Had I seen Japanese animator Makoto Shinkai’s three available features (The Place Promised in Our Early Days, Voices of a Distant Star, and 5 Centimeters Per Second) in order, the evolution of his work would have felt like natural progression. 5 Centimeters Per Second is a breathtaking masterpiece of human emotions on par with anything Miyazaki’s done this side of Spirited Away. By contrast, his earlier work oozes potential, but lacks the narrative cohesiveness to be truly great. The Place Promised in Our Early Days, Shinkai’s second film—and first full-length picture; Voices of a Distant Star is just 32 minutes long—is certainly an impressive debut. It contains a good deal to be proud of, including frequently dazzling vibrant color schemes and a deep understanding of core emotions that portends greatness down the road (and indeed, 5 Centimeters Per Second plays like a mix of Spirited Away and Before Sunset; shocking that I love it, I know!). But, overambition ultimately keeps The Place Promised in Our Early Days from being more than a promising initial foray into greatness.

The Place Promised in Our Early Days begins strongly, with 25 minutes of graceful interaction between the three teenage protagonists (two boys, Hiroki and Takuya, and one girl, Sayuri). It initially appears that the film will be a tender meditation on how youthful promises can gradually fade from relevance as the years go by, with an anti-war backdrop (Japan is on the verge of splitting into two countries, Korea style). Had it continued along this path, The Place Promised in Our Early Days may well have been a great movie, as Shinkai shows no jitters for a first-time filmmaker—the quiet, heartfelt discussions, particularly Hiroki’s monologues, are spot-on.

Unfortunately, Shinkai elects to sharply focus on the impending war and a surreal, alternate universe angle in which Sayuri’s future and life hang in the balance. While I give Shinkai props for creativity, his execution of the sci-fi-esque angles lags considerably behind the character development. The Place Promised in Our Early Days rapidly becomes muddled, and shifts between storylines too quickly without appropriate warning. While the final five minutes get back on track from an emotional perspective, I can’t help but think that this would have been a much more dynamic, memorable film had Shinkai not bitten off so much for his opening act. Luckily, he clearly learned from his rookie hiccups (though Voices of a Distant Star suffers from many of the same strengths and weaknesses), as 5 Centimeters Per Second strips away the backdrops and focuses much more forcefully on the soul with astonishing results. I suspect that in 20 years, film buffs worldwide will be pointing to The Place Promised in Our Early Days as the introductory work from one of cinema’s first-rate directors.

62/100

It’s fantastic! It’s tremendous! It’s the riveting tale of a gigantic insect trampling Japan’s capital in a day, a dynamic throwback to the 1950′s classic monster flick! …No, sadly, it’s not. Rather, Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo is a plodding documentary about Japan’s longstanding obsession with bugs. It’s an interesting concept (especially for me, a compulsive admirer of Japanese history and culture), but amateurishly directed and tedious to sit through. The film begins promisingly, with a several-minute sequence inside a “pet store” where an adorable young boy picks out his very own insect to take home (who knew that bugs were like dogs?), but as Oreck runs out of ideas, she begins to recycle them with disastrous effects. The child and his family make multiple reappearances with nothing new to say, as does a bug-catching video game—educational the first time, mundane the second (and third, and…). Similarly, men trotting into the woods to find new species becomes a common sight. These are broken up by sporadic, monotonic short lessons about previous landmark moments; aside from the choice of narrator being a head-scratcher (the voice couldn’t be more dull), Oreck’s shaky editing further detracts from any sense of rhythm.

Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo is billed as working backwards through history to determine why insects are such an important part of Japanese lore, but the weak filmmaking prevents the viewer from feeling any sort of connection to the world. The aforementioned voiceovers are the only glimpses we get into how it all began, and then only from afar. Miyazaki’s Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is a much better depiction of the topic matter, and it manages to portray it within the context of a swirling animated epic. That Oreck’s movie is so stiff and technical is really disappointing, as the potential existed for a strong, enlightening documentary about a unique part of Japan’s legacy. Instead, we’re left with a banal, repetitive picture that could have achieved the same result as a 30-minute college lecture.

30/100

A biting political satire that tackles rising anti-war sentiments around the globe, In the Loop is very clever and moves at a breakneck pace, taking little time to breathe. Bouncing between Britain and Washington D.C, the movie tracks foreign ministers, Secretary of States, and paper-slave interns as they debate the merits of invading the Middle East, play possum for political purposes, and indulge in all sorts of sneakiness to get what they want, when they want it. Without any inside information, In the Loop feels exactly like I’d expect government decision-making to; hyperactive, sleep-deprived, and with as much bullshitting as intelligent decision making. The back-and-forths between the British Prime Minister’s #1 spokesperson/spinmeister Malcolm Tucker (Peter Capaldi), who wants war, and various members of the American cabinet, including the prestigious retired Lt. General George Miller (James Gandolfin) and his one-night lover, Depity Secretary of State Karen Clarke (Mimi Kennedy), who don’t, are snappily written and frequently hysterical.

The story is somewhat implausible, but not to the extent that it detracts from the fun. UK Minister for International Affairs Simon Baker (Tom Hollander) mistakenly declares on the radio that “war is unforeseeable,” which sets off a firestorm and causes the British Government to do some serious damage control. With his new assistant Toby (Chris Addison) by his side, the awkward Baker heads to Washington to sort things out, only to dig the hole deeper with his inability to speak coherently on any topic whatsoever. Meanwhile, Toby, who’s in a relationship back home, finds himself drawn to Clarke’s assistant Liza (Anna Chlumsky of My Girl fame; yes, the Macaulay Culkin “film” from 1991), whom he’d slept with years ago, while the pro-diplomacy Clarke dukes it out with fellow undersecretary Linton Barwick (Davd Rasche) over the merits of war. Eventually, Tucker is dispatched to smooth things over, with limited success. And all of this happens in about a 48-hour span! While the time frames and some of the subsequent actions are questionable, most of In the Loop feels astute and even educational, given the post-Iraq mood of America and Europe. Games are played in lieu of fact-based decision making if they can achieve selfish goals. It’s witty stuff.

The acting is universally excellent, particularly Capaldi (though his endless string of cursing is a bit excessive after awhile), Addison, and Gandolfini, who turns his Tony Soprano into an over-the-top crusader for not repeating the mistakes of previous unnecessary battles.The script is also a bit cuss-heavy as a whole, but it mostly works in context with the characters’ personalities and the world they inhabit. While In the Loop is very entertaining, there’s a sober underbelly here that warrants attention; Ianucci directs with a focused eye on current events that leads to the film feeling relevant beyond some laughs and snappy banter. It’s a strong picture that places Ianucci on my “directors to keep an eye on” list.

67/100

A few weeks ago, I finished up Malcolm Gladwell’s excellent book Outliers. Midway through, there’s a chapter about the culture of honor; specifically, Southerners—even those born in the 70′s who went to progressive colleges up North, or other such examples—are apt to be exceptionally polite under most circumstances…unless they’re insulted or talked down to, in which case they become downright confrontational and fiery (Northerners, by contrast, maintain a similar temperament regardless of conditions). It’s obviously a more substantive and detailed analysis than this (buy the book and see for yourself; it’s highly recommended), but it serves as an interesting backdrop to William Wyler’s Jezebel, especially when thinking about the evolution and expression of Southern attitudes, both in cinema and in real life.

I was particularly reminded of the chapter while observing Jezebel‘s male protagonist, Preston Dillard (Henry Fonda). When things are going smoothly, Dillard is nothing short of a perfect gentleman, but as adversity builds, his temper begins to rise, and emotions begin to dictate his actions. Though he, unlike an earlier generation, is able to reign it in and function semi-normally most of the time, his heritage guides everything he does. In fact, Jezebel is chock-full of cultural symbolism; we see the world through the lens of 1930′s racial and gender stereotypes. The young black boys prance around the mansions, and the older blacks all appear to have, at least, semi-cordial relationships with their masters—hey, slavery isn’t that bad, right? Women aren’t treated much better by Wyler & co.; when Julie (a magnificent & feisty Bette Davis) wears a flashy red dress to a formal ball—and in doing so, breaking every tradition in the book—Dillard decides that enough is enough and walks, though not before thoroughly embarrassing her by parading her on to the dance floor in front of hundreds of glaring eyes and refusing to let her leave. Of course, the moral is that Julie learns her lesson and resolves to get him back when he returns to town a year later…but of course, it’s too late, as Dillard is now happily married to a nice, tame, domesticated girl who’s properly coiffed and knows her place. Even Julie’s gleaming white dress isn’t enough to snatch him back. That’s what a lady gets for showing some chutzpah…or daring fashion sense.

These restrained views on what’s socially acceptable are unfathomable in today’s world, but they should remind us that 1930′s America was still an extremely conservative place, even if the Civil War was 70+ years behind us (though Jezebel itself was set 10 years before the Civil War, an important distinction to be aware of), given the choices Wyler made. Jezebel is fascinating from a cinematic history perspective, but it’s also a strong melodrama beyond the aforementioned societal backdrops, with outstanding lead performances from Fonda and Davis, crisp black & white cinematography, and sharp dialogue that stands the test of time (contrast this to Hawks’ The Crowd Roars, which I caught a few nights ago; now that is one dated movie that just doesn’t hold up). And Jezebel‘s conclusion, though somewhat sentimental, is effective in the context of Julie’s single-minded focus on self-redemption. Where her feelings of inadequacy stem from, though, is pretty fucked up from my Brooklyn 2009 perch.

70/100