Those familiar with the name Nobuhiko Obayashi on account of
his directing the 1977 film House (HASU), which has only just come to be
revered as a cult classic midnight movie in recent years, may be surprised that
his latest feature 7 Weeks is such a somber, meditative work. Let's not
overlook the achievement of his directing a feature at the age of 76, period. Seven Weeks is an entirely
different animal than the mirthfulness of that film that introduced most to the
eccentric director’s work. It’s a lengthy ambitious drama, carrying the weight
of history and the human condition throughout its discourse laden path.
Starting out with the death of Mitsuo, an elderly antique dealer in a remote
village of Japan’s northernmost Hokkaido prefecture, it follows the interactions
among his varied family members, as they gather for a traditional period of
mourning known as nanananoka, during
which time the deceased are said to wander between the realms of the living and
dead.
The sudden coming together of family members who rarely
cross paths makes for some contentious exchanges, often keeping viewers just a
bit off balance with the quickness of their verbal brushes. Slight awkwardness
shifts to a more pointed unease when a woman from Mitsuo‘s past appears at the
ceremony as well, with an equal or far greater connection to the deceased than
that of his blood relatives. Between the discussions among those surviving
Mitsuo and his internal burrowing into the past, a remarkable past pocked by harrowing
struggle, heartbreak, and depression is painstakingly revealed.
There is a purposeful inclusion of a generational cross
section at this convergence of family, allowing for the projection of multiple
perspectives. Weathered cynicism, youthful idealism, and a sense of lacking
identity among some in the middle all make their way into the characters’
voices. Indeed the losing of one’s way is yet another strong theme touched upon
throughout the film. Such is the case with Mitsuo‘s grandson as he reacts to growing
up with unconventional parental figures, or one of the family’s in-laws who
expresses regrets over not fulfilling her heart’s true desires and seems to
have given up on ever truly finding a sense of belonging. This and other
questions that seem as though they are a part of the fabric of Japanese society
permeate the film: Should characters stay where their roots are or move to a
big metropolis? Sacrifice for their family, and country, or pursue one’s own
satisfaction?
All the while there is another level of meaning interred in
Mitsuo‘s memories. One that gets at the trials of artists who wish to capture
the true nature of their subjects but are plagued by a sense of inadequacy that
2-dimensional mediums have at doing so. One feels that they are peering
directly into the soul of Obayashi himself as he channels into the film this sense
of artistic struggle after experiencing a lifetime of pursuing creative
endeavors.
Like the title itself, which references a traditional
Japanese custom likely to be unfamiliar to Western viewers, the film could
easily serve as a seminar on Japanese culture. Society and history are both
delved into, and connected to issues present in the current day. Conversations
on Japan’s involvement in world war II drifts into discussions of the
ramifications of reliance nuclear energy reliance in light of the March 11,
2011 earthquake crisis. The Mode of carrying out the narrative seems to
reference traditional Japanese storytelling forms. Musical interludes that find
a cast of characters ambling across the countryside playing traditional
instruments recall other Japanese films of epic length, such as Heaven’s Story
and The Tale Of Iya (both screened during previous JAPAN CUTS festivals).
It’s very heady stuff and not something you go into and just
casually breeze by. The unfolding of the tale can make it both a challenge and
essential viewing in ways other than its lengthy runtime, which itself suggests
the endurance of a substantial undertaking. The manner of speaking is largely
aimed at getting to the core of these issues and does not often feel like
natural conversation. Rather, philosophical questioning and societal
admonishments are spoken solemnly, making scenes resemble that of Greek
theater. Communications are often tinged with a touch of uncertainty over
conversations – are characters speaking to or around each other? And the
exchanges can often be maddeningly humdrum, making repeated references to local
specialties they hope to dine on or a specific item of clothing worn during a
chance meeting. Added to this is Mituso’s joining in on exchanges from his
twixt world state, sometimes commenting on the exchanges of his still living
family members, and other times seeming to engage some others, from the present
or past.
While all this may sound far removed from the fun House cult
movie fans have visited and revisted over the past few years, there are touches
of Obyashi’s unique manner of producing visuals. At times characters seem to be
imbued with a heavenly glow as they move through their quaint village’s
pedestrian terrain. Things in the setting move in and out of focus, standing
out against the background and calling the viewer’s attention to the fact that
something is amiss. Animated effects are utilized most sharply as Mitsuo recalls
the darkest periods of his youth during war time, as trippy animated sequences
add a monstrous air to his recall.
Though there are some daunting aspects of the film, it will
reward viewers up for the challenge with its insights. For those interested in
learning about Japanese history and society by way of films, it is downright
essential viewing.
Seven Weeks is screened as part of this year’s JAPAN CUTS
film festival on Saturday, July 11 at the Japan Society in Manhattan. Visit their Japan Cuts page for and information and tickets.
Thank you SK for making much of my understanding of this film possible, as well as making all of my recent experiences that much more fulfilling.
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