Mono no aware

Being the ignorant pleb that I am I haven’t actually seen any of the films that the multi-talented cult figure Takeshi Kitano has directed; all I know is that his films frequently involve crime thriller-type themes, striking instances of humour and a distinctive and individual style. As a first experience of Kitano the director then, Dolls is a surprising one because it’s a very experimental piece that defies mainsteam classification. It takes a very unusual approach to storytelling in comparison to those I’m used to: the stories may come across as clichéd at first glance but in terms of execution a conventional romance it certainly isn’t.

The allusions to bunraku puppet theatre were lost on me since I know nothing about the medium but I don’t think it’s necessary to be familiar with the details to appreciate the movie as a whole. The film relies heavily on symbolism and metaphor, which extends from the puppets that make the ‘dolls’ of the title to most of the movie overall. It is very stylised so the narrative shouldn’t be taken literally and at face value; those who prefer their drama more realistic might find it odd that the events portrayed are shown like some sort of stage play. It could also be argued that the characters are indeed like emotionless puppets playing out their roles but that I think is missing the point.

Like the puppets that inspired the way the screenplay is presented I suppose it’s not so much the emotion that’s portrayed as what emotion is implied. The characters don’t often show their joy or sorrow outwardly – although it’s wonderful and heart-rending when they do – but the placing of characters in the beautifully-shot locations often speaks for them. Cinema has the benefit over theatre of real-life backdrops but in this case it was decided that the locales should instead be used in a more static and abstract way to portray the time of year, conveying the mood or circumstances of the characters. I have to say that the cinematography here is quite stunning and allows, and often demands, low-key performances from the cast.

The themes of love, loss and sacrifice are shown in a pretty abstract way too with little details glossed over while the more general ideas are given the most attention. The practicalities of, say, turning up every saturday to bring lunch for someone who may never arrive are not of interest to the story here: it is the very notion that someone will wait steadfastly for another’s return that is the underlying message. It’s credit to the story’s emotional power, really, that such understated performances and often improbable storylines can work at all.

The story between the old Yakuza boss and his former girlfriend is touching in a traditionally nostalgic way, while the tale of the pop idol who goes into hiding following a traffic accident but is still revered by her fans says more to me about Japanese contemporary culture. The main story arc here though is that of Matsumoto and his girlfriend Sawako: reluctantly leaving his sweetheart to marry another woman and further his career, Matsumoto is distraught that Sawako has attempted to take her own life and abandons his wedding day to be by her side. A financially ruined Matsumoto and emotionally scarred Sawako, reduced to an autistic-like dazed state after her suicide attempt, wander the country together, bound by a length of rope tied to their waists.

Again an inpractical and unlikely plot device, this time a red cord, has immense symbolic significance. As the two lovers walk through the landscape the loop of rope that binds them snags and hinders their progress; when one falls the other stumbles; onlookers ridicule them as the homeless ‘bound beggars’. As the physical rope restricts them and provides an obvious reminder of their past decisions it also represents a constant reminder of how they are bound by fate in a metaphorical sense.

The stories are related thematically but they do not directly influence one another’s course; characters may pass one another in the street and there are a couple of individuals who crop up in various scenes that are concerned with each of the three subplots but there are no literal crossovers. This tenuous connection is appropriate, I think: it gives a sense of people walking into and out of others’ lives, observing and witnessing but not part of the same chain of events. They work wonderfully as separate stories but placing these separate threads in the same timeframe and only occasionally the same place pitches the proximity just right. The occasional moments of gentle, dry humour are also welcome and effectively used to prevent the piece being completely downbeat.

While there is a lot of depth and hidden meaning there isn’t a vast amount of complexity here. Romance tales of this nature don’t need sudden twists; besides, they pack enough of an emotional clout anyway. The instances of violence and death are not shown in kinetic action scenes: instead we’re shown the aftermath of these events, marked with splashes of colour. Somehow the lack of graphic violence, reiterating the film’s approach of deadpan restraint, makes its significance more poignant and the use of colour, especially in the costumes, reminds me a bit of Chan-wook Park’s Vengeance Trilogy too.

The soundtrack is also worthy of note. Mamoru Fujisawa, better known by the pen-name Joe Hisaishi, shows that there are more strings to his creative bow than just music scores for Miyazaki films. The background harmonies are used effectively but sparingly, enhancing the scenes they feature in but allowing for exetended periods of reflection and contemplation. For a film that is meandering, slow and simple yet peculiarly profound, the sound matches the visuals perfectly.

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