (with notable appearances in Hiroki Ryuichi's films like M, It's Only Talk and Keibetsu) and has been working hard on his career these past couple of years. The secondary roles are equally capable, with Tsukifune and Ryo Ishibashi in strong supporting roles and Yoshiyuki Morishita in another great cameo. All in all a very strong cast that knows how to work around the weirdness while building up a set of earnest, believable characters.

Tengan's Sekai is the kind of film that throws the notion of suspension of disbelieve completely out of the window.By deemphasizing the weirdness Tengan creates a very unique and wonderful universe without losing too much time trying to explain everything. When halfway through the film Kazuya turns into a snake it is simply announced by a short voice over monologue. From that point on the film just seems to accept this weird turn of events and the audience is asked to do the same.

Even though the film isn't overly erotic, do take note that sexuality is the film's core theme and it goes together with a rather surprising amount of nudity. Never in a very erotic setting, but this is definitely nsfw material, even when the film in its entirety plays like a sweet, subtle and feel-good piece of comedy. It's nothing to worry about really, unless you're a prude who doesn't take this kind of nudity very well.

Tengan's Sekia is a little gem. While at first the different segments of the film may appear to be a bit detached, the second half of the film does an excellent job of bringing everything together into an amazingly feel-good finale. Don't expect to make sense of everything happening in the film, just accept Tengan's universe as it passes you by and enjoy the wonders that stem from it. With 160 minutes it's a pretty long film, but the investment is more than worth it.

After what seems like an entire decade, Katsuhito Ishii resurfaces with Smuggler, his latest feature length film based on the popular manga going by the same name. Gone is the lighter, melancholic tone of Ishii's hit films, instead he reaches back to his earlier films, mixing and matching a series of freaky characters into a dark crime setting. The result is every bit as fun and outlandish as his earlier work, proving Ishii hasn't lost his touch over the years.

Most people first ran into the work of Katsuhito Ishii when they heard of Cha No Aji, toss My Darling Of The Mountains into the mix and it's no surprise that Ishii's latest caused quite a few raised eyebrows amongst unsuspecting festival attendants. But if you've seen Ishii's Shark Skin Man & Peach Hip Girl or Party 7 you won't really fall off your chair when watching Smuggler, though I must admit that this is probably the darkest film he's made so far.

Gone is the explicit humor (safe a few stand-out moments), but there is still plenty to smirk about (the insane cast of characters makes sure of that). Instead the film focuses a lot more on the darker parts of the story. There are some pretty cool and stylish action sequences, combined with a little gore and torture. Not enough for gore hounds to satisfy their urges, but sensitive viewers have been complaining left and right about a couple of explicitly gruesome scenes.

The film is split in four distinct sequences. First we get to know Ryosuke, a leech who has no aspirations to make something out of his life. He gets suckered by a Chinese gang and ends up with a 3 million yen debt. To pay off his debt he becomes a "mover of goods" (no questions asked). The second part introduces two Chinese killers who are being set up by their gang boss. Several different stories intertwine, intrigue rears its ugly head ... you should know the drill by now.

Visually everything looks mighty slick. The film appears to wear a dark veil that mutes all colors, even during the day scenes. It adds plenty to the ominous atmosphere running throughout the film. Other definite highlights are the action sequences that make great use of slow-motion trickery, the action choreography is also spot on. Sharply edited and beautifully shot, Smuggler may well be Ishii's best-looking film to date.

The soundtrack is probably the weakest part of the film. A simple selection of background tracks that does little to spark a real interest. It's okay in the sense that as long as you don't pay too much attention to it, it does the job fairly well. But once you start to notice the flat tunes and arrangements you can't help but wonder why Ishii didn't put a bit more effort into the soundtrack. It would've given Smuggler that extra bit of polish.

The cast on the other hand is truly sublime. Masatoshi Nagase is always a pleasure to behold (he does look surprisingly old in this film), though I believe it's Masanobu Ando that makes the biggest impression as Vertebrae, one of the Chinese killers. Littered with tattoos and scars and sporting an ash-white hairdo, his actual presence is as impressive as his performance. There are quite a few notable cameos too. Ren Osugi and Susumu Terajima make a great surprise appearance, Ishii favorite Tatsuya Gashuin (the one with the eyebrows) takes on a slighter bigger part (though he's a bit difficult to recognize apart from his distinctive voice).

Smuggler is an extremely entertaining slice of dark entertainment. Littered with weird and freaky characters, the four chapters play out well and make for an interesting finale. There are no deeper motives, no hidden themes or overarching analogies though, Ishii fully commits himself to the entertainment value and that's actually a plus here. No muddled attempts at anything bigger or more, just two hours of old-fashioned fun.

Most Katsuhito Ishii films will feel right at home when watching Smuggler, those who only know Ishii's lighter work and consider Bambi to be borderline acceptable for a Disney film should take note that Smuggler is quite a bit darker than his other films. Still, the fun factor of Smuggler remains incredibly high and coupled with the tight finish of the film it belongs right up there with the best of Ishii's work. A testament that there is still some life left in Japanese cinema.

The biggest, most heated, debate-sparking topic of 2012? The clash of web vs app, no doubt. Many articles and blog posts before me have talked about the epic battle between the web and it's fat client opponent. Facebook hailed the app approach, others have dissected and diffused every complaint Facebook made. It wasn't until I read Christian Heilmann's latest article on web standards that I started to worry though.

Even though Takashi Miike (46 Okunen No Koi, Zebraman 2, Crows Zero 2, Crows Zero, Sun Scarred) is going through a more kid-friendly phase of his career (Nintama Rantaro, Ace Attorney), he is still fondly remember for the wacky and crazy stuff (Visitor Q) he made 10-15 years ago. Gozu is a genuine relic of that particular time and without a doubt one of the highlights of that period. Even by modern standards some scenes are still jaw-droppingly insane.

Even though Gozu was also dubbed Yakuza Horror Theater, it's not that simple to categorize the film (then again, that goes probably for most of Miike's films) as a straight-up horror flick. Gozu does have its fair share of tense and freaky moments, but underlying the horror is a constant stream of absurd humor. Gozu never cashes in on gore, creeps or scares, instead it uses its dark and outlandish setting to draw some awkward and stunned laughs from its audience.

The challenge of Gozu is to appreciate its two distinct sides. There are some genuinely funny, dry and understated scenes littered throughout the film, but they tend to be overshadowed by the bat-shit crazy moments that Miike flaunts so generously in order to brighten up the film. By comparison the rest of the scenes may appear to be a little dull, but that's just by contrast. If you look a little closer you'll find that the in-between scenes have their one unique flair and contain plenty of laughs too.

The film starts off when low-ranking yazuka Minami is ordered to kill his own boss, Ozaki. Ozaki has lost his mind and he's become a liability to the entire clan, so Minami and Ozaki are sent on a trip to a remote village where Minami is supposed to take care of the killing. While Minaki is reluctant to follow up his orders, he is helped by faith when Ozaki suddenly dies beyond Minami's own control. But then Ozaki's body disappears and the people of the village turn out to be a real freak show, unable to help him locate Ozaki's remains.

Visually it's typical oldskool Miike, although there aren't too many ultra-budget effects on display here. The image quality is quite grainy, but the desolate and detailed settings do provide some surprisingly atmospheric visuals. The warm red and brown colors that run throughout the film help to further establish the dark and intense atmosphere. Not everything is up to par, some scenes do look a little pale in comparison to others, but overall Gozu is a visually pleasing film.

The soundtrack too has its moments. From the eerie jazzy interludes to the Gozu theme song, Miike has a few interesting musical tricks up his sleeve. As a whole the soundtrack may lack some coherence and it it does come across as quite fragmented, but within individual scenes it proves itself to be an asset to the overall atmosphere of the film.

Sone takes up the lead role as Minami, but when all is said and done this is really Sho Aikawa's film. He really owns his Ozaki character, bringing a surprising likability to an otherwise weird and insane character. Aikawa is a great actor, one of Japan's underestimates gems if you ask me, and he truly thrives when featured in a Miike film. The films also features some very good performances of Keiko Tomita and Renji Ishibashi in secondary roles and a nice cameo of Ken'ichi Endo, making for a fun and varied cast that is not afraid to get a little freaky.

As good as the film is in its entirety, Gozu will always be remember for a couple of glorious, stand-alone "wtf" moments. The film opens with the by now infamous yakuza killer dog scene and goes on to surprise and revolt with the human milk farm, the yakuza skin collection, the worst death scene ever and the cow scene. But it all pales in comparison to one of the most epic endings ever filmed, five minutes of pure Miike genius that couldn't have made a better finale. A scene that Miike even knows to surpass with what is probably the oddest, driest ending quote ever.

Even though these scenes tend to pull all the attention towards them, there is still plenty to enjoy in between. Miike's sense of dry and absurd humor is impeccable throughout the film, Minami's trip is as weird, awkward and disturbing as they come and Aikawa puts in one of the best performances of his life. Just don't expect a typical horror/mystery flick (despite many claims of Lynch-like scenes), Gozu is a superb comedy meant for people who like their slice of cinema a little different.

For years I've been complaining that, as an industry, we don't spend enough of our time working on best practices. The front-end mentality is one that puts quick fixes and ease of implementation above a solid underlying structure. So you'd think I'd be pretty excited to see a lot of best practice post popping up lately, sadly the reality is a bit more complex. Many of these posts are misleading at best, most of the time they are just hurtful and diminishing to the efforts we have made the past ten years.

Watching your absolute favorite film is never a really comfortable experience. There's always that lingering fear that time may have taken away from the initial experience you loved so much. You watch the film knowing it can't really get any better and a status quo is truly the best you can hope for. So you can imagine it was quite a relief when I discovered Mamoru Oshii's Avalon had lost none of its former glory, it is still by far my favorite film ever made.

When Avalon was first released it was widely believed to be Mamoru Oshii (Kokaku Kidotai, Innocence, Patlabor 2, Sky Crawlers, Tachiguishi Retsuden, Tenshi no Tamago) his first live action film. Back then Talking Head, Jigoku no Banken and Akai Megane were virtually unknown in the West, then again the mastership that Oshii put on display here could hardly be a first-timer's attempt. Oshii learned a lot from his earlier trio of live action films, knowledge he put to good use when finally settling down to make Avalon.

Back in the day every other reviewer compared this film to The Matrix. Ten years later the connection seems incredibly fickle, but back then the fake reality theme was so ever-present (and inevitably linked to that green cyberbeast) that it seemed to make sense for some people. If anything, it attracted an audience that entered the film with some very distorted expectations. While there are some similarities between both film, the lack of action, dialogue and rapid plot progression puts Avalon in arthouse territory rather than making it a loud blockbuster rival.

The film follows Ash, a lone gamer making her way through Avalon. The game is her escape from a grim reality where only her dog gives her some kind of comfort. While most gamers are tackling Avalon as a team, Ash is a lone ranger that takes help from no one. Until she runs into a bishop player, who slowly starts feeding her information about a Special Class hidden deep inside the game. The only way to get there is by killing a ghost, and for that you need a bishop in your party.

Oshii is an animator by nature, which becomes very clear when you see the amount of detail and (maybe even more telling) the amount of control that went into sculpting the film's visuals. Most of the film is dominated by washed-out, sepia colors, but it's not just some simple filter superposed on the original shots. Oshii locked himself up with his film to get every color variation just right. If you compare the shots of several scenes you'll start to notice the difference in color effects, something that further highlights the film's attention to detail.

Apart from the sepia look the camera work is also painstakingly accurate. There are some very nifty and complex shots in here, but everything is tailored to perfection. The film relies heavily on special effects and while that may be a problem as the film ages, most of them have enough artistic merit to avoid the kitschy pitfall that most similar films fall into as time passes by. The sepia filters also help, as the monochrome look effectively hides lesser textures. Even by modern standards, Avalon looks absolutely stunning,

Leaving nothing to chance, Oshii employed Kenji Kawai once more to make a fitting soundtrack. It's difficult picking a favorite Kawai/Oshii collaboration but I think it's safe to say that the Avalon score is one of Kawai's masterpieces. A unique combination of opera and ambient that lingers long after the credits have faded from view. Oshii was clearly aware of this and even dedicated a full sequence to the main theme. There is no film out there that does a better job combining audio and visuals to create such an intense and mesmerizing experience.

The acting is a different story though. Oshii worked with an all-Polish cast (as the film was shot in Poland) and there's clearly a cultural gap there. Malgorzata Foremniak does a good enough job, though she is somewhat helped by her uncanny resemblance to Matoko Kusanagi (the wig helps of course). The Bishop and some of the secondary cast aren't too bad either, but the two guys playing Stunner and Murphy are in dire need of some acting lessons. It's not something that bothered me a lot, but I'd be lying if I said they were doing just fine.

Do make sure you watch the film in its original dub though. The Polish language works a lot better with the film's setting. Even though it's kinda nifty to recognize the voice actors for Batou and Togusa in the Japanese dub, it doesn't feel as authentic as the original dub.

Avalon is a film that questions the need for an answer on some of life's most lingering and unanswerable questions. To do that it makes a pretty big u-turn right before the grand finale. It's a very daring decision that works well within the story and concept of the film, but it does force you out of the trance that the first hour built up so delicately. After multiple viewings I'm still not sure whether I would've preferred the ending to be different, but I do know that I'm quite pleased with how it turned out in the final version of the film.

Avalon also features my all-time favorite scene, though it's a bit hard to explain exactly why it's such a stand-out moment. It's the scene when Ash makes dinner for her dog, only to find that suddenly the animal is gone. While it sounds like simple filler, it's one of the only moments in the film when some color seeps through the sepia layers, underlining Ash's feelings for the one creature in the world she cares about. Add the superb score of Kawai and what you have is a very warm and emotional scene that resonates through the rest of the film.

Avalon is a single series of impressive scenes. There's no dip or boring moment to be found anywhere in the film, while enjoying one scene I'm already looking forward to the next, and the next, and the one after that ... It's the ultimate live action film made by an animator, a director who understand the power of an all-enveloping atmosphere. It's a modern arthouse classic, a film with plenty of geek-affirming material but presented in a much more stylish and classy way than usually the case. It's not entirely without faults, but it's as close to perfection as anyone has ever come. My absolute favorite.

Back in the day Takeshi Kitano (Takeshis', Achilles To Kame, Kantoku: Banzai!) was almost exclusively known for his Yakuza films (think Hana-bi) in the West. He tried to break with that image when he released Kikujiro No Natsu but apparently the shift wasn't near brutal enough to convince his fans. So Kitano pushed a little further and came up with Dolls, which then turned out to be my undisputed favorite film in Kitano's oeuvre.

Dolls wasn't just a reaction aimed at the people who were wondering if Kitano could do anything else than directing Yakuza films though. Critics had also been asking aloud whether Kitano would ever be able to direct a more colorful film in terms of actual color palette. I guess he showed them with Dolls, which even by today's standards is still one of the most stunningly colorful films I've ever come across. Between the use of the most colorful bits of the Japanese landscape and hiring Yohji Yamamoto to do the costumes, Kitano went all the way with his colorful tragedy.

The film is set around three different stories that intersect occasionally but never really come together. For better or for worse, these three stories play like three short stories, though they all share a common theme. Each short tells a tragic love story. There's the Yakuza boss that discovers his first girlfriend has been showing up in the park they used to meet to share lunch with him and there's the story of the pop idol fan who mutilates himself to join the pain of his idol.

But the central piece of this film is without a doubt the story of the bound beggars. After Matsumoto ditched Sawako to marry his boss's daughter, he repents right before walking up to the altar and sets off to find Sawako. He finds out that a failed suicide attempt left her an empty shell, but Matsumoto is determined to save his relationship with Sawako and the both of them set out to mend their broken hearts.

When Kitano said he was going to make a colorful film he really wasn't kidding. Colors fly off the screen, following the patterns of the four seasons. From the beautiful sakura-filled orchards in spring to the multicolored tree leafs in autumn, each season brings a wealth of magnificent shots. The scenery plays a vital part in this film, but Kitano's editing and keen eye are just as crucial to Dolls' overwhelming beauty. The only point of critique I found with this latest viewing is that some camera movements appear to be a little over-constructed, but that's really a minor irk considering the abundance of landmark shots in here.

The soundtrack too is of exceptional beauty. Once again it is scored by Joe Hisaishi (like so many early Kitano films) and it's without a doubt the best score he ever made. Hisaishi only needs a couple of notes to create such an overpowering and inviting atmosphere that it's almost impossible to not give in to all the beauty that's laid before you. The score works miracles with the images, combining into a perfect foundation for the tragic love stories.

Can't really fault the acting either. Kitano himself doesn't appear in front of the camera this time around (he even left many of his regulars out), but with stellar performances of Nishijima, Mihashi and Miho Kanno he isn't really missed. Nishijima and Kanno in particular are perfect in their roles. Without any dialogue they make the most of their story, relying solely on body language to get their emotions across. If you're not a fan of the faux-stoic style of Japanese acting you might miss out though.

Dolls is a near-perfect emotional trip combined with near-perfect styling. Apart from all the trickery and foolery though, the film has a warm heart that surfaces in many of its key scenes. Especially the ones with Kanno and Nishijima, many which instantly became a part of my ready-to-be-quoted collection. The scene with the pink toy is otherworldly, so is the one with the wind toys, but it's the moment when Kanno finally remembers (shifting her facial expression from blank to happy to sad) that gets to me every time. One of the most beautiful scenes ever put on film.

Dolls isn't so much about the actual plot lines, it's about the tragedy that stems from them. This tragedy is wrapped in a very stylish and atmospheric cocoon that allows the audience to let themselves be swamped by that sadness, without letting go off the beauty that surrounds it. It's not a very depressing film, even though there are definitely some heart-breaking scenes. Dolls is clearly a film that Kitano needed to make in order to proceed as a director. For me it's the best thing he ever did, which puts it right up there with my favorite films ever. A definite must-see.

If the name Little Fish, Strange Pond doesn't ring a bell, it may be because you've crossed the film in stores as Frenemy, its more commonly used alternative title. Gregory Dark's dark comedy is generally available but it's not a film for the masses. Raw, unfocused and bitter, it's a comedy that thrives on wry smiles and surprise rather than lame jokes and running gags. The result is a refreshing mix of dark and absurd humor and one of the best American comedies I've come across.

Little Fish, Strange Pond has some of the most deceptive marketing tools I've ever come across. Its new title (Frenemy) coupled with the Zach Galifianakis dominated cover say it all really. When I came across it in stores I expected a pretty typical (Hangover-like) comedy headed by the hairy man. It turns out that Galifianakis is only 10 minutes in there, the real focus lies on the two little guys in the background and isn't nearly as SFW as your average American comedy. Then again, considering the difficult time you'd have trying to market a film like this, why not shamelessly sucker the masses into buying it by making the film look a lot friendlier than it really is?

Instead of some silly Galifianakis antics, the film is all about Sweet Stephen and Mr Jack. Sweet Stephen is the younger of the two and looks at Mr Jack as his mentor in life. Mr Jack likes to speak in accents and is the one with all the answers. Two weird characters who love to lose themselves in Tarantino-like dialogues, though with a bit more depth to them. They talk life, death, chance, faith and other such puzzling topics.

The beginning of the film goes literally nowhere. Between the conversations you get some unrelated scenes featuring a TV-show host and a police guy. There is no real plot, no obvious hook to pull you in. The film goes scene by scene and relies on the individual scenes to keep you occupied. It works as long as you trust the film to take you to a place where everything comes together. It turns out you have to wait a good hour to get anywhere close to that, so be warned.

Even though the film is built around the dialogues, Dark makes sure Little Fish, Strange Pond remains visually challenging. There are some very cool tracking shots, an impressive 360, some nice filter trickery and a couple of scenes that make good use of lighting to create a dense and uncomfortable atmosphere. It's not a film you watch for the visuals, but if you pay close attention you'll see that there is actually quite a lot to enjoy.

The soundtrack on the other hand is extremely forgettable. Even a single day after watching this film I have forgotten all about the music that was featured here. It's probably not such a bad thing either, considering the way the film really focuses on dialogues and wouldn't really benefit from an overbearing score to muffle the things that are being said. Then again, it couldn't have been that difficult to find a couple of tracks to enforce the atmosphere without detracting too much from the rest.

If you are watching this film because you are a Galifianakis fan, be aware that he only appears for about 10 minutes in the beginning of the film. After that you won't see him again. I didn't really mind because Modine and Blue are the real stars of this film and carry it with flair. While they have strong dialogues to work with, their timing and presence are impeccable and they both bring a lot of extra energy to the film.

All things considered, Little Fish, Strange Pond is a pretty grim and dreary film. There is plenty to laugh at, ranging from juvenile to more clever and witty humor, but the film has a way of spinning the mood around whenever it becomes too comfortable. One moment you're watching a pretty uplifting conversation between Jack and Stephen lying in bed, the next your looking at a female corpse spread out on the floor.

Do not expect to watch an everyday comedy when you sit down for this one, because I assure you, you will be disappointed. Instead try to get acquainted with the two main characters and let yourself be swept away by their demented view on reality. The film can be crass and grim at times, but at least it never backs down from what it aims to be. This American no-concessions comedy deserves a little more praise then it's been getting, so don't miss it when you get the chance.

A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to catch Christoffer Boe's new film Beast, right before it's big iTunes release. Things got even better when I had the chance to ask Mr Boe a couple of questions about his latest film, making this my first proper and official interview ever! So if you want to hear the man talk about horror, film music and why thinking Bond is gay is not such a bad thing after all ... do read on.

Niels Matthijs: I noticed that your films used to have it easier finding international distribution. Offscreen was only just released here in Belgium, where Reconstruction and Allegro had more timely releases. No word about Everything Will Be Fine so far and I'm not sure we'll ever see Spies & Glistrup in stores here. Are services like iTunes helping smaller films to reach bigger audiences once again or is it still difficult to get your films out there?

Christoffer Boe: I think everybody in the Art Cinema sphere of movie making hopes that the new online services will help reconnect the movies with an audience! But I think it's a little too early to say if it's just dream wishes or if this reconfiguring of the structure of distribution will actually change something significantly. So status right now is that making Art House movies is not the most profitable business. And while we all know that money isn't everything - the �no-money� situation is unfortunately a very direct reflection of the fact that nobody watches the movies. And THAT is not a very desirable situation. Even for an Art House director.

With Beast you seem to take a similar approach as with Reconstruction and Allegro. A very classical drama at the core, enriched by secondary and more modern genre influences. Is this an approach you take knowingly or does it come naturally to you?

Can it be both? It reflects a style of storytelling that I like and that I've spent sometime - too much time - thinking about. But on the other hand it also comes very naturally to me - so my movies come out this way unless I very consciously try NOT to make them do so. Basically I love genres and how they shape, evolve and transform cinema into something very precise. But I also think it's important to have a very personal relationship with genres and conventions. You need to define your own way into the forest of movie making. You could call my credo: Conservative Anarchism.

After watching Beast the prospect of marriage might not seem all that appealing to people. Still you say the film also shows a positive side of marriage. Can you elaborate on that because apart from the beginning I have some trouble seeing what you mean with "positive"?

Bruno will go the extreme to hold on to his wife. He loves her - maybe more than life itself. There seems to be almost nothing he won't do to keep her. If that's not love then what is? Sure - most of us wouldn't want to be in that kind of relationship. But that's not really the goal of this movie - nor should it be of any movie: so be a guidebook to a happy relationship. What I wanted was to look at the mechanism - the love, obsession, hatred and jealousy - of a relationship and but under close examination. And in the end I think its positive because marriage is such a strong bond between people - it's really the place where the most extreme emotions can evolve. Marriage is like the rainforest for emotions. It's the place where the most extreme things evolve because the forces are so strong.

I saw a video where you gave new filmmakers the advice to watch lots of films and use them as an influence in their own work. I'm wondering if there are any films that directly influenced Beast?

There were a few masterworks we all watched - just too make sure we would fail: Possession (Zulawski), Rosemary�s Baby (Polanski), The Girlfriend Experience (Soderbergh)

Seeing as Beast borrows from the horror genre, do you have favorite horror films or are you just interested in some particular elements the genre has to offer?

I love how different genres tap into different aspects of existence. To me Horror is all about body identity, the fear of the self, and the abyss of one's own imagination/psyche/dreams. In other words: the perfect setting to look into the hidden realities of relationship between man & wife.

Beast is the fifth time you cooperated with Nicolas Bro (not counting your latest), you've worked with Nikolaj Lie Kaas and Marijana Jankovic before too. Can it be difficult for newcomers to feel at home when they join your crew, seeing you already have a strong bond with other members?

Maybe. But we're pretty friendly towards new comers so it hasn't been a problem yet. Seriously: I work with people I respect and that keep pushing themselves and myself to keep looking further. For this movie I worked with a very young film crew whom I had never worked with before and they were all extremely passionate and skilled at what they did.

The soundtrack always feels like a very important part of your films. I remember a particular scene in Beast where the music suddenly cuts from more classical pieces to darker ambient drones. How do you usually choose the music you want for a particular scene?

I have worked with Morten Green (sound designer) since film school - and he is really a master at mixing music and sound design in order to create a very specific filmic atmosphere. I was also lucky enough to work with Sylvain Chauveau again and we share a great love for Georges Delerue and we wanted to create something thick and emotional. So it's really a question of the 3 of us trying to push the movie somewhere where it feels right.

Do you feel that most other directors underestimate the part music plays in a film? I always get the impression that many directors see a soundtrack as a necessary evil rather than an opportunity to improve their films.

I really don't know. But the ones that really know how to use music stick out: Godard, Paul Thomas Anderson, and Kubrick. They have a wonderful personal, idiosyncratic and distinct way of using music that makes their movies stand apart even more.

The films I've seen from you are not all that straightforward. There's always a layer of symbolism in there and Beast is no different. When you incorporate these symbols, do you think them through thoroughly (as in: is there a logical/direct explanation for each symbol in your film) or is it more emotional and are these symbols just things that you think "feel right" without the need for a direct explanation?

This could turn into a very long explanation - so I will state this very shortly: I think its a great shame that modern cinema is so focused on "meaning" - which is really not meaning at all but just comprehensibility. Images are not always directly comprehensible - but that doesn't mean they don't have meaning. You have to let the images in - have to wait - have to work for it. Not to say that it's a goal to make incomprehensible movies - any idiot can do that. What it means is this: movies can be made in such a way that the texture of the image, the feeling of the sound and the look of an eye actually carries meaning - without in any straight forward way being comprehensible. But when done right these elements will work with the movie - and evolve with the movie as you as a spectator watches it with different assumptions. Good movies are not the same for all people. They are great movies in many different ways - depending on how you view them.
This does NOT imply that Beast is a great movie - but that I wanted to make one last movie within a tradition of movie making where the image & the feeling were more important than comprehensibility.

These days you can't even make a new Bond film without people thinking they saw something that hints at Bond being gay. How do you handle far-fetched theories people have about your films. Do you welcome them, do you find them amusing or do you think people should spend their time on more constructive things in life?

I love them. Bring 'em on. Theories reconnect us with movies because they make us look at things in new ways - often even if they are blatantly wrong.

If you ever consider sitting down to watch Gus Van Sant's Gerry, make sure you pick the right time. Gerry is cinematic minimalism in its purest form, trading a (comprehensible) plot and character development for experience and atmosphere. The result is captivating and impressive, but if Van Sant's vision misses target it could just as well turn out to be one of the most boring film experiences you've ever had in your life.

After 2000 Gus Van Sant set out to reinvent himself. Before he directed Gerry, Van Sant evolved from indie to Hollywood over the course of six films, culminating in the much-lauded and rather pleasant Good Will Hunting. With Gerry he went back to the days of Mala Noche, ditching the restrictions of popular cinema and starting a series of films that would hold the power to greatly divide audiences, but at least could claim purity and a non-compromised vision.

Gerry was the first (and best) of that series. Van Sant stripped the film of everything that could distract viewers from the core experience, leaving only the bare necessities to create one of the most mesmerizing cinematic experiences out there. While open to many interpretations, the film features little else than two dudes walking. They're both called Gerry and they are on their way to "a thing". There's your story.

Along the way they stray from the beaten path, getting themselves lost in a wild and barren wilderness. The more they try to escape from their predicament, the further they distance themselves from civilization, having only each other to depend upon. Without food and water they soon start to hallucinate and with no help in sight, their fate is pretty much set in stone. Then again, nothing is what it seems in this film.

Van Sant leans heavily on the visuals to create his cinematic trip. The film consists of a series of long takes, alternated by time lapses of the scenery. It's not just a technical experiment though, Van Sant is also out to capture particular moments in time. The most beautiful scene of the film finds our two main characters walking sluggishly in the dark, five minutes later the sun has risen to reveal yet another lifeless horizon. While a little dated when it comes to lighting and coloring, Gerry remains a visual feast.

The soundtrack is mostly absent, apart from two stunning Arvo Part tracks. The slow, sedated pace of the music really fits the film's atmosphere, further fueling the trance-like feeling that Van Sant strives for. The only problem with Arvo Part is that it's quite popular film music (Spiegel Im Spiegel was also used in This Must Be The Place, among others), so even though the music really works well within the film, it never feels like it's truly a part of Gerry.

It's pretty rare for a film like this to land a real big actor like Matt Damon, then again Van Sant worked with Damon on Good Will Hunting which no doubt helped to convince him to do this project. The other Gerry is played by Casey Affleck (Ben's little brother) who does a pretty commendable job keeping up with Damon. They form a pretty interesting duo, freewheeling through the improvised dialogues as they go along. As for secondary actors, there are literary none.

Gerry is a pretty fragmented journey. It's a selection of stand-alone scenes, sometimes defined by technical trickery (like the awesome 360), sometimes by references (Van Sant's nod to Bela Tarr's bobbing heads) and sometimes by the capturing of unique moments (like the sunrise). It's the ever degenerating state of the two Gerry characters that binds these scenes together, molding them into a pretty coherent, mesmerizing trip.

It's best to leave all hope of a decent storyline behind when you want to watch this film. Gerry is all about the experience, ignoring the rest and foregoing all compromises. Instead you get a pure and focused journey that, if everything falls into place, puts you in a very pleasant and meandering trance. The film has visually aged a little ever since its initial release, but apart from that it's still a very unique and worthwhile experiment and the start of Van Sant's most interesting period in his career. It may be a bit hard to recommend, but if you feel up to the task Gerry proves to be one of the purest, minimalistic films out there.

Irréversible is an absolute classic in the making. Even though it received mixed reviews upon its initial release, the importance of the film is taking definite forms and I believe it's fair to say that Gaspar Noé (Enter The Void) made one of the landmark films of the past decade. The best thing is that the film has lost almost none, if any, of its original impact. It's still one of the purest, most stylish and visceral shockers out there and deserves to be watched at least once.

Categorizing Irréversible is a bit tricky. Because of its two most infamous scenes the film is often regarded as a horror film, but it shares very little of the genre's typical elements. Sure there's is one revolting gore scene and the rape scene halfway through is rightfully regarded one of the most shocking moments in cinematic history, but Irréversible is essentially a revenge drama that just happens to repulse beyond the means of most horror films out there. If you go in expecting a typical horror film you're bound to be disappointed.

Another one of the film's selling points is its reverse nature. The film starts with the ending (you'll see the credits of the film running backwards) and scene by scene works its way to the beginning of the story. The concept is not new and is of course reminiscent of Nolan's Memento, but the intended effect is completely different. Where Memento is a simple puzzle, a brain tease, Irréversible uses its reverse structure to mess up the viewer's emotional state, making "the good guys" look bad and giving the supposedly happy end an extremely wry aftertaste.

The film starts when Marcus and Pierre barge into an underground gay club. They rough their way through the bar looking for a guy called The Tapeworm. When they finally catch up with him Pierre flips out and beats the guy's face (literally) to a pulp. From there on each new scene warps back in time, retelling the story of how Marcus and Pierre ended up in the club. While at first Marcus and Pierre appear to be real assholes, the story behind their aggressive assault clears up a lot and slowly but surely we start to identify with them.

Irréersible was shot by the brilliant Benoît Debie (Vinyan, Calvaire). The cinematography is conceptually strong, starting off as a manic flurry of rotating camera movements, slowly evolving and quieting down, eventually halting completely during the key scene of the film. The film is edited in such a way that all the separate scenes (all 8-to-10 minute long-takes) merge into one continuous shot, including some very nifty camera tricks from time to time (like going through windows or tumbling out of buildings).

The soundtrack too is tailored to perfection. The film was scored by Thomas Bangalter, 50% of Daft Punk. The music here is a lot darker than his usual Daft Punk output though, starting off with a track specifically made to make the audience feel nauseous. There is a strong selection of memorable tracks that define the film and the entire score provides a superb baseline for the film's visuals to flourish. Together they present one of the most impressive (yet unrelenting) audiovisual assaults produced in the past decade.

I can't find anything bad to say about the acting either. You may notice that there was a lot of improv and freewheeling when it came to the dialogues, but it ultimately makes for a very real and natural atmosphere. Vincent Cassel and Monica Bellucci are the perfect couple (it probably helped that back then they were a real-life couple too), which goes a long way to help succeed the later scenes in the film. There is something so extraordinary real about their characters that it helps you to forget there is hardly any actual depth given to their characters. Albert Dupontel too is strong and I don't think I've ever seen him in such a daring role before, playing the perfect third wheel.

Noé's Irréversible is no easy film to watch. From the nightmarish descent into the gay club to the excruciating harsh rape scene, there is a constant sense of unapologetic and dry reality that makes it so much nastier than the worst horror film out there. Even when the air clears up during the later scenes, knowing what is about the come (ie the scenes you just watched) will leave a very wry and uncomfortable feeling. Still, Noé shows that he is perfectly capable of shooting beautiful and peaceful moments too. The scene were Cassel and Bellucci wake up is without a doubt one of the most natural and pleasant ones I've ever seen in any film out there.

Look beyond Irréversible's most infamous scenes and you'll find a conceptually perfect film, an audiovisual tour de force that leaves a strong emotional fingerprint on all those watching it. It's not a fun film to watch, but it's so damn powerful that I consider it one of the most impressive films I've ever seen. It's true horror, a film that comes a little too close to reality to be watched as a mere genre film. Gaspar Noé is one of the most interesting directors working in film today and Irréversible should have been his ultimate masterpiece, only I think he outdid himself with Enter The Void. Apart from that, an absolute must see.

In between attempts to fully wrap my head around the far-stretching implications of responsive design, I like to hone my html skills. Leaving all practical worries behind, it's actually nice to dig into something that's fairly straight-forward, looking for ways to improve what we already (think we) know. From time to time this even leads to interesting and surprising observations, shedding new light onto things we thought we understood.

Better brace yourself, because Japan is unleashing another bat crazy comedy upon the unsuspecting masses. Milocrorze fits right in with the likes of Donju or Survive Style 5+ and is sure to appeal to the same crowd that took a liking to these extremely colorful, overly weird and almost random comedies. It may not be up there with the very best the genre has to offer, but it sure is a great way to spend 90 minutes of your time.

Milocrorze equals chaos. The film consists of three almost unrelated stories, but Ishibashi never really bothers to explain the film's structure to the audience. These three stories are basically stand-alone parts within the film, though they have no clear boundary to set them apart. The individual stories are also pretty fragmented, making it even harder to keep track of what the hell is going on. Then again, this film isn't really about dramatic arcs or plot lines, playing more like a collection of themed sketches (think Yaji And Kita).

The first story follows the romantic adventures of Ovreneli Vreneligare (who's name is repeated constantly throughout his segment), a little boy leading a pretty dull and uneventful life. Until one day, when he runs into Milocrorze and immediately falls in love with her. They hook up (even though Milocrorze is an adult) but their relationship isn't made to last. When they part ways again, this segment of the film is put on ice until the very end.

We switch to the tale of Besson Kumagai, a rather rude and pushy hotline clerk who likes to help nerdy boys get the woman they desire. There's some dancing and three individual sketches to keep us amused, until one day Kumagai runs over a group of weirdos trying to kill a samurai. This samurai is Tamon, a timid guy eying a local girl (Yuri) who runs a small flower shop. When Yuri is kidnapped by an evil gang Tamon transforms into a one-eyed samurai and starts his epic trip in order to save her from a famous brothel. Like I said, forget all hopes of a coherent storyline because you'll be left behind empty-handed.

Even though Ishibashi can't entirely hide the film's low-budget roots he goes through great lengths to keep it visually interesting. The result is a film that isn't technically perfect, but shows terrific potential. From the extremely colorful opening scenes to the poppy interludes and some animation-driven effects, there's always something of interest happening on-screen. The piece the resistance is definitely the 300-esque fighting scene inside the brothel taking up a dazzling 6 minutes.

The music is just as eclectic but fails to really engage. While the soundtrack definitely has its moments, it never really cooperates with the images to give the film that little extra. You can't fault Ishibashi for not trying, he really picked an upbeat, fresh and original selection of tracks, but the overall result is simply a bit disappointing. Maybe tighter coupling with the visuals could've helped the soundtrack to flourish, but as it stands now Ishibashi needs to hone his skills in the sound department.

The acting is quite tongue-in-cheek and over-the-top, as you'd expect for a film of this tone and setting. Takayuki Yamada's comic role was somewhat of a surprise but he handles the part with convincing charm. The rest of the cast is similarly amusing and they fit their parts, but it's clearly no award material. Make sure you don't miss the cameo of Seijun Suzuki though, somehow I always cheer up when I see him on screen, no matter how small his role may be.

If anything, Milocrorze is Ishibashi's way to show the world he's a talented man who deserves to work on a bigger budget. Milocrorze is not just some wacky comedy, it's a showreel of Ishibashi's talent disguised as a feature-length film. In Ishibashi's defense, the result is tons of fun and the variety of elements make it stand out from the rest. As long as you don't expect something that makes a whole lot of sense, Milocrorze is one hell of roller coaster.

Milocrorze may not be as polished or technically proficient as Survive Style 5+, Ishibashi's film is way more ambitious than any of its peers. The different visual styles, the attention to detail and the quick succession of gags is sure to entertain if you can let go of the need to watch a coherent film. There simply aren't enough films like this and Ishibashi could very well becomes one of the strongholds of the genre. I'm already looking forward to his next project.

Colombia is not the most telling country when it comes to producing films. Before yesterday I hadn't even seen or heard of a Colombian film, but in light of Halloween Volver A Morir looked like a pretty good choice. And a good choice it was, Urrutia's first turned out to be a very pleasant surprise, mixing horror and mystery into a high-quality mind twister. So don't let the production country scare you out of seeing Volver A Morir, this is no cheesy b-flick.

Volver A Morir is a typical low-budget concept film. A film that originated from the director's mind and was handled by him all the way until the end. Apart from writing and directing the film, Urrutia also holds editing credits and helped with a camera work. That last bit comes as no surprise considering he's a trained cinematographer. Volver A Morir is a typical work of love that only betrays its budgetary restraints by its daring, single-focus approach, something not quite possible when working for larger studios.

If you read up on this film you'll find that people are prone to compare Volver A Morir to Groundhog Day. While the concept is pretty much the same, Groundhog Day is far from the only (not even the first) film to feature a repetition of a particular event or day. Then again, it is probably the most well-known film to have featured this concept, so if you forget everything else about both films I guess the comparison makes sense.

The film starts with Camilla and Dario waking up next to each other. Camilla can't remember anything about arriving at Dario's place and feels slightly ashamed for having shared a bed with an unknown man. She doesn't feel too comfortable around him, but little by little she gives in to the adventure. When the two end up in bed again, Dario starts to flip out and he suddenly kills Camilla. The film rewinds to the point when they both woke up, rebooting the story with only Camilla remembering what had just happened.

Having a cinematographer as a director has some very interesting advantages. For one, you're pretty sure you'll end up with a beautiful-looking film. Volver A Morir certainly delivers. For a film that pretty much plays within the confines of a single house it looks absolutely stunning. The camera work is strong, the editing snappy and precise and the lighting is just perfect. It all helps to build a pretty menacing, claustrophobic atmosphere.

The soundtrack is another definite strong point. Even though pretty repetitive (putting on music - Bach's Air - is one of the first things Dario does when waking up so which each new story loop we are treated to the same song), the way the music is torn apart whenever Dario starts to flip is simply impressive. Bach's Air morphs into a mad, electronic-based derivative that sounds as if it was remixed by a group of asylum inmates. It brings great contrast and greatly enforces the emotional state of the characters.

The acting is quite solid too. The film is carried by Andrea Montenegro and Luis Fernando Bohorquez, beyond them there aren't any other actors of importance. 99% of all the action happens between the two of them so it's quite assuring that they rise above the usual horror fodder. Not an easy task if you consider that for most of the film they are both completely in the nude, definitely not the most comfortable way to act. As for the secondary cast, there simply is none except one guy with two lines of dialog.

For all intents and purposes, Volver A Morir should really be seen as a psychological thriller that borrowed a couple of influences from the horror genre. It's an important distinction because the film is quite slow and repetitive in nature and the changes between each loop can be pretty subtle. This is not a bad thing, but if you go in expecting a true horror flick you're bound to be disappointed by the pacing and lack of climaxes.

Instead the film leans heavily on the learning process, which goes well beyond the simple A/B testing you'd expect from a concept like this. Coupled with the intense atmosphere, strong acting and solid concept you have a captivating film with the wits to avoid any factual explanations of the story. A great first film for Urrutia which is hopefully the start of a successful career as a director.

With two of his films in my all-time top 100, I guess it's no secret that I'm a pretty big Christoffer Boe (Reconstruction, Allegro) fan. Sadly getting a hold of his later films has been a real challenge so far, but with iTunes slowly turning into a solid film platform things might be looking up once again. I was lucky enough to catch Beast, his latest film and it seems that Boe hasn't lost much of his magical touch through the years.

If you think of Reconstruction as Boe's shot at mystery and Allegro as his shot at science fiction, Beast is definitely Boe's take on the horror genre. I wouldn't really call it a true horror film though, as at the very core of Beast still lies a pretty classical drama, but the genre-influences are unmistakably there. There's blood, gore and a selection of menacing ambient tracks to intensify the atmosphere, only they are used to underline the dramatic elements of the film rather than exploit the fear present in the audience.

Beast is really a relationship drama, highlighting the highs and lows of a couple's marriage. At the very beginning of the film Bruno and Maxine meet up, starting off their relationship in high spirits. Since Boe cut out most of the smooth sailings of marriage, the film hops around a lot during the first fifteen minutes or so, focusing mostly on the fights and mishaps that drive Bruno and Maxine apart. Pretty soon Maxine feels that her marriage is leaving her unsatisfied while Bruno is at a loss how to fix the situation.

As an ultimate test, Bruno sets up a meeting in a hotel room between Maxine and Valdemar, a common friend of theirs. Bruno's fears become reality when the two hook up and a vile evil starts to develop inside of him. The more Bruno tries to oppress his feelings, the harder it becomes to control the madness growing inside his body. Maxine too is affected by the changes in Bruno and the two head towards a very rough period in their relationship.

I read somewhere that Beast is a low-budget film, but you'd never think it when looking at the film's exterior. Visually it's up to par with Boe's high standard, showcasing several extremely stylish technical shots (like the stilted snow scenes) and strong, close-up camera work. It's equally obvious that a lot of attention went into the lighting of the scenes, featuring neat coloring tricks and beautiful lens flares. Overall Beast is a visual feast that stands high above the competition.

As always in Boe's films the soundtrack is as much part of the styling as the visuals. The music brings a lot of extra depth and emotion to the images and it dares to be bold. The film features several scene where Boe creates a tension between the more soothing classical pieces and some darker, grittier ambient drones, underlining the emotional battle of the characters. It's always great to see a director who fully understands the impact a soundtrack can have on a film and with Beast Boe reaffirms that status.

Boe adepts will of course recognize Nicolas Bro in the lead role. Bro has appeared in every Boe film so far and has grown into an overpowering presence. Whatever Boe lays in front of Bro, he accepts the challenge full-heartedly and submits himself to his character without any form of compromise. He is the ultimate trump card of Beast as he gives the film a true heart. Marijana Jankovic sometimes has trouble keeping up with Bro but she too gives her all in what is a pretty difficult and daring role. The secondary cast is solid too, Nikolaj Lie Kaas being the obvious stand-out as Valdemar.

Beast may carry many of the traits of a typical horror film, but it never really delivers as a horror. Instead the horror elements are used to reinforce the character's emotions. It's not really a critique as this creates a very interesting tension in the film, but it's something that horror fans might want to know so they can adjust their expectations before watching this. Beast is about marriage and the individual struggles of the people who entered this sacred bond, not about monsters and gruesome killings.

Beast is a very worthy addition to the oeuvre of Boe. As a whole the film may not be up to par with Reconstruction or Allegro, but that's probably because these two films rank incredibly high on my list of favorites. What you get is a powerful drama, enriched with strong horror elements, perfectly visualized, scored to perfection and fleshed out by a selection of first-class actors. It's another highlight of European cinema that deserves to be cherished.

While definitely the most popular anime studio out there, Ghibli isn't really known for innovation or taking risks. When it wants to experiment with new styles and techniques it usually limits itself to short films or music videos, Hohokekyo Tonari No Yamada-kun is a very welcome exception to this rule. Don't fool yourself by the film's exterior simplicity, Yamada-kun is a wildly different film coming from Ghibli's co-founder Isao Takahata (Hotaru no Haka).

Admittedly, Miyazaki (Tonari no Totoro), Ponyo) is probably the main reason why many Ghibli films appear to be quite similar in tone and style. Takahata's range is broader and he usually signs for the more daring films coming from the Ghibli studios. Not only is Yamada-kun weird and unusual for Ghibli's norms, it was also the first Ghibli film that was made completely digital. Ironically it's also the Ghibli film that looks the most hand-drawn of them all.

Yamada-kun is based on the Nono-chan manga, which mostly consisted of 4-panel gags. The film somewhat mimics the structure of its source material by forgoing a typical storyline, completely leaving out a dramatic arc and focusing more on individual vignettes. Yamada-kun plays like a selection of slice-of-life sketches, some funny, some endearing and the best ones combining these two sentiments.

The film is basically one big encounter with the Yamada family. Takashi and Matsuko are the stronghold of the family, Shige is Matsuko's old mother and acts a bit funny from time to time. Then there are Noburo and and Nonoko, the kids of Takashi and Matsuko. The five of them each have their individual quirks, their ups and downs, but mostly the Yamada family is pretty happy living together, casting off a warm and recognizable feel-good vibe.

On a visual level Yamada-kun is a tough nut to crack. At first glance the style looks simplistic, even boring maybe. But soon you start to fall for this simplicity and you can't help but notice the superb detail that went into the drawings and animation. Especially the latter is of unseen quality. While the family members often consist of 10 strokes max, the details of their movements appear to be more human than most advanced CG created animation puppets ever could manage. Definitely one of Takahata's strong points. The watercolor style remains consistent throughout the film, although from time to time Takahata plays with the amount of detail to create some richer images. If you ask me this is still Ghibli's visual masterpiece, no matter how rich and detailed Miyazaki's later films may be.

The soundtrack too is lovely and fitting. A collection of upbeat, peaceful and quirky songs lighting up the atmosphere. From the sing-a-long Japanese version of Que Sera, Sera to the incredibly catchy humming track, the score is as much part of the film as its stand-out visuals and even persists to invade your brain long after the film has ended. Voice acting too is top notch. The voices really fit their characters and together with the detailed animation they flesh out the simple drawings into a real family.

Yamada-kun delivers two hours of perfect, feel-good entertainment. But it's not just some quick laughs, the film harbors a warm, generous and complementing heart that celebrates the ups and downs of family life. It's filled with recognizable moments and situations which will make you smile just because they are so familiar and life-like. The Yamadas have all the peculiarities and weird quirks that make them like every other (normal) family out there. Just don't go in expecting a fully fledged storyline because you'll be disappointed to find there is just nothing there.

Hohokekyo Tonari No Yamada-kun is a film often overlooked by Ghibli fans (and anime fans in general) just because a simple screen shot cannot capture the amount of love and detail that this film harbors. The animation is exceptional, the music a blast and the film consists of one big succession of memorable moments. It's my favorite Takahata and Ghibli film and one that I can watch again and again without it losing any of its initial charm. A true recommendation for animation fans everywhere.

The web is vertical. It has been from the very beginning and people still think of it that way. Just look at the traditional scroll wheel on a mouse for some deep-rooted evidence. It's such a basic feat that we hardly take time to consider it anymore, but in the past few months (maybe even years) there have been signs that horizontal is making big strides forward. Suddenly horizontal is a real thing and guess what ... the web is far from ready for it.

Shinya Tsukamoto (Tetsuo, Tetsuo: Bullet Man, Nightmare Detective 2, Tokyo Ken) is back. For his latest film, Kotoko, he revisits the style he started to explore in Vital, mixes it up with the finale of Haze and the scare tactics of the first Nightmare Detective film and throws things around by putting a very strong focus on drama. The result is an all-round Tsukamoto affair up there with the best he ever produced, but noticeably different from his earlier work.

Tsukamoto adepts be warned, because at Kotoko's core lies an actual full-fletched drama. Not that drama is a new thing in Tsukamoto's oeuvre, but before Kotoko the drama always came second to more genre-specific elements. This time he's turning the balance around. Even though the film is still overflowing with typical Tsukamoto weirdness, the drama takes center stage. On paper the difference may sounds negligible but you really feel the shift in focus while watching Kotoko.

This shift challenges quite a few drama-clichés. Subtlety and room for interpretation are two things people always push forward to describe good drama films, but there's really none of that in Kotoko (at least not superficially). Tsukamoto's style is still intact which means the camera work can get just as nasty and hectic as in his earliest films. Even the soundtrack contributes as one of the most hellish ones Tsukamoto ever used for one of his films. If you sit down expecting a regular drama, expect to be seriously disappointed.

Kotoko is a young mother battling some very serious mental issues. At the start of the film she is just suffering from a weird affliction that makes her see people twice. She may act a little weird but she is mostly harmless to her surroundings. Soon enough her condition becomes worse and she is deemed a hazard to the health of her baby boy. The baby ends up with Kotoko's sister, further increasing Kotoko's misery, but when she finally meets up with a new man her mental issues appear to subside little by little.

Visually Tsukamoto goes all-out digital, no concessions made. He applies a hand-held style that puts the Dogme movement to shame (well, not really because it's so stylized it couldn't be counted as a Dogme films) but it's clear that there is still some kind of control behind all the visual madness. It's not just random hectic camera work, it really helps with bringing out the mental state of Kotoko. In between Tsukamoto still finds room for more classically stylized shots but while I still consider this film as visually intense as his other films, the entire look is far rawer and more unpolished.

The soundtrack goes even beyond. Loud and noisy, it's the exact opposite of what you'd expect from a soundtrack composed for a film like this. At times the music is just noise and distortion with some enlarged sound effects, really underlining the fragile state Kotoko is in. Tsukamoto alternates with a couple of songs sung by Kotoko, and even though they appear more delicate and subtle, they never really put the viewer at ease. Definitely one of the strongest soundtracks I've ever encountered in a Tsukamoto film (and he's had quite a track record so far).

The acting too is intense. Cocco (a real-life Japanese artist) was the inspiration for the Kotoko character which does make things a little easier for her, then again it's the first time she acted in a live-action feature and her role was far from a breeze. She really carries the film though, throwing herself completely at her character and covering her emotions with passion. Tsukamoto himself turns up around the halfway mark of the film but only fulfills a smaller role. The rest of the secondary cast is hardly noticeable but they do a pretty decent job nonetheless.

The middle part of Kotoko is a bit calmer for a typical Tsukamoto film, but the start and finish are every bit as manic and intense as you'd hope them to be. There are some very insane and original scenes tucked away in here, most notably a very simple cooking scene which Tsukamoto turns into a regular task from hell. The intensity of that scene is so overpowering that you can't help but think Tsukamoto is really onto something here. It's these moments that really set the film apart and turn it into a truly unique experience.

Kotoko is another work of love. Tsukamoto did almost everything himself, though he also credited Cocco for more than just the acting (she also gets production design credits and she served as the film's main inspiration). The result is a very powerful and gut-wrenching drama that lacks subtlety but makes up for that with sheer emotional punch. Tsukamoto fans should brace themselves for a slight but far-stretching change in tone, though it hardly affects the overall quality of the film, instead it only shows that Tsukamoto can retain his style with success even when he sidesteps to new genres.

When Hiroshi Ishikawa released Tokyo.sora he proved to the world that directors of advertisements are capable of more than just a few flashy climaxes. For those who still considered his first film a lucky coincidence Ishikawa made Su-ki-da, the definite proof that the man is a master of minimal cinema. As a relentless love story of two people who have a hard time expressing their emotions, Su-ki-da defines the core of the Japanese drama genre.

Minimalism is often considered one of the hardest styles to pull off. While I think it isn't necessarily more difficult than any other style or genres, the risk of failing is much greater. When going for a minimalist style a director has very little to fall back on. All parts of the film have to work perfectly together to get the emotions across. When even just one of these elements fails the film crumbles and all that's left is a sense of tediousness and boredom.

Su-ki-da offers the viewer very little in the sense of amusement. Ishikawa follows two characters and their exploration of the feelings they have for each other. The first part of the film tracks them down when they are still in high school, the second part of the film plays 17 years later when they are finally reunited. The focus of the film is very narrow, with very few secondary characters and many of the film's core scenes documenting what happens when the two lovers are together.

The failure to communicate is one of the big themes of the film. It's clear that both characters feel something for each other, but they fail to express their true feelings. The longer they wait, the harder it gets to reach out and slowly they are pushing themselves away from each other. This leads to some tough and awkward moments which fans of Japanese drama cinema are sure to recognize. No director handles this as delicately as Ishikawa though.

Su-ki-da is masterfully shot. The visuals are absolutely stunning, never overly spectacular or in your face but framed so well that each new shot is another marvel. The camera work is precise and delicate too. Even though it's more agile and closer to the characters than many other films of its kind, it still holds a supreme emotional depth that helps with translating the character's inner feelings. Add to that a beautiful and consistent color palette and you know you're bound to be spoiled.

The soundtrack too is perfection. As for the music, the film relies heavily on a central theme tune that resurfaces in several different versions. Ishikawa once again relied on Yoko Kanno to compose the music and like most of her movie work she does a great job. But just as important are the environment sounds and the way Ishikawa plays with them. Sometimes they are heightened, sometimes the sounds just drop altogether. This makes for some very powerful and engaging moments and it lifts the soundtrack to an overall higher level.

As for the acting ... not a single complaint either. Miyazaki and her adult counterpart Nagasaku are sublime, Eita and Nishijima complement the girls really well. I must warn people who have trouble with the typically Japanese introverted style of acting though, as it's taken to its extreme here. Personally I have no trouble identifying with the characters but if you depend on outgoing emotions you might find their actions a bit hard to understand at times. The secondary cast is almost non-existent, but when they are featured they do a pretty decent job too.

Even though the second part of the film is just a tiny bit more plot-driven, the strength of Su-ki-da comes from it's emotional depth. Whether you can identify with this depends on how well you cope with the audiovisual elements and the style of acting, but if you're already a fan of Japanese dramas this is a definite must see. When comparing it to Tokyo.sora it's pretty difficult to pick a favorite, though overall I think I prefer the broader focus of Ishikawa's first. Both films are pretty consistent in quality though and fans of either should definitely check out Ishikawa's entire oeuvre.

Su-ki-da is probably not the best entry-level film for people wanting to broaden their horizons, but if you like minimal cinema or you are a fan of Japanese dramas you simply owe it to yourself to track this film down. It's beautiful, heart-warming and extremely delicate. It's a film that puts you at ease and even prolongs that state of mind until long after the credits stopped rolling. One of the dearest and most delicate love stories ever told.

After disappointing many of his fans (not me though, but I'm not really a fan) with Dark Shadows, Tim Burton is back with a vintage Burton project. Frankenweenie sees Burton return to the world of stop-motion animation and the result is more than spectacular. Frankenweenie is a delicately crafted film, made with absolute love and care and meant to charm the people who share Burton's particular interest in monster movies. It's Burton's baby and by far his best feature-length film so far.

Though I appreciate some of Burton's work (Alice In Wonderland), many of his films leave me with an uneasy emptiness as a direct result of unfulfilled potential. Even though he and I share the love for stop-motion animation (Panique Au Village, Fantastic Mr Fox, Mary And Max), I often felt that in the past Burton was trumped by partner in crime Henry Selick (Coraline). Frankenweenie is the first feature-length film where Burton truly convinced me of his stop-motion capabilities.

I say feature-length because I've been a long-time fan of Burton's early short film Vincent. Also shot in black and white, it held a wonderful charm that always made me wonder why he couldn't reproduce that in his feature-length work. I even think that Vincent is part of the reason why I could never get fully engaged in Burton's later work. Frankenweenie too is based on an old Burton short-film, though the original was shot in live action rather than stop-motion. The transition is definitely one for the better.

Frankenweenie is an ode to the monster films of yonder. Not really a surprise for people who've seen Burton's Ed Wood, but Frankenweenie takes a more intelligent approach. While Burton pays proper respect to his influences, he also creates a modern addition to the genre that stands well on its own. For someone who isn't completely versed in the subject there are plenty of easy to understand references, while some of the more obscure ones (props for picking Gamera over Gojira!) also managed to reach me.

The choice to shoot this film in black and white may not be the most commercial one, but it is a brilliant move nonetheless. Not only is it a direct reference to the old monster films, it also masks some of the limitations of stop-motion and it gives the film an overall darker tone. Burton's use of black and white is neigh perfect too, with several very moody and atmospheric set pieces stealing the show. The detail to the characters is astounding while some of the effects are truly impressive. Character design are fun and expressive, another big plus. It's clear that Burton had an above-average budget to play with (certainly for stop-motion norms) and he really made the most of it.

More surprisingly is the fact that for the first time I could actually appreciate the 3D effect used in a film. So far I'd considered 3D a farce, a gimmick that detracted from the experience and one that was only used to make us pay more for less (yes, even in Avatar). While the 3D here is still far from perfect (there is still too much blur when characters are moving fast), it really gives the characters an extra dimension. It's as if you're flying through the set with the models yourself. The effect may break the illusion of film a little, but it adds so much more to the charm of stop-motion that it's definitely worth the investment. Not that I've suddenly turned into an avid defender of 3D, but for black and white stop-motion projects it's a very nice addition.

For the soundtrack Burton relied on long-time collaborator Danny Elfman (no surprises there). Elfman's music is perfect, creating a score of fantasy-like music with a dramatic monster twist. It's a theme that fits Elfman's typical style and it's clear that he felt right at home with the project. The voice acting is surprisingly mature. No big stars paid just so their names can be featured on the poster, but a selection of strong voices that lend their characters some extra panache.

The premise of the film is simple and plot and story remain pretty bare-bones throughout. Judged by these factors Frankenweenie is a typical film aimed at kids. But the many references, the oddball characters and the very particular style will be harder to sell to a younger audience. Because of this Frankenweenie is a difficult film to market, which is clear when you look at the current theater programmings. The film didn't open that wide here in Belgium (and The Netherlands), some theaters only play it during the evening screenings. It's a challenge Disney clearly wasn't able to overcome, though I'm very glad they went ahead with the release because it's a film that deserves to be seen in cinemas.

Everything about Frankenweenie shows that this a film made with lots of passion and dedication. Its lush production values are betrayed by the enormous detail featured in the final product, but they never seemed to hinder Burton in producing the film he wanted to make. A pretty bold move, especially for Disney who are known to be quite conservative, but one I'm sure every Burton fan will appreciate. Frankenweenie is a pretty exceptional film and my favorite Burton so far, it's also the first film that made me less skeptical about the use of 3D in film, so make sure you catch this one in a theater near you.

When looking at the films I've reviewed so far it might not appear to be that obvious, but I'm a pretty avid Shunji Iwai fan. The thing is that after releasing Hana To Arisu Iwai almost entirely disappeared from the full-length feature scene, leaving me with little to no options to put his work in the spotlight. I'm eagerly waiting for Vampire to leave the festival circuit, until then I can count on films like Hana To Arisu to ease the wait a little.

It's not that Iwai fled the film scene entirely, in between he directed two documentaries and popped up in the New York, I Love You anthology, but the availability of those project (especially the documentaries) is less than encouraging. I do understand Iwai's sudden change of interest though as most of his films all share a very common basis, so I wouldn't be too surprised if he was craving for a new challenge. Iwai may not have the most varied oeuvre, but what he does he does with style.

Hana To Arisu is a very kind, sweet and upbeat film. It's also very naive, but in a comfortable and recognizable way. Iwai focuses his attention on two young girls and the way growing up affects their childhood friendship. Arisu is the quiet, self-assured type while Hana is the bold yet insecure type. Their relationship is heavily tested when they both fall for the same boy.

When said boy (Miyamoto) bumps his head and falls down unconscious, Hana tricks him into believing that they are a couple and that Miyamoto has some form of partial memory loss. Things get really hairy when Miyamoto starts showing a bigger interest in Arisu, which prompts Hana to make up an entire past involving the three of them. Arisu in her turn also starts to develop some feelings for Miyamoto, completing the love triangle. Needless to say, this situation becomes incredibly taxing on Hana and Arisu's friendship.

Visually speaking Hana To Arisu is vintage Iwai and by extension vintage Japanese drama, only maybe a bit dreamier in style. Natural camera work, an eye for atmospheric lighting and some landmark shots in between are the key aspects you can expect from Iwai. The film looks beautiful and knows how to peak at certain times, the ballet scene near the end of the film in particular is of extraordinary beauty and leaves me stunned time and time again.

The soundtrack is a bit more pop-oriented than the ones you'll find in most Japanese dramas, but the film's setting warrants the choice of music. On top of that, considering the genre Iwai has a pretty good feel for what works in his films. Even though the J-Pop influences are definitely there, the soundtrack never ends up sounding too cheap or commercial. Add some classical drama pieces (mostly piano-based) and you know what to expect.

Hana To Arisu is partly carried by its two main actresses. Aoi and Suzuki are both perfect for their roles, carrying a very natural flair while going slightly over the top where needed. The chemistry between the two feels real and even though the story is a little far-fetched, the acting irons out any lingering doubts. The secondary cast is decent enough but they fail to get noticed whenever one of the two main actresses are present.

While there is some drama, don't expect anything but a feel-good film. Iwai keeps the drama light and never allows his film to become too depressive. Together with the setting and its characters it gives the film a warm, naive and familiar atmosphere, reminiscent of a time when one's responsibilities reached as far as getting your homework done on time. Capturing this slightly melancholic yet upbeat feeling is definitely one of Iwai's main perks and none of his films get closer than Hana To Arisu.

Hana To Arisu is a film for fans of Japanese drama. It may seem a bit slow and uneventful to some, others might be annoyed by some slightly exaggerated moments, but all in all it's a very sweet, very natural and naive little film that has charm aplenty and feels particularly short for a film that runs well past the 120 minute barrier. Here's to hoping Iwai can manage a successful come-back to the world of feature-length films.

For many of us the web occupies a firm portion of our daily lives. Without actively realizing it we have formed a certain realization about what the web is and how it is supposed to work. Links make connections between pages, forms are used to enter data and buttons submit the data that was entered. When these unwritten laws are broken it often leads to great frustration and sometimes even worse. What follows is the result of such frustration (and possibly worse).

The 5th anniversary of onderhond.com is only a month away. I've always considered this site a combination of personal content and professional playground, so to celebrate this special birthday I've planned a couple of updates, most of which will hopefully have made it by the end of the year. This little update will give you a taste of what is to come (and a small warning that some things might break in the process though I'm aiming to keep the site running as smoothly as possible).

Fans of Dead Leaves and Redline, rejoice. From out of nowhere Madhouse releases Heruzu Enjueruzu (Hells Angel), a wicked, manic and no-boundaries anime that may feel like a Studio 4°C project but has its roots firmly in the Madhouse foundation. The result is a completely unique and over-the-top, two-hour spanning climax with a surprisingly smart background story (at least, if you take the absurd animifications for granted).

Heruzu Enjueruzu was a very troubled project. First introduced in 2005, the film surfaced in its current incarnation in 2008 (festival run) and 2009 (a small theatrical run). After that ... radio silence, a complete void. Until Madhouse realized they were simply losing money by not releasing it, which eventually led to the 2012 Blu-Ray release (English subtitles included!). Looking at the film it's easy to see how Madhouse failed to wrap their heads around a proper release strategy as this is clearly one of those films that's almost impossible to market. It's just way too specific and unique to target even to a niche audience.

The story starts off normal enough (for this type of anime at least). Linne is a young girl on her way to her first day of school. When trying to save a cat from a couple of young delinquents she gets hit by a car and she ends up in hell. Unaware of her predicament at first, Linne soon realizes that she didn't end up in her regular school. The first thirty minutes of Heruzu Enjueruzu are spend on introducing the setting and the characters and are, by comparison, still pretty standard.

Then the film twists and we get some sort of weird, highly exaggerated anime-version of the Old Testament. Linne ends up caught in a feud between Cain and Abel and as the film progresses the story (and the battle between the two brothers) becomes more and more grotesque. The final 90 minutes feel like a drawn out version of the Akira finale, layer upon layer of baffling story progression, though with a certain stroke of underlying genius that sets itself apart from many other anime stories.

Heruzu Enjueruzu has a very definitive, strong visual style. The animation is at times a little poor for a film of this magnitude, but the various art styles, the awesome camera angles and the crazy editing more than make up for that. The character design is absolutely superb, as are the constant switches between the different (but related) art styles. There is always something new to admire, always something that leaves an impression. It's a shame that the budget couldn't carry the enthusiasm of the crew in its entirety, but they definitely made the most of it with the means at hand.

The music is what you can expect from a film like this. High-octane and loud, anything but subtle, mostly guitar-based but good fun and definitely suitable to the overall atmosphere. It's clearly not as bold or as daring as the visual styling, but in a sense it keeps the focus concentrated on the outlandish art style. Outside the context of the film the score may be pretty bland, but within the film it definitely works. The voice acting on the other hand is pretty much perfect. It's a Japanese release so there is no English dub (hooray!), but the Japanese dub is every bit as insane and over-the-top as you would've hoped. The voices really complement the characters and bring an extra level of depth to some of them, while providing more thrills and laughs for others.

Heruzu Enjueruzu is a film that keeps the wtf-levels in the red at all times. There is virtually no limit to the weirdness that is thrown at the viewer. At the same time there is a certain depth and consistency to the background story that's quite unique for an anime of this type. It makes for a very special, slightly tiring but overall gratifying experience that knows no equal. I figure that if they had somehow waited 2000 years to write the bible and they'd outsourced the job to Japan, this could've been the result.

The film asks a lot from its audience. You have to be able to keep with the outlandish art style, the high levels of comedy and absurdity mixed with a well-considered (how implausible as it might be) storyline and the constant assault on the senses. In return you get one of the most uniquely satisfying animes ever released. A film that can only be compared with a very concise selection of otherwise incomparable animation projects. Heruzu Enjueruzu is a true delight if you appreciate your films a little different, if not it's probably best to stay away from it as far as possible.

The range of css is rapidly branching. Where css used to be a simple language handling basic styling and positioning, it evolved into a mature and rich set of options ready to provide a wealthy user-experience. New modules and functionality are added on a monthly (maybe even weekly?) basis, but not all of these new properties are actually sound and solid. Lately a somewhat alarming trend is emerging and I believe it deserves some extra attention.

Mizu no Onna (also known as Woman of Water), a film that took me (and just about everybody else) by surprise. It's a film that is very difficult to compare to other films out there, a unique experience that leaves you begging for more. It's often cataloged as a Japanese drama, but the categorization doesn't really do the film justice as its mystery roots run deep. Mizu no Onna is a weird genre-mix, a real beauty, definitely worth seeking out.

Hidenori Sugimori is one of those unsolved mysteries of cinema (think Charles Laughton's Night Of The Hunter). A director that garnered a lot of interest with his first film, only to completely disappear from the world of cinema after that. Granted, Mizu no Onna isn't the world's most accessible film, but Sugimori shows such a strong sense of dedication and direction that it's difficult to believe he was unable to get his second film funded.

Mizu no Onna revolves around Ryo, a pretty normal, everyday woman. The only peculiar thing about Ryo is that whenever she experiences something important in her life rain starts to pour, to the point where it actually becomes a forebode of important things to come. One fatal afternoon the rain starts pouring again, soon after Ryo gets a message that her fiancé and soon to be husband just died in a car crash.

Ryo's life is turned upside down and she decides to sell the bath house she operates in order to get her life back on track. But before she can go through with her plan she runs into Yusaku, a shy and introverted young man who is sneakily camping out in her bath house. Yusaku is a pyromaniac running from the police, but Ryo finds comfort in his presence. The water and fire metaphor isn't exactly subtle of course, the execution on the other hand is.

Visually the film has a lot to offer. Sugimori has a very unique, intriguing style that mostly surfaces in short but intense bursts. For the most part the film's styling remains close to that of other Japanese dramas (meandering camera movements and subtle editing), only to surprise the audience with a magnificent camera angle or quick edit when Sugimori switches gears. The color scheme is near perfect too, dominated by dark blues and grays and only to be disturbed by warm reds when Yusaku is around.

The soundtrack too adds a lot to the atmosphere of the film. Anime enthusiasts might (and definitely should) recognize Yoko Kanno's name as the composer of the soundtrack (though in all honesty, I feel she made her best work for live action films - Tokyo.sora), who delivers one of her best works to date. Often mysterious and fantastical, the music is a essential to the cross-genre mix that defines this film.

While reading other people's opinions it surprised me how many commented on Ua's lead role. I feel she does a terrific job as Ryo, convincingly coming off as a normal woman who has learned to deal with her particular predicament. Even though she faces yet another strong performance of Tadanobu Asano, Ua holds her own and the two of them carry the film in equal measures. Secondary roles are scarce but well-casted too.

Mizu no Onna is a strange little film. Parts of it feel very familiar, other parts feel alien and unique, as if two different people composed the final version of this film. This tension never comprises the overall atmosphere though. Sugimori can be a bit vague when explaining certain events and multiple viewings might be required to get all the details in order, but I think people will be more put off by the peculiar (and often slow) pacing.

Mizu no Onna is film that stayed with me ever since the first viewing. The combination of drama and mystery is brilliant in its execution. The symbolism might lack subtlety, but Sugimori goes a long way in compensating that with strong imagery that will burn itself deep in your mind. An audiovisual masterpiece bearing a strong dramatic undercurrent, it's a real shame that Sugimori hasn't made anything new ever since releasing this film.

Following the success of Ruang Rak Noi Nid Mahasan, Pen-Ek Ratanaruang released his arthouse/crime blend Invisible Waves, a film that reiterates some of the successful choices of his previous film while venturing into an entirely new direction. I feel Invisible Waves is the actually the more accomplished film of the two, public opinion was less enthusiastic and Ratanaruang slipped back into international anonymity after releasing this film. A real shame if you ask me.

Ratanaruang (Ruang Talok 69, Nymph, Ruang Rak Noi Nid Mahasan) made some bold choices when he started work on Invisible Waves. He kept the international cast, the pacing and the tone of Ruang Rak Noi Nid Mahasan, but he switched the genre from romance to crime. A lot harder to sell to arthouse audiences and near impossible to sell to hardcore genre fanatics. On top of that the pacing made sure that mainstream audiences would feel ill at ease while watching Invisible Waves. The result is a unique experiment that completely failed to find an appreciative audience.

Admittedly, it does take a little while to get into the film. Even though RRNNM had some minor crime-influences, the romance was the absolute center of the film and the combination of romance and slow pace is a much more familiar one for fans of Asian cinema. Invisible Waves really puts the focus on its crime story and especially at the start of the film there isn't that much to tell. We follow Kyoji as he is sent to Thailand after killing a woman, but that's about it. Kyoji's boss sets him on a boat, but the journey is quite uneventful.

Kyoji does meet up with some peculiar characters on his little trip, but as far as tension and story arcs are concerned nothing major is happening to pull the audience into the film. Only when Kyoji arrives in Thailand does the intrigue pick up and is the audience allowed to be entertained by the story. A very risky choice that is sure to deter a lot of people, then again it's nice to see directors take such bold risks instead of trying to cater to the general opinion.

For the visuals Ratanaruang once again relied on the skills of the much-loved cinematographer Christopher Doyle. Doyle also shot RRNNM and he has clearly grown in his collaboration with Ratanaruang. The styling and camera work are top notch, especially the use of color is nothing less than spectacular. The film bathes in muted greens and blues, appearing very dark at murky. Perfectly in line with Ratanaruang's overarching vision.

Once again it's the soundtrack that deserves the most credit though. It is almost entirely composed of very subtle ambient, ever present and highly influential to the overall atmosphere. It pops up everywhere, halfway through the vibe becomes very familiar and by the end of the film it feels as if the entire film was carried by the music. It's the way a soundtrack is supposed to be and Ratanaruang earned a lot of my respect for realizing this.

The acting is pretty stellar too, with Tadanobu Asano starring in the lead. I don't think there is anyone more suited to play the part of Kyoji, though you could also argue that Asano actually sculpted Kyoji's character. He's a rather silent, somewhat asocial but fair and agreeable guy who is guided by the people and events that he finds on his way. Secondary roles are also impeccable with a nice little cameo of Eric Tsang to boot.

The first half of Invisible Waves is extremely slow, subtle and muted. Not at all what you'd expect from a crime flick. During the second part the story gains momentum and you slowly start to connect the dots while the story fleshes itself out. By then most people will surely have lost interest in the film, but for those who appreciate Ratanaruang peculiar mix of genre and arthouse Invisible Waves is really one of a kind and a worthwhile investment.

Compared to RRNNM just about everything is more polished. The visuals look tastier, the soundtrack is even more profoundly present and the acting is just about perfect. The only thing that's challenging is the combination of the genre and the pacing and it is sure to put people off. If you like a good challenge though, but sure to try out Invisible Waves as it's one of Thailand's many hidden pearls and my favorite Ratanaruang.

Responsive is everywhere. Let's face it, It's all we write about these days. Every other blog post either touches on some sort of responsive issue, reiterates a specific responsive design process or introduces a cutting edge responsive pattern. It's probably the biggest buzz the web development community has ever known, but when looking at the amount of discussion it generates one may start to wonder whether "responsive" is something we can actually manage/control as an industry.

Say hi to the 60s and 70s sci-fi revival. Director Panos Cosmatos infused Beyond The Black Rainbow, his first-born, with nods to the sci-fi classics of eras past, but also made sure his film isn't just a rehash of former glory. The result is a challenging trip that wears its influences on its sleeve while equally coming off as modern and original. It's a film you simply cannot ignore if you like your films a little different, but beware as you may not appreciate the film's total lack of coherent storyline.

When reading reviews of Beyond The Black Rainbow you are bound to run into some 2001 references. Even though I'm not a big 2001 fan myself I do see the connection, especially when singling out the finale of Kubrick's film (the scenes within the mansion). While watching Beyond The Black Rainbow I was more reminded of Cronenberg's first film Stereo though. Cosmatos film emits a very similar vibe (the extremely clinical research center with its off-center researchers) though the styling of both films couldn't be more different from one another.

Beyond The Black Rainbow has a very strong focus on atmosphere. In the process it inevitably loses a lot when it comes to coherence and storyline. If you want to have a clear understanding of what is going on in this film, multiple viewing will be necessary and even then some plot points will surely remain a blur. It's a harsh trade-off, but I believe that Cosmatos was fully conscious of this when he made his decision (and if you ask me, it's a trade-off more directors should have the guts to make).

The basic premise of the film is simple enough. Elena is a mysterious young girl locked up in a research facility. Elena possesses some weird powers, though it never becomes clear what the exact reason behind her imprisonment is. Her doctor is a pretty creepy man who observes her every day. Elena isn't very talkative or responsive, until one day when she finds a way to escape the research facility.

Beyond The Black Rainbow is first and foremost a visual experience. Based on the trailers I wasn't too excited about the film's look, but during the course of the film the visual style really comes to fruition. The color scheme has a very distinct 70s vibe, but the editing and camera work are definitely more modern. Every single frame went through heavy post-processing, the resulting imagery is absolutely stunning. Once the film ventures outside the walls of the facility Cosmatos has a lot more trouble maintaining the visual qualities, but luckily that's only a small portion of the film.

The soundtrack is a bit trickier to judge. Cosmatos clearly paid a lot of attention to the sound design and it integrates flawlessly with the film, but when compared with the visual audacity of Beyond The Black Rainbow it's a bit lame and definitely on the safe side. Not just the choice to go for an ambient/soundscape-filled soundtrack, but also the execution which often borders on Boards of Canada-like analogue mellowness. It tends to blend in well with the visual look, but it lacks the modern touch. I feel a sharper, more experimental and cut up soundtrack would've worked much better here, then again I should probably be happy that at least a measurable amount of time and dedication went to integrating the music with the visuals.

The acting is pretty basic, the few actors present don't have all that much to work with as their characters are pretty basic stereotypes with little in the way of interaction. On the other hand they do a pretty good job, never falling into the trap of overacting. Eva Allen makes a pretty enigmatic Elena, but it's Michael Rogers that leaves the biggest impression as the creepy and slightly insane Doctor Nyle. No prize-winning performances, but above par for a production of this type.

The first 90 minutes of this film are pretty much perfect, save the lack of a more ballsy soundtrack. Sadly Cosmatos doesn't really know how to end his film, completely turning around the vibe of the finale and gracelessly failing to go out on a high note. I'm not really sure what happened there, I understand that without the ending the film could've been accused of taking itself too seriously, still Cosmatos should never have allowed the film to leave the premise of the facility.

If the film had stopped 20 minutes earlier I would've given it a full score, now I feel Beyond The Black Rainbow fails to fulfill its true potential. It's not that the final 20 minutes are extremely bad or inappropriate, it's just that they can't meet the film's own superb quality standards set during the first 90 minutes. It's a shame because apart from a slightly disappointing soundtrack the films is a true delight. Wildly original, visually overpowering and genuinely mysterious, it's bound to become one of the best releases of 2012 and a film to treasure for years to come.

The browser has been our main tool for consuming the web ever since the very beginning. It's still the most efficient tool to access massive amounts of data coming from various resources, but a couple of years ago browsers suddenly encountered some serious competition when apps started to emerge. Browser vendors and html enthusiasts countered with a knee-jerk reaction in order to compete with apps, the question remains whether that was the right way to go.

It's difficult to imagine a time when Takashi Miike (Nintama Rantaro, Visitor Q, 46 Okunen No Koi, Zebraman 2, Crows Zero 2, Crows Zero, Sun Scarred) won't be making films anymore. Every year Miike has a couple of new projects lined up, so when I say I'll be reviewing his latest know that Miike already has a new film touring the festivals and that there's even a trailer for Miike's upcoming film doing the rounds. For now though, let's focus on Ace Attorney and why you should make sure not to miss it.

I'm certain Miike keeps a list of genres and sub genres he hasn't tackled yet. With Ace Attorney Miike can finally scratch the courthouse drama off of this list (game adaptation too, though he already covered that earlier with Like A Dragon). It's about the least likely genre for Miike to be working in (that and high school musicals, which incidentally is the genre of Miike's next film), but he makes good use of the series' game background to make the film's events a lot more interesting and entertaining.

Ace Attorney is based on the popular Nintendo DS franchise Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney. I've never played the game so it's hard to really distinguish between the game's influence and Miike's own input, but it's safe to say that this isn't your regular courthouse drama. Apparently to keep up with the rising crime rate Japanese courts decided to introduce a new system of justice. Lawyers have three days time to convince the judge of the innocence/guilt of their defendant. Once the judge is convinced he immediately passes judgment and moves to the next case.

Ace Attorney follows the adventures of a young and inexperienced lawyer called Ryuichi Naruhodo. With a little bit of luck he wins his first case against Keisuke, an experienced lawyer and former classmate of Ryuichi. Not soon after this surprising victory Keisuke becomes a defendant himself. Ryuichi, remembering the days they spent in school together, vows to prove the innocence of Keisuke while clearing up a 25-year old case in the process.

There was a time that Miike's films looked (sometimes more than a little) rushed and rough around the edges. Even though he didn't really slow down his pace, those days are long gone. Ace Attorney looks slick and stylish, with much attention being paid to the camera work and the editing. Even the CG looks surprisingly polished. Surely budget and target audience play a big part in this film's looks, but there is definitely a lot of eye candy present.

The soundtrack is less exciting. Random tension-raising music without any recognizable hooks. It works during the film, but afterwards you'll be hard-pressed to remember anything about the score. Ace Attorney isn't really a film that needs a unique score and it survives perfectly well without it, but as someone who appreciates a defining choice of music I think Miike should've done more with the material at hand.

The acting really fits the bill though. The actors looks as if they materialized right out of a manga, so expect weird hairstyles, over-the-top clothing and some pretty expressive moves. No doubt it won't be to everyone's liking, but if you can't handle even that you probably won't appreciate what Miike did with the rest of the film. Narimiya does a pretty decent job as Ryuichi, but it's Ryo Ishibashi who's the real star here. It's always great to see older actors take on these roles with such great enthusiasm.

Before I sat down in front of Ace Attorney I feared the length of the film, not in the least because I absolutely hate courthouse dramas. Even classics like Witness For The Prosecution or Judgement At Nuremburg never got me the least bit interested in what they had to offer. Miike turns the boredom upside down, he focuses less on the endless details and subtleties and just goes 100% for entertainment value. The story is a bit more chaotic because of that, but at least there is something happening that goes beyond tireless dialogues between the same two or three people.

Ace Attorney is a Miike blockbuster. The weirdness is kept to a minimum, but the entertainment value is high and the film definitely has its moments of brilliance. Don't expect anything too serious, just sit back and enjoy the overall fluffiness of Miike's latest production. Peaky hairstyles, holographic evidence, confetti and expressive characters ... all you need to revive a boring genre and turn it into something truly amusing.

Baober In Love is a lost relic that could be regarded as the kick-start of the current Chinese cinematic revolution. A film that truly deviated from the norm, leaving heavy-handed arthouse aesthetic lovers and poverty porn enthusiasts in the dark, instead opting to conjure a modern-day fairytale. The result is a slightly uneven yet magnificent film, who's negatives are greatly outweighed by the shear joy and pleasure it emits.

Shaohong Li's Baober In Love can be considered the spiritual forefather of films like Lee's Adventure, Honey PuPu and pk.com.cn. The film dares to embrace the urban and technical revolution China underwent during the last ten years, translating that sentiment in a more genre-based approach while edging away from activist and moralist film making and betting on entertainment. It's a lot lighter than earlier Chinese films, without being particularly feel-good or a downright comedy.

The film follows the adventures of Baober, a young and naive Chinese girl who one day stumbles upon a trashed VHS tape. She reconstructs the tape and discovers a confession of Liu on the tape. Liu is a young man who's bored with his life and his current relationship. Baober falls immediately for the charms of Liu and she is determined to find him, even when all she has to go on is a VHS.

Seeking out Liu ends up being the easy part of her mission though. Once she meets up with Liu she pulls him into her dreamworld, tearing him away from his former girlfriend and claiming him all for herself. The both of them shack up in an abandoned warehouse, but living together proves more difficult that they had first imagined. It turns out that Baober has some well-hidden secrets that put some serious strain on their relationship. By that time Liu is so into Baober that he can't imagine losing her and so he fights to keep the relationship going.

Visually Baober In Love is a dream. Li pulls out all the stops to make this film look as nice as possible. Weird camera angles, experimental editing techniques, magnificent camera work and some slight mixed media experiments are all aided by lush sets and superb use of color and lighting. The film's visual language is so rich that it almost feels like a first-timer's film, though that's hardly the case. Even though Baober In Love is almost 10 years old already, it's still one of the prettiest Chinese films to date.

The soundtrack is pretty awesome too. An almost entirely electronic/dance-driven soundtrack which further fuels the modern feel of the film. The soundtrack is by no means too extreme or inaccessible, but the effect is still very refreshing. There are some very smart and atmospheric tracks that I wouldn't even mind owning on a CD. Again, I know of no Chinese film that preceded Baober on this, hell, even contemporary Western films are still struggling with electronic music..

Jue Huang is pretty decent as Liu but it's Xun Zhou that carries the film with a very strong performance as Baober. While Zhou's choice in films has been on the safe side these past couple of years, this is definitely one of those films that helped to sculpt her career. It's an edgy role that allows her to display her full range of talent. The supporting actors are decent too but all things considered this is really a one-(wo)man show.

While the film starts off as a very sweet and endearing story, bearing a small resemblance to Jeunet's Amé even, there is definitely a darker side to Baober In Love. This side takes over the film during the second part and while Li struggles a little during the transition between the two opposed parts it gives Baober In Love an interesting spin that helps it from turning too mellow and mushy. In the end the contrast between the two parts made it a better film, only the transition is a little rough.

Fans of modern cinema should find themselves right at home with this film. It's a bit uneven during the middle part when Li tries to connect both sides of the story, but superb acting, a stellar soundtrack and eye-popping cinematography more than make up for that. Brace yourself for a sweet romance with a nasty sting and you'll be hard-pressed to think bad of this little gem that would turn out to be the start of a new Chinese cinematic movement. Actually getting a chance to see Baober In Love with English subtitles will be the real challenge though as the film sadly lacks an English-friendly home release.

Back in 2003 Pen-ek Ratanaruang (Ruang Talok 69, Nymph) put Thailand on the map when he released Ruang Rak Noi Nid Mahasan (Last Life In The Universe), a cross-Asian romance fueled by a criminal subplot and a selection of fairly odd characters. People flocked to see the film because it starred Japanese mega star Tadanobu Asano, but they stayed to fall in love with Ratanaruang's awesome style of directing.

Even though Ratanaruang's Ruang Talok 69 had everything in it to become an international success, it wasn't until Ratanaruang imported a couple of famous Japanese stars that his films would be recognized outside the Thai borders. I admit that initially I searched out this film simply because it featured Asano. but Ruang Rak Noi Nid Mahasan has way more to offer than just a fine selection of Japanese actors and ever since I watched Ratanaruang's little masterpiece I've been a big fan of his work.

The film revolves around Kenji, a runaway yakuza with an interesting selection of odd characteristics. For one Kenji wants to commit suicide, though he doesn't really have a good reason for doing so. Needless to say, without the proper conviction it proves pretty impossible to end his life. Kenji's also quite the neat freak, obsessively so. Then one day, during one of his many fruitless suicide attempts, Kenji runs into Nid and Noi.

A fatal encounter, but not for Kenji. Instead Noi's sister Nid is hit by a car and dies on the spot. Kenji and Noi hook up, somewhat reluctantly at first, but as it turns out it's a decision that will turn both their lives upside down. Noi is pretty much the opposite of Kenji. She doesn't clean the house, she smokes, she litters her cigarette ashes everywhere and she sometimes overstresses her laid back attitude. Obviously the two of them need some time to adjust to each other, but without realizing it they are exactly what they needed to move on with their lives.

With Christopher Doyle on board Ratanaruang didn't have to worry much about the visual side of things. Even though I actually prefer their second collaboration (Invisible Waves) there is no lack of stylish, lingering shots and beautiful, soothing camera work here. Add some minor effect shots that insert some extra magic and you have a very pretty film to look at.

The main attraction is the soundtrack though. A superb collection of melodic ambient, constantly hiding underneath each and every scene but lingering long after the final frame has left the screen. Even after the film is finished you'll find yourself uncontrollably humming the melodies, sustaining the rhythm of the film beyond its own time frame. One of the most powerful soundtracks I've ever encountered in any kind of film, not because it's so outspoken but because it puts you in a trance and sucks you right in.

With Tadanobu Asano in the lead you are assured a quality performance, but Sinitta Boonyasak is equally powerful as Noi. The two of them form a very intriguing couple and effectively carry the dramatic side of the film. While their parts are actually pretty black and white, they still bring a lot of depth to their characters. Ratanaruang also landed a couple of interesting cameos, fans of Takashi Miike should definitely pay attention during the last 15 minutes of the film.

The first fifteen minutes of the film will probably be the toughest. They are extremely stylized (in line with Kenji's character) and without the familiarity of the subtle soundtrack you might feel a little lost at first. But when Kenji and Noi hook up the film shifts gears as you witness the start of a very special relationship. Make sure you get the original dub though (there's also an all-Thai dub) as the mix of languages does bring something extra to the table.

Ruang Rak Noi Nid Mahasan is a film that sneaks up on you. For a long time you may wonder what the fuss is all about, but when the end credits start to roll you suddenly realize how wonderful Ratanaruang's film really is. It's not his best film, I still have a small preference for Invisible Waves, but if you like an off-beat Asian crime romance you definitely owe it to yourself to check this out.

With lots of smart people working on exciting, new html tech (the html component module in particular), I find myself more and more occupied with cleaning up my own html code. One way to do that is to remove functional elements from the html that serve as script toggles. These elements should ideally be added by the script itself. So today, let's take a look at details (or expand/collapse structures if you like), their relation to the accordion pattern and where to reduce redundant html.

Shozin Fukui (964 Pinocchio) may not be the most prolific filmmaker alive, but when he does release a feature-length film he makes sure it counts. Rubber's Lover is Fukui's second outing, one that found itself a pretty respectable cult following in the West. It's a film with a fair few particularities (which are certain to divide audiences), but if you're into Japanese cyberpunk you owe it to yourself to check this one out.

Japanese cyberpunk isn't a very broad and/or richly populated genre, so it's always great to see a film that goes all out. I'm pretty sure that if I made a little checklist of elements that I'd hope to find in a Japanese cyberpunk film, they would all be included in Rubber's Lover. Grizzly black and white photography? Check. Mad screaming people? Check. Extreme close-ups? Check. Sweaty people? Check. Fetish photography? Check.

If you hear around a little, this film will generally be referred to as the one with the crazy, loud-screaming and madly grunting actors. It's somewhat of a trademark for Fukui and Rubber's Lover takes it even beyond the levels found in 964 Pinocchio. At times the screaming is just grating, it weighs on you and makes certain parts of the film quite difficult to watch. It's enough to break a large portion of the audience, for those able to withstand all the noise it only adds to the intensity of the film. No room for compromise.

The story is hardly worth mentioning, but here's a short summary anyway. Two scientists are doing some underground (but funded) research. One of them is injecting people with ether, the other one created a weird spirit-breaking helmet. The results are mediocre and when the funding is finally cut off the scientists take matters into their own hands. The new experiment goes horribly wrong (or right, depending on how you look at it) and chaos ensues. That, and a lot of screaming of course.

Visually Rubber's Lover is a big step forward from 964 Pinocchio. The film is shot in lovely, high-contrast, grainy black and white and looks simply gorgeous. Fukui keeps his camera close to his subjects, often giving close-ups of whatever object he thinks deserves some extra attention. This ranges from extreme character close-ups to metal, tubes and all sorts of tech equipment. The editing is snappy and well-timed, the only thing that could've used more work is the setting, which can feel a bit cheap and empty at times.

The soundtrack is superb too. A magnificent range of electronic tracks, pumping and grinding away. Industrial is the preferred genre for Japanese cyberpunk, but Fukui takes it a couple of steps beyond its predecessors. One (slightly) annoying thing is that Fukui loves to build up the tension, but never allows a release. Many tracks are basically musical build-ups, without the explosive release afterwards. This again keeps the tension high, but it can be infuriating at times.

As for the acting, it's all a matter of taste. The actors are far from believable, over-acting is an understatement and most of the time the actors are either screaming, twitching or doing both at the same time. Then again, you're not watching a realistic drama here and the style of acting does fit in with the other stylistic choices. It's chaotic, loud and in your face, constantly bombarding you with sensory impulses. I for one wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but opinions differ.

Rubber's Lover is a pretty simple film. You either like the madness, or you hate it. There's very little middle ground as everything in the film is made to be as intense, loud and explosive as possible. There is no great storyline to fall back on, no stylistic variation and no poignant realizations later on in the film. It's just 90 minutes of grating screams and flashy black and white fetish shots, set to a pounding score, take it or leave it.

Still, the feeling remains that at times Rubber's Lover could've been just that little bit more insane. It's hard to fault the film at individual points, but when compared to films like Tetsuo or Electric Dragon 80000V it falls short. Not being able to compete with the absolute best is hardly a critique though, so fans of the Japanese cyberpunk genre should do well add this film to their collection. It's a blast from start to finish.

The Tall Man is Pascal Laugier's long-awaited new feature. After Laugier unleashed Martyrs onto the world, people were aching to see where he would go from there. The result will no doubt be a big disappointment to many, as The Tall Man became a very different film altogether. Then again, if you look closely the typical Laugier elements are definitely there and judged on its own merits Laugier's latest is a very strong and convincing film.

When looking back now, one may wonder whether the recent French wave of extreme horror wasn't just a lucky coincidence. Either that or its main contributors (Laugier's Martyrs, Bustillo & Maury's À l'Intérieur and Xavier Gens' Frontière(s)) realized they weren't going to top their famed shockers. So they split, each of them going in a new direction. Gens would seek out sci-fi territory for The Divide, Bustillo & Maury fled into the baroque horror scene to come up with Livide and Laugier headed to America to make a faux urban legend horror.

People who know Laugier from before Martyrs (in other words, those who also watched Saint Ange) know that Laugier isn't just defined by gruesome and cold imagery. Instead he lives on ambiguous endings, story reversals and some food for thought afterwards. Horror is mere filling for his films and it can take on whatever form that's suitable for the story he wants to tell. In this case, the legend of a huge man kidnapping children.

The Tall Man is the story of Cold Rock, a barren village left for dead by the closing of a nearby mine, its only real source of income. The people of Cold Rock are suffering and to make things worse one by one the children of the village are taken from their homes, never to be seen again. It doesn't take long before the kidnappings are coupled to the local urban legend of the Tall Man, but when Julia's son is kidnapped the true nature of the kidnappings will be revealed.

Visually Laugier has everything under control, though the result is far for remarkable. There are a couple of nice shots, but the eerie night scenes would've benefited from some more inventive lighting. The editing too feels a little rushed. Some of the nicer shots aren't fully explored, which is a shame. The film doesn't look bad or anything, it's just that it doesn't really stand out from many other like-minded films.

The same could be said about the soundtrack. Sure enough it suffices, but at times I felt the music might even have worked better outside the context of the film, which doesn't really speak in favor of the way it was incorporated. There are some genuinely nice tracks here, but from time to time they fail to correspond to the images on screen in order to tighten the atmosphere. A waste of potential, especially for a horror flick.

The acting on the other hand is strong and effective. Biel plays her part very well, ranging between her different states with believable flair. Ferland (who reminded me a little of a female version of Joseph Gordon-Levitt) too is perfect for her role. The rest of the cast plays a smaller part, but still makes a solid impression. Usually films like these benefit very little from a strong cast, but Laugier really needed his actors to pull off the film's ending in style.

As a straight-up horror film The Tall Man falls a little short. There are some decent moments, but the film never becomes as tense or thrilling as you would've hoped. Instead Laugier puts more focus on the mystery, which manages to keep the interest of the viewer until the very end. Biel's ambiguous role is the key to the success of The Tall Man, Ferland's final monologue the cherry on the cake. The Tall Man ends with a blow to the overprotective attitude towards children, stemming from all-American family values. The film puts reason above emotion and wonders out loud whether this wouldn't benefit society as a whole, which is a truly refreshing take on the subject.

While this isn't the first time Laugier "surprises" his audience with a blow of morality, I feel this one is definitely the strongest. It's not as out-there or ethereal as compared to his previous movies, instead it's about very real and grounded issue that could use some thought. Not that I would instantly agree with Laugier's suggestion, it's just that I believe there's definitely a layer of truth in there.

The Tall Man holds his punches until the very end, where it finally reveals itself as a film that cares very little about the Tall Man legend, instead focusing on more pressing and serious issues. The horror part of the film could've used some extra polish, definitely when compared to Laugier's previous films, but the finale shows Laugier at his very best. The Tall Man is a very interesting and worth-while film, one that deserves to be judged on its own terms.

Nowadays welcoming a new Sion Sono film is quite the event. Over the past few years Sono worked really hard to establish his name, with great success I should add. His films are welcomed on the biggest film festivals of the world, urging him to produce new projects to keep the momentum going. Himizu is his latest film to appear on DVD and it's clear from the start that Sono won't be running out of fresh ideas very soon.

People first noticed Sono (Cold Fish, Love Exposure, Ekusute) when he released Suicide Club (riding the Japanese suspense wave), but his real break-through came with Love Exposure, his megalithic, pompous and schizophrenic masterpiece. It's not my personal favorite, but it's clear that a man who can pull off such a stunt has talent to spare.

Himizu contains clear, left-over traces of Love Exposure's impact, but it's a different type of film altogether. Himizu is gritty, dark and often mean-spirited, but delivered with a surprisingly light-hearted tone of voice. If Gaspar Noé (Enter The Void) and Tim Burton (Alice In Wonderland) would ever agree to adapt a manga together (the original Himizu manga was penned by Minoru Furuya), the result might be thrown in the same corner as Himizu. Chances are quite slim this will ever happen though, so it's a good thing that Sono is filling this gaping void.

The events of Himizu take place right after the fatal tsunami that hit Japan last year. The 14-year old Sumida lives alone with his mother in a run-down shack, surrounded by a group of homeless people who stranded in the neighborhood. Left behind by his father right after the disaster, it doesn't take long before Sumida's mother takes off as well, leaving Sumida to take care of himself. It's simply too much for a young boy to cope with, so even though the people around him are willing enough to help out, Sumida slowly starts his descent into a painful and destructive depression.

Visually Sono is making good progress. While the camera work is far from strict and obsessively controlling, it's clearly not a quick handycam job either. Every once in a while Sono throws in a couple of beautiful static shots, alternated with an agile and dynamic yet captivating camera. There's is plenty of attention for lighting too, making for some very moody and atmospheric scenes.

The soundtrack is impressive, to say the least. There is a selection of well-known classical songs (Barber's Adagio For Strings) and some more pop-oriented film music, but it's the bits of distorted, raging noize that really make an impression. Whenever Sumida boils inside the soundtrack goes in the red, making his feelings tangible. Subtle it ain't, but it's stunningly effective nonetheless. The soundtrack as a whole is a bit chaotic, but the same could be said about the film (which, to be very clear, I never experienced as something negative).

The acting too is nigh perfect. The actors faced the difficult challenge to transfer the dramatic and dark impact of the film while at the same time keeping the light-hearted tone of voice. The result is a combination of strong dramatic scenes mixed with some serious overacting. It's a peculiar effect that is sure to deter some people, but it's essential to the overarching feel of the film. Sometani and Nakaido deliver performances that are sure to be remembered while the secondary cast doesn't lag far behind.

Himizu is a very uneven film, but by design. Sono banned any form of subtlety completely, resulting in a bold and loud film with no intention to back down. Couple that to the stark contrast between dark subject matter and an almost comical atmosphere and you have something quite unique. Clearly not everyone is going to accept this, so if you prefer soft caresses to harsh blows you might think twice before getting started on this one. Then again, if you appreciate Sono's strong-willed lack of conformity you're in for another two hours of pure cinematic pleasure.

The first fifteen minutes where a little though, but once Sumida starts his descent into madness the film never back down. Strong visual language, a superb soundtrack and quality acting make Himizu into a memorable experience. All these things add up to another unique and career-defining film for Sion Sono. Sono fans shouldn't hesitate to go out and see Himizu, others might do well to watch the trailer first in order to determine whether they can stomach Sono's unique style. Now on to Sono's new film.

Most people consider breakpoints to be one of the main pillars of responsive design. While they are an integral part of most responsive exercises, you don't necessarily need them to make a site responsive. As an alternative you can fall back on good old-fashioned liquid behavior, especially when dealing with one-column constructions. This article will detail four liquid models for layouting rows of fixed-width elements.

Hiroki fans rejoice, because the Gods of Cinema just blessed us with an English-friendly DVD release of one of Ryuichi Hiroki's latest gems. Keibetsu (or The Egoists if you prefer the English title) is once again quality output, highlighting Hiroki's strengths but also challenging his own clichés. The result is familiar territory (especially for those who've seen a couple of Hiroki's films) with some subtle yet smart touches to keep things interesting.

Ryuichi Hiroki (Love On Sunday - Last Words, Kimi no Tomodachi, New Type, Girlfriend: Please Stop The World) is known featuring strong yet often troubled female leads in his films. He is one of the few male directors who can portray a women with life-like depth. Keibetsu deviates a little from this fixed structure as Hiroki shifts his focus to the worries of a young couple rather than a single woman, though the female lead by herself still greatly resembles the women from his previous films.

A couple of years ago Hiroki revealed he was ready to take on different genres, which I guess makes Keibetsu his take on the Yakuza genre. Not that you can expect a straight-up crime flick, but all the important motives and plot points are clearly there. The film starts when young boy Kazu is thrown out of a Yakuza gang. Before he flees back home he raids a bar and takes off with lead dancer Machiko.

Even though Kazu and Machiko are clearly in love, they both want very different things in life, making their relationship impossible to sustain. Machiko feels trapped in Kazu's rural home tome while Kazu has trouble keeping a steady job to maintain his newly founded family. They separate ways, but before long they realize that they can't really live without each other either. When the Yakuza finally catches up with Kazu, things take a turn for the worse and Kazu puts up one final fight the win Machiko for him.

Visually Hiroki is getting better with each film. He keeps true to his favored HD look, but distances himself a little from the hand-held aesthetic and sneaks in more and more beautiful shots, often playing to great effect with light and scenery. While not spectacular, Keibetsu is still a very beautiful film to look at. Hiroki may be a slow grower, but you can't help but notice how he improves his technique with each successive film.

The soundtrack is a very nice mix of subtle and soothing music, not overly intrusive but still featuring some unique and differentiating touches. By itself the individual songs might not be all that remarkable, but they do tend to make themselves heard and as a whole the soundtrack leaves a very contented and comfortable feeling. A very nice bonus as many Japanese dramas tend to deliver almost identical soundtracks.

Hiroki is great with actors and once again it pays. Kengo Kora is perfect as the young and inexperienced Kazu, but it's Anne Suzuki that probably deserves the most credit. Once known as the somewhat chubby girl who only took on cute roles, she completely reinvents herself for this film and takes on a most daring and difficult part, yet pulling it off with surprising ease. The secondary roles are solid too, with Hiroki regulars Tomorowo Taguchi and Nao Omori putting in some very good performances.

Don't go in expecting a Yakuza film. Even though there are some very familiar Yakuza stereotypes, some oldskool criminal behavior and a couple of retributions, Keibetsu is first of foremost a true Hiroki drama, focusing on the characters and their ways of dealing with the problems they are presented. People craving for something completely different will no doubt feel a tinge of disappointment, but Hiroki adepts will feel right at home with his latest film.

Keibetsu turns out to be another strong addition to Hiroki's oeuvre. It's not his best film to date, but it's nice to see him try out new stuff, even when it's not all that radical. Hiroki keeps improving himself with each new film, polishing his skills and fine-tuning his processes, making sure his films can maintain the high standard he set out for himself. If you're not familiar with Hiroki it might be better to start somewhere else, but fans can rest assured that Keibetsu will appeal to them.

RIP Satoshi Kon. I realize I'm a bit late (tomorrow it will be exactly two years since the man died from pancreatic cancer), but since then I haven't really found a chance to pay proper tribute to one of the most notable anime directors in recent history. And what better way to commemorate his awesome talent than to review his very first feature-length film, Perfect Blue. A film that still stands proud even by today's standards.

Perfect Blue is a landmark film, it's as simple as that. It's a film that showed the world that animation is not limited to certain genres or topics. While many people openly wondered "why do this as an animated film?", Perfect Blue returned that question with a simple "Why not?". Why would animation be bound to visualizing the unfilmable when it is just a layer of abstraction that could just as well work with any type of subject?

True enough, a film like Hotaru no Haka precedes Perfect Blue, but as part of the Ghibli oeuvre that film enjoyed certain special fan privileges. Perfect Blue is a straight-up psychological thriller, without any supernatural or fantastical elements or any other specific oddities where animation could or would be preferred. A type of film that nobody would have considered developing as an animated film, but Kon didn't mind what others were saying. He went ahead and showed the world that there were no limits to what you could do with the medium.

Perfect Blue is an adaptation of the same-titled novel written by Yoshikazu Takeuchi. The novel includes some strong social commentary, which Kon made sure transferred to the film without losing any of its power. The story tells about Mima, a young pop idol who is pushed to make the jump to acting. Even though Mima prefers to sing, there is more money to be made in the acting business. It doesn't take long before she is pressured into doing some tacky scenes and pink photography in order to shake off her pop idol image. A sad reality that is all too real for many young girls wanting to make it in the entertainment business.

While Mima tries to cope with all the changes in her life, one of her long-time fans simply cannot deal with the fact that Mima fled the pop idol scene. He starts to stalk Mima and puts up a website where he creates an alternate life for Mima that still features her as a pop idol. Little by little reality starts to mix with the stalker's utopia and the plot of the TV series Mima is featured on, to the point where she finds herself in a constant daze, unable to separate reality from fiction.

The art style of Perfect Blue is starting to show its age. The animation is far from fluid and the colors can appear a bit muted and stale. The animation style is pretty detailed though, with the characters moving around in a very realistic way. The camera work tries to mimic that of live action films, which results in some surprising shots throughout, but it's the editing that really sets this film apart. Kon's use of scene transitions is superb, effectively mixing reality and fantasy in such ways that keeps the audience guessing.

The soundtrack is another strong point of the film. Maybe not as outspoken as Kon's other films (then again, it's virtually impossible to top Millennium Actress' soundtrack), but it has a very strong presence that strengthens the atmosphere of the key scenes. It's also well integrated with the editing, creating a tightly nit audio-visual experience. Even the J-Pop songs are actually quite catchy. As for the voice acting, make sure you watch the film with the Japanese voice track. The English voice track is bland and lacks emotion, whereas the Japanese track really bares Mima's emotional state.

The final half hour of Perfect Blue approximates the perfect mind-bender. Fantasy and reality mix in ingenious ways, blending and retaking different scenes with slightly altered dialogues that shed a whole new light on what preceded. Typically all you need to do is wait for the final twist of course, but Perfect Blue is truly engaging, even halfway through. But the real magic lies in the fact that even after multiple viewings the strength of these scenes remains intact. Many similar films suffer on second and third viewings because the big twist was already revealed the first time around, Perfect Blue sidesteps this trap by making sure that the actual execution of the twists is intriguing enough.

Even though Perfect Blue is a book adaptation, the success of the film can be fully attributed to Kon's awesome direction. If you're not convinced it suffices to watch Sato's live action adaptation (Yume Nara Samete), based on the same novel but lacking the tight and edgy translation of the original story. Perfect Blue is still one of the better animes out there, a film that combines strong social commentary with a terrific sense of paranoia, leading you on with each successive twist but scoring purely on execution rather than surprise effect.

Here's to hoping we'll ever see Kon's final film (Dream Machine) completed.

The past 10-15 years Chinese cinema got a major overhaul. It used to be a playground for hardcore arthouse directors and poverty porn enthusiasts, with only a few exceptions made for martial arts fare. But nowadays there's a movement of young directors that feel little to no constraint when it comes to genre specifications and overall atmosphere. Hence the release of films like Han Yan's First Time, a sprawling and colorful romance.

Apart from the setting, First Time could've been a Taiwanese film. It borrows a lot from recent efforts (Tom Lin's Starry Starry Night or Juliets, to name just two) and it emits a very similar vibe. Not too serious, not too sentimental, while still harboring a lot of heart and warmth. The characters and setting on the other hand help to ground it as a mainland Chinese film.

First Time starts off as a rather typical romance. Two old friends (Shi and Gong) run into each other by accident, old feelings resurface and the two start hanging out together. What sets this film apart the first 30 minutes is the fact that Shi suffers from a very rare disease. Shi cannot exert herself as it could lead to instant death, while the pills she takes to help her cope with her disease greatly affect her memory. Gong helps Shi to appreciate her life beyond the limitations of her disease, but two young people in love can find it a little hard to restrain themselves.

Around the 30-minute mark things start bordering on the cheesy and sentimental, but right at that point Yan turns the whole thing around. Revealing anything about the rest of the film would be too much of a spoiler, but it's safe to say that Yan has a couple of surprises up his sleeve that turn First Time into more than just a mushy, melodramatic romance flick. He never lets the drama dwarf the romance though, so the light-hearted and feel-good atmosphere is allowed to reign throughout the entire film.

If you know that the cinematography is handled by Charlie Lam (a href="http://www.onderhond.com/blog/onderhond/isabella-review-ho-cheung-pang">Isabella) you know that you can expect a looker, but Lam really outdid himself with this film. The attention to detail is stupendous. The warmth and vibrancy of the colors is absolutely stunning, the camera work equally wonderful and the overall effect is just baffling. Add to that some lovely visual effects (a lot of hand-drawn animations are blended into the live-action footage, to great effect) and you have one of the best-looking films of 2012. The images simply radiate romance and become a crucial factor in the experience of the film.

The soundtrack is not up to par, but it suffices. Gong is part of a rock/punk band so you can expect some rather mellow Chinese pop/rock music, not really my thing I'm afraid. The remainder of the soundtrack consists of nice but predictable romantic music. Cue some piano tracks and other light-hearted pieces to set the mood. Overall it's not too bad, but the soundtrack could've used something to set it apart from its peers.

Luckily the actors don't let the film down. Mark Chao is strong as the somewhat ambivalent Gong, Angelababy (she should've stuck with her real name, but alas) is perfect for the role and the chemistry between the two of them feels quite real at times. They keep a nice balance between the romance and the more dramatic scenes in between, never letting either one dominate the other. The secondary cast is pretty capable too, in particular Jiang Shan who puts in a very strong performance as Shi's mother.

If you think the first half hour is a little too sentimental to your taste, persevere for a little while longer and you'll find out that not everything is as it seems. While seen in its entirety First Time is clearly a full-blown romance film, but it also has a more dramatic edge to it than you might suspect at first. The ending may be a small downer for some, but I feel it fitted well with the rest of the film and I believe that any other ending would've turned out feeling a little forced.

First Time is a superb example of how to do romance right, without necessarily ending up in arthouse territory. Yan made a very sweet film, added the right amount of drama and made sure that the visuals alone could carry the film. While a very close neighbor to the current Taiwanese wave, First Time is a typical mainland China film that could do a lot of good to the image of Chinese cinema for a broader range of film fans.

Dear mister Gen Sekiguchi, where the hell did you disappear to? More than 8 years ago you gave us a film that ranks as one of the best Japanese comedies ever produced. Not only that, it's also one of the lushest and vibrant productions to have ever graced a screen. After that ... nothing (apart from a sub par entry in the Quirky Guys And Gals anthology). What a waste of potential, but at least we'll always have Survive Style 5+ to keep us warm.

Sekiguchi comes from an advertising background and it shows. While people like Hiroshi Ishikawa (Tokyo.sora) prefer to mask their commercial occupation, Sekiguchi flaunts it all over the place. Just like one of the characters in this movie Sekiguchi collected a massive amount of left-over ideas while directing ads, all of which he tried to cram in his first feature-length movie. The result is a film that knows little to no creative boundaries, spilling over with cool details and ideas and effectively warranting its 120 minute running time.

Survive Style 5+ is a collection of five separate stories that somehow intertwine along the road. These stories do not lead up to the usual major climax (where all the different arcs would come together), instead the characters from different stories just cross each other's paths during the course of the film. None of these individual stories make much sense, combined they make even less sense, but as a whole they do work together in some strange and almost inexplicable way.

The main arc (or at least the most popular one) is about a man that wants to kill his spouse. Even though he is quite successful, she keeps returning to their home whenever he buries her. Other arcs include the story of an ad director, a successful hypnotizing session turning a man into a bird (permanently), a serial killer asking people about their purpose in life and the adventures of a couple of gay thieves. Like I said before, making sense is clearly not the film's first priority.

Visually speaking Survive Style 5+ is one of the most colorful and detailed films I've ever seen. It is somewhat reminiscent of Wes Anderson's latest projects, though Sekiguchi takes things a lot further. From furniture to clothing and lighting, everything is tailored to perfection. Even the color of the drinks are made to match or contrast with the background. Camera work, lighting and editing are of extremely high quality too, add to that some genuinely creative and well-executed special effects (like the animated horse on a painting that whizzes by) and you have two hours of pure visual splendor.

The soundtrack consists of a selection of tracks I wouldn't give a second listen outside the context of this film, but Sekiguchi incorporates them perfectly well. The music is funny, upbeat and tap-worthy, quite effectively enhancing the light-hearted atmosphere of the film. The "gay" tune and the "headbanging" track are two great examples of how to use music as a defining factor rather than a supporting factor in your film.

The cast too is absolutely stellar. Tadanobu Asano appears in one his best roles to date, flanked by Reika Hashimoto (also his real-life wife). They are assisted by the likes of Hiroshi Abe, Ittoku Kishibe (believe me, it will take a while before you can see him in another film), YosiYosi Arakawa, Sonny Chiba and even Vinnie Jones. But stealing the show is Yoshiyuki Morishita in one of his biggest and boldest parts so far. Casting him as a gay dude is just impossible but Sekiguchi went ahead and did just that. The effect is borderline creepy but also immensely funny.

Survive Style 5+ is a wacky film and for some it may be a little bit too random at times. But even then there is always something that catches the eye. Be it a visual gag, a wonderfully realized setting or a funny idea. The film never drags and the finale is simply perfect, however weird it may be. It's a comedy that works on many levels and most surprisingly even on an artistic level, no matter how goofy some parts may be.

What Sekiguchi realized with Survive Style 5+ is extraordinary. Even though the film lasts 120 minutes it is packed to the brim with little bits of pure genius. A normal director would've spread the material at hand across two or maybe even three films, but Sekiguchi crams everything in one film and manages to keep a good balance throughout. It's a film that gets better with each successive viewing and it ranks as one of my favorites comedies ever.

Ho-cheung Pang (Isabella, Dream Home, Love In A Puff, Exodus), definitely one of the current Hong Kong greats and one of the few directors that seem almost unable to disappoint. Love In The Buff is the follow-up to his own surprise hit Love In The Puff and while Pang was forced to throw some elements from the original overboard, Buff turned out to be a very worthy sequel, possibly even better than its predecessor.

Love In A Puff was never meant to be a (modest) hit. Originally it was little more than a diversion for Ho-cheung Pang, a project he set up to keep busy while waiting for Dream Home to free itself from release limbo. But fans liked his film, centered around a series of short smoke breaks bringing two people together. So much in fact that Pang decided to make a sequel.

The biggest problem for Pang was that he didn't want to part from his main characters. At the end of the first film the two protagonists decided that they were going to quit smoking, which is a little tricky when the entire concept of your film is centered around a series of smoke breaks. So Pang ditched the whole smoking thing, instead he focused more on the comfortable, enjoyable and open atmosphere that helped to define the first film.

Soon after the events of the first film Jimmy and Cherie break up. Jimmy moves to Beijing while Cherie stays behind in Hong Kong. The break-up isn't too clean and in order to forget about Cherie Jimmy quickly loses himself in a new relationship. But 6 months later an opportunity presents itself for Cherie and she too ends up in Beijing. It doesn't take long before the two bump into each other, making it immediately clear that not all the feelings they held for each other have subsided.

On a visual level, it's pretty amazing to see that Pang is still making progress. He combines lavish and ultra-stylish cinematography with more playfull and dynamic camerawork to create something that is quite unique. The film is filled to the brim with well-considered, lusly lighted and perfectly executed shots, but at the same time it never feels cold and/or calculated, instead the camerawork gives off a veru cozy, warm and comfortable vibe. Love In The Buff is without a doubt one of Pang's greatest visual accomplishments.

The soundtrack is a bit poppier than I expected, but it does fit the more informal atmosphere of the film. There are of course some more typical, often piano-based tracks to go with the stylish visuals, while the poppy music helps to ground the characters, giving them a fleshier and more human touch. The selection of music is strong across the board though, so no complaints there.

With Shawn Yue leading the pack you can be sure that the quality of the acting won't lag too far behind. Even though I'm still not quite fond of Miriam Yeung she does a pretty good job, though obviously helped by the people around her. Mini Yang and Zheng Xu are strong secondary characters, on top of that Pang has a couple of very funny and surprising cameos to compliment to cast.

Love In The Buff is not a very complex film, though it is recommended to watch Love In A Puff first. While it is possible to watch this as a separate film, you'll miss out on a lot of the finer points that play between Jimmy and Cherie. The film presents a nice mix of romance and comedy and even though the final half hour has trouble keeping a good balance between these two elements, the film never becomes too cheesy or sentimental.

Love In The Buff is a very worthy sequel. It's hard to say which film is the better one of the two, for that I should probably watch them once more, back to back. Pang is definitely on a winning streak here, seemingly unable to produce bad films anymore. None of his recent efforts match the genius of Isabella, but that's about the only complaint I have. Love In The Buff turned out to be a very funny, enjoyable and comfortable film, maybe even warranting a third and final return to happenings between Jimmy and Cherie.

The 80s had Tsukamoto's Tetsuo, the 90s brought us Aronofsky's Pi and you could say the past decade gave us Ishii's Electric Dragon 80000V. This obscure series actually found its origin during the 70s, when David Lynch released Eraserhead upon the world. A cult film with a capital C and a film that changed many people's vision on film. Years later Eraserhead still stands proud amongst its contemporary competitors, though 35 years of cinematic progress did leave a small mark.

Together with Tetsuo, Eraserhead was a film that helped to shape my love for movies. Before I watched these two films I was easily satisfied with a challenging storyline, a couple of twists near the end and some famous actors to draw me in. I watched one or two films a week and that was fine. Everything changed when these two films landed in my lap (horrible VHS copies, but that was all we had back then). Suddenly film was something that could provoke unseen worlds and feelings, detached from simple plot devices and actors. Film became something that could be about experience, not just about understanding.

Eraserhead is Lynch's directorial full-length feature debut. He made several shorts before this film, his particular style already blossoming (The Grandma in particular is very Eraserhead-like), but Eraserhead brought everything together in 85 minutes of alienating madness. While there are vague traces of some kind of plot, it makes very little sense and it's almost useless to try and keep track of it. Instead you're better off immersing yourself in the experience that Lynch provides.

Henry Spencer is a young man living alone in a nameless, decaying city. Suddenly he is contacted by Mary (his ex-girlfriend) who invites him to dinner. Spencer accepts the invite, but gets cornered by the girl's parents, who adopt Henry as the father of her recently-born child. Not just any baby mind, but a horrendous little monster without arms and legs, completely helpless and reliant on the care of others. When Mary breaks down she packs her bags and leaves the baby in Henry's care, who is quite unfit to take care of the child by himself.

Eraserhead is shot in gritty, high-contrast black and white. The decaying urban setting is rich in darkness, with only a couple of lights providing a very nightmarish atmosphere. One thing that still baffles me are the film's visual effects. For a 70s film the baby looks a little too life-like at times, which definitely helps to uphold a very creepy vibe. Camera work and editing on the other hand are strangely lacking. It's something I noticed even in more recent Lynch film, where the timing just seems a little off. It gives the film a sloppy finish which is a shame considering all the work that went into the visual styling.

The soundtrack on the other hand is top notch. Superb industrial-like noises, sharply stitched together to create a very uncomfortable and dark experience. It's not so much a collection of tracks as it is a collection of sounds, but as true noize-adepts will know this is hardly a negative thing. It gives the film a very dark and surreal atmosphere that lingers even when the film is over.

The acting is pretty basic, it's more about presence and image than actual acting talent. Jack Nance is an awesome Henry Spencer though, whose film cover image has become iconic over the years, if only because of his crazy hairdo. The rest of the actors all have minor roles that contribute very little, the best actor here is probably the baby, who isn't even human. Then again, the distant and detached acting style probably only contributes to the overall atmosphere, so this is hardly a critique.

Eraserhead remains a wonderfully alienating experience, just don't expect things to make sense. Even though there's actually a whole sequence explaining the title of the film, it bears no relation to the other scenes, nor does it contribute much to those trying to understand what Eraserhead is all about. In the end the film plays a lot like a nightmare and I believe it's best experienced that way. It's a dark, brooding and weird film that still manages to out-gross some modern horror flicks, even when it feels weird describing Eraserhead as a straight-up horror film. Instead it feels more like a fore-runner of the industrial/(cyber)punk movement that helped to feed the underground film scene these past 30+ years.

It's hard to ignore the toll that time has taken on this film. While static shots still look awesome and the special effects are more than sufficient, the sloppy editing takes a little away from the experience. It's only a small defect though and while it does impact the film there is still plenty to enjoy here. Eraserhead is definitely a film worth seeing, if only to experience a kind of film that doesn't rely on plot to deliver its message.

Hotaru no Haka is a very depressing film. So much in fact that Ghibli made an entirely new film (Tonari no Totoro to cushion the blow upon its release. They even packaged it as a double bill to make sure people walked out of the theater with a smile rather than a tear. Your mileage may vary of course but I think that Ghibli definitely had a point there, so beware when you sit down in the hope of enjoying an nice evening of cinematic escapism.

I honestly believe that Hotaru no Haka is one of the most important anime films ever produced. Sure enough, films like Akira and Kokaku Kidotai made anime popular in the West, but those films catered to a very specific (techy/nerdy) niche. Hotaru no Haka definitely transcended the niche market and rose up to become the anime fan's ultimate defense against popular criticism that anime is only for kids/geeks/whatever other minority group. With a little help from film critic Roger Ebert the film reached out to an audience that didn't care for animation and in that way it helped to broaden the mind of many film fans out there.

Isao Takahata (co-founder of Ghibli) has always worked in the shadow of Miyazaki, which is a shame because I think he's definitely the better director of the two. More versatile, less moralistic and always able to lend his films a remarkable humanistic and natural touch. Together with Okiura's Jin-Ro Takahata's films are probably the only ones that qualify as truly mature cinematic works.

Hotaru no Haka is an adaptation of a semi-autobiographical novel by Akiyuki Nosaka, going by the same name. The film follows Seita and Setsuko, two war orphans who are left in the care of their aunt. But times are harsh and as the two contribute little or nothing to the family they are somewhat ignored. Too proud to submit to the unequal treatment Seita and Setsuko take off on their own, confident in their chances of survival.

The artstyle betrays the film's age. It's definitely starting to look a bit outdated, but the quality of the animation is so staggeringly beautiful that it's hardly an issue. It's not so much the frame rate that awes, but the subtle details that nail some of the character's movements. The way Setsuko moves when she takes out her small wallet, the way she behaves when she feels something is wrong without knowing exactly what is going on. This is definitely Takahata at his very best.

The music is beautiful, striking a chord even outside the context of the film. Whenever I hear the theme song I get a little tingly, as it accompanies some of the more emotional scenes in this film. Maybe Takahata could've used the soundtrack a bit more sparingly throughout, the music isn't always as subtle as it could've been either, but the result is captivating and underlines the emotional moments of the film.

I actually watched part of this film in English once, I advise you never to do the same. The Japanese actors are way better, putting more love and emotion into their characters. Especially the voice of Setsuko is spot on, little girl lisp and everything. The English track is a lot harsher and gives off a very cold and unpleasant vibe, so be sure to stay clear of it.

If you look around you'll find some comments of people who consider the film over-sentimental. While in fact there are some very depressing scenes, accompanied by sad music and aimed to crush the heart of the audience, there is also a darker and harsher undercurrent of self-critique that sets it apart from typical tearjerkers. The writer of the novel is actually present in the form of Seiko, who is directly responsible for the demise of Setsuko. His pride and inability to cope with the treatment they get from their aunt (which, considering the situation they were in, wasn't exactly strange) is exactly the reason why things turned out the way they did. Nosaka atones for his childhood sins through the novel, his fictional destiny being the best indication of his own feelings of guilt. Takahata does a very good job transferring those feelings into the film, though many people still seem to miss that aspect of Hotaru no Haka.

Hotaru no Haka is one of the best anti-war movies out there, even though there's hardly a glimpse of all the fighting involved. Instead it focuses on the people who are left behind, families torn apart and children turned orphans. There are some agonizing scenes hidden away in this film so it's probably best to avoid showing this to very young children, but anyone else should take the time to sit down and watch this. It's not the ideal film for a fun evening on the couch, but it reaches well beyond the boundaries of traditional animation films and delivers an experience you'll be hard-pressed to find anywhere else.

Densen Uta (Suicide Song) is one of those films that is bound to attract the wrong audience. The film is often categorized as a regular J-Horror, case in point the many reviews trying to fault it for not being something it didn't set out to be. Go in with a blank mind though, and you'll find a pretty exciting little cross-genre breed that knows to excite and surprise. Then again, Masato Harada is that kind of director so I should've known.

The similarities between Densen Uta and Jisatsu Sakuru (Sion Sono - Cold Fish, Love Exposure, Ekusute) are almost uncanny, to the point where I actually started to believe this was some kind of unofficial sequel. It turns out both films are unrelated, but the main theme, the erratic blend of genres and the level of weirdness still link the two films together. Not to mention the fact that Jisatsu Sakuru had the same preconceptions to battle upon its release back in 2001. At times Densen Uta even feels as if it belongs in Sono's oeuvre, somewhere lodged in between Jisatsu Sakuru and Love Exposure.

Densen Uta tells about a song that drives people to suicide. Once you sing along to this infamous song (which is called Gloomy Sunday, based on an actual urban legend), you are bound to end up killing yourself. It sounds like a trillion other Ringu rip-offs, but apart from this typical J-Horror setup the film has very little in common with the reigning genre clichés attached to the J-Horror label. Instead, Harada tries to find his own way, blending genres and different vibes along the way.

The suicides are picked up by the staff of an alternative magazine, who set out to uncover the truth about this alleged suicide song. The closer they get to the truth though, the more they are pulled into the myth, which turns out to be a bit more lethal than they had anticipated. When people start dying left and right, they seek the help of a local exorcist in the hope she can release them from their curse.

Harada is a pretty capable director, visually speaking. Those who've seen Inugami should already be convinced of his skills, with Densen Uta he shows he can also handle more eclectic styles. There are some superb camera moves and some pretty surprising editing tricks, the use of lighting is stylish and the film has its fair share of interesting visual setups (like the mirror scene). Harada was clearly free to experiment, which certainly helps to keep the film exciting.

The soundtrack is a bit more traditional, though it still features a rather broad selection of styles to go with the different genres mixed within the film. There's the dark and brooding horror stuff, the more upbeat comedy melodies and of course some gentle pop songs to accommodate the dramatic scenes. None of it is exceptional, but it does the job without ever becoming annoying or irritating, which accounts for something.

Luckily Harada surrounded himself with a group of talented actors. Ryuhei Matsuda takes the lead, Yusuke Iseya is a very interesting companion (though only through the first half of the film). Two young talents who are capable of carrying a film by themselves, so it's a true joy to see them playing next to each other on screen. We're also treated to a short but fun cameo of Hiroshi Abe, the rest of the cast is less familiar (unless you're into AKB48 apparently), though just as solid as the star cast.

Densen Uta is a strange little film. The mood can change quickly between different scenes (sometimes even within a single scene), there is little to no stylistic conformity (though the film is stylish throughout) and it takes a while before you realize where the film is headed, story-wise. If you were hoping to enjoy a couple of quick scares this film is bound to disappoint, if on the other hand you cherish the film's mood swings you're in for two hours of quality film making.

I actually expected very little from this film because it was labeled as J-Horror, so I was pleasantly surprised to find a very accomplished yet eclectic film hiding underneath the cover of ghosts and suicides. The acting is top notch, the film look great and sports an interesting blend of genres. There's a pretty classic horror tale hidden underneath all of this, but you won't get the time to be bored by it. Definitely worth your time if you happen to stumble upon it.

Some people firmly believe Rocky is the best boxing film out there, others swear by Scorsese's Raging Bull. If you ask me, there hasn't been any film that could match the sheer adrenaline springing from Tsukamoto's boxing hands. Tokyo Ken combines the boxing clichés with Tsuka's raging camera work and a fair share of body mutilations to create something quite unlike anything else out there in the boxing genre.

Apart from a very early studio film, Shinya Tsukamoto (Tetsuo, Tetsuo: Bullet Man, Vital, Nightmare Detective 2) has pretty much been making his own kind of films. Even his second studio feature (the Rampo-inspired Soseji) is far from normal studio fare. So if a man like Tsukamoto tackles a boxing flick, you know it's not just going to be just any kind of rise and fall story with a couple of boxing matches thrown in for good measure.

Tokyo Ken is the story of Tsuda, a pretty run of the mill salary man who relishes his relationship with his soon to be wife, Hizuru. While Hizuru lives a pleasant and comfortable life, she is more than a little disappointed by the plain and boring repetition of her everyday existence. When Kojima, an old friend of Tsuda suddenly turns up on their doorstep, both their lives will be changed forever.

Kojima lusts after Hizuru. Even though at first she holds Kojima at a distance she is clearly turned on by Kojima's wild streak, slowly allowing herself to break apart her own boring routines. She starts to experiment with piercings and tattoos, soon after she leaves Tsuda and moves in with Kojima. Tsuda has a hard time coping with Hizuru's sudden switch and takes up boxing lessons to beat Kojima at his own game. While all of that still sounds pretty acceptable, the execution is clearly something else.

Tokyo Ken is Tsukamoto's first film where he demonstrates that his films work just as well in color. Tetsuo 2 and Hiroku The Goblin weren't as visually satisfying as his previous films, Tokyo Ken on the other hand is a celebration of superb camera angles, beautiful monochrome pictures and some totally rad editing skills. The film looks lush from start to finish, a true testament to Tsukamoto's visual style.

The soundtrack too is exceptional. A combination of high octane tracks, slightly exaggerated sound effects and a bunch of moody ambient songs that highlight the urban feel of the film. Tsukamoto seems well aware that madly edited visuals don't just work by themselves and benefit greatly from a soundtrack that enforces this madness. The result in an audiovisual experience that carries the film almost by itself.

To add to the insanity Tsukamoto chose to stick with his hyperactive, highly intense acting style. It's not as manic as in Tetsuo, but it sure as hell ain't normal human behavior either. It's an acquired taste, but I feel that it works great in films like these. Kaori Fujii and Koji Tsukamoto (his younger brother) fair well as actors too, apart from these three you'll find notable cameos of Naoto Takenaka and Tomorowo Taguchi.

Once Tsuda starts with his boxing training all the usual Tsukamoto elements start to surface. Suddenly there are mashed up faces, Hizuru starts putting metal bars through her skin and blood spurts from bodies by the gallon. Tokyo Ken is a true body horror, only disguised as a drama/boxing film. People hoping to see a traditional boxing film will surely be disappointed by the course this film takes, but Tsukamoto films are sure to rejoice.

Tokyo Ken is somewhat of a forgotten Tsukamoto film, which is weird considering its many qualities. It's an exceptional audiovisual experience, a worthwhile drama and a lesson in how to properly film a boxing match. It's a pretty short film that packs quite a punch and doesn't outstay its welcome. Fans of Tsukamoto owe it to themselves to watch this one, because it's up there as one of the best films he ever made.

No matter where you look, no matter what sources you follow, if you read up on front-end development you cannot escape the reign of performance. As many studies suggest, websites need to be fast to perform well. People don't like to wait for their information but at the same time they demand richer experiences, so the page load is ever increasing. Performance testing has become a necessity but we should take care it doesn't turn into an obsession.

Oren "Paranormal Activity" Peli returns to the big screen after wrapping up his short and rather underwhelming series The River, finally abandoning the found footage fare for a more traditional horror setup. The result is Chernobyl Diaries, a film that takes you on a trip to experience the aftermath of one of the most gruesome disasters of the past century, exploring the wasteland that was left behind by the nuclear disaster in Chernobyl, Ukraine.

Doing a film like Chernobyl Diaries is tricky. It's a 100% genre film which means that it forsakes originality and puts all its money on execution. Different people have different tastes though, so it's really all about how you are going to experience the smallest of details. Reviews have been quite devastating, tearing the film down with typical horror criticism like plot holes, easy scares and an abundance of clichés. Welcome to the bright world of genre cinema.

First of all, let's make it clear that Chernobyl Diaries has very little in common with the PA films. There is no forced "oh yeah, we came up with some very scripted reasons to film it" antics, there is no "we can't act our way out of a kid's party but that only adds to the realism" amateurishness and thank God we are treated to a bit more than the less is very little concept of "did that door just move or is it my eyes that are starting to water after ogling the same screen for more than a minute". Parker makes sure that there's no way you'll confuse realism with bad direction, which at least for me made it a lot more bearable than the PA films.

Chernobyl Diaries does borrow the setup and aesthetic of similar found footage films though (think The Tunnel or Evidence), but uses its cinematic power to lift itself above the competition. The films starts with a group of kids subscribing to a little tour of extreme tourism, promising them the time of their life in Pripyat, the nearby city that was abandoned overnight the day the reactor melted. What follows is hardly surprising but like I said before, originality isn't exactly what this film aims to deliver.

There are several ways to add to the effectiveness of a straight-up horror film, but a strong plot clearly isn't one of them. Instead you aim for atmosphere, a pleasant cast and a strong build-up towards a hellish climax. Get your audience involved enough and they won't care much about some alleged plot holes or unlikely actions of the cast (though one can just as well question much of the couch logic that is brought up in reviews). Again, whether you succeed depends on how people react to certain details, but I'll happily admit that I haven't felt as tense watching a horror film in theaters ever since I watched the first [rec].

Parker starts with a careful selection of protagonists. Sure they aren't the smartest bunch, but at least the slut-level of the crew is acceptable enough to withstand their sometimes silly behavior. The six actually have a nice dynamic going, add to that the walking cliché of a russian ex-military tour guide and you have a group of seven that serves as perfect bait for what lies waiting.

A lot of appeal comes from the setting. The idea of entering a radio-active wasteland is exciting in itself, so even though the first part of the film is somewhat uneventful there is a constant tension brought on by an eerie soundtrack and a strong sense of something lurking in the shadows (remember Blinky from The Simpsons ?). There are a few scares left and right, but nothing out of the ordinary. The slow build-up prohibits any real revelations early on, so most of the scares are of the loud noise variety.

Then there is the presentation. Visually the film still holds true to the "right there" aesthetic, but does so in a more cinematic way. Parker attracted cinematographer Morten Søborg (Valhalla Rising, Pusher, Susanne Bier's films) to blend the hand-held aesthetic with some proper camera work. The result is a more than satisfying mix that brings out the creepiness of the surroundings while making sure you still feel like you're part of the group exploring the area around Chernobyl. The soundtrack too is of high quality. Parker dares to play with silence, contrasts it with loud scares and fills the moments in between with rather brooding illbient sounds. He creates a very tense and uneasy atmosphere that sips through even in the scenes were nothing much is happening.

Chernobyl Diaries slowly works towards its climax, with the last half hour serving as a perfect descent into madness. As the group starts to unravel they get scattered throughout the desolate city, ready to be picked off one by one. The "danger" never really makes it full focus into the audience's frame of vision, adding to the mystery of the threat and further heightening the overall tension. While the film falls just a little short of the absolute best, it comes very close and delivers 90 minutes of purely visceral horror fun. Changes are you may experience the film differently, prompting you to complain about weird Geiger counters and some stupid decisions of the main crew, but know that it's more likely to be the result of the film's failure rather than a direct motive.

Parker does everything to make sure that all the things are there for a good night of tense and thrilling horror fun, whether it will actually work depends on how you like your horror films served. Make sure to give this film a chance though, because it's quite rare to see this much talent go into a horror flick.

Whenever the word hebi (snake) pops up in Japanese film titles chances are you can expect something situated in the margins of society. Notorious examples are Shinya Tsukamoto's Rokugatsu No Hebi and Takashi Ishii's Hana To Hebi (beware!). Compared to these two films Hebi Ni Piasu is actually quite tame, though unsuspecting film fans may still be surprised by what they find behind the warm exteriors of this unusual drama.

Yukio Ninagawa never backed away from adding some controversial themes to his films. His comeback title Ao No Hono-o treaded around some delicate issues, Hebi Ni Piasu takes a very similar road. The difference is that the setting of Hebi Ni Piasu may alienate people enough to ease the blow a little. By society's standards the film's protagonists are all freaks, which makes it easier to assume they're suffering from some kind of social illness rather than fighting their own demons. Ninagawa, obviously realizing this, countered by planting a big, pulsating and all-enveloping heart in the middle of his film.

The film follows the life of Lui, who one day runs into a punk fan called Ama. Lui is intrigued by Ama's appearance, especially his split tongue. The two start dating and slowly Ama's influence starts to rub off on Lui. Ama takes her to his favorite tattoo parlor, where she is introduced to a series of different body decorations and modifications. That's where she meets Shiva, a tattoo specialist and self-proclaimed sadist.

Behind Ama's back Lui and Shiva start their own little perverted relationship. It's not so much that Lui feels let down by Ama, but Shiva's perverse tendencies are apparently intriguing enough to risk her current relationship. This weird little triangle goes on for a while, until the moment when Ama suddenly disappears. Lui tumbles down a black hole, clinging to whatever reminds her of Ama.

Even though the subject matter is often harsh and impenetrable, Ninagawa gives the film a rather warm and inviting shine. Most scenes are shot indoors, where the proper lighting makes for often cosy and atmospheric settings. The camera work is straight-forward but controlled and well-executed, the intro in particular is of extraordinary beauty. A long tracking shot through the Tokyo crowds, following Ama into the nightclub where he'll meet up with Lui for the first time.

The soundtrack too is a little different. From the by earbuds-muted intro (a great detail) to the incredibly atmospheric piano and ambient music later on, it blesses the film with an alien yet comfortable vibe. It's nice to see that Ninagawa opted for something different, because the basic Japanese drama score just wouldn't have cut it here.

Between all the sadism, sadomasochism and various forms of body mutilation, there are three actors who lend the film a proper heart. Kengo Kora and Shun Oguri are superb as the two male leads, Yoriko Yoshitaka transforms into Lui, a pretty daring role to take on. These three actors really carry the film, making sure the film isn't just about the ever declining morals in youth culture, but about three individuals who do their best to overcome their own limitations.

So yeah, there's people with piercings and red hair, there's a fascination for tattoos and some perverse sexual scenes, but these are put in sharp contrast with the warm and humane vibe coming from Hebi Ni Piasu. This is not a film about some out of control young kids, which by itself is quite a feat already. Ninagawa shows the proper respect for his subjects and because of that the trip down the self-mutilation road in an intriguing one to take.

Hebi Ni Piasu still bares traces from the typical Japanese drama, but because of its setting and subject matter it differentiates itself from the countless others that are released year in, year out. It's a beautiful film, sometimes alienating, sometimes weird and impenetrable, but always humane and warm, embracing its characters rather than discarding them as outcasts.

As film fans we all love to hate remakes, especially when they appear too close to the original film. So chances are that people are going to dismiss Silent House as anything worthwhile simply because it didn't take "the Americans" more than a year to churn out this remake of La Casa Muda, taking away the spotlight from this little Uruguayan horror film. Once in a while though the result isn't actually half bad and Silent House is such a notable exception.

It may have helped that I didn't see the original prior to this remake, but getting your hands on Uruguayan films just isn't all that easy around here. Many of the striking elements of Silent House appear to be lifted straight from the original, though films like Quarantine are the ultimate proof that this is still no guarantee for success. Judged on its own merits though, Silent House is a superbly tense and thrilling little horror film, a film that gives some new shine to the less is more principle and clings to the dark basics of the horror film.

One of the film's defining characteristics (and the main point of promotion of the original) is the fact that it's a one-take film (or at least, it's edited like a one-take affair). From the very first shot until the final image, the camera is fixated on Sarah, a young girl helping her dad out fixing up an old summer house, getting it ready to be sold. Even though she is a little introverted, Sarah seems like a nice enough girl who treasures the time she spends with her dad.

Originality isn't one of the film's main selling points, so if the different plot elements sound familiar it's probably because you've seen and experienced them countless times before. From the awkward meeting with a former play mate to the sudden disappearance of certain characters and the obligatory twist ending, Silent House makes it clear that it values atmosphere higher than a good, original plot. This being a straight-forward horror film, I actually feel like that wasn't such a bad choice.

Apart from the fact that scenes are edited seamlessly together, there are some other bold visual choices. First of all you'll notice that the darkness is ever present in this film. Some shots are clearly too dark to make out anything substantial, but because the rhythm and timing of the camera work is spot on this only adds to the creepy atmosphere. Another interesting choice is to have the camera focus on Sarah at all times. Many of tense scenes are experienced through the facial expressions of Sarah, rather than the actual events happening in front of Sarah. The camera often doesn't register the actual scares, rather it shows the effect these events have on Sarah. It helps to keep the audience even more in the dark.

As you can probably guess, the soundtrack is pretty minimalistic. Most of the time there isn't even any noticeable music in the background, just ambient noises. The scarce moments that do feature sonic build-ups are excellent though, adding a lot of tension to these climaxes. I'm pretty sure that tweaking the ambient noises a bit more wouldn't have hurt the film, which could've added even more tension to the overall atmosphere. Beyond that there really isn't any reason to complain about the Silent House soundtrack.

With the camera constantly aimed at Sarah, I'm glad Kentis and Lau found a talented actress to convey Sarah's experiences and emotions. Most of the time I care very little for the acting talent of horror film casts, but as we often only have Sarah's body language to rely on this film really needed an actress beyond the dumb bimbos that usually litter horror films. Elisabeth Olsen (Martha Marcy May Marlene) does an excellent job and even though it feels like her character lies very close to the one she played in MMMM, she is an essential part in this film's success. The rest of the cast (5 others) are barely seen or heard.

Silent House is a very minimalistic film. There is little else happening beyond Sarah running through an old, dark and empty house, apart from the short (yet somewhat predictable) twist ending of course. It's a film that will leave you completely cold if you don't enjoy this basic setup or if you don't feel the tension that comes from the unknown. But if it does strike a chord it's one of the most creepy and atmospheric horror films released in 2012.

I'm not sure just how much it differs from the original and as is the case with all remakes, I assume it's best to leave some time between watching this and La Casa Muda. But if you can set aside your preconceptions about remakes you might just find a very enjoyable horror film. Adequately shot, novel in its execution and tense in just the right places, Silent House is a neat little gem that deserves an unbiased audience.

Responsive is everywhere, the impact is tremendous. Wireframing, visual design and front-end development are all straining to cater to the needs of responsive web design. People are experimenting but nobody really knows for sure where responsive will take us. From a front-end/structural point of view, the first and most drastic impact of responsive on a website is the layout grid, so let's see how this may affect the html and css we write.

Since these layout groups are purely added for visual structuring I use div-tags. In some cases you could substitute them with more semantic tags (like header, footer, aside, section, article) but that is bound to make reuse of the component in varying situations almost impossible. Choosing divs allows us to use this component everywhere we see fit. When an aside, section or any other semantic container is appropriate we can just nest those in the layout groups. This also allows us to group an aside and footer in one layout group if needed.

Back when the Japanese horror scene was dominated by black-haired, female ghosts draped in long white gowns, ever fueling the regressing less is more aesthetic, there was one project that rose from the stale ashes left by hundreds of rip-offs and wannabes. Rampo Jigoku (Rampo Noir) revitalized the Japanese horror genre and showed the world there was more than glitchy apparitions and cheap setups to scare and out-gross audiences.

Rampo Jigoku is an anthology film based around the work of famous Japanese writer Edogawa Rampo. The man was a big fan of Edgar Allan Poe (and if you look closely, Edogawa Rampo is merely a Japanese re-pronunciation of Poe's name), his influence ever present in Rampo's work. Rampo's stories are a mix of the obscene, the perverse and the obscure, framed in stylish and well-composed settings. His stories are never about random killings or evil monsters, but about the deepest and darkest corners of the human mind which manifest itself in obsessive and creepy behavior, though often not ill-intended.

The film starts with the shortest (but probably most impressive) segment of the four. Mars Canal (Takeuchi Suguru) is a silent, narrative-less affair featuring the physical struggles of a man and woman. Those of you who are familiar with Chris Cunningham's video installation Flex will definitely recognize the setup, as this short is clearly inspired by Cunningham's work. There are also obvious differences though. Mars Canal is completely silent for the bigger part of its running time, which creates a very uneasy tension when you see the naked bodies writhing across the screen. Until the very end that is, when an ever growing wave of noise starts washing over the film. A very emotive and impressive form of audiovisual trickery that immediately sets the tone.

The second short (Mirror Hell by Akio Jissoji) is the most traditional of the anthology. A very classic Japanese tale of horror (think Orochi) told in a very restrained and stylish way, even when the subject matter becomes quite gruesome at certain points. Mirror Hell is superbly shot, set in between an endless array of mirrors and reflecting surfaces. I don't think there is even a single shot that doesn't play with reflections. Tadanobu Asano and Hiroki Narimiya take up the lead roles, secondary support comes in the form of Susumu Terajima. Clearly there is no shortage of acting talent present here. A very nice introduction into the world of Rampo and a very stylish one to boot.

Hisayasu Sato tackles Rampo's Caterpillar (in 2010 Koji Wakamatsu made his own version of this tale). A sick and twisted story about a man with no legs and arms, held captive by his loving wife who basks in the glory of her husband's war efforts. Hanae Kan and Ryuhei Matsuda grace the screen with their presence, Ryuhei in particular is always a worthwhile addition to a film's cast. Caterpillar is easily the most disturbing and direct short of the anthology, resulting in some very disturbing and full-out gross imagery. Coupled with the expressive visual style this short is sure to leave quite an impression.

Finally there is Atsushi Kaneko's Crawling Bugs, a more cartoonesque short about the perverse obsession of a fan for a stage actress. Asano (once again) lands the job of his dreams when he is hired as his favorite actress' chauffeur. He develops an unhealthy fascination for the woman though and start to stalk her. The result is anything but pretty (not quite unlike Fabrice du Welz' short film A Wonderful Love) but quite a sight for horror enthusiasts. A wonderfully visualized short, brimming with energy and vision, leaving you with a fair few images burning on your retina when the credits finally close down this final act.

Rampo Jigoku is a daring project, bringing together a team of varied directors (two first-timers and two classics) and giving them carte blanche to adapt one of Rampo's stories. The result is an amazing collection of short films, brought to life by a range of superb actors and featuring strong yet very individual visual styles. A true sight to behold and without a doubt one of the best horror projects to have come out of Japan. Forget about the Ringus and Ju-ons of this world, Rampo Jigoku will show you the disturbing depths of the human mind enhanced with some rather plastic visions of human decay.

If the name Takehiko Shinjo doesn't ring a bell, it's because the man usually limits himself to a type of film that has a hard time establishing itself outside of Japan. Romance isn't the most challenging genre to begin with and it gets especially flaky when dramatic arcs are replaced by cutesy feel-good. And yet, when done with as much conviction as here, these films can be pretty charming in their own right. Tada, Kimi Wo Aishiteru (Heavenly Forest) is clearly one of the better entries in the genre.

For a country that cherishes "Kawai~~~" as one of its most recognizable key phrases, it's not too surprising to find a whole genre of films infused with cuddly cuteness. Many of these films fail to land international attention and are probably better off because of it, but some films are actually worth checking out. Be prepared though and leave all your cynical and critical thinking behind because when you enter the sugarcoated world of the Japanese feel-good romance there is only room for the sweet, the cute and the naive.

The film follows Makoto, a young boy caught between the blossoming love of two women. The first girl is Miyuki, Makoto's classmate and longtime crush. To his surprise Miyuki invites him to join her table, effectively introducing him into her circle of friends. The second girl is Shizuru, a somewhat peculiar girl who has no friends and spends most of the time by herself. When one day Makoto helps her out she clings to him, determined to keep him as close to her as humanly possible.

Even though Makoto is ecstatic to finally join Miyuki and her friends, he also develops a close and personal connection with Shizuru. Things get more and more complicated, especially when Shizuru elopes from her home and moves in with Makoto. The typical romantic struggles pop up and for a while it feels as if you've all seen it before, until the film twists around and the love triangle is suddenly falling apart, leaving the trio unsure of how to proceed.

Visually there is plenty to be excited about. As a small part of the film is set in America, it's fun to see a different perspective on the typical American urban settings. The biggest part of the film is set in Japan though, where the titular forest takes up most of the visual credit. Extremely idyllic and the perfect location for what ends up to be the key scene of this film. The camera work and the editing are typically soft and controlled, making sure that there is no jerkiness whatsoever to break the film's perfect little wold.

The soundtrack is exactly what you may expect from a film like this. Littered with soft-natured piano tunes, never taking any risks and always wary of alienating the viewer. Add some J-Pop closure and all the clichés are accounted for. It's not very challenging, but nonetheless it's a decent soundtrack that's quite successful in its mission.

Part of why this film works so well is Miyazaki's terrific performance. Hiroshi Tamaki and Meisa Kuroki are both pretty decent, but never really convince as a screen couple. It's clear that the both of them aren't very gifted actors and get by mostly on looks. Miyazaki plays the most difficult part, but she makes it appear as if it's all terribly easy. It's her character that lifts you through the film, keeping the feel-good from turning into bad-tempered sentiment and adding immensely to the overall cuteness-level of Tada, Kimi Wo Aishiteru.

While the final act of the film takes a more dramatic turn, it hardly effects the easy feel-good nature of the film. Sure there is some room for tears if you're into that, but Tada, Kimi Wo Aishiteru is never hard to stomach or depressing, instead it highlight the preferred Japanese way of handing drama by coming to terms with certain regrettable events. It makes for a beautiful (though somewhat unhealthy if judged by realistic standards) ending.

Tada, Kimi Wo Aishiteru is a sweet, cute, good-natured and hopelessly naive little film. If you can't stomach that it's best to avoid it altogether, as Shinjo is determined not to let anything spoil the film's good mood. If you want a feel-good breather though, it's the perfect film for some light and uplifting entertainment. Skillfully executed, charming and overdosing on the idealistic, it's not the biggest master piece ever made, but a damn sweet and fun film nonetheless.

Chances are you know Hideaki Anno only from his involvement in Evangelion. The man rose to fame when his series aired 15 years ago. It marked the start for a series of sequels, reboots, manga adaptations and an unlimited slew of marketing potential. But Hideaki Anno is more than just Evangelion, he also made a couple of live action film of which Shiki-Jitsu is by far the most accomplished one. A ravishing look into the mind of an exceptional (and exceptionally distraught) woman, brought to life the way only an animation expert could.

Hideaki Anno may be one of the most famous anime directors out there (Evangelion being one of the most critically acclaimed animation series), but very few people seems to care for his live action work. A major problem that Asian cinema in general has been facing for the past decade. You can successfully market an Asian film in the West, but marketing an Asian director is neigh impossible. Even the big guys (like Takeshi Kitano, Takeshi Miike or Kim Ki-duk) failed to land proper (global) releases for their latest films. Hell, even Yimou Zhang's Flowers Of War passed us by without so much of a splash, and that film had Christian Bale in the lead. A sad state of affairs but it seems very difficult to counter.

It's a real shame, because it's often the films that don't make it to the West that are the most interesting ones. I'm not really big on Evangelion, but Shiki-Jitsu stands firmly as one of my all-time favorite films ever. Luckily the nice folks of Ghibli released an English-friendly DVD back when, allowing the West at least a small (yet expensive) opportunity to sample Anno's live action work. Rest assured though that the film is well worth the investment.

Shiki-Jitsu is an adaptation of Ayako Fujitani's novel Touhimu, a book based on the feelings she experienced when she lived in Los Angeles. While this makes it sound a bit like the reversed version of Lost In Translation, Shiki-Jitsu is not so much a film about cultural differences as it is a film about the inability of a young girl to process certain events in her life. Instead she retreats in her own mind, locking herself in a perpetual dream world, ruled by a series of daily rituals. This world is turned upside down when she bumps into a director experiencing a serious case of writer's block. He decides to follow her out of boredom, but becomes slowly transfixed by this strange and unusual woman.

Having an animation director direct a live action film is not a guarantee for strong visuals (Otomo's World Apartment Horror was somewhat of a disappointment), but it certainly seems to help (personally I assume it's because they are used to starting from a blank page and building the entire visualization from scratch). Whatever the case, Shiki-Jitsu looks absolutely stunning. Ayako's house is a visual paradise, the outside scenes are framed with a minute sense of detail and Anno's use of light and color is simply impeccable. Save some weird CG/train sequences this film is a true visual delight.

The soundtrack is a little less adventurous, yet it's one of the best of its kind. Subtle yet captivating piano music alternated by a select few Japanese pop songs. Usually these can quickly ruin the mood, but it seems Anno has a keen ear for quality music. The end credits song serves as the perfect example. It's not really a soundtrack that will blow you away as it exists mainly in the background, but it provides a perfect base for the subtle and touching atmosphere that flows from the film.

One of the major strengths of Shiki-Jitsu is the casting. Ayako herself takes up the lead role, which clearly helped in establishing her role. Ayako's character is quite complex, but as she's really just playing herself she has little trouble hitting the right marks. Right across her she finds Shunji Iwai (director of Hana and Alice) who is the exact opposite of Ayako's manic and fickle persona. Iwai is calm, controlled and patient, though the relationship between the both of them remains fragile. There are hardly any secondary characters, most of the time is spent following Ayako and Iwai. Somewhat of a gamble, but both actors put in such strong performances that it hardly seems to matter. On the contrary even, when other characters appear on screen it almost feels like an unwelcome intrusion.

Shiki-Jitsu is one of the few character studies that combines profound emotions with strong styling without becoming too abstract or distant. Ayako's pain is tangible throughout the entire film in a very real and direct way, but this never stands in the way of the film's luscious exterior. A rare combination that makes this film all the more worthwhile.

Shiki-Jitsu is rather long, running a little over two hours, especially when you consider the fact that the characters you'll be spending your time with aren't all that charming or lovable. They are extremely intriguing though and while Anno delves into their personas you slowly familiarize with them, without the need to find any actual similarities between you and the characters. Shiki-Jitsu is by far Anno's most accomplished film and it supersedes all his other efforts with gratifying ease. It's one of the most unique dramas I've ever seen, keeping me interesting from start to finish without even the hint of a glitch of boredom. Make sure you don't miss out on this one.

What a weekend it was, a little more than 8 years ago. Probably my favorite film-related weekend ever, with Vital, Cha No Aji and Survive Style 5+ on the menu. All three films ended up in my personal top 100 and while Cha No Aji is ranked the lowest of the three, Katsuhito Ishii (My Darling Of The Mountains) his film remains one of the absolute highlights of the Japanese comedy. A true delight that elevates feel-good cinema to a whole new level and charms from start to finish.

Cha No Aji was somewhat of a surprise. I was already familiar with Ishii's work, having watched Party 7 and Shark Skin Man & Peach Hip Girl prior to this one. On top of that, I was well aware of Ishii's involvement in Trava Fist Planet, so I figured it was fair to expect a weird, zany and high-octane comedy. Cha No Aji is almost the complete opposite though. It's not that Ishii shied away from his extravagant antics, but the dosage here is completely different. Cha No Aji is a chill, relaxing film that only serves smalls chunks of weird and awkward for greater effect.

Like Ishii's other films Cha No Aji is an ensemble film, this time focusing on the members of a common, everyday family. Each of them have their own quirks and troubles, which are amply examined during the course of the film. Ishii keeps a very light-hearted tone, never letting the minor dramatic touches influence the laid-back and feel-good atmosphere of the film. There is room for a little drama once in a while, but it never becomes too sentimental or too intrusive.

The family is a varied, slightly weird yet very lovable bunch. There's Sachiko, the youngest of the family who's constantly being watched by a giant version of herself. Then there's Hajime, a young boy who has a crush on the new girl in school. Both parents are pretty normal, though mom turns out to be a pretty rad animator. Ayano is the laid-back uncle living in and Akira is the bonkers grandfather, definitely the star of the film.

Ishii toned down his trademark visual style for this film, but that doesn't mean Cha No Aji isn't a pretty film to look at. Set in rural Japan, various shades of deep, lively greens dominate this film. Add some blue skies and pretty sunsets and you get an idea of the visual vibe. The scenes outside are truly magnificent, emitting a sense of calm that is seemingly inherent to this type of Japanese film. There is some CG from time to time, mostly functional (and fun), though the quality varies. Luckily it never intrudes or takes away from the experience.

The soundtrack is subtle and sweet. A cute collection of laid-back, easy-going tracks that enhance the atmosphere. It's not so much the music as the ambient sound effects that leave a lasting impression though. Simple sounds that are used to great effect throughout the film, like the slamming of a small shed window (during one of the first scenes). On top of that, Cha No Aji features some absolutely brilliant songs, mostly performed by grandpa Akira. Not really sure why, but from time to time the Mountain Song just slips into my mind and takes it hostage for a short while, always bringing an unmistakable smile to my face.

The acting is top notch too. Maya Banno shines as the young Sachiko, yet her performance is completely eclipsed by the presence of Tatsuya Gashuin. He already left a lasting impression in Shark Skin Man & Peach Hip Girl, with Cha No Aji he made himself truly immortal. Grandpa Akira is without a doubt one of the funniest, craziest and most lovable characters that ever graced the world of film. If that wasn't enough, secondary roles are handled by the likes of Susumu Terajima and Tadanobu Asano (still my number one favorite actor out there). With a cast like that, it's pretty difficult to make a bad film.

Cha No Aji lacks coherency, which could be fatal for a film that lasts 143 minutes. But the sketches and plot-evasive scenes are so much fun that it hardly seems to matter. As we drift from character to character the film keeps fortifying its feel-good atmosphere, to the point where I stopped caring for a plot line or dramatic arc, instead relishing the warm blanket of loveliness that Ishii spread for all the enjoy.

Cha No Aji is a lovingly executed ode to laziness, boredom and feeling at ease. Sometimes its characters do little else but loitering on the porch, enjoying the fact that they have nothing else to do but sit and enjoy the moment. Ishii livens things up with some absurd events, but never to the extent of his previous films. Cha No Aji is without a doubt Ishii's best film so far, a true masterpiece and a joy to watch again from time to time. A film that knows no weak points, which is quite amazing for a film that lasts more than two hours.

It may sound a bit weird, but straight-up, modern action flicks aren't all that common in Japan. Usually Japanese action films are coupled to (and eclipsed by) other genres (like sci-fi, kaiju, martial arts or samurai), leaving only a few exceptions to the rule for fans of extended gunfights and tough, ass-kicking, masculine violence. Wild 7 is such a notable exception, and it makes you wonder why exactly Japan isn't producing more of these.

As much as I love Japanese entertainment, I never heard of Wild 7 before. Which is pretty weird considering there's a whole line of anime and TV serie adaptations of the original manga. Born in the late '60s, Wild 7 takes a spin on the post-war, political situation of Japan and brings together 7 convicted criminals to form an alliance of mercenaries operating outside of the law. This team is contacted whenever regular forces can't handle their jobs, but some higher-ups consider this team a serious threat and want to dismantle the project.

While the Wild 7 live action adaptation is a pretty simple (but good) action flick, there are a surprisingly high amount of Oshii references to be found in this film. The team for example is not quite unlike Kokaku Kidotai's Section 9, the zeppelin incident is taken right out of Patlabor 2 and the post-ending bit resembles one of the other terrorist attacks in Patlabor 2. Then there is the rampant political corruption, one of Oshii's beloved themes (think Jin-Ro). And while all of these things could somehow be traced back to the original setup of Wild 7, you simply cannot look past Kenji Kawai's soundtrack where one track in particular sounds an awful lot like an Avalon left-over. Clearly the original Wild 7 material pre-dates any of Oshii's stuff I mentioned above, but I'm pretty confident that there's some kind of homage going on here.

Wild 7's story is pretty straight-forward. The group finds itself in an existential crisis, caught between the wrath of their superiors and the will to do something worthwhile, trying to redeem their past mistakes. They cut themselves loose from their command and try to blast their way to the one person controlling all the political puppets. There are some extra dramatical bits and pieces, but those are mostly introduced to fill the space between the action scenes.

Hasumi applies a pretty nice visual style, appropriate for this kind of film. Gunfights can become tedious very fast when not shot well, Hasami avoids this trap by inserting some very stylish bullet ballets. The use of lighting in particular makes for some very spectacular scenes. The film as a whole looks modern and slick, nicely edited and timed well, exactly the way a good action flick should look. And there's little to no shaky-cam action, which should comfort a lot of people.

The soundtrack is clearly the work of Kenji Kawai. The choice in instruments and motives is very reminiscent of the work Kawai usually prepares for Oshii's films. It lends Wild 7 a rather unique and differentiating atmosphere, especially for a film like this. It's definitely not Kawai's strongest work and the film itself doesn't leave the soundtrack with much opportunities to truly shine, but even then it's a pretty strong and worthwhile selection of atmospheric tracks that helps to set the film apart.

The acting is without a doubt the weakest point of the film. It's not overly bad, but the team of 7 has too many Japanese pretty boy members to be a convincing bad-ass killing squad. Notable exceptions are Takashi Ukaji (as the yakuza boss) and Minoru Matsumoto, who you might recognize as one of the crazy yakuzas from Versus. Not the most talented of actors, but at least he has plenty of charisma to compensate.

Wild 7 reminded me a little of Yamakazi's Returner, which has a similar vibe running through it. Don't expect too much substantial material or serious plot points, everything is tailored so the action can take center stage. It's not as action-packed as recent crowd-pleasure The Raid, then again Wild 7 tries to deliver a more stylized/poser kind of action, alternated with ear-deafening gun clatter.

If you don't mind a mindless (stylized) action flick once in a while you could do much worse, the action scenes are pretty kick-ass and the styling is slick and sexy. Fans of Oshii can warm themselves on a string of interesting homages and references while enjoying some mindless thrills in the meantime. Wild 7 isn't truly exceptional, but it's a damn cool and entertaining piece of escapism, the kind I would like to see more of.

It was almost two years ago that I first watched and reviewed Hu Guan's Cow, one of the weirdest animal/buddy mash-ups I've ever encountered. While a great film, it never reached much of an audience and so I didn't have too much confidence in ever hearing from Guan again. But here we are, two years later and Guan has a new film ready. It's not about animals this time around, but the setting and feel of the film are clearly reminiscent of Guan's previous effort. Fans rejoice!

When I sat down to watch Design Of Death I hadn't even realized that I was going to be a Hu Guan film. It didn't take more than five minutes before the first connections between this film and Cow started to surface though. It wasn't just the setting (a rundown, rural mountain village) or Bo Huang's (the main character) appearance, it was Guan's typical style and tone of voice that truly links these two films together.

Design Of Death is the story of Niu Jie Shi, a young boy growing up in a secluded mountain village. While Niu has a certain charm, he is also one hell of bastard, constantly annoying the villagers with his nasty little tricks. Niu wasn't born in the village which immediately creates a natural schism between him and the villagers, further driven to extremes by Niu's bratty behavior. When Niu finally crosses the line of the acceptable, the villagers come together and devise a plan to get rid of Niu.

All of this is told through a series of flashbacks. The film starts off with the investigation of Yi Sheng, a doctor who was ordered to check out the village. He finds Niu dead besides the road and becomes intrigued by the events that happened one year earlier, leading up to Niu's unfortunate death. Through these flashbacks (or actually, the interpretations of Sheng) the film tries to reconstruct the final days of Niu's life.

As for the visual side of things, I think it's safe to say that Design Of Death looks truly spectacular. From the inventive camera angles and beautiful use of color to the mad and manic camera work and editing, this film is a real sight to behold. The visual clash of the run-down village with Guan's contemporary film techniques is pretty interesting as it creates a unique and distinct atmosphere. Guan clearly knows how to shoot a pretty film.

The soundtrack too is pretty interesting. It does feature some more traditional Chinese music, but this often serves as direct contrast for the more jarring and upbeat selection of tracks. Design Of Death is a comedy at heart and while not always apparent from the story itself, the film uses its soundtrack to remove all remaining doubts. On top of that, it also features some truly spectacular music, especially near the end of the film. It nice to see some Chinese directors finally breaking free from safe and traditional soundtracks.

Even though the visuals and soundtrack are great, Guan didn't just stop there. He made it extra hard on himself by featuring a main character that isn't all that likable. And yet, Bo Huang has a certain charm that easily captures the audience. It's tricky because at times his character can appear to be a real asshole, yet Guan makes sure we never stop caring for him. Other notable performances come from Nan Yu (as Niu's love interest) and Simon Yam (as the investigating doctor). Acting performances are top notch across the line. <:p>

Design Of Death plays like a mix of Jiang's Let The Bullets Fly and Chan's Wu Xia. There's a definite mystery element at play here, as we slowly learn about the events that preceded Niu's death, while at the same time Design Of Death has that same "anything goes" feel that's popular in Chinese comedy films nowadays. The result is a true pleasure to behold.

It's definitely not the easiest of films, the first hour is filled with unsympathetic characters doing ugly things to each other. But the actors carry a disarming charm, the humor is actually funny and the film as a whole is a worthwhile audiovisual experience. Add to that an interesting plot and a superb finale and I can only conclude that Hu Guan outdid himself with this film. Design Of Death is an awesome film and definitely worth your time. Let's hope this film manages to land a bigger audience than Guan's previous effort, because it at least deserves the change to please a wider audience.

When using css preprocessors, you'll soon find that mixins are a true blessing. These little css functions capture common css patterns and save you the time of typing them over and over again. If you're lucky, they even allow you to scrap a few redundant classes from your html. Over the past couple of months I've gathered a couple of mixins that seemed to pop up in every project I started, so here's my summary of essential mixins that I feel could make it into your base template.

When Christoffer Boe made Allegro, he was faced with the almost impossible task to follow up Reconstruction with a film that would meet, preferably even exceed people's expectations. Allegro doesn't quite cut it, but man does it come close. It's a different film altogether and it's difficult to compare it directly to Reconstruction, but Boe's signature is clearly present, making it into another cinematic spectacle.

For whatever reason, Allegro (much like the rest of Boe's oeuvre) never made the same splash as Reconstruction did. By now you have to look far and hard to even catch a glimpse of a possible English-friendly DVD release, which is a real shame because Boe is one of Europe's biggest talents. That said, Allegro is quite hard on its audience, all too ready to alienate them from what is a beautiful and emotional film.

Allegro is a very harsh mix of traditional arthouse cinema injected with an overdose of modern film making. The setting is as classic as they come though. The main protagonist is Zetterstrøm, a talented piano player, moving around inside a realm of very decent and high-class people. But that's just how it all starts off. After a disastrous romance Zetterstrøm literally locks up his memories and emotions in a box. The box explodes, blows up into its own micro universe and takes over a part of Stockholm.

Scientists are at odds with the phenomenon, unable to find a proper explanation for what has happened. They label the place "The Zone" (there's your Stalker link) and leave it as is, since nothing bad seems to be happening (apart from the fact that a small part of Stockholm has now completely been shut off from the rest of the world). In the meantime, Zetterstrøm goes on living his life, continuously improving himself as a piano player. That is, until he gets an invitation to return to Stockholm and to visit The Zone. Not your typical arthouse story, now is it?

Visually Allegro is nothing less than stunning. Boe finds the perfect balance between nervous, edgy camera work and lavishly stylized visuals. Boe's zooms, pans, jerky shots and noisy image quality may sound like a recipe for ugly realism, but Allegro is filled with superb images that linger throughout the film (a style that Von Trier managed to copy really well in Antichrist). As for the CG, it is surprisingly effective. There isn't all that much, but it's more than just some functional bit processing, even adding to the overall stylistic impression of the film.

The soundtrack is probably the most traditional part of Allegro. It is a selection of piano tunes, very much in line with the subject of course, but not very daring. That said, it's a quality selection of musical pieces and Boe dares to stray from the beaten path, at times incorporating darker, more ambient-like pieces into his film. It's not as exciting as I'd hoped it would be, but Boe clearly knows how to incorporate music into his films.

The acting is overall strong too. Ulrich Thomsen takes up the role of Zetterstrøm and does so with great conviction. He brings a lot of pain and depth to his character, without making him too sad or whiny. Christensen is solid as Zetterstrøm's romantic interest (though no contest for Reconstruction's Bonnevie), Moritzen and Nicolas Bro (a Boe regular) both have strong secondary roles.

At its core, Allegro is a deceptively simple story about loss and romance, wrapped in a strange, allegoric sci-fi/fantasy setup. The result is refreshing and works well on both accounts. The drama is strong and convincing while the fantasy aspect is novel and exciting. It's a great combination of elements, but it could deter more traditionally inclined film fans who could find it difficult to accept both worlds in one single film.

I think Reconstruction still comes out as the winner when comparing both films to each other, but the difference in quality is ever so slight and the way Boe confirms his status with Allegro is simply amazing. The result is a strong, unique and captivating film that draws a few parallels to older classics, but stands well on its own. A true delight, sadly looked over by most people. It's a shame that people lost track of Boe because the man is one of the most visionary directors of modern cinema and deserves to be recognized.

Tonari no Totoro is Hayao Miyazaki (Ponyo) at his very best. Subtlety is clearly Miyazaki's friend, even though Totoro presents a typical mix of his eco motives and fantastical creatures the film feels light as a feather. It's the ideal children's film (it even works when they can't understand a single word that's being said) and a pleasure for everyone else with a soft spot for feel-good. A true lesson in fantasy film making and definitely my favorite Miyazaki film so far.

Tonari no Totoro was originally released as part of a double bill, bearing the impossible task to lighten up the mood after people were subjected to Isao Takahata's Hotaru no Haka. While I prefer Takahata's work over Miyazaki's, Totoro is a film that stole my heart the first time I watched it and never declined in quality with each successive viewing. Even though the simplicity of the film might seem a bit hollow to some, it's definitely its strongest selling point and the thing that really sets it apart from its peers.

The film lacks almost any form of a dramatic story arc. There is a short bit featured near the end, 10-15 minutes tops, where a quick injection of drama takes over, but the rest of the film is just little kids running around in the Japanese country-side, being their merry selves. They do exciting stuff like exploring their new home, visiting trees or waiting for their dad at the local bus stop. It's not really the stuff dreams are made off, but even then these moments are good for some warm and heart-felt smiles.

The film is all about Totoro though. He may not have too much screen time, but his presence is always felt. While not a very complex creature, he is fun and captivating. Apart from this big, cuddly (yet sometimes deceptively scary-looking) teddy bear there are a few other fantastical creatures, though they mostly fill in the gaps between scenes where Totoro himself is absent. Fans of Spirited Away might recognize the dust bunnies and besides those you'll also be treated to the infamous cat bus.

Tonari no Totoro is colorful, bursting with all kinds of greens to bring the Japanese countryside to life. Ghibli's usual traits are present, meaning you can expect strong and delicate character animation, a clean and clear artstyle, beautifully drawn skies and a couple of scenes that highlights their skills in fast motion animation. The film still stands proud, even when it lacks all the horse power that fuels modern animation films. The only complaint I have about Ghibli's trademark style is that it remained a bit too consistent over the years, but clearly that's not the fault of this film.

The music too is extremely bright and joyful. It's one of my favorite Ghibli - Hisaishi collaborations with a couple of very memorable tracks. The song that accompanies the opening sequence alone is enough to recommend this film. As for voice acting, opinions differ. I can't stand American dubs, but I can relate to people who find the two main characters a bit too loud at times. Mei and Setsuka are both very young girls and while they do act their age, they can get a little screamy and over-excited at times. It never bothered me as such, but I can imagine that not everyone is going to appreciate the high-pitched craziness.

Tonari no Totoro is fluff, but it's the best kind of fluff you can find. There is little to no drama (until the very end, when Mei disappears from view for a short while), Miyazaki only has eye for the beauty in life (and more particularly, the care-free world of children growing up in the countryside). Right there you'll find Miyazaki's critique on how we raise our kids today, depriving them of the same joys Mei and Setsuko experience in this film. But luckily it never takes over the film itself, as this could've easily killed the atmosphere. To see the kids go about their business is just wonderful, the addition of Totoro and his gang makes the picture complete.

While clearly a film aimed at young kids, Tonari no Totoro has the power to enchant both young and old. It's a sweet, soft-hearted and imaginative film. The fantastical elements are pure perfection, the attention to detail is simply stunning. It's a very pure film, one that every kid should have the chance to experience.

Two weeks ago I wrote a short piece on the cost of tweaking for css selector performance, explaining that it's never a win/win situation. Maintenance and correctness are put at a disadvantage when css selectors are changed to perform as fast as possible. In this article I'm going to focus on html, looking at minimal html accomplished by tag cutting and the impact this has on your project. Once again the conclusion is clear: tag cutting comes with a serious cost.

In case you haven't noticed, I have a thing for Takashi Miike films (Visitor Q, 46 Okunen No Koi, Zebraman 2, Crows Zero 2, Crows Zero, Sun Scarred). It's not easy to keep up with his work as often only the more decent, arthouse-safe releases are finding their way over here, but there are a couple of worthwhile exceptions. Nintama Rantaro (Ninja Kids) is one of the best Miike films to have graced our screens in the past couple of years, though chances are slim that it will win him many new fans, safe a few bewildered children.

If you've seen enough of his work you know it's impossible to pinpoint any typical trademarks. Miike keeps reinventing himself with each new film, honing his skills and perfecting his experience with each new try. Then again, if you've seen enough of his film you'll start noticing that Miike borrows a lot from his earlier work too. Nintama Rantaro owes a lot to Miike's own Yokai Daisenso remake, a film targeted at a younger audience but with enough weirdness to keep us adults (ugh, that sounded awful) entertained.

Nintama Rantaro is a manga/anime adaptation that borrows a lot from the original material. I've never been fully exposed to the manga and/or anime so I'm not sure where exactly Miike's weird mind comes in, but it's clear enough that this is not just a straight adaptation of the original work. The film follows Rantaro, a young boy who enlists in Ninja school. One can never start too young when training to become a master ninja and his farming parents are more than willing to help the boy in his quest to achieve greatness. Together with his classmates Rantaro sets off to learn the tricks of the trade.

The first half of the film is mostly made up of sight gags and comedic sketches, the second half incorporates a short story arc about a ninja race between Rantaro's clan and a competing ninja school, where Rantaro tries to reclaim the freedom of a couple of recluse ninja hairdressers. Yup, you read it right. It's safe to say that you don't need to take this film too seriously.

Nintama Rantaro is an extremely bright and colorful film. Rather than rely too much on CG, Miike goes all fake plastic and grime. It is executed quite efficiently though, so you won't get any 80s Shaw Bros flashbacks, although the odd sweeping mop is used to fake someone's hairdo. Whatever CG there is, is functional and actually quite classy. It's clearly not a cheap film, though I'm equally confident that Miike is one of the best directors out there when it comes to putting a budget to good use.

The soundtrack truly betrays the film's target audience. It's filled with fun and positive tracks, though as a whole it's a pretty forgettable affair. The music is there to highlight the playful, feel-good atmosphere of the film and nothing more. It's pretty easy to ignore though and Nintama Rantaro is not the kind of film that would benefit from a complex or demanding soundtrack.

The acting, as you would expect, is way over the top. The kids are fun and look damn cute in their tiny ninja outfits while the adults are wearing too much make-up for their own good. Still, it's a total blast. Seeing Susumu Terajima as one of the head masters is hilarious, especially as he seems to be carrying his old yakuza attitude with him. Those familiar with Japanese cinema will find many funny cameos scattered throughout the film, the greatest one comes from personal favorite Naoto Takenaka. It's always a joy to see him pop up, even when it's just a small cameo part.

If you're hoping for a decent storyline you're bang out of luck. Nintama Rantaro is all about fun and games. The film is an everlasting string of jokes, sight gags and overall weirdness, and that it does marvelously. With this many jokes not all of them are funny, but a surprisingly big amount is, providing almost continuous laughs from start to finish. Miike's tone of voice is just spot on, making for the most cinematic fun I've had in weeks.

Nintama Rantaro is the perfect example of demented Japanese kids entertainment that's weird enough to appeal to adults, at least those with some memories of their lost childhood. Miike proves once again that he's versed in as many different genres as you can throw at him, at the same time demonstrating he's always keen to perfect his skills while incorporating previous experiences. Nintama Rantaro is a barrel of fun, virtually unmatched by any other 2011/2012 film out there. It's a prime Miike film, though probably a bit too Japanese to appeal to a big audience. Still, if you're into Miike's weirdness this is a definite must-see.

I'm not really the biggest Anh Hung Tran fan, but I do follow his work from a distance. While not truly spectacular, I appreciated the soft-natured atmosphere of Mua He Chieu Thang Dung, Xich Lo on the other hand was somewhat of a disappointment. But when I heard Tran was going to adapt a book of Murakami, I was pretty excited to see how he would blend his Vietnamese roots with the Japanese setting. The result is nothing short of amazing.

Norwegian Wood is a well-known novel by Japanese author Haruki Murakami, one of the few Japanese writers who actually managed to acquire an avid following in the West. The book itself took its name from a lesser known Beatles song. I haven't read the book myself, which is actually an advantage when watching a film adaptation as it doesn't set any false expectations. People in the know told me that Tran changed some things around though, so be warned that it's not a word-for-word adaptation.

What the film lacks in depth of secondary characters, it regains by focusing quite heavily on the main love triangle. We follow Toru as he travels through the harder parts of puberty. Toru falls in love with Naoko, who has a hard time dealing with the suicide of her former lover (who just happened to be Toru's best friend). Even though Toru and Naoko are quite intimate, Naoko disappears from view as she moves to a recovery clinic in the hills. Toru feels responsible for Naoko, but long distance relationships are hard at such a young age, especially with someone who has serious mental issues.

Toru also meets up with Midori, a young, somewhat extravagant girl who flirts with him even though she's in a relationship herself. Toru is torn between these two women, unable to balance his feelings of romance and responsibility. Student protests from the background of Toru's emotional struggle, though they appear mostly during the beginning of the film, around halfway through Tran keeps a very rigid focus on his main characters and he doesn't let go until the very end of the film.

Visually Norwegian Wood is almost impeccable. It's great to see Tran's own style blend with Japanese traditions. The outdoor locations are truly stunning, camera work and lighting are stellar too. But it's the way Tran uses short, often unrelated scenes to express the character's emotions which is truly captivating. There is one scene in particular that stayed with me long after the film, Naoko and Toru facing the wind, huddling together for protection. No dialog is needed to bring out their deepest emotions, a supreme example of visual storytelling.

The soundtrack too is great. Of course there are some classic hits to help with building up the whole 60s atmosphere, but it's the original score that really sets it apart from traditional Japanese dramas. It's not as subtle, often dictating the atmosphere of a scene, but never too sentimental or cheap. The best piece is near the end of the film, completely unsettling and quite difficult to sit through, but definitely worth the challenge. The soft-voiced dialogs on the other hand make for a warmer atmosphere and contrast well with the soundtrack.

Taking up the role of Toru is Ken'ichi Matsuyama (Usagi Drop). Even though I wasn't a very big fan of him before, he is really cut out for sweet, delicate characters and he manages to carry the film with deceptive ease. Naoko is played by Rinko Kikuchi (Babel), Midori by newcomer Kiko Mizuhara. Both of them are superb too, making for a young and remarkably strong cast.

Norwegian Wood holds a delicate balance of drama and romance. Even though the film can get quite heavy at times, there is always a silver lining to keep the warm atmosphere alive. The ending may be a bit easy, wrapping everything up a bit too comfortably as to leave the viewer with a contented feeling, but apart from that little glitch (and I must admit, it did feel good) there is little wrong with this film.

Norwegian Wood is the first Tran film I truly loved. It's beautifully shot, wonderfully scored and aptly acted. It scores well in just about every department, showcasing the progress Tran has made as a director. With this in mind I'm really looking forward to Tran's next film and I'll probably catch up with his previous film I Come With The Rain too. Norwegian Wood is perfect material for fans of Japanese drama films who are looking for a different spin on the genre, it's very Japanese but clearly made by a non-Japanese director. This often results in an uneasy mix of two very different worlds, but in this case it works out extremely well.

It's been a while since Hsiao-hsien Hou made anything substantial. Safe a quick short film (as part of the 10+10 anthology project) little has been heard from him ever since he released Le Voyage Du Ballon Rouge. At one point rumors whispered he was going to direct a martial arts epic starring Tadanobu Asano, but that's about it. So it's a relief the man left us with a magnificent oeuvre to cover the distance between now and what will hopefully become his future set of films, because his work is definitely one of a kind.

Zui Hao De Shi Guang (or Three Times as it's known in the West) is a good starting point if you're interested in Hou's work. It's an anthology project, covering three (elaborated) short films, though all directed by Hou himself. Each short features the same two actors (Shu Qi - May and Chen Chang - Chen), set in different time periods and following their trials and hardships when falling in love.

The first short is A Time For Love, which takes us back to the 60s. It's Hou's take on pure and delicate love and it's probably the short that lies closest to Hou's older films. May works as a hostess in a table pool bar where Chen visits her on a regular basis. Until Chen is called to join the army. When Chen returns it turns out that May moved on, leaving him very little to track her down. Chen is not ready to give up on May though and uses every little bit of info to try and locate her again.

A Time For Love is slow and subtle. This is not your typical Western romance, where people fall in each other's arms and kiss wildly when they are finally reunited. The romantic highpoint appears when May and Chen hold hands for the first time ... and that's about the hottest thing that happens. Then again, Hou films it in a way that really needs no further explanation: these two people love each other. The music is a selection of popular 60s tracks, and while I'm not too fond of them outside the context of this film, they really work wonders here. The Definitely the most beautiful of the three shorts.

A Time For Freedom is without a doubt the most difficult and impenetrable of the three films. It's a silent short, set in 1911. If you thought holding hands was a pretty rudimentary form of romance, you'll be amazed at how things turn out here. This short is probably best compared to Hou's own Flowers Of Shanghai, only A Time For Freedom is even more subdued and stoic.

May and Chen talk with each other and that's about it. Clearly they appreciate each other's company, but protocol prohibits them from truly exposing their feelings. Dialog is shared through intertitles (in line with classic silent films, though it was rumored that it's also somewhat of a hack because Qi and Chan had a lot of trouble with the dialect), further highlighting the icy social behavior of May and Chen. The score is comprised of beautiful piano music, mixed with traditional Chinese vocal music (another thing that will put off Western audiences). Many people might not even feel or understand the romance, but if you're familiar with hardcore Asian dramas you'll know what to look for in both actors, as their body language clearly reveals the love both share for each other.

A Time For Youth is the contemporary short of the anthology. May is a bar singer, Chen acts as her photographer. The both of them are seeing other people but they are clearly drawn to each other. A Time For Youth is the least naive of the three short films, treating romance and love almost as a throw-away commodity. Still the love between May and Chen feels real enough, though definitely not as cute and deep compared to the two other shorts.

Many people cited the final short as the least accomplished one, but I think that's just the traditional expectations of romance speaking. A Time For Youth is an essential part of this mini-trilogy and people who are partial to Hou's Millennium Mambo will definitely appreciate the feel and pacing of this short.

Three Times is a slow burner. Even though the film is split in three different parts, there isn't much in the way of storyline or dramatic events. Hou likes to observe his characters, catching them in their most private moments. The acting is very natural, Hou's camera is delicate and loving and the score is spot on. Three Times is a beautiful film, casting its view on the different aspects of love and romance. It's Hou at his very best, which makes it a film that should not be missed.

Kofuku no Kane is what happens when three of my favorite Japanese film people get together to make film. It's the highpoint in the oeuvre of director Hiroyuki Tanaka (Usagi Drop, Monday, Kanikosen), which wasn't shy of good films to begin with, enhanced by a rare leading performance of Susumu Terajima and finished off with a lovely cameo of Seijun Suzuki (Pistol Opera). The result is every bit as good as you'd expect it to be.

With many obscure Japanese films getting EN-friendly releases at the beginning of the new millennium, it's beyond my comprehension that some of Tanaka's prime films remain cut off from the West. Even though Tanaka is a respected regular at prominent genre film festivals (think BIFFF), his films ooze quality and he has a very clear signature style, you have to look far and wide to find certain of his films on DVD. As for Kofuku no Kane, there is only a German DVD available (original dub, German subs), it's not ideal but at least it gives you something to work with.

Kofuku no Kane is a film that feels as if it was made from the bottom up to feature Terajima as its main character. I'm a big Terajima fan and I always felt the actor was somewhat underused, playing second violin to other, more famous people in the business. With Kofuku no Kane he proves that he is capable of taking an entire film upon his shoulders. When all is said and done, Terajima may not be the most versatile actor but there is no-one that can beat him at his own game.

The film starts when Terajima finds out he's out of a job. The factory he's always worked at has closed its doors, leaving him and his coworkers without a steady income. In a daze Terajima wanders off, traveling through the city, meeting up with a varied range of people. Terajima seems numb, doesn't speak a single word and acts like an empty shell, yet people flock to him and lead him into an interesting series of adventures. Perfect road movie material, but on a much smaller scale and with an interesting twist.

I think Kofuku no Kane qualifies as Tanaka's most visually accomplished film. Shots are often static, but perfectly framed and always functional. There are many occasions when the camera is positioned in such a way that it subtly enhances the humor or dramatic impact of a certain scene. It's one of Tanaka's typical trademarks, brought to absolute perfection here. The camera work does loosen up a little near the end, mimicking the mental state of the film's main character.

The soundtrack is mostly absent, it's not until very late in the film that traces of an actual score start to emerge. Before that it's mostly environmental sounds that make up the soundtrack of the film, coupled with several monologues. Even though Terajima himself remains quiet throughout the film, the people he meets are glad enough to tell him their problems. The music is never missed though, especially when the quiet of certain scenes underline Terajima's state of being.

As I said before, this film was simply made for Terajima. He has no dialogue, but the man's expressions throughout the film are golden. It's not that Terajima acts with broad gestures and lots of poeha, but the more than expressive looks on his face and often gentle shifts in posture always betray what he's thinking. Even though he appears apathetic and distant, he's a very likable character. Secondary characters are solid too, though they go mostly by unnoticed (except of course the cameo of Suzuki).

Kofuku no Kane is not a very complex film, but Tanaka's excellent mix of drama and comedy is remarkable. Terajima's adventures can be a little far-fetched, but each segment is there to illustrate a little about Terajima's brewing crisis. Throughout the film he finds out a thing or two about life, leading up to the point where he can finally free himself of his own burden. The ending is without a doubt one of the best I've ever seen. I'm not going too spoil too much, but I'm pretty sure I've never grinned any wider.

If you want complex story lines or deep-digging drama it's probably best that you look elsewhere, but Tanaka's gentle and loving approach and Terajima's superb portrayal of his character takes you along an amazing trip full of endearing, funny and warm moments. I'm still hoping for a proper DVD/Blu-Ray release of Kofuku no Kane, but dialogue is scarce and if you are only just a little familiar with the German language I do advise you to pick up this movie whenever you get the chance.

Performance is a hot front-end development topic, rightfully so. With (new?) technologies like css3 and html5 demanding a lot more from our hardware, with websites growing to 1MB+ per page and with mobile fashionably riding the hype waves, performance is becoming a key factor in the success of our websites. Left and right you can read about optimization techniques and ways to improve loading and response times, and that's great. But ...

I'm not quite sure how they do it, but the Pang Bros keep producing films at an excruciating pace, be it by themselves or in collaborative efforts. I'm not one to complain though, I'm always in for a bit of ultra-stylized Pang wizardry, especially when Oxide is pulling all the string. While Sleepwalkers (Meng You 3D) won't be remembered as Oxide Pang's most exciting effort, the overall quality guarantees a very fine piece of entertainment.

Even though Danny Pang (In Love With The Dead, Seven 2 One) made a few solid solo projects, Oxide Pang (Mon Seung, The Detective, The Detective 2, Basic Love, Som And Bank) remains the most talented of the two brothers. Oxide Pang has a certain visual flair that is virtually unmatched, even in a rather simple film like this he manages to put the most impressive shots on display, turning potentially dull scenes into real eye catchers.

Sleepwalker is a pretty straightforward thriller, infused with a little mystery and spiced up with the token horror influences during the first half. True horror aficionados shouldn't be expecting a return to Oxide's old horror habits though, while there are a few tense and menacing moments hidden away in Sleepwalkers, Oxide is just teasing, completely abandoning the horror aspect during the second half of the film. In the end the supernatural is kept to a minimum and serves the dramatic side of the story rather than turning it into typical horror fare.

Sleepwalker follows Yi, a young tailor who has trouble getting over the break-up with her ex-boyfriend. Yi's colleagues start noticing slight changes in her behavioral patterns, Yi herself is confronted with them when a police officer wakes her up at night, asking her what she was doing out late at night. Yi suspects she is sleepwalking and traps herself inside her own house, but it seems her unconsciousness isn't going to be fooled that easily. While Yi tries to figure out what the hell is going on, her own story starts to intertwine with that of a young mother looking for her missing child.

The film was released in 3D, but safe one rather tacky effect shot there isn't much that hints at the 3D aesthetic when watching the regular version. That's actually quite nice as there is nothing quite as annoying as noticing where certain 3D effects should've taken place. I can't really comment on the 3D itself, but I can say that the cinematography and art direction of Sleepwalker are top notch. Camera angles, use of light and use of color are all superb, resulting is some truly beautiful settings. The editing is equally effective, making this one looker of a film.

The soundtrack is atypically subdued. Normally The Pangs like loading their films with expressive and loud music, with Sleepwalker Oxide puts the score more in the background. It's a refreshing approach for Oxide, but the result isn't quite as shocking as I'd hoped. The score often fades away in the scenery and even though previous scores were often hit and miss, at least they granted their films some extra individuality. Not that the score here is bad, but it could've used some extra spice.

Sleepwalker sees Angelica Lee return to the world of the Pangs. Lee earned her fame by putting in a strong performance in the Pang's The Eye and it's nice to see her turn up in a Pang film once again. She's pretty effective playing confused characters and she clearly delivers. The film relies greatly on Lee's character as secondary roles are quite limited and don't get much time to shine. The acting is overall solid though, with no poor performances to be noted.

The trouble with Sleepwalker is that people will be expecting a great twist at the end and the film just doesn't deliver. Around halfway through Oxide starts revealing the true nature behind the events and while there are some surprises they are all quite predictable. The film doesn't really hint at a big twist either, but somehow mind-bending plot twists became a genre cliché and way too often people expect them to be there, dismissing any film that fails to deliver. If you're like that, it's probably best to leave Sleepwalker alone.

Like I said before, Sleepwalker is a pretty simple film. Everything is neatly revealed and tied up at the end, the plot doesn't contain any real big twists and runs smoothly from start to finish. But Oxide Pang's execution is flawless and makes for some stunning scenes and settings. Lee is at her best and while Oxide Pang has definitely made better films, he could do a lot worse with a film like this to flesh out his oeuvre. I can't really comment on the 3D, but it's good to know that the 2D version doesn't suffer from too many tacky leftover effects. All in all it's a solid film, an exercise in perfected entertainment.

If you're into weird and you haven't seen Pistol Opera yet, just skip this review and make sure you go into the film as blank as possible. Pistol Opera is without a doubt one of the strangest cinematic experiences of the past decade, a film that defies traditional film making rules and beats you to death with its odd exterior. And the greatest things of all: it is directed by one of the sweetest looking Japanese grandpas you can imagine.

Seijun Suzuki is unmistakably the maddest ojisan in cinema. Forget Miike, forget Tsukamoto, forget Lynch and Jodorowsky, none of them are able to out-freak this little Japanese madman. Suzuki is a director that loves to challenge conventions and tries to do so in as many ways as possible. Forget logic, hell, you can even forget about inner-film logic. Pistol Opera is a film that plays by scene and leaves you stranded whenever it feels like it. For some people this will prove to be an enormous challenge, for others it will be the main selling point of the film.

Pistol Opera is set in the same universe as Suzuki's 1967 film Branded To Kill. It's not really a straight-up sequel or remake but borrows a few concepts and retells the film from the bottom up. Stray Cat is third on the ranking list of The Guild, an organization of professional hit man. These killers can rise up through the ranks by accepting targets and killing them efficiently, but lately trouble is brewing among the killers themselves. Even though the list is unknown to its members, one by one they are disappearing from the list, leaving favorable spots that others are more than happy to fill in.

To bring back peace to the organization Stray Cat gets the order to kill the number 1 on the list, One Hundred Eyes. Nobody knows who he is though and so Stray Cat starts her own private investigation. While all of this sounds quite sane and deceptively easy to follow, the reality is actually quite different. The overarching story may be simple enough to keep track of, the weirdness comes from within the individual scenes and spreads through the film like a virus.

The titular opera is reflected in the visualization of Pistol Opera. Many of the film's settings are reminiscent of theater sets (some quite literally), brightened up by strong and vibrant colors. Suzuki sends his camera around these sets in rather complex arcs, often opposing the camera movement with previous scenes to create a disconcerting effect. Suzuki went to considerable lengths to make his film look awesome, sadly the visuals are burdened by a horrible looking 4:3 format. It's a complete mystery to me why Suzuki didn't just give his shots some room to breath, and even though he uses the 4:3 to good effect in a couple of scenes the overall effect feels like missed potential.

The soundtrack is enjoyably quirky and original. Suzuki just likes to play around with whatever means he has to upset his audience. The individual tracks are fun and funky, but it's the weird, often unfitting sound effects that leave a lasting impression. Image a loud, deafening siren starting to howl, followed by a shot of an old phone. First you'll be startled (it's a genuine scare), only to be fooled by something so silly. Small things like that appear all over, making for a very cool and challenging soundtrack.

The acting is solid too but extremely theatrical. Broad gestures and strong, stylized poses pop up everywhere, highlighting the strong opera influences. Makiko Esumi is superb as Stray Cat, putting up a commendable performance and claiming each scene she's in. Esumi finds a great adversary in Sayoko Yamaguchi though, who provides the proper counter-weight for Esumi's character. Then there is a cool cameo of Masatoshi Nagase, other notable appearances include Kirin Kiki and Yoshiyuki Morishita. The acting style won't be to everyone's liking (just like the rest of the film), but it definitely gives the film an extra edge.

If you would neglect the extreme styling and take the film at face value, I'm sure you'd end up with a list of film mistakes longer than the actual script. Characters move their poses and positions in between shots, they walk past each other without seeing one another, they disappear and reappear in unrelated sets. The action sequences are so stylized they don't even count as action sequences any more. There's weirdness all over the place and right when you think Suzuki's box of tricks has dried up he comes up with a new thing to put you in your place.

Pistol Opera is not the easiest of films. You have to accept that the story is a mere hook for some cinematic fun while Suzuki takes a little run with his audience. It's a unique and special experience though, one you won't find anywhere else. The mix of theatrical coolness and playfulness is truly refreshing. Afterwards, when you snap out of Pistol Opera's daze, make sure to Google a picture of Seijun Suzuki for maximum effect. I'm certain that if they ever needed a stock image of a sweet-looking grandpa feeding the ducks with his grand children, there wouldn't be a better choice that Suzuki.

Yimou Zhang is back with a new film and once again he means business. The Flowers Of War is China's most expensive film yet and it's one of the first major Chinese films to prominently feature an American Hollywood star as its main character. Mr Batman himself (Christian Bale) is disguising himself as fake-priest John Miller, who takes it upon himself to protect a church full of orphans and prostitutes from the Japanese soldiers.

After releasing Curse Of The Golden Flowers Zhang retreated back to China. Between directing the opening sequence of the Olympic Games and releasing two low-key projects (at least internationally speaking, Love Of The Hawthorn Tree and The First Gun - despite the latter being a rough remake of the Coen's Blood Simple. - received very little attention) Zhang was almost invisible to us Westerners. Six years later he returns with a film that strives to match his former glory.

The Flowers Of War travels back Nanking, 1937. Japanese soldiers are invading the city and the Chinese are running for their lives. Few people are spared during this gruesome invasion. American citizen John Miller abuses the situation to make some quick money as he tries to rob a church from its prized possessions. The church is some kind of safe house and holds a group of young orphans. Miller isn't really bothered by their presence though and continues his quest for valuables.

Not much later a group of prostitutes join the orphans in the hope the Japanese won't find them in the church. The tension inside the church quickly rises and when the Japanese finally raid the place Miller unexpectedly steps up to safe the children from the cruelties of war. What follows is a struggle to escape from the clutches of the Japanese without harming any of the people present in the church.

Zhang's work is known to be insanely colorful (think Hero), so the rather grim setting of a city at war may surprise fans at first. Zhang is meticulous in his visual direction though, so it's hardly noticeable during the first couple of scenes. Until the point where we enter the church that is. Apparently Zhang found himself a stained glass window which he continuously abuses in the most magnificent of ways to inject his film with bright and emotive colors. The results are stunning, be it the light falling through the window, the glass shattering by a bullet impact or a simple scene shot from up close through the window. He even found a second excuse in the beautiful dresses worn by the prostitutes, who also bring a lot of color to the film. The visual contrast between both aspects is simply brilliant.

The soundtrack is pretty interesting too. The first couple of scenes are heavily muted, which is quite unusual for a film of such epic proportions. No loud, sentimental music or ear-shattering sound effects, but the dull thuds of war in the background. Later on the score becomes more prominent, while still finding a surprisingly good balance between Western and traditional Chinese influences. The mix is almost refreshing and suits the film very well. The score still finds itself well within the boundaries of what could be expected, but the execution is gentle and admirable.

Bale does a pretty good job here. It's always a little tricky, casting a famous actor in the lead of an Asian film, especially when he's supposed to be some kind of savior. Bad memories of Cruise's Last Samurai still haunt my nightmares, luckily Bale's character is different. He isn't just the good guy saving those poor Chinese people from their horrible fate. He actually starts out as a bona fide asshole, slowly warming up to the people that share his barren fate inside the church. The Chinese actors are mostly first-timers but do a great job too, as they provide Bale with the necessary dramatic challenges to rise above himself.

My biggest worry before seeing this film was the inclusion of Bale. I'm not a big fan of Asian films trying to be a Western film as most of them end up as half-arsed attempts that fail on both accounts. The Flowers Of War presents an interesting mix though, where Bale's presence brings a more Westerns feel while the film itself still manages to step beyond the boundaries of traditional Hollywood film making. There are Western influences found in just about every aspect of the film (cinematography, acting, soundtrack, ...), but they are always blended in such a way that they come off as refreshing, not working against the Chinese foundation of the film.

One popular critique about this film is about the black and white depiction of the Japanese soldiers. There's hardly any nuance or subtlety and they are shown as wild and savage beasts, raping and killing whoever they get their hands on. While this critique is quite factual, I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing. Of course it's a little tricky as the film is based on a true setting, on the other hand The Flowers Of War is a film that demands a proper bad guy. Subtlety wouldn't have helped the dramatic impact of the film, it would in fact have made it a totally different film altogether. So yeah, it may not be true to life, but that's why it's a dramatized film and not a documentary. I hope most audiences will be smart enough to look past that.

The Flowers Of War borders on sentimentality and poses as a very epic endeavor. It's Zhang's magnificent direction that erases any major critiques, turning the film into a proper epic spectacle. There are moments of unsurpassed beauty, tucked away in a strong story, propelled by a cast of fallible characters. Zhang cleverly steps around a few sentimental pitfalls and delivers a film that shines from start to finish. It's a return to form for Yimou Zhang, the only real downside is that the film failed to appear in theaters over here. A simple TV setup simply doesn't do justice to the beauty of this film.

Last week I reasoned why mixins and skins could change the way we write html in the near future, this article is the second and final part in a small mini series on how css could improve our html patterns. Rather than look at the joy css preprocessors can bring us, this time we'll be digging into the actual css3 spec. Our target? The ordinal-group property belonging to the (still experimental) flex-box spec. It's a little piece of wonder that will end up a valuable asset in our quest for reusable html.

Isao Yukisada (Parade, Women Play Twice) may not be amongst the most famous of Japanese directors, quality-wise he's easily one of the most consistent ones I know. His output ranges from good to great, never truly peaking but never failing either. A Day On The Planet is one of his better films so far and should appeal to everyone with a soft spot for Japanese dramas (at least the feature length kind, not the TV kind).

A Day On The Planet finds Yukisada in familiar territory. It's another ensemble film without a real protagonist, instead the film focuses on a group of young friends who come together one night to hang out and celebrate. As an audience we are inclined to cling ourselves to the first group of characters that's introduced, but Yukisada moves between the different characters without any real preference, skipping between backgrounds and events and focusing on the group dynamic without alienating us from the individuals.

Each character gets a prolonged sequence to shine, on top of that there are two tangibly related story lines that help in gluing everything together. While there is enough personal drama tucked away in A Day On The Planet, there isn't anything in particular that propels the story forward, there is no real climax and the emotional payoff comes in bite-size chunks rather than a big sprawling finale. It's a real slice-of-life kinda film, low on actual drama but still beautiful and captivating in all its mundane glory.

On a visual level it's a very decent yet safe and predictable film. If you've seen a couple of Japanese dramas you'll know what to expect. The camera remains close to the actors and remains mobile at all times without ever falling into the Dogme trap. The beach scenes are beautiful (the shots with the whale are impressive), inside scenes tend to be a bit darker and murkier. Overall the film has a pleasant look but it never intrudes on the drama, nor does it demand too much of the viewer's attention.

The score suffers the same critique. While it's nice and fitting, it's far from original. It's understandable considering Yukisada's intentions, when making a humanistic slice-of-life drama there isn't much need for overly expressive styling, be it visual or through the music. Still, I feel that there's more that could've been done within these limitations, a bit more attention to the score wouldn't have hurt the film.

Acting on the other hand is all around great. Tanaka and Tsumabuki make for a great screen couple, the others are all very natural and believable too. Yukisada is typically great with his actors, drawing very life-like and likable performances from his cast. There's also a small role for Eihi Shiina, though she's completely unrecognizable from her role in Miike's Audition. I must say that I didn't even physically recognize her when I watched the film.

A Day On The Planet is a film for those who like to spend some time with a mixed set of characters. People come and go while the focus of the film is continuously shifting between different characters. There is no real drama, just minor, human troubles (the type that makes up what is the bigger part of our own lives). Unfinished personal projects, girlfriend issues and small setbacks are amongst the most dramatic events featured in this film. It's not for everybody, but if you like this kind of thing then A Day On The Planet is a very worthwhile experience.

It's not always easy tracking down Yukisada's films, but for fans of this type of films it's definitely worth the trouble. A Day On The Planet deliver a lovely two hours of escapism, allowing you to be a fly on the wall of a group of Japanese teens who have an enjoyable night out. There's nothing spectacular going on, but that's exactly what makes this film so wonderful. Looking at Yukisada's oeuvre I think it's fair to say that a big international career is probably out of the question, but he should be able to garner a loving fanbase nonetheless, warranted by the dramatic purity and quality of his films.

What would happen if a director made a film about himself? And how would that film be affected if this director just happened to be a real multi-talented control freak? You don't need to look any further than Takeshis', Takeshi Kitano's (Hana-Bi, Kikujiro no Natsu, Achilles to Kame, Kantoku: Banzai!) ultimate cinematic experience where he finally takes the time to scrutinize his own self. The result is every bit as schizophrenic as you'd expect it to be.

Takeshis' is a very difficult film to judge. A lot depends on how familiar you are with the work of Kitano (even outside the realm of cinema). Takeshi Kitano is a complex character, an ever-present force in the Japanese media who does everything from designing games to writing novels, from hosting TV shows to writing, starring, editing and directing his own films. He's also a famous comedian, has several columns and his ties with the Yakuza are infamous. How do you capture such a personality in a single film?

The answer is clearly not straight-forward. While the first 30 minutes or so are pretty easy to follow, Kitano quickly loses himself in a world of dreams, working with scenes that overlap, characters that resurface and moments of completely unrelated brilliance. If you're looking for a coherent story you won't find it here, but amidst the chaos you will pick up a lot about the man behind the legend, the chaos actually defines Kitano and the way he goes about constructing the film has a very familiar feel to it, bringing you much closer to his persona than any of the separate scenes could ever manage.

There are fragments of an actual storyline in Takeshis', where we follow a Kitano look-alike trying to find a job as an actor in the movie business. He keeps on failing his auditions and so he resorts to daydreaming about becoming a big movie star. Trying to make sense of this story throughout the second half will greatly reduce the pleasure there is to be had though, so I wouldn't consider it much more than a simple setup that serves as another reflection on Kitano's almost schizophrenic life.

Visually Takeshis' is a strong summary of Kitano's typical style. The film relies heavily on static shots and looks for dynamics in harsh and unexpected cuts. Kitano is great at building up shots so the abundance of static camera angles is far from annoying, his typical editing style simply finishes it off. He also took a few cues from Dolls as the whole is a lot more colorful compared to his earlier films (though definitely up to Dolls' standards).

Takeshis' is the second film in line to break off Kitano's collaboration with Joe Hisaishi. Hisaishi's signature is missed simply because he had such a big part in the success of Kitano's film, on the other hand this film is so incredibly meta that the more modern and electronic-oriented score fits better than Hisaishi's typical scores could ever have. The music played during the beach climax in particular is stunning and forms a solid bridge between the old and the new Kitano.

Kitano himself takes up the role of two characters (himself and his look-alike), which is pretty awesome considering he's such a charismatic actor. There is absolutely no one else that could've taken up the role of Takeshi Kitano besides himself. Secondary roles are perfectly cast too, with Kayoko Kishimoto (she plays the worst bitch ever) and Tetsu Watanabe making noteworthy appearances. They are still outclassed by Kitano regulars Ren Osugi and (personal favorite) Susumu Terajima though, the latter actually playing one of his best roles so far. The man's facial expressions and overall body language are just pure gold.

If you're unfamiliar with Kitano's work I would never recommend this film. All the fun and beauty comes from the infinite references Kitano makes to his earlier work and achievements. There's tap dancing, beaches, suicides, absurd and improv comedy. Silly jokes, dyed hair, familiar actors, twitching facial expressions and so much more. Takeshis' is a film that defines Kitano in many ways and in that sense it's a great success. This may scare off people who aren't too familiar with the man's work, but that's actually a good thing in this case.

The good thing is that it's not all just an ode to himself, Kitano doesn't mind making some fun of himself or the people around him. It keeps the film from becoming one big ego trip, instead the result is something more humane and life-like. The final thirty minutes may seem nonsensical and many of the jokes may appear to be completely random, but fans of Kitano will recognize his signature style right away. Takeshis' is a pretty complex film but as soon as you realize it's not so much about the story as it is about the construction of the whole, you'll see that this was the only way to realize this film. Takeshis' is a feast of recognition, a wonderful comedy and a completely unique film that could've been made by only one man in this entire world. Takeshis' is Takeshi Kitano.

2012 is going to be a good year for html fanatics. Recently I've come across two unrelated techniques that hold great potential for improving the way we write our html. Ironically, both of them are actually css improvements and have very little to do with the html spec itself, but if you've been keeping up with best practices you know that html has suffered some great setbacks the past couple of years. It's time to finally right those wrongs again.

Fabrice du Welz raised quite a few heads when he released Calvaire. Not only are Belgian horror films a rare commodity, for a freshman effort Calvaire felt surprisingly mature and focused. Clearly this wasn't some kind of semi-professional one-off, but a film that bared the director's lasting intentions. Genre fans were pretty disappointed when du Welz' follow-up (Vinyan) didn't turn out to be a straight horror flick, but at least they'll always have Calvaire to revisit.

Calvaire is one of the few films that get noticeably better which each consecutive viewing. The first time I watched it I found the first half of the film somewhat slow and uneventful, but knowing what is to come you'll find a lot of subtle (and often very funny) foreshadowing tucked away in those early scenes. Little moments of genius that betray the twisted second half of the film and make the first half of the film a lot easier to sit through.

Calvaire (or The Ordeal) is just what it promises to be for main character Marc Stevens, a low-ranking singer who travels between retirement homes and small fairs to earn a few bucks. Untalented folk like that actually make up a big part of our local "artists", Calvaire is du Welz' way to take revenge for their horribly constructed and badly worded attempts at music that bother unsuspecting people watching TV or trying to do grocery shopping.

After a short introduction deglorifying Marc's life as an artist we see how the poor man gets stranded in the middle of nowhere. A passerby directs Marc to the nearest inn where he can spend the night. The next morning Marc's van turns out to be beyond repair, so he is forced to spend the next couple of hours in company of Bartel, owner of the inn. After some idle chit-chat Bartel discovers Marc's profession, which brings back his own past as a stand-up comedian. A critical mistake as Bartel has trouble coping with the ghosts that lie buried in his memories.

To make sure Calvaire looked its very best, du Welz claimed the skills of now famous cinematographer Benoît Debie (Innocence, Irréversible, Vinyan, Enter The Void), without a doubt one of my favorite visual magicians. His work for Calvaire is superb, capturing the dreary and misty surroundings of the Belgian Ardens. There are some superbly shot scenes hidden away, particularly in the second half of the film. Not only the camera work itself, but also the use of color and light is sublime and help to set the ideal atmosphere for Marc's trying adventure.

Calvaire's soundtrack is a very solid affair, relying heavily on soundscapes and brooding ambient patterns. It really suits the film atmosphere, making the setting even more backwards and depressing (improbably as it sounds). There are a few vocal tracks (when Marc performs) which are spot on, then there is the now-famous bar scene that features one of the greatest songs ever to played on a badly tuned piano.

The acting too is A-grade. Laurent Lucas does a stellar job as the unfortunate Stevens, but its Jackie Berroyer that shines as Bartel. His facial expressions and subtle mannerisms really make his character a true sight to behold. He's a sick little puppy, but at the same time he has a certain air of sadness and loneliness that elevates his character above most horror icons. To top it off, there's Philippe Nahon making a small but noteworthy appearance as head of the local community.

Calvaire is not so much a true horror film as it features little gore, nor is it very tense or scary. Instead you get a truly amusing dark comedy where the main characters is punished for his artistic crimes. Stevens finds himself amongst a bunch of freaks and weirdos who provide the perfect setting for some absurd and pretty sick form of humor. The poor man goes through hell, but you can only smirk at the crap Stevens has to endure.

Not everyone is going to appreciate Calvaire's particular sense of humor, for some it may be a little too absurd at times (the midgets are a good example, so is the bar dance), but if it suits you then du Welz' film is easily one of the best in its genre. It's beautifully shot, consciously directed, perfectly acted and a perfect mix of a twisted backwards horror with a dark and nasty comedy. Fabrice du Welz may not be the most prolific of directors, but when he releases a film he makes sure it counts.

Osamu Minorikawa's Life Can Be So Wonderful is a film that illustrates exactly what the recent output of Japanese cinema is missing. It's a very unique, personal and free-form film that exists outside of most genre boundaries and definitions. Just ten years ago projects like this were almost the norm, nowadays you have to dig deep to uncover gems like Minorikawa's freshman film. All the more reason to cherish it and to give it the attention it deserves.

Life Can Be So Wonderful is not so much traditional cinema as it is a visual poem, mixed with faux documentary impulses. Minorikawa isn't using this approach to shock or amuse, instead he tries to capture the beauty of life in small, personal moments and recollections. Everything about this film is a testament to Minorikawa's honest intentions, which is very refreshing in itself. Throughout the film you are constantly confronted with the presence of the director.

Minorikawa's film is actually an anthology project. There are five separate shorts that each have their very own voice and style, but still merge seamlessly into a single film. Each short introduces one character who is given a little window to philosophize on life. There is no connection between the characters, there is no dramatic arc that brings them together, but the overarching idea and approach of each short is always the same.

While there is some dramatic tension left and right, Life Can Be So Wonderful really is an ode to life. Some shorts are more melancholic than others, the second one in particular is even a little downbeat, but each short still knows to emit a positive message. Minorikawa's film is about appreciating life, even when some parts of it are less than perfect or different from how we imagined them to be. A very simple yet elegant message that runs throughout every single fiber of this film.

Minorikawa aims his camera at the little things that make people happy. Unsuspecting objects like plants and cute gadgets or people enjoying the sunny atmosphere inside their own house. There are no majestic camera swoops or intricate edits to convince us that life is worth living, instead the film is littered with beautiful snapshots of places and objects where we would usually not look for beauty.

The music is pretty traditional, in the sense that it aligns with what you would expect from an artistic drama film like this. Soft, somewhat meandering music that sets a nice atmosphere to let the mind wander from time to time. There are quite a few voice overs too, to the point where they actually become part of the soundscape of the film. It's all pretty decent, but admittedly not as interesting as the rest of the film.

The acting is very natural and lifelike. I actually tracked down this film because Ryuhei Matsuda was in it, but the other actors are just as great. I would even go as far as to say that Matsuda's appearance clashed a little with the natural vibe this film emitted, as it made me realize that it was all a mere setup rather than stylized documentary footage. It has little to do with Matsuda's actual performance, it's just that a less recognizable or popular actor might've been a better choice. Then again, a name like Matsuda does attract people (with myself being the perfect example), so in the end including him was probably worth it.

Life Can Be So Wonderful may be quite short with only a good 65 minutes of actual film (not counting the credits), but I'm sure that it will seem like an endless drag to some people. If you expect a linear story line with dramatic events propelling the film forward then you're going to be bored as hell. Instead Minorikawa attempts to capture the emotions through more abstract visuals and little human portraits. It's mostly a non-linear experience with little in the way of plot or emotional climaxes, luckily there are still directors out there who realize that film is more than drawing people's asses to a nearby movie theater.

I was happily surprised after watching Life Can Be So Wonderful. It's an upbeat, albeit slow and meandering, film that succeeds effortlessly in its goals. I guess finding Minorikawa's other films will prove to be quite a challenge, but if they're as good as this one it's definitely going to be worth the trouble. Be warned that this is not a film aimed at mindless entertainment, but if you're in the mood for a slow-burning charmer that acts outside the boundaries of traditional cinema then it's warmly recommended.

Mamoru Oshii (Kokaku Kidotai, Innocence, Patlabor 2, Sky Crawlers) has one hell of an impressive resume, containing some of the biggest, challenging and most successful animation films out there. At the same time he never stopped experimenting, expanding his oeuvre with smaller, more artistic films (think Tenshi no Tamago or Tachiguishi Retsuden). Talking Head clearly belongs to this second category of films and should be approached with at least some level of caution.

Talking Head is part of the unofficial live action trilogy Oshii directed between '87 and '92. It's not a true trilogy though as Talking Head has little (actually nothing) to do with the other two films. Red Spectacles and Stray Dog are both set in the Kerberos universe, Talking Head is a meta film about film and animation. But ever since Bandai decided to release them as a 3-pack combination people started to adopt the trilogy idea. I'm not one to complain though, releases like these are rare and should be cherished, whatever the consequences of the release format.

Talking Head is by far one of Oshii's most abstract films. It's a film that talks about film and animation itself, turning the film into a pretty big meta experience. Oshii travels through all the different processes that make up a film, littering scenes with film history and some personal interpretations and reflections on what makes a film work. Sure enough there is some background story to warrant a more or less coherent narrative, but it's clearly just an excuse for Oshii to run through a couple of ideas surrounding the magic of the silver screen.

Rei, a director for hire, is called in to finish an abandoned film project. Rei is famed for mimicking other people's styles and directing films in their name, but to do that he has to understand the idea and concept behind the project he needs to complete. This is somewhat of a problem as the original director vanished without a trace. The only option left for Rei is to run down the production department while trying to uncover the mystery of the unfinished film. Things get weird when one by one people are starting to die and disappear around Rei.

Oshii makes the best of his experience as animation director to turn Talking Head into a visual tour de force. The way he frames and colorizes his shots are typical for someone who is used to starting from a blank page. Oshii uses a rather theatrical approach in Talking Head (with many scenes shot on actual stages and sets), but combines it with very cinematic camera work and lighting. This makes for a very interesting dynamic, enhancing the meta feel without falling into the trap of visual boredom.

The Talking Head soundtrack is just one of the many collaborations between Oshii and Kenji Kawai (who also appears as a character in the film), but it's not the most predictable one. The soundtrack is quirkier and more distinctive, not as homogeneous and ambient-inspired as usually the case when the two work together. It fits the playful style of Talking Head though, accentuating Oshii's more light-hearted approach.

That Talking Head isn't Oshii's most serious film becomes clear when confronted with the almost slapstick-like way of acting. It's a style Oshii experimented with before (Red Spectacles) but may surprise people not used to this side of Oshii's work. It only adds to the weird atmosphere already present, especially when all the actors feel clearly comfortable in their roles. Shigeru Chiba carries the film with ease, the secondary characters all have their moment of glory too.

If you're not interested in the magic of film or Oshii's thoughts about the nature of film and its various processes, you will have trouble liking Talking Head. While there is plenty happening on screen, there isn't much of a narrative to follow and there's quite a lot of dialogue to digest. Talking Head is clearly a concept-first film and will leave unsuspecting film fans bewildered. At the same time, it's also a wildly unique project and probably one of the best blends of Oshii's bipolar nature, mixing serious ideas with a very comical approach. The only film topping that is Red Spectacles.

It was a long time since I last watched Talking Head and I wasn't really sure how well I could trust my initial response to the film. Watching it again made me realize that this is without a doubt another one of Oshii's true masterpieces, dazzling and surprising its audience with each chance it gets. If you don't mind the vague narrative, Talking Head is a chain of fun, interesting and challenging scenes. A film made by somebody who clearly loves film and likes to share his own views and visions.

Intruders is a rare little bird. It's a 'big-budget' horror flick directed by someone who dares to put his own style forward. It's unlike the poor reboots that plague the American horror market, but it certainly has the dollars to venture where usually only those films are allowed to go. The result is a special breed of European film making, one that won't appeal to all genre fans but serves as an excellent reminder of Fresnadillo's talent.

Fresnadillo (Intacto, 20 Weeks Later) isn't the most productive director. With only three films in 10 years time it will take a while before he builds up a respectable oeuvre. This abundance of time allows him to really polish his films though. Above anything else, Intruders is a very accomplished film, a film where each scene, even each frame seems well-considered and thought-through. A quality rarely seen in horror films.

Intruders is quite the international project. A Spanish director featuring German, Dutch, Spanish and British actors and set in both London and Spain (not sure about the city there). The film itself is a typical Spanish horror affair though, with supernatural experiences used as an extension of dramatic motivators. There are no true evil powers here, just human drama that's visualized in a horror context.

The film follows two seemingly unrelated families. The first one is located in Spain, where a little boy is haunted by a mysterious faceless figure (named Hollow Face). The creature is after the boy's face and haunts him at night, trying to separate him from his mother's protection. Then there is a London-based family, whose little girl is haunted by the exact same figure after she finds a wooden box containing the legend of Hollow Face buried inside a tree.

Visually speaking Intruders is a real looker. Every frame is just deliciously stylized. Color and lighting in particular are superb. Even though the film is quite dark in places, the right bits and pieces are highlighted to raise the tension to appropriate levels. The camera work can be a little too shaky during the action scenes, but those are just rare moments in an otherwise exquisitely stylized film.

The soundtrack is pretty typical for Spanish films (a bit too epic and overdone at times) but at the same time Fresnadillo keeps it functional and to the point. It wouldn't have hurt to remove some musical cues left and right, but when it matters the soundtrack does deliver, increasing tension and setting a solid atmosphere for the horror to thrive in. It's not a very remarkable or recognizable score, but it certainly does the job.

As for performances, some strange choices were made during the casting of certain actors. The Spanish actors are fine and so is Clive Owen (which is a rarity, but he actually makes his character work here). But why anyone would like to cast Daniel Bruhl as a Spanish preacher, or Carice van Houten as the wife of Owen is completely beyond me. Bruhl's Spanish is fine but he just doesn't really fit the character, van Houten's English is atrocious, and even though she's supposed to be playing a Dutch woman in London (at least, that's why I hope) there really is no visible motivation for this choice. I guess it gives the film a more international (and cross-European) image, but it doesn't help the quality of the film itself.

Fresnadillo does little to challenge genre clichés. Intruders is a pretty straight-forward horror film, especially for people who are familiar with the Spanish take on horror productions. The film is quite slow, heavily stylized and borders more on the fantastical and supernatural than on true horror motives. These can be serious hurdles for people expecting anything more than a true genre film, but apart from that Fresnadillo does everything right and people knowing what to expect can be assured of a quality horror production.

Intruders is a very stylish affair. The film takes its time to explore its setting, slowly working up to an impressive finale. There are no great twists or mind-blowing revelations, instead you should relish the journey towards them. I wish more big budget horror film directors would take a cue from Fresnadillo. Instead of producing cheap Hollywood shlock for the masses, there is more to the genre and a few extra dollars do come in handy once in a while. Sadly reception of the film has been quite mediocre so far, I can only contest public opinion and say this film deserves much better.

If you haven't seen any Takeshi Kitano (Kikujiro no Natsu, Achilles to Kame, Kantoku: Banzai!) films yet, Hana-bi is probably one of the best starting points in the man's oeuvre. It's one of his more accessible films, but it still goes a long way in highlighting his various skills. While still very unique and different from Western cinema, there are enough elements to pull in people not quite familiar with Asian film making.

Back in 1997 Hana-bi earned Kitano a Golden Lion (Venice International Film Festival). Even though he needed the help of Shinya Tsukamoto to convince the jury of Hana-bi's qualities, the film went on to become Kitano's big break-through in the West. A break-through that was already imminent when he released Sonatine a couple years earlier, but apparently an internationally respected prize goes a long way when it comes to Western interest. Hana-bi stands at the source of the renaissance that Japanese film making experienced around the turn of the millennium and in that way it is definitely one of the most important Japanese films made in the past 20 years or so.

Just winning a lauded festival prize isn't quite enough though, as '97 Cannes winner Unagi illustrates (who remembers that film these days?). You need a film that also differentiates itself from others. Hana-bi does just that, as is the perfect mix of Kitano's trademark elements. Snappy and and short bursts of violence are alternated with a quirky sense of humor and more poetic/dramatic moments. Kitano constantly plays around with these different elements to create a film with a very unique feel, able to shift tones in the blink of an eye while keeping the overarching atmosphere more or less consistent.

Kitano plays Nishi, a demotivated cop who is suddenly confronted with several deaths around him. Not only did his he just lose his daughter but his partner got killed in action, a close colleague lost both his legs and his wife was diagnosed as terminal. Nishi decides it's time to take a break and stages a bank robbery to allow him and his wife to undertake a little road trip, away from all everyday worries. Of course things don't go as planned and before long Nishi finds himself being chased by a gang of yakuza and a small team of former colleagues.

You're excused if at times you feel like you're watching an 80s flick. It seems that back in those days Japan was a little behind on fashion, which gives the film an older feel that its production date suggests. On a technical level, it's Kitano's editing style that demands the most attention. Kitano's unique timing lends the film some very interesting shots, but it's the things Kitano doesn't show that make for the best surprises. More than once does he leave out the crux of scene, only showing the events leading up to a certain event and immediately cutting to the aftermath. It's cause and effect, without the actual event in between.

Hana-bi was scored by Joe Hisaishi and while not his best collaboration with Kitano (Hisaishi made more memorable tracks for Dolls, Kids Return and Kikujiro) it still contain some pretty great pieces of music. If anything, it gives the film a pretty laid-back atmosphere that functions as an ideal constant, tying the different tones of Hana-bi together.

When Kitano takes up the lead role you know that you need not worry about performances. Kitano plays (a fraction of) himself and once again knows to charm in a role that isn't necessarily sympathetic. Nishi may be rude, violent and annoying, he still makes me smile every time he does something quirky or unusual. The secondary cast is stellar too, with Susuma Terajima and Ren Osugi taking up most of the screen time. Kayoko Kishimoto is present too as Nishi's wife, the start of a long and successful collaboration between Kishimoto and Kitano.

Kitano takes center stage in Hana-bi. Not only in front of the camera, but with just about every aspect of the film. As an actor he is irreplaceable, as an editor he gives Hana-bi a unique rhythm, as a comedian he inserts some genuinely funny jokes and as a director he keeps a perfect balance between the different tones that are present. And if that wasn't enough, Kitano litters the film with his own paintings. They may not be sprawling examples of technical mastership, but they are certainly unique and amusing.

Hana-bi is a real delight. It's a simple, accessible film but with enough unique elements to keep you surprised and interested. The film is also the perfect showcase for Kitano's versatility. It's funny, poetic, violent and leaves you with a perfect dramatic punch in the gut. If you're new to Asian cinema, Hana-bi is definitely a good starting point. If, on the other hand, you're a seasoned fan already, I cannot image you haven't seen this film yet. If not, be sure to make it a priority.

There is no doubt that Versus was Ryuhei Kitamura's (LoveDeath) break-through film. His two earlier efforts made little or no splash in the film world, but once Kitamura released Versus doors started to open. As often the case, Kitamura never managed to match the genius of his break-through film, then again it makes the original all the more special. Even though this low-budget vehicle is already more than 10 years old, there's still plenty of life left in it.

Trying to find the exact source of the current Japanese wave of splatter films is quite tricky (I would say The Machine Girl), but I'm pretty confident Versus provided plenty of inspiration for the Sushi Typhoon collective. It's a film that isn't constrained by any genre boundaries. It mixes just about everything it thinks is suitable for a cool action flick. Take some big guns, a team of zombies, a few different martial arts styles and of course a couple of samurai. Blend everything together and you have captured the key elements that make Versus such a fun film. Excessive gore (though not up to par with current Japanese splatter films), crazy characters and a rather liberal take on what's physically and biologically possible are what link this film to current favorites (+ of course the presence of Tak Sakaguchi).

The story is pretty basic and serves as a mere hook to bring a vivid selection of characters together. First of all there is Prisoner KSC2-303 who just escaped from prison. He meets up with a bunch of yakuza crooks who managed to slip him out of his confinement. What KSC2-303 does not know is that the yakuza are led by his arch-enemy. Enter more yakuza, KSC2-303's love interest, two police guys chasing KSC2-303 and a small army of undead criminals and you should get the gist. There is a whole lot of fighting and acting tough, ending with the final showdown between KSC2-303 and his arch-enemy. Needless to say, you don't need to watch this film for its fantastic plot.

Versus' low-budget background is clearly visible throughout the film, but this didn't seem to bother Kitamura in the least. The image may not be as clean or crisp as can be, the camera work, editing and framing is simply awesome. Kitamura's camera is constantly on the move, finding weird yet imaginative angles and zooming through and past everything in its way (that includes human cadavers). If you do prefer a more glossy look you could check the remastered version (with also has some scenes re-shot from scratch) but since I've always watched the original I can't comment on the quality of that release.

The soundtrack consists of an eclectic range of action-oriented music. It's far from subtle and homogeneous, freely switching between cheesy guitar riffs and club-ready drum n bass. The thing is though that it works pretty well for each separate scene. It's not what you call a great soundtrack, but as far as supporting the different scenes goes it does the job considerably well.

The acting has similar issues. While the actors have plenty of charisma, some of them just can't act. It's not a big deal in this film, at times it even adds an extra layer of weirdness (the big police guy or the mad yakuza). Sometimes it even goes as far as to lend the film and the characters a very particular charm, but it's equally obvious that they weren't going to win any prizes with their performances. Even Tak Sakaguchi gets by more on charisma than on actual talent. Again, that's pretty much okay for a film like this as long as you don't expect anything more from it.

Even though Versus lasts a full two hours, the film stays fresh and exciting at all times. Kitamura put a lot of variation between the fight scenes, sprinkled the film with plenty of comedy interludes and comes up with smart and clever details at regular intervals. Versus is a true "win or lose" kind of film where the director is giving his all to prove his worth. It may be a bit uneven because of that, but the amount of creativity and passion on display easily trumps whatever negative points follow from Kitamura's lack of subtlety.

For a while Versus was one of my all-time favorite films, but the recent wave of Japanese splatter films changed things a little. Nishimura and friends go way beyond the madness on display in Versus, which makes Kitamura's film a bit less extreme and "out there" compared to when it was launched. It's still immensely fun and entertaining, but when it comes to gore and insanity there are better films out there these days. That's about the only real critique I have, apart from that Versus is still wildly hilarious and definitely worth you time.

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