Things I watched: Dead Calm - An unsettling psychological thriller set on the high seas

 

I came across Dead Calm randomly watching old YouTube footage of Orson Welles where he mentioned an unfinished project called The Deep, based on a novel by Charles Williams. 

It's a film that sat in limbo for decades before finally being adapted into something else entirely by Philip Noyce. While not Welles’ vision it's a taut, nervy thriller. One I really enjoyed.

The story follows a young couple, played by Sam Neill and Nicole Kidman, sailing across the Pacific in an attempt to escape a recent family tragedy. Their journey is interrupted when they encounter a sinking schooner and a lone man rowing desperately toward them. He’s sick, agitated, and quickly taken aboard.

That, of course, turns out to be a mistake.

Suspicion builds fast and before long he seizes control of the yacht, taking Nicole with him and leaving Sam stranded aboard a doomed vessel. From there the film splits neatly in two: Sam fighting to survive at sea, and Nicole trapped in a tense psychological standoff with an increasingly unstable captor.

What really elevates it is the setting. The ocean is vast, hostile, and isolating, turning the yacht into a floating pressure cooker. The claustrophobia is intense, and every decision feels loaded — especially the repeated moments where Nicole hesitates over loading a gun that could end everything instantly.

Would Orson Welles? Hard to say, but I did. It blends psychological horror with survival thriller remarkably well. The ending is poor — reworked by the studio months after shooting — but if you mentally discard it, what remains is 90 minutes of gripping, economical filmmaking.

In short, it's a genuinely underappreciated gem.

-Mitch

Things I watched: Evil Does Not Exist

I'll open this one by saying I can't help but admire Ryusuke Hamaguchi.

He broke through in a big way with Drive My Car but before that he was quietly refining his style in films like Happy Hour and Asako I & II. His work sits between genres, blending the emotional with the philosophical — something Evil Does Not Exist captures beautifully.

The story unfolds in the fictional village of Mizubiki, a rural community nestled in Nagano’s hauntingly beautiful mountains. Takumi, a widower, lives quietly with his daughter Hana, sustaining himself through odd jobs for the locals. 

When a talent agency proposes building a nearby glamping site, the villagers unite in protest, fearing it will poison their water supply and disrupt their fragile balance.

Takumi becomes an unlikely guide for two company employees, introducing them to the rhythms and customs of village life. Their presence is awkward from the outset, and the longer they stay, the more they unsettle both the environment and Takumi himself. 

Through this tension, Hamaguchi gently exposes the clash between capitalist convenience and the natural world.

What struck me most is the film’s patience. Hamaguchi lingers on quiet moments, allowing an unnerving stillness to take hold before anything overtly happens. That restraint becomes the film’s pulse — something always feels slightly off. 

It invites you into beauty before reminding you that destruction doesn’t only come from systems, but from people too, especially when they’re wounded or afraid.

Evil Does Not Exist may not be as immediately accessible as Drive My Car, but it feels just as vital. It’s a film about what remains unseen: the slow, invisible forces shaping our world, often driven by well-meaning people trying — and failing — to live in harmony with their surroundings.

Well worth checking out.

Things I Watched: Broker – A thoughtful drama about child trafficking

I’m never quite sure what I’m getting when I sit down to watch a Hirokazu Kore-eda film. Sometimes it’s an expertly restrained drama like Maborosi or Nobody Knows, other times something gentler such as Our Little Sister or After the Rain. Broker sits somewhere between the two: big, uncomfortable subject matter anchored by intimate character work.

Broker is, to my knowledge, the first South Korean film Kore-eda has directed. It follows a group of amateur child traffickers led by Sang-hyeon, played by the ever-recognisable Song Kang-ho. After taking in a baby abandoned by its mother, they attempt to find a buyer, drawing the attention of two detectives, one played by Bae Doona.

As the group travels together, their relationships deepen, and the film begins to explore the uncomfortable contrast between the illegality of their actions and the personal circumstances that have led them there. What I found most compelling is this emphasis on misfortune. Each character carries a history of abandonment, framing their actions as misguided but compassionate rather than purely transactional.

The detectives, by contrast, are often played for dry humour, their emotional detachment quietly undercutting their authority. In that sense, Broker echoes The Third Murder, prioritising inner lives over the sensationalism of the crime itself.

The film does lose a little momentum in its second half — the first hour feels more assured — and the police storyline becomes slightly muddled before resolving itself. Still, even at its weakest, Broker remains thoughtful, humane, and unmistakably Kore-eda.

Things I watched: Josee, the Tiger and the Fish – A disappointing comedy about off-beat youngsters

Sometimes a film appears on my watchlist and I have absolutely no idea how it got there. That was the case with Josee, the Tiger and the Fish, a Japanese romantic comedy from 2003. It’s also… not very good, and I spent most of its runtime wondering if I’d meant to watch the animated remake instead.

The story centres on Tsuneo, a boisterous student who befriends Josee, a young woman with a serious physical disability. Early scenes focus on their unconventional friendship: Tsuneo enjoying her cooking, gifting her books she can’t easily get hold of, and generally orbiting her small, restricted world. Inevitably, this slides into romance — though not before Tsuneo weighs up whether he prefers Josee or a more conventionally attractive student.

That hesitation is handled clumsily and veers into something faintly misogynistic. The film never really explains why Tsuneo is such a prize in the first place. Apparently he just… is.

Very little truly held my attention beyond a vague curiosity about where the plot was heading. As one IMDB reviewer put it, the film circles around several interesting ideas without ever committing to any of them. I felt that keenly. 

There’s a moment late on where Josee speaks about being discarded by society because of her condition — a genuinely compelling thread — only for the film to cut away and never return to it.

Oh well. Sometimes the algorithm misses.

Things I Watched: Asako I and II

Recently I’ve noticed a bit of a strange tension creeping into certain films I watch. It’s hard to describe but revolves around not knowing whether a character is being truthful or not. It makes me feel uncomfortable; a little bit anxious. It crept up again in Asako I and II, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

Asuko I and II is the latest film from Japanese director Ryusuke Hamaguchi – best known in the West for his excellent four-hour film Happy Hour. That film was followed the lives of four female characters and similarly Asuko I & II bases itself on the life of a woman – the main character Asuko. 

In the beginning she falls madly, deeply, truly in love with a guy called Baku. They eventually split but her feelings remain steadfast years later. This causes consternation when she gets into a relationship with Ryohei – an Osakan businessman who looks exactly like Baku, minus the long hair.

I have a feeling the reason the film made me feel uncomfortable is because it expresses the displeasing truth that people are haunted by past trauma. this manifests into the otherwise reticent Asako being unable to swallow her feelings for the elusive Baku – who disappeared one day in her youth. 

It deeply confuses Asako prompting actions that are distinctly unlike her (i.e. being assertive and spontaneous). It reveals the masks that we wear aren’t always able to quell the embers of memory that live inside a person’s heart, especially when it comes to former relationships.

It seems to me that Hamaguchi has a bone to pick with such things given that the final scene features a momentously philosophical analogy that people are like rivers: disgusting yet beautiful. I like that idea very much.

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Things I Watched: Burning

I’ve mentioned before on this blog that I’m a big fan of Haruki Murakami. 

I consider the Wind-up Bird Chronicle to be high on my favourite books of all-time. One of the reasons I like it so much is because it deals with the concept of overcoming past trauma. It’s arresting in its exploration of that uncomfortable state of being that comes from not being fully in control of one’s environment. 

Lee Chang-dong’s Burning — itself inspired by a Murakami short story called Barn burning — shares a whole heck of similarities. In my opinion, it’s an absolute masterclass of film-making!

Set in modern day Seoul, the film follows aspiring young novelist, Lee Jong-su. One day he bumps into an old friend, Shin Hae-mi, working a dead-end job as an event promoter. He doesn’t recognize her at first because of she’s recently undergone plastic surgery – fairly popular in South Korea. 

Later they sleep together and she tells him about the ‘great hunger’ she’s seeking in life. This leads to a spontaneous trip to Africa whereupon she meets Ben, an elusive nouveau-riche type. 

The three then become embroiled in a complex love triangle culminating in Hae-mi’s disappearance. All the while Jong-su’s estranged father is facing judicial reprimand owing to an attack on a government official.

I know it’s lapse of me to say without explaining but I can’t understate how loaded the film is with metaphors. Central to this is distrust, especially towards figures in power. This is most evident through Ben, the privileged ‘Gatsby’ type who informs Jong-su one day of his proclivity for burning greenhouses – ‘nobody will miss them’. 

After a figurative goose chase, it becomes obvious that it’s a metaphor for power. The way Jong-su becomes embroiled in the situation gives heady weight to the turmoil that comes from him losing trust in others. 

The film, like many of Murakami’s books, expertly considers the personal impact of it, alongside other potent themes including class disenfranchisement, love, family tension, and politics.

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Things I Watched: Blue - Two Lonely Teenage Girls Living by the Sea

One of of the things I love about YouTube is finding random movies long forgotten by their original distributors. This is the fate of a little-known Japanese movie I came across this evening called Blue. I'd never heard of it before but it's lovely and heartwarming.

The titular colour describes the melancholic aura that surrounds the film's main character, the bob sporting and little-bit masculine, Kirishima. She’s sad not only because she lives in a sleepy seaside town and doesn't know what to do with her life after high school, but also because she's fallen in love with another girl, Endo, who won't commit to her feelings.

The film reminds me of a Korean movie I saw some years ago called A Girl at My Door. Both focus on female characters, mixing personal story with problems involving sexual preference. Both are also very effective in offering us a sympathetic portrait of people living in rural settings.

Overall it's very good. I thoroughly recommend it.

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Things I Watched: Fugue - A Polish 'psychodrama' about being unable to let go

Fugue is a psychodrama meaning it’s not the type of film I often watch. 

I gave it a go because I don’t feel I watch enough new movies and MUBI is running a ‘New Auteurs’ season. This one is Polish, released last year and made by a female director called Agnieszka Smoczynska. 

The film begins in disequilibrium with the sight of a disheveled woman stumbling into a subway station. It turns out she has been involved in an incident. Two years later she appears on a national television program designed to locate the families of missing persons. Her father calls the show and she rejoins her family, although she doesn’t remember them and now thinks her name is Alicja.

MUBI’s description suggests Fugue explores the ‘traditional role of women in society’. I felt had more to do with overcoming past trauma because, to me, Alicja’s lack of memory highlights her desire to start again, but obligations and family - including infant son - represent an inability for her to do so. 

Basically, it sucks the life out of her until everyone around her accepts that there's no turning back.

Good movie.

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Things I Watched: The Cherry Orchard - No Good Images of this Movie Exist

Cherry blossoms have a special place in Japanese culture. Known for their distinctive rose-petals, they're used as a symbol to reflect the passage of time. They bloom in Spring and last for roughly two weeks before they start to fall. This is about the same time as the annual school year begins in Japan, which is why they've become synonymous with the transition into adulthood.

The Cherry Orchard is a film based on a manga called Sakura no Sono. It concerns a group of schoolgirls who put on a performance of Anton Chekhov's play. This is an part of an annual school tradition that stretches back yonks. Unfortunately this year things are thrown into jeopardy because of the mischievous actions of one of the girls who's been caught smoking in a local restaurant. Uh-oh.

The film deals with a lot coming-of-age themes. It boasts instances of LGBT+ qualities which I find interesting as Japanese cinema rarely does. These are detailed best in a lovely scene towards the end where two girls take photos with each other just before the start of the first performance. Its director, Shun Nakahara, was previously a specialist in eroge films, which is irrelevant for the most part but might explain why the film seems to be absolutely and utterly love with its own characters.

All in all, it's a nice film. You can watch it on YouTube.

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Things I Watched: Microhabitat - A Touching Take on Balancing Rent and Cigarettes

In 2014, South Korea adopted a number of big changes to taxation laws. It meant price hikes of many everyday goods. Contrary to media narrative, such things affect both old and young - especially in cities like Seoul where already high costs of substantially impact disposable income.

Personally I wasn’t aware of this until I watched Jeon Go-woon’s Microhabitat. As an outsider, Korea has always struck me as a prosperous and easy country to live in. The film though illustrates a darker side to the country. It describes a situation in which people have to choose between what they regard as basic pleasures and necessary luxuries. This is especially prescient for the main character, who deems rent to such be an in-affordable part of her life that she chooses to ditch the pleasure of permanent accommodation to go apartment-hopping around several of her old college band-mates.

Along the way, she discovers the decisions they've each made to achieve what they deem to be a good life. It makes for a curious take on how disappointing life can be when we're forced to choose between what we want and what we're supposed to have. It's a very touching film and I suggest keeping an eye out for Jeon Go-woon because I have feeling she might well be Korea's next big directorial talent.

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Things I Watched: Inland Sea - A Low-key but Mesmerising Portrayal of an Ageing Fishing Town

Ethnography and film have a lot in common with each other. Documentaries follow the act of observing real world phenomena. They present real-life moments back to us in edited form. Watching them we almost become like researchers ourselves, meticulously drawing attention to the minutiae of events or things or characters or people or cats as they happen.

In my opinion the best documentaries don’t demand that we agree with their world. It's a viewpoint shared by New-York based filmmaker Kazuhiro Soda. His latest film Inland Sea aired recently on MUBI, and I'm happy to report that it's an excellent piece of cinema verite - important in presenting a different side to Japan than what we're usually afforded to in popular media.

The film depicts an ageing fishing community, Ushimado - a favourite setting of legendary Japanese filmmaker Shohei Imamura. It follows the town's citizens as they live lives determined by the tradition of catching and selling fish - a important part of the local economy but one facing real problems owing to mass industrialisation of Japan's fishing industry.

I was particularly taken aback by the charismatic nature of some of the characters. This includes a 90-something year old man who still goes out to sea every morning to catch fish.

I don’t usually put up trailers but in this case I think it's much easier:

Things I Watched: The Tale of Princess Kaguya - Watercolour Literature

During a recent viewing of Metropolis, I noted that animated films seem to have a strong relationship with literature. Just after I posted that, I found a rather interesting list of anime inspired by books. It inspired me to try Studio Ghibli's latest The Tale of Princess Kaguya - a beautifully animated watercolour-inspired parable that might be their best yet!

The film is based on 10th century Japanese folk-tale The Tale of The Bamboo Cutter. It focuses on an eponymous princess, Princess Kaguya - a young girl who escapes from the moon to experience the joys of being human. She’s initially discovered inside a glowing piece of bamboo and quickly transforms into a human, growing up in a remote village where she earns the nickname, Little Bamboo.

Her magical origin is evidence of her divinity and she's eventually moved to the 'Capital' (presumably Kyoto) to take on her right as the kingdom’s Princess. She doesn't enjoy this much though and struggles to cope, becoming depressed as she seeks once more to become a peasant back in the village of her childhood friends.

Kaguya’s tomboyish demeanour is constant and her refusal to accept the hand(s) of wealthy suitors adds a strong feminist edge. It’s unfair to say it concentrates too much on a politics. Most of the film is told with loving craft, demonstrating  tenderness towards the main character, much like Grave of the Fireflies and Only Yesterday before it.

Overall, it's a simple but effective story of an individual in chaos. I like it a lot.

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Things I Watched: Bright Future – I Won’t Try to Explain

If you’re unfamiliar with Kiyoshi Kurosawa then I have nothing to offer except the advice that you should get familiar with him. 

He makes extremely strange films like Bright Future - an oneiric tale about two disconnected youths that eventually morphs into a father-son ghost story.

I especially love MUBI’s description of the film.

'Enigmatic Mamoru lives alone with his poisonous, hauntingly luminous jellyfish.'

I give up if that doesn't make you want to watch it.

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Things I Watched: Nobody's Daughter Haewon — Not Much Happens

When a director makes enough movies, you tend to notice a number of recurring traits. Terrance Malick for instance likes to include a lot of shots of nature. Yasujiro Ozu enjoys framing shots with characters standing in doorways. Quentin Tarantino enjoys characters swearing at one another, a lot.

If South Korean filmmaker Hong Sang Soo has a shtick it’s paradoxically that nothing happens. His prolific rate of films – 18 in the past ten years! – is guided by his tendency to draw towards the unremarkable qualities of life. He often makes movies that are extremely ordinary but by being extremely ordinary succeed in getting to the heart of characters and their interpersonal dilemmas.

His 2013 film Nobody’s Daughter Haewon follows this line of thinking. It’s about a young, beautiful – even for Korean standards – student at a crucial point in her personal development. She’s struggling because she's dating a film professor, a man much older than she - a relationship complicated by his immature tendencies and family, including a new born baby. 

I’ve seen the film once before a few years ago and while I can’t say I absolutely adore it, I do like how the simple framing offers a quaint glimpse at Korean culture. It’s hard not to be taken aback by Haewon’s zestful enthusiasm for life despite her problems. She's not a particularly complex character but evokes the ever-present youthful tendency of wanting to break free without really knowing how.

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Things I Watched: Her Love Boils Bathwater - Tough Love In Difficult Circumstances

Her Love Boils Bathwater is a sentimental film meaning it's the type of film I usually try to avoid. In fact there was a point twenty minutes into the film where I felt it might be too much. I considered turning it off but persistence stuck me, which turned to be a great thing as it's an honest type of sentimentalism; more wholesome than tear-jerking. I liked it a lot.

The story follows a working-class family led by Futaba Sachino, a matriarch who one day receives news that she’s suffering from a terminal illness. She’s given only four months to live but this doesn’t deter her. Throughout the film she reigns supreme approaching every situation with hardheadedness, helping many around her despite her increasing frailties.

Notably this includes her daughter who she makes stand up to class bullies and in doing so provides an invaluable lesson about overcoming anxiety. She also forgives her deadbeat former husband for some reason and proceeds to give direction to run the family bath-house. Her ability to touch people impacts non-family members too, such as a young hitchhiker who later emerges to assist when Futaba is taken ill inside of hospital.

Despite its sombre themes, the film does an excellent job balancing comedy and pathos. Actress Rie Miyazawa provides Futaba with a strong sense of charisma throughout. While the film does oversteps sentimentalism towards the end, it leaves a valuable message about not losing sight of one's responsibilities.

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Things I Thought: I Didn't Really Like Dunkirk

On Saturday afternoon I went to watch Dunkirk. This was roughly around the time I realised I did not like Dunkirk. This surprised me. The trailers made it look great. It'd also garnered universal praise meaning my expectations were pretty high going in. Overall though, it left me feeling cold, much like a trip to Skegness beach on a blustery April weekend.

I realise Christopher Nolan is a bit of a big deal and at the risk of getting alienating his fans, he's not a filmmaker I've ever truly loved. I consider Memento to have been a formative film-watching experience but it's a film I've liked less and less over time. I have similar feelings about Inception. The only Nolan movies I do quite like are the Batman movies.

I feel my problem with Dunkirk is similar to Inception. It's a fantastic spectacle with a lot jaw-dropping cinematography but it's very cynical. It doesn't seem to trust the audience to take in more than just its sumptuous visuals and overall broad point about the madness of war. None of the characters are interesting or fleshed-out in the slightest. It feels like a movie trying really hard decrease the real emotional connections we might make to it.

Comparing it to another war movie that I really like, The Thin Red Line, makes me ponder that issue further. Both films are based on real event, but unlike Dunkirk, the former movie uses its war-setting to ask bigger questions. It isn't afraid of making us see its characters as individuals, human and flawed. In fact, from the very beginning, the dialogue muses on how individual differences make for unique attitudes towards war, never taking sides but simply extolling how war cannot be approached one way.

I don't expect Dunkirk to deal with the subject in the exact same way but I didn't leave my seat thinking much at all I suppose one thing you could say in its favour is it invokes a spirit of humanism. The story is centred around a rescue mission and therefore an act of selflessness. It shows the goodhearted nature of ordinary people, however it's a shame that it never wants to get into the heart of what makes those people tick.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm conflicted. I've seen people go absolutely barmy about the film, even comparing Nolan to Stanley Kubrick. Personally I don't feel Dunkirk gets anywhere close to the madness or bravado of either of Kubrick's war films. If anything, the film it most reminds me of most of all is Platoon - another war film that received a lot of adulation on release but whose critical opinion dwindled a lot over time.

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Things I Watched: Miss Hokusai - An Imaginative Search for Filial Identity

The endlessly re-created image of the The Great Wave Of Kanagawa bears an unshakeable print on the mind. I remember reading that it's one of the most reproduced images of all time. It's certainly the most well known Japanese painting ever-made, and its artist, Katsushika Hokusai, one of the most important painters to ever grace this blue planet we call Earth.

The subject of Miss Hokusai, a film I watched earlier this week, is not the great master himself but rather his daughter, Katsushika O-Ei. The film portrays her as a proud and independent artist. Very talented but struggling to emerge from the shadow of her father. He acts as a source of great frustration for O-Ei, who's still looking for that magical spark to call her own.

Influence is a key theme, both because the plot so heavily centres around the father and daughter relationship, and also because the animation revels in blurring daily life with scenes of majestic fantasy. These often come in waves, much like the great one Hokusai envisaged. They create an alluring spectacle such as when a great big dragon descends upon the obviously terrified citizens of Edo. Oh how I'm sure they laughed that day.

A more sombre moment comes midway through when O-Ei is commissioned to draw a painting of Buddhist hell (Jigoku). Her painting pulls no punches but it causes nightmarish daydream for its owners. To fix the painting, Hokusai emerges, adding a giant Buddha. It gives the family better peace of mind and acts a pivotal scene that highlights that while O-Ei's work might be great, it's still missing a vital element that will only come with age.

While Miss Hokusai isn't a major milestone in animation or anything like that, it's an earnest film that I enjoyed a great deal. It's not afraid to portray larger than life characters in ordinary ways in their down-time. It also does a decent job at making us sympathise with a young girl struggling to form an identity for herself.

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Things I Watched: Nightcrawler - A Night-time Drive Into Capitalistic Competition

There's a scene early in Nightcrawler that I think sums it up quite well. After stealing a bulk of scrap metal from a construction yard, main character Lou Bloom (Jake Gyllenhaal) remonstrates with a foreman unwilling to take stolen goods of his hands. Instead of conceding defeat, he argues in depth about its 'real value'. At a different point in history, his business savvy might be rewarded, but here it’s cynically rebuffed. The conversation ends with Lou asking for a job. A real one, even if it’s unpaid; a perfectly viable way for people to earn their stripes in the current economy.

Lou Bloom is Nightcrawler's anti-hero - an under-educated, internet-addicted, twenty/thirty-something trying to make ends meet. When he stumbles on a horrific car crash, he learns the way of the Weegee: freelance photojournalists who shoot footage of criminal incidents to sell to media channels. Naturally, the bigger the story, the bigger scoop and anything highlighting white people being attacked in the suburbs is soup de jour. Lou's happenstance arrival on a crash prompts his way into the nebulous night-time world, leading to scrupulous moral decisions as desperately seeks to be first on the scene.

At its core, Nightcrawler is a film about excessive competition. It's main character embodies that: a man with terrible social skills, willing to exploit people, but only in the same way he knows they're willing to exploit him. His wicked combination of unemployment and great eye for visuals pushes him into self-employment, which he goes to any length to extend. In one scene, he arrives at a crash site before the police. Instead of helping the half-dead man, he drags him across the road so he can get a better shot. Not once does it cross his mind to help but he makes sure the TV station credit him as doing so. Good for the brand, you see.

That TV station in question is KWLA 6, a moribund channel with flagging ratings and a career-driven manager looking to change things. Cue Lou’s footage propelling both he and the station to new heights. It's a point that doesn't just reflect on them. It corresponds with the (unseen) audience's obsession to violence. Company profit and exploitation of fears are found in a two-way waltz. The channel is the puppet master and Lou certainly makes for an efficient puppet-for-hire.

While the film's main source of criticism is television - and thus somewhat anachronistic in today’s digital world - it feels relevant given how it basically reflects emerging social media-driven anxiety. Online media tends to engage with us in the same way as news channels, frequently exaggerating facts through emotional content. Fears and worries are exacerbated, even if it's good for the brand. I think there's a valuable lesson in that.

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Things I Watched: Certain Women - A Sympathetic Portrait Of Four Women

In order to make up for the fact I didn't watch enough movies last year, I've decided to my way through Sight & Sound's Best Films of 2016 list. The latest stop on my journey is Certain Woman, America filmmaker Kelly Reichardt's quiet-but-powerful drama about womanhood.

Set in modern-day Montana, Certain Women tells four interconnecting stories. There's lawyer (Laura Dern) dealing with a disgruntled client who doesn't respect her because of her gender. A mother (Michelle Williams) who feels undermined by her husband and worries she's losing her daughter's respect as a result. A ranch worker (Lily Gladstone) who lives in isolation. And law-student (Kirsten Stewart) who laments having to moonlight as a teacher instead of concentrating on her career.

What follows isn't important in terms of action but in the way Reichardt frames each story. Each vigntte highlights an implicit sadness that draws us towards deep internal feelings. It's subtle but effective because Reichhardt never tries to extract emotions by force. She opts for a quiescent approach that impresses because it treat its subjects as humans not political vehicles.

I saw one critic suggest the film makes us sense characters who we 'feel might have painful shoes'. It's a strange quote but in many way sums up the film's illustration of realistic problems. The simplicity excels in making us sympathise with each character, regardless of their occupation, hair colour, or choice of vehicle (one rides a horse to work).

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Things I Watched: This Takeshi Kitano Double-Bill of Kids Return and Kikujiro

I open this post by mentioning the lamentable point that I haven’t watched many films lately. Why? Well because I’ve been confined to a small bedroom back at my dad’s and haven’t had access to my big screen TV. I am, after all, a man who eschews small screens as the pinnacle of film-watching when a big screen a-beckons. And I'm okay with that.

But it's all about to change because I just subscribed to MUBI. If you haven’t heard of that before it’s a fantastic thing. It's a bit like Netflix, if Netflix had a good choice of foreign films rather than literally zero. MUBI’s mantra is that it features a new film every day - the catch being that there are only ever 30 films available at one time. This means that if you’re unorganised, or maybe just forgetful, then there’s a good chance you’ll miss that Swedish masterpiece you kept meaning to watch.

This week, I took the opportunity to watch two films offered as part of the service, both by Japanese filmmaker, Takeshi Kitano. The first was Kids Return, a low-budget feature about two high-school dropouts. The second was Kikujiro, a sweet story about a friendship between an ex-gangster and an impressionable young boy.

Both films share a strong essence of humanism and a careful understanding of their subjects. In Kids Returns, Kitano centers the proceedings on the failure of the Japanese school system with a story of two young, rebellious teens who nurture each other’s anti-authoritarianism and petty attitudes towards life.

In Kikujiro, Kitano prompts us towards feelings of melancholy with a powerful story about an abandoned boy who teams up with a hard-nosed ex-gangster, played by Kitano himself. A lot of attention goes into the relationship that develops between them and it leaves us with a potent message about how people change and support one another despite their differences.

To be honest, Kikujiro is easily the more accomplished of the two films but both are great in their own ways. They show us what it means to be human without falling into cliche or stereotype. They also reflect a lot of concerns about ordinary people, as well being comic in their own sardonic way. While MUBI doesn't currently offer much by way of Asian cinema, I'd definitely welcome more films like these ones.

Here's hoping!