In the recent years, Japanese cinema is producing family
dramas that don’t wholly treat family as the sacrosanct entity, and its old-age
wisdom as the only means of preserving social order. Instead of making up the
family units as the salient feature of onscreen Japanese quality, these
contemporary dramas explore the inherent solitude and disorientation brooding upon
the seemingly close family members. In that vein, Koji Fukada’s Harmonium
(Fuchi ni tatsu, 2016) showcases us a family that appears secure and functional
on the outside. But when looked closely they just remain as lone individuals,
trying to bind themselves within the preconceived expectations of their familial/gender roles. Father
Toshio (Kanji Furatachi) is the typical conservative patriarch who doesn’t
verbalize his emotions. He seems to be caught up too much in his vision of
strict dad that he shuns the role of a caring husband. Toshio has a profitable machinery
workshop at the front of his house. Akie
(Mariko Tsutsui), the family’s matriarch, hardly communicates with her husband
and is determined to teach her energetic ten year old daughter Hotaru (Momone Shinokawa) to master the harmonium for an upcoming public performance at the
school (she’s also sewing a bright red dress for Hotaru to wear at the
performance).
Akie is a devout Christian who staunchly believes that with
love one can bring out goodness within any individual. Hotaru, blessed with an
inquisitive attitude, tells her parents about a spider species, in which the
female allows the children to eat her. Akie reassures her daughter that the
mother spider will go to heaven. Was spider’s sacrifice attributed to its
maternal instinct? Or did the spider have any choice to safeguard itself? How
much of this idealized family life is built upon one’s ability to take on
unrelenting emotional burden without exhibiting dissatisfaction? The spider question, of course, hints at the
sorrow that's forthcoming to deluge the family. The breakdown or journey into the void
starts with the arrival of Toshio’s old friend Mr. Yasaka (as usual, a bewitching Tadanobu Asano). Genteel, well-spoken, and perpetually dressed in a pure white-shirt,
Yasaka sets off chaos that gradually gnaws at the family’s stable quotidian
life.
Director Koji Fukada mentions that the basic idea for
Harmonium was written back in 2006, even before he made his debut feature in
2008. Although Fukada’s previous works Hospitalite (2010) and Au revoir L’Ete
(2013) were heralded in film festivals, I haven’t had the chance to see those
movies. The haunting nature of Harmonium surely proves why he is one of the
interesting contemporary Japanese film-maker (the film won Jury Award in Un
Certain Regard section of 2016 Cannes Film Festival). The story of a intruder
disrupting a harmonious family has been a device used from Hitchcockian days (Shadow of a Doubt, 1943).
But there’s something distinctive and timeless in the way Fukada studies this
Japanese family, highlighting that solitude is indelible part of our human
condition, irrespective of the multiple roles we play in family or society. The
foremost brilliant aspect of Harmonium is the setting which elegantly ties up
the family’s work life and home life. Spatially, it’s a very intriguing set-up,
effortlessly entrapping us within the character’s private and public space.
Koji Fukada’s film-making sensibilities appear to be an
effective commingling of the styles of cinematic masters Hitchcock, Michael Haneke, and
Yasujiro Ozu. The collaborative environmental setup, carefully selected visual schemes,
relaxed staging of family’s quotidian activities, the symmetrical shots lingering
on certain gestures or objects to generate fear, and the quality of maintaining
respectful distance between performers and camera (avoiding close-ups) meticulously
immerses us into the realm of psychological terror. The narrative is perfectly
divided into two parts: the first hour demonstrates the inevitable fatal blow
hurled upon the family; and the second hour explores their heartbreaking
recovery as fate brings upon more cruel twists. Stone-faced yet seductive,
Yasaka and Toshio share a secret and woeful past. Yasaka has been released from
prison after serving time for murder. Oddly, Toshio takes him in without any
hesitation (the reason is predictable and conveyed later). Yasaka quickly bonds
with little Hotaru, since he skillfully plays the harmonium. Although, Akie is
initially wary about Yasaka, he slowly gains her trust. He later elaborately
confesses his past crimes to Akie over a dinner at a restaurant, and it’s hinted
that may be Akie is warming up to her husband’s friend a bit more than
necessary. During a family outing, Akie and Yasaka look at red petals of a tree
before hesitatingly stealing their first kiss. The seemingly simple love
triangle turns sinister when Akie rejects Yasaka’s sexual advances. The
ex-con’s hidden fury resurfaces and culminates with a distressing violent act.
In the second-half of the narrative, Yaska is largely absent yet that itself is
as distressing as his presence in the first-half. Toshio and Akie are stripped
off their complacency and sense of love, and only left out with grief and
desire for retaliation.
Director Koji Fukada and DP Ken'ichi Negishi’s frames keep
the relationship between lens and performers simple. Perpetually shot at the
height of characters’ eye-line, Fukada maintains certain distance to avoid
explaining the intent of the characters or a particular scene. This provides
ample space for ambiguities and to examine ruthless ironies of fate. Even
though Fukada’s use of color to exhibit characters’ layered emotions seem
fascinating at first, the approach becomes a little too overbearing towards the
end. In one particular scene, Mr. Fukada brilliantly employs color as a visual
cue: when Yasaka takes away his crisp white shirt to reveal a red t-shirt,
hinting at the fury he is going to unleash. While the director explores the
familiar themes of complicity, sins of father, redemption and revenge, he also
diffuses a potent commentary on circumscribed gender roles, which especially
demands unfaltering willingness from women to sacrifice and surrender
themselves.
The transition between Hitchcokian wicked charm of the first
half (also reminds us of the recent brilliant thriller The Gift) and the
utterly desolate Haneke-esque second-half is realized without much erratic
change in tone. And, even at times the narrative loses its subtle touch in the
later half, the astounding performances keeps things at a boiling point. The
verbal showdown between Akie and Toshio over Hotaru’s predicament impressively
conveys the dark emotions bubbling under the surface. Mariko Tsutsui was
splendid in this scene as her saddened Akie finally realizes the huge
unaddressed breach in her marriage with Toshio. Star actor Tadanobu Asano
almost makes us believe in Yasaka’s poignance and humility. Asano never tries
to explain Yasaka’s emotions or attitude at any given moment yet there’s always
something unnerving about him. Kano Mahiro’s grown-up Hotaru and Taiga’s callow
Takashi turns in strong performance which keeps on escalating the film’s devastating
tone.
Trailer
Harmonium (120 minutes) is a deeply unsettling morality play
that observes the gradual disintegration of a seemingly idyllic family. The
absence of emotional catharsis and slow-burn nature of the narrative may
frustrate some viewers, but I was deeply affected by its elegiac reflection on
domestic disquiet.
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