Bardo

Samsara (2023) - Patiño In his new film Samsara, filmmaker/visual artist Lois Patiño channels the Tibetan Book of the Dead via Apichatpong Weerasethakul. In his natural, documentary style narrative which is a departure from his previous, silent, non narrative, visually stunning work, he invites us to meditate. There are two parts, er, three parts to the film: first part takes place in Laos, the second part, we are supposed to close our eyes for 15 minutes, then third part in Zanzibar. His gamble pays off. I'd love to experience this film on a big screen with other people and perhaps fall asleep and not feel ashamed to do so. It's that kind of film.

In the first part, a young man is reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead to a dying old woman in a small fishing village in Laos. She knows that her time is almost up and ready to travel to Bardo, the intermediate stage where your soul will move on eventually. Reincarnation is mentioned. The young man is to take bunch of monks from the local monestery to a famous waterfall on his boat. This affords Patiño to do some really gorgeous long transitional shots with images overlapping each other.

The old woman passes and we are prompted to close our eyes and travel with the old woman. For the next 15 minutes, we are supposed to close our eyes and feel the light flashing in our closed eyelids with the sounds of what she is hearing from her life. Then silence.

We are now introduced to a little girl in Zanzibar, to a small fishing community where local women gather seaweeds to make soaps out of it. A new white goat is born and the little girl goes everywhere with the goat on a leash. The old woman tells the little girl that the goat might be an incarnation of a big tree in the forest, or an elephant (which we saw in Laos part), or an old woman. The little girl loses her goat.

Gentle and deeply contemplative, Samsara is a truly unique experience. Go see it in theaters if you can.

Tonal Exercise

Evil Does Not Exist (2023) - Hamaguchi Concieved as a accompanying video for composer Eiko Ishibashi (Drive My Car), Ryusuke Hamaguchi's Evil Does Not Exists plays out like a tonal exercise, unsure of where it will ultimately lead to, like a good looking sourdough bread just came out of the oven, yet there's something wrong with it - underproved - a little dodgy.

It starts out unhurriedly with a long dolly tracking shot of the wood, looking up, with Ishibashi's swelling, mood setting score. Then it introduces Takumi (Hiroshi Omika), a tan faced, stoic widower in rural Japan. He is a local handyman in a close-knit community facing a development company from Tokyo trying to set up a 'glamping' site which would contaminate the water source- famous for its purity- that the whole village is dependent on.

The two city slicker representatives from the company, Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani) get grilled by townsfolks (including Takumi) at the townhall presentations of the company's flawed plans. They realize that these people are no pushover country bumpkins. Through the long, soul searching conversations on the long drive back to Tokyo and back to the village, they realize they are on the wrong side.

Takumi is a forgetful fella. He constantly forgets to pick up his young daughter from a daycare and finds her in the woods walking home alone. It's a hunting season in winter. He tells her about the dead deer carcass in the woods they stumbled on. Deer don't attack people, they stay away from the presence of human activities, but a shot deer may attack you if you approach.

The city pair returns, thinking about quitting their jobs and learn the way of rural living from Takumi. It all seems idylic and unfussed, very different from cut-throat capitalist Tokyo environs where they are killing their souls and aspirations to make a living.

Hamaguchi is a very skilled director. His approach to filmmaking is unhurried, and dialogue and acting, natural. His films stand out among other contemporary Japanese films for that reason. He also has a way to bring out humanism of his characters who at first may not be too likable. He deals with many nuanced issues with Evil Does Not Exist - environmental destructions, city vs rural living and human nature.

But with its surprise ending, I question Hamaguchi's motive as unserious about all the issues he raised with the film. It feels like a mood experimentation with Ishibashi's score; setting things up to change the mood of the film this way or that way. Mysterious its end maybe, but I am left with feeling manipulated in a hollow exercise feeling like a bait, not unlike a little girl lost in the woods.