The Fish Rots From the Head Down

Let me start with "This is a great fucking film" because it's the most adequate, all-encompassing  piece of praise I can think of.

Two weeks ago, I rose at 5 am and quickly  prepared a breakfast of Quinoa Flakes, blueberries, stevia, pineapple, and hemp milk. Excited, I slipped the (British) Third Window Films' Blu-ray into my player, took a seat, dug my spoon into the Quinoa, and waited for Cold Fish (Tsumetai nettaigyo, 2010), the second latest film from Japan's Sion Sono, to unfold.

Would it remain a film, as most do, or would it bolt from the pack and become an experience?

Before I placed the empty, blueberry-stained bowl on the tray beside me at 5:22 am, the film had already become an experience and more.

On the rear sleeve of the Blu-ray, it is described as "a psychotic cavalcade of sex, violence, and comedy".  It's much more than that, of course, but a little simplification doesn't go astray now and then. Director Sono's skill is in balancing the elements and building a strong foundation for them that is his characters.

 There's no arguing that Sono has found some very strong ones in this deliciously vile outing.  

The launching place for Cold Fish is a true story known as "The Saitama serial murders of dog lovers". A married couple, both professional dog breeders, sold overpriced dogs to a variety of people, including some yakuza types. When it became apparent that they'd been ripped off by the breeders, the unhappy customers complained. The couple addressed these complaints with murder. It's said that they murdered at least ten people.

In the script by Sion Sono and Yoshiki Takahashi (who also designed the striking, Straw Dogs-inspired poster art), the dog breeders have become fish breeders, and the climax has been changed completely. But according to crime journalist Jake Adelstein, author of Tokyo Vice,  the film follows the tenor and details of the original crimes very closely -- at least up to the point where it veers into very different thematic territory.

Shamato, who runs a tropical fish shop with his second wife, is put at a disadvantage when his bratty daughter, Mitsuko, is caught shoplifting. When it seems likely that the store's angry manager will call the police, a kind stranger (fish shop entrepreneur Murata), intervenes on the girl's behalf and smooths matters with the manager, negating police intervention. This apparent act of kindness turns Shamato into grateful, humbled putty in Murata's murderous hands.

The original killers, Gen Sekine and Kirokoo Kazama, become Murata (played with chilling conviction and humor by Denden) and his wife Taeko (Megumi Kagurazaka) here. Like Sekine, Murata  is a charming, charismatic rogue whose ability to manipulate those around him is a wicked joy to witness. As audience members, we know where it's all heading, but it's the machinations of his manipulation that are so fascinating. His greatest skill lies in forming bonds separately with each member of Shamato's family. Mitsuko, for one, detests her father and stepmother. When Murata offers to drive her home in his shiny red sports car, he encourages her to disparage her father in the meanest, most disrespectful way. This encouragement endears Murata to her, and puts her at ease with him (all the better to molest her later). Not too much later, Murata catches Shamato's wife Taeko in a vulnerable moment and deviously molests her, groping her breasts and crotch. When he drops her home after an afternoon of lurid intimacy, it's clear that he opened a door into Taeko's psyche (and body) that Shamato lost the key to long ago.

In a series of brilliant master strokes, the shockingly brazen Murata takes informal custody of Mitsuko, endears himself to Taeko, and involves Shamato in a murderous spree from which the psychologically beaten husband and father feels incapable of escaping.

I'm loathe to reveal too many more plot developments, of which there are plenty, because Cold Fish's plot surprises are just some of its bountiful joys; even greater joy, for me, at least, is derived from its approach to sexuality and thorough examination of what asserting your true nature actually means.

Not since directors Masaru Konuma (Wife To Be Sacrificed, Erotic Diary of an Office Lady) and Norifumi Suzuki (Beautiful Girl Hunter, School of the holy Beast) has a Japanese filmmaker approached the subject of  sexuality (and violence) as freshly and thoughtfully as Sono. Although he doesn't make what anybody would call "pink films", he incorporates pink film elements such as extreme fetishism and sadomasochism seamlessly into his scenarios.

Outside of pornography, sexuality and its broader expression (fetishism) is usually bundled (lazily) into the "perversion" basket. For mine, "perversion" is an abstract moral judgment of a particular sexual act provoked subconsciously by religious dogma. It's a meaningless word flung around by repressed, terrified, immature idiots who wouldn't know a human psyche from a hole in the ground. Because "perversion" is used in the West as a banner for sexual acts outside the "norm" (read: admitted to), and has negative religious associations, we're rarely treated to a thought-provoking, Western exploration of it. In Japan, where Christianity hasn't hijacked young minds and old ways, sex is more easily explored for the brilliant, shattering, euphoric force it can be (if you're game). In one of Cold Fish's most mind-blowing sequences, a violent confrontation between Murata and a yakuza gang is intercut with Murata's wife groping the hired help in a nearby closet. The juxtaposition of two forms of fiery passion (anger and lust) creates an atmosphere rarely seen or felt in cinema, and the impact on the viewer is incendiary (on this viewer, anyway). The audaciousness of the scene reminded me of Sono's previous film, Love Exposure  (reviewed on this blog), a work that explored fetishism, romance, and the dangers of religious faith.... and, like Cold Fish, balanced the often disparate elements with unbridled skill and gleeful abandon.

When Cold Fish detours from its source, it does so to address thematic issues. From the outset, its hero Shamato is a beaten man. Tensions between his daughter and her stepmother are high. Shamato has lost control of them, their mutual hatred a gulf in the family home.  Murata's intervention into their lives is not initially an unwelcome one. It rattles the family, wakes them from their domestic slumber, gives them an pronounced electric charge. Naturally, heaven turns to hell (which is simple physics), and Shamato's feeble grasp on everything becomes more pronounced. Eventually, he becomes Murata's puppet, more an abused son than a business colleague, and his unassertive ways threaten to bury him (literally). And then there's the detour, where the true story falls away and Sono asserts his theme.

The detour is about Shamato gaining control. I hesitate to write "regaining" because I'm not sure if he ever had it. In Japan, there is an entire genre of literature about fathers being beaten up by their wives and children; "Stupid Dad" is one of these. To varying degrees, the Dads of this genre are idiots (?) who work all day and have no relationship with their children. Their lives are of servitude to spoiled ingrates. For their efforts, they gets punished. For performing the traditional "duty" of bread winner, they get hung, burnt, stabbed, and dismembered. In Cold Fish, Shamato is Sono's "Stupid Dad", a man physically and psychologically beaten by the people he's supposed to protect. Unable to moderate the war between the two fighting females in his household, he's retired to a room in his head where the weather conditions outside can not touch him. When Murata enters Shamato's life, Shamato is happy to pass the "Stupid Dad" baton to him. When Shamato finally takes the baton back, the result is bloody and somewhat surprising. Not only does Shamato confront his abuser, but he asserts his fatherly role via several brutal acts of violence against his own family. These acts provide an incredible catharsis for him and the viewer, and represent a full reversal of the "Stupid Dad" genre.

For me, what makes Cold Fish great is its original, ballsy approach to hot material. It takes a line and walks it. It doesn't stop along the way to fuck, piss, protest, or suck a producer's dick. That's rare.

 Enthusiasts for Fred and Rose West (I know you're out there!) and the Moors Murderers (you, too!) will find much gristle to chew on here.

An interesting tidbit ripped from the Blu-ray extras is that the yakuza were instrumental in the conviction of the real life murderers. Their unconventional interview methods uncovered information the police couldn't. 

***

The Third Window Films Blu-ray of Cold Fish is a stellar presentation of the work.

Extras include an interview with co-writer Yoshiki Takahashi and crime journalist Jake Adelstein, who once met the actual murderers the film is based on.

Love Exposure

Currently, there's a major graffiti exhibition on at one of Los Angeles's contemporary art museums. As usual, the exhibition has been criticized by morons for glorifying vandalism.  The show's focus is on the art itself. Much of it is striking, and the artists are clearly talented.

Legally speaking, painting on a wall without permission is a form of vandalism, but would painting on a wall with permission still be graffiti art, or does the art form require the illegal canvas in order to serve its original function? My point is: Don't dismiss the art just because its commission is a crime. Crime may be necessary for it to exist.

In the past, graffiti would not have been afforded any serious consideration as "art" (meaning: something that rich and pretentious people will hang in their galleries). Citizen anger at the crime left no room for tolerance or aesthetic contemplation. Times have changed... a bit.

Art featuring sexual subject matter is often dismissed. It's conveniently re-labeled 'pornography', a term loaded with negative connotations for most people, and those who label it as such know that, and count on it. Blanket dismissal is a lazy way to avoid dialog. A little like locking the black kid in the closet when the white friends come to stay.

Rarely is pornography considered "art", especially in America, and that's a shame, because it is art. Personally, I despise the way human beings group creative works into condescending categories. Nothing makes me puke more than an academic wanker deciding what is high art, low art, trash, and pornography.  Fuck off!, it's all "art", and it's either good or bad. My opinion on it is no more correct or important than yours, and yours is no more important or correct than mine.


In Sono Sion's thought-provoking and dynamic Love Exposure, the protagonist gains a modicum of fame by secretly and resourcefully photographing the pleasant view up a woman's skirt. Known as "Upskirt Photography" or "Panty Peeking", this brand of fetish photography has been ushered in by pure desire, sexual frustration, and technological advancements.

Definitely more prevalent in Japan than in the West (where privacy laws are harsher), perhaps it's the next big thing for modern museums when graffiti art become passe?

Upskirting has much in common with graffiti. The act of practicing it is, technically, criminal behavior. Floating an uninvited camera lens between a woman's thighs represents an invasion of her privacy. A transgressive act. So does photographing a celebrity on a remote island, in my book, but nobody seems concerned about that. Like graffiti, the commission of an illegal act goes hand in hand with the commission of an artistic act.

Some of upskirting's top practitioners are talented individuals who employ complex and artful methods to snap striking panty shots. Cameras on springs. Cameras in walking sticks. Cameras in sunglasses and light shades.

A pro with a camera may discreetly cartwheel behind his target to gain a perfect ground view. A lens may lurk in a garbage bag beneath a stairwell.  A bag pushed under a toilet stall may capture a hundred panty-wrapped treasures. A low level camera at a taxi rank may offer much leg-lifting material for the patient pervert's lens.

Being creative with shooting methods and managing exposure and focus simultaneously are key to the career success of the upskirter.

Perhaps this success will be rewarded one day with serious consideration in a rich man's gallery or museum?
Or is serious consideration and acceptance of the art by folks who are ten years behind the zeitgeist anathema to the art itself?

Does acceptance blunt the needle? Do art forms like graffiti and upskirting require an illegal structure in order to be true? Is a legally sanctioned upskirt still an upskirt? I think not.

Isn't the rush of upskirting based on the belief that the virtual voyeur is getting a private, clandestine view of a woman's panties, and, by extrapolation, her vagina? If you know that she's doesn't know the cameraman was there, that's the sizzle, right? You're seeing the forbidden. That's the picture's power. If the picture is posed, it's just another picture. The transgressive element is no more.

The scenes of active upskirting in Love Exposure are directed and edited by director Sono with a light, subtle flair. The film doesn't take a hypocritical stand against the material that it portrays with so much glee and fun. It doesn't pretend to speak for "victims", either, and doesn't canonize the proponents of the subculture. The film's primary purpose is to tell a great love story over a swift 237 minutes. Because it does this without detouring into the vile puritanism and pandering moralizing of American TV shows like Law and Order: SVU and CSI, it achieves greatness... and respect.

Upskirting, however, can do without the latter.
  
 ***

For some crazy fucking reason, Love Exposure is not available in the U.S. on DVD. Recently, the U.S. has really dropped the ball on Asian cinema. In a country with close to 300 million living skulls, is the market for this material so diminished as to not justify any release? Perhaps. Returns on past releases fuel future investment. No returns, no investment. Other recent titles MIA Stateside include Bedevilled, Cold Fish, and Confessions. All are available or announced with street dates in the UK.  Over the past couple of years, the UK (and Australia) have become powerhouse markets for foreign/arthouse releases with companies like Third Window Films, Madmen, Eastern Eye, and Eureka. Make sure you have a multi-zone Blu-ray/DVD player. If you don't, you're missing out on a galaxy of wonders.