'Ichi the Killer': It's Just Comedic Storytelling

Takashi Miike is a storyteller. Unfortunately, some critics and viewers seem to want their stories in safe packages. I assume they can handle "The Godfather" despite its violent moments. But a film like "The Godfather" offers characters with redeeming human qualities. That is not a flaw, but it is traditional.

With "Ichi the Killer," Mike's goal is to tell a comedic nontraditional story, and he wants his crew and audience to help make the journey. He can't do it alone. However, some critics dismiss the film as torture of the audience.

But more about that later. You might not know much about Miike. I only knew his filmmaking by reputation for a long time, but hearing about his movies--and their most insane parts--will not give you an accurate understanding of Miike.

"Audition" is perhaps Miike's most well-known film and for great reasons. Its voyeuristic direction is reminiscent of Hitchcock, it has solid and understated characters, and it will make you uncomfortable. Hell, even Rob Zombie was creeped out. I will not reveal anything specific about the film, but I will share a story about myself.

I was at work eating lunch, and I had watched "Audition" the previous night. The movie was still on my mind, so I looked it up on wikipedia. As I read through the synopsis, I came across a detail that almost made me stop eating a tasty sandwich. I had blocked a particular scene from my mind, and the description on wikipedia reminded me why I had done that.

Notwithstanding its disturbing images, "Audition" has characters you can easily understand. The challenge is finishing the film. Do not take this the wrong way. The film does not have gratuitous violence, but it involves one of the most fucked up characters in film history, and you have to watch that person at work. Think Hitchcock's "Frenzy," only more graphic and prolonged.

In contrast, if you can easily understand or identify with characters in "Ichi the Killer," I never want to meet you. Both "Audition" and "Ichi the Killer" have torture, but the torture in the latter didn't faze me as much. Primarily because it's rather cartoony. For example, a man hangs from a ceiling with hooks through the skin of his back and legs, but it is obviously not his skin being pierced. It's disgusting but not realistic in the slightest sense.

The violence in "Ichi the Killer" is over the top and often the result of computer graphics and comedic intentions. Remember that. Comedic intentions. I say this because some critics would recognize a comedic ingredient but still concluded that the film--and Miike--was sadistic.

For instance, Michael W. Phillips Jr.'s review indicates that the film's spraying blood reminds him of "the blood Monty Python used," which should have told him that Miike had comedic intentions. Instead, his conclusion misses the point:

"There are movies that I value that include a lot of sadism and misery, but I have to believe that there's some purpose to it. I couldn't find a purpose here except wallowing in pain and inviting others to partake of it."

The primary purpose is humor. I'm not saying I didn't think "What the fuck?!" several times while watching the movie, but it's clear the violence is humorous, sometimes for its inherent absurdity and sometimes for its mockery of other films.

It's also clear that Miike is exploring the possibilities of storytelling with the violence. Phillips sensed this a little when he discussed the character of Kakihara:

"And there's the somehow amusing thought of being faced by an opponent like Kakihara, the bleach-blonde psychopath in the shiny suits: how do you fight a guy whose pleasure increases the more you hurt him? Punching and kicking seem somehow useless in a situation like that."

But again, his conclusion does not seem to consider the facts: "I think there is a line between depiction and glorification, between exploring sadism and practicing it, and Miike takes a Carl Lewis long jump over that line and doesn't look back." First, Phillips accuses Miike of practicing sadism. My response is that you can turn off the movie whenever you like. Plus, Miike is telling a story anyway. Phillips presents two possibilities, (1) exploring sadism and (2) practicing sadism, but does not consider another possibility: Miike is neither seriously exploring sadism nor practicing it. He is telling an unconventional story that involves sadistic and masochistic characters.

Another critic, Nick Schager, touched on both of my points, but his review doesn't suggest he understood Miike's intentions:

"With slits running from the corners of his mouth out into the middle of his cheeks (the wounds held together only by two ring piercings) and a sexual appetite for S&M-tinged beatings, Asano's Kakihara is a demonic monster whose moral vacuity is simultaneously frightening and comical. He's not enough to elevate the pointless Ichi the Killer into something worthwhile, but his extreme indecency does make the endless degeneracy slightly more bearable."

I don't understand Schager's logic. He is basically saying that the most depraved character in the film makes the depravity more bearable. Not only do I find this claim illogical, but I disagree with its implications. Kakihara should not have any bearing on one's viewpoint of the degeneracy. Degeneracy is degeneracy. The important factors are the tone of the film and the intent of its director. The tone is comical, and the director is telling a story. Therefore, the degeneracy can be accepted as part of the humor and story. Again, what's so pointless about humor and telling a different story?

Humor is pointless if it is not ironic. I don't think anyone could claim that "Ichi the Killer" is not full of irony. It might not be congruent with your tastes, but the irony certainly exists.

A story is pointless if you do not understand the sequence of events and the characters. And honestly, this is where I can agree with Schager. The film can be quite hard to follow, but then again, I've only watched it once. The marketing didn't help, either. Kakihara's face is featured on the DVD cover, and for at least 40 minutes I kept assuming he was also known as Ichi.

But the characters make sense, as long as you aren't looking for an insightful lesson from them. That's part of the problem I have with the reviews by Phillips and Schager. They aren't judging the film on its own merits so much as lamenting the fact that it doesn't contain social commentary to slice up and analyze. It's akin to dismissing "Airplane!" because it doesn't address the political environment of 1980. Judge it by the jokes, not by the deep conversations you could have had with friends if the film had done this and that.

Kakihara seems to be a character anyone can appreciate on at least a superficial level, so I will explore his motivations before closing. Kakihara's boss has been killed and robbed, and he wants to find the culprit. Thus, he tortures a member of another clan that he believes has a lead on the killer. When Kakihara realizes he is wrong, he cuts off part of his own tongue as a political apology. Kakihara soon learns about Ichi's destructive spree, and because Kakihara would love nothing more than a severe beating for pleasure, he becomes obsessed with the prospect of fighting Ichi. He finally faces Ichi on a rooftop, but the fight is a fluke. So Kakihara sticks pins deep into his ears out of frustration. He apparently damages his brain because he hallucinates and finds one of Ichi's blades sinking into his forehead, and Kakihara falls to his death, happy and satisfied.

That is a funny and unconventional ending for a character if you ask me. How did Miike present it? In a commentary track, Miike said he only directed the camera angles for that sequence. Everything else--the duration of the shots, the positioning of the characters, the acting, etc.--was under the control of his cast and crew, and they didn't revise their instincts. Miike explained that one possibility is more special than many possibilities.

After that, it's all up to us to laugh and enjoy the ride.

'JCVD' is a damn good time, 'The 400 Blows' does not blow, and Tarantino refuses to admit he made a mistake.

Nothing like a ridiculous title to illustrate that I don't know how to focus anymore.

But we're going to get through this. Let's start with Francois Truffaut's "The 400 Blows," which I finished last night after stopping it about five times. It is said to be Truffaut's greatest film and perhaps the main staple of French New Wave. I can't confirm the former claim because I had only seen "The Wild Child" before watching "The 400 Blows." (I wrote an entry about it here, complete with a pretentious comparison to David Lynch's "The Elephant Man.)

Honestly, I enjoyed my first viewing of "The Wild Child" more, but there is undeniable power in "The 400 Blows," however quiet that power is. As I said, I stopped the film several times to do other things before returning to it. Why? Because the film was asking too much of me. The story involves a young boy who gets into too much trouble ... he is certainly a misbehaving little bastard ... but adults--his parents, teachers, etc.--treat him like a monster. That's a tough thing to enjoy, and Truffaut doesn't gloss it up one bit, though he throws in a few clever and funny moments.

As I observed in "The Wild Child," Truffaut utilizes a detached, almost scientific perspective in "The 400 Blows," and he expects the viewer to take in the facts and arrive at a humane conclusion. This fascinating technique has worked twice on me, but again, if you don't bring a heart to either of these films, you're going to dismiss both as Tales of Bratty Children.

There is one interesting difference between "The Wild Child" and "The 400 Blows." The kid in the former is a heathen of the woods, yet adults are willing to help him--they don't want him in a cage. The kid in the latter is a heathen of society, yet adults are unwilling to help him--they want him in a cage.

But enough serious talk ... "JCVD" is a silly and intelligent ride. Not only can Van Damme act, but he can make you feel for him. I'm not going to say much else about "JCVD" other than these points:

1. If you haven't watched any Van Damme movies, don't bother watching this now. Go watch "Bloodsport," "Kickboxer," and "Lionheart." Then watch this.

2. If you take this film too seriously and miss the point, shame on you. I'll admit the pacing could have been better, but the payoff is worth it. Christ, it's only a little more than 90 minutes.

3. This isn't another "Being John Malkovich." If you dismiss it with this faulty intel, you are a liar and possibly a sexual deviant, Mr. President.

And now, the big headline: ADMIT YOUR HORRIBLE MISTAKE, TARANTINO. Yeah, I have all your movies on DVD (and I've probably lost credibility now, but fuck it), and I have defended your ridiculous ass on many occasions (and will continue to do so when appropriate), and I am going to watch "Inglourious Basterds" (and I wish everyone would stop whining about the misspellings ... Jeezus Christus, why take obvious bait?).

But your claim from this article is pathetic and stupid:

‘‘Fahrenheit 9/11.’’ You know what? As time has gone on, I’ve put that decision under a microscope and I still think we were right. That was a movie of the moment — ‘‘Fahrenheit 9/11’’ may not play the same way now as it did then, but back then it deserved everything it got.

- Quentin Tarantino, on the decision to give "Fahrenheit 9/11" the Palme d'Or in 2004

First, let me clarify something. I don't give a shit about what movie wins the Palme d'Or. "Freddy Got Fingered" could have won it one year. I have no idea.

But Tarantino is simply wrong. Yeah, he's been a douchebag plenty of times, but he usually knows how to make a point. Here, he doesn't even attempt to make a point. He says "magnifying glass," but if he would take a close look at "Fahrenheit 9/11," he would know it's garbage filmmaking. It's not even consistently entertaining. A chunk of the movie is essentially a mother whining about her dead son who signed up to die. Not only is it a ridiculously overlong appeal to pity, but it's something I never want to watch in the first place. And guess what Tarantino could have voted for? "Oldboy," one of the most groundbreaking and exciting films of the decade.

OK, OK, so I'm bitchy. But I simply detest arguments that praise "Fahrenheit 9/11" like an unfortunate junkie rejoicing over a cure for AIDS.