The
Actor (Haiyu Kameoka Takuji): Written and directed
by Satoko Yokohama. Starring: Ken Yasuda, Kumiko Aso, Shohei Uno, Hirofumi Arai, and
Shota Sometani. Running Time: 123 minutes.
Based on the novel of the same name by Akito Inui.
Rating:
3.5/4
Few
movies I saw at Nippon this year defy conventional approaches quite like The Actor, which seems aggressively
content (and I realize that sounds paradoxical- this film has that effect on a
viewer) to spin around on itself into seeming oblivion. Like many of the most interesting films to
dissect in a group setting, it is something impossible to pin down. Is it a love story? Only at the thin margins. A commentary on filmmaking? In bits and pieces, sure. A dream-like meditation on continued
existence? In some of its best moments,
yes. But to analyze further than that is
probably inadvisable.
The
actor Takuji has become something of a minor legend within filmmaking circles
by being the consummate stand-in professional.
He has a particular talent for dropping dead in the most convincing
fashion, enough that he’s often called on to demonstrate for recalcitrant
leads. Yet despite the regard many in
the business have for him, his lack of major speaking roles to his name means he’s
not particularly famous or well-known.
But he never seems terribly bothered by this- he is mostly content to drink
(a lot) and do his shoots.
Ken
Yasuda’s performance in the lead role is a masterful bit of underacting- he
carries a seemingly permanent frown etched into his face, and his every word
and movement speak to a life spent quietly in the shadows of others. Ironically, much of his fame derives from a
constant side-effect of his boozing- often drunk during shoots, he often ends
up forgetting the elaborate directions given him just minutes before and
improvises wildly, often to his physical detriment, yet always in ways that the
director and crew love.
He
is constantly told that his acting blurs the lines between art and reality, and
this repeated phrase echoes the blurred lines between what’s really happening
in the film and the times we slip into his dreams and fantasies; by the halfway
point any semblance of narrative structure breaks down, and we seem to be floating
freely inside Takuji’s own mind. References
to movies he love will suddenly shift to scenes from the film with him in them,
and news items mentioned earlier in the film come back to play a part in the
third act (including a bizarre returning gag involving the Lisa Nowak case from almost a decade ago; it’s one of the strangest tie-ins for a joke I’ve
ever seen).
For
much of the film I felt forcefully reminded of The Big Lebowski, if it had even less story and what little story
it did have made even less sense (if that’s even possible). There are some whisperings of a redemptive
love story for the clunkily lovable Takuji when he meets a sweet bartender in a
small country town during a shoot, but that too comes in and out of focus
according to the whims of Takuji’s alcohol-addled mind (which I found a shame,
because her scenes are among the highlights of the entire movie- her presence
would have only benefited it further).
This
is also a film that could serve as a bit of a case study in the tendency of
Japanese cinema to allow for much longer shots and scenes that most Western
audiences would be willing to endure, and this will likely make the film
unbearable for some. The film does drag
more and more towards the end, sometimes to its detriment, but there are still
moments of real magic- a scene where Takuji plays out an audition for his
favorite director alongside shadows projected on the wall behind him is
simultaneously one of the most powerful and moving parts of the film, and also
the vehicle for one of its funniest punchlines.
It
may seem a bit too esoteric for some, but I enjoyed being carried along by the
strange and consistent misadventures of Takuji.
I find him to be a reminder of much of the drudgery and invisibleness
that accompanies many lives devoted to art.
But there is still meaning to be found in it, even its rewards are few
and far between, or are only ever as simple as a quiet drink at your favorite
bar.
And
the actor always abides.
-Noah Franc
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