
Over at the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, I update my entry on China with details of the relatively new sub-genre of stories in which time-travelling boffins try to make China great again.

Over at the Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, I update my entry on China with details of the relatively new sub-genre of stories in which time-travelling boffins try to make China great again.

“Officially, the film was shot entirely in Iran during the last years of the Shah, presenting a priceless time-capsule of everyday life before the 1979 revolution propelled the Ayatollah into power. Secretly, several pick-ups and interiors were actually filmed back in Japan, but the media printed the legend, possibly because admitting it might have triggered a breach of contract with the manga creator.”
Over at MediaOCD.com, I delve into the curious history of Golgo 13’s live-action mission to Iran.

Confirmed child-free housewife Ireene Helasuo (Salli Karuna) is aghast to discover that her husband Kustaa (Joel Rinne) has agreed to care for his niece after his sister has died in childbirth. She plays the “she goes or I do” card, only for Kustaa to tell her to get out. Scheming to get the baby out of her house, Ireene tracks down the child’s drunken father Salmio (Vilho Siivola), and bribes him to say that he wants his daughter back. Kustaa sees through the deception, and is eventually persuaded to set up the child and her nurse Anja (Liisa Tuomi) in a separate apartment.
Eventually, Ireene’s father Judge Markkunen (Paavo Jännes), who has overseen this whole sorry affair, orders Ireene to visit the child, and she melts when the girl smiles at her.
Ilmari Unho’s film reworks Syntynyt terve tyttö, a 1941 play by Ensio “Valentin” Rislakki, expanding its setting from two living-rooms to a number of other locations around Helsinki, but most critics had already seen the stage version, and were hoping for more. Olavi Vesterdahl in Aamulehti didn’t think it was “filmic” enough (filmaattisuutta), damning it with faint praise as “good-hearted propaganda.” We’ve seen a number of “go-forth-and-multiply” films in the 1940s at the Finnish cinema, and several recent entries on this Finnish watchathon have contained heavy-handed messages about the need for procreation and adoptive parents to care for war orphans – see, for example, Olli Suominen’s Stunt (1942) and August Fixes Everything (1942). But Paula Talaskivi in the Helsingin Sanomat thought the film was “uneventful” (my Finnish word of the week: tapahtumaköyhäksi), and objected to long, counter-productively info-dumpy scenes about the need to look after children. Greta Brotherus in the Svenska Pressen called it “terribly tedious nativity propaganda.”

As Ireene, Salli Karuna garnered critical praise but I can’t get past the way she is depicted on screen. She fusses and frets over Pekka, her lapdog, while her father and husband chide her for not Doing the Right Thing and becoming a mother. Kustaa announces that it is his duty to care for his niece, but Ireene actually stomps off in a sulk and tries to pay the drunken Salmio to take the baby away. I was left hoping for a subplot in which Kustaa fell for Anja the nurse, but that is kept away by the arrival of Tuominen (Olavi Reimas), a vet whose attempts to woo her by recounting animal diseases is the closest that the film comes to comedy.
The whole thing is an unpleasant confrontation about Duty. There is no overt mention of the war, but its shadow falls heavy over this gentle farce, hectoring the audience that even if the fighting is over, there are still many burdens to shoulder, regardless of their wishes or personal beliefs. It’s not a fun thing to hear, feeling more like homework than entertainment, which is probably why it was something of a disappointment at the Finnish box office..
Jonathan Clements is the author of A Short History of Finland. He is watching all the Finnish films so you don’t have to.
My voice sneaks onto the Lost Rivers documentary by my old Route Awakening cohorts in Singapore. I pop up on a couple of occasions, and sadly they didn’t use the takes where I tried to perform in the voice of David Bowie.

“The problem with Taisho-era Tokyo is that almost all of it was wiped out by the fire-bombings of the Second World War. Director Kiyoshi Saeki is forced to keep his camerawork close on street scenes and most exteriors, because a wide-shot of 1920s Tokyo, filmed in 1968, would have been an impossibility before the rise of digital effects. Only the temples remain constant, existing in a time warp unchanged for centuries, allowing the camera to linger on monastic scenes in a way it cannot do with the urban.
“The production team seize upon a fact that is often true the world over – that traditional events, like funerals, and traditional uniforms, like the Salvation Army, are much slower to change than other elements of society. Imagery of the Taisho era is instead telegraphed through the costuming, such as the plaid trousers and straw boater worn by Kentaro , the must-have fashion accessories of early twentieth-century Japan.”
From my video essay in Arrow’s forthcoming Blu-ray box set of the Wicked Priest films, starring Tomisaburo Wakayama.

Sori’s idea was to treat Ping Pong like a science fiction project or a fantasy movie – to get all the mundane stuff in the camera, and then treat it afterwards to add the special magic, which in this case, was the ball. By his estimation, 90% of the balls in the table-tennis scenes were animated effects, storyboarded by Sori’s long-time collaborator Shinji Aramaki, with whom he would later make Appleseed (2004).
“Actually,” he noted, “a quarter of the entire film, or about 300 shots, were processed with CG.”
In order to ensure that the actors were physically matched with the way real table tennis players would move, Sori drafted Yoshihiro Hiraoka, the coach for the Meiji University table tennis club, to give the cast a crash-course. Players from the real-life club can be glimpsed among the background players, while Hiraoka himself was cast as the coach from Kaio Academy.
“The actors were completely choreographed, or rather, they were practicing their swings. But in the end, they trained for about two months,” said Sori. “After that, they were all young, so they got really good, and they could really hit the ball. But in this production, the setting was super-players, so we added the CG ball later. In the end, that was just an added bonus; the power and beauty of the swings were everything.”
The concentration on interaction with an invisible object proved to be an exciting discipline for the actors, returning them to a stripped-down form of theatre, like stage performers swaying with the motion of an imaginary boat, or mimes negotiating an invisible obstacle.
“We were filming without the ball in sight,” said Sori, “but at that point, the image was almost close to the finished product. I’m not exaggerating; the actors themselves said, ‘When I’m practising, I can see the ball.’ ‘I can tell the ball is there.’ And the cameraman was also following the ball, which he couldn’t see, so it’s amazing.”
From my sleeve notes to the upcoming 88 Films Blu-ray release of Fumihiko Sori’s Ping Pong (2002).

“The backers were all expecting Totoro to be a flop. I mean, who cares about a movie where nothing happens in the countryside, right? Suzuki came up with the idea of shoring up Miyazaki’s mad pastoral project by running it on a double bill with something that the schools would have to block-book as ‘educational.'”
Over at Animation World Network, Andrew Osmond interviews me about my book Japan’s Anime Revolution.

“For my teenage self, living by the Thames Estuary a world away from the exotic East, Rayns’ accounts in Monthly Film Bulletin and Sight & Sound of Beijing night clubs and Hong Kong Film Festivals were like dispatches from another planet. He was present at many critical moments in movie history, including the premiere of Wong Kar-wai’s Chungking Express (1994), which started an hour late because the projectionist refused to begin before the last two reels had arrived from the developing lab. Such experiences made Tony a pivotal presence in the exhibition and distribution sectors, sometimes as the programmer who discovered them, sometimes as the subtitler who made them comprehensible.”
Over at MediaOCD, I write an obituary for Tony Rayns.

“Japan’s Anime Revolution is a greatly enjoyable, informative read, even on films you thought you knew back to front. Hey, Pokémon fans! Did you know Mewtwo’s Japanese voice actor, Masachika Ichimura, was picked for that role because he’d played the masked hero in the stage musical of The Phantom of the Opera?”
Over at Anime News Network, Andrew Osmond posts a long and gritty review of my book, Japan’s Anime Revolution.