They don't make 'em like this anymore.

Dokushin Kizoku hearkens back to the days when Hollywood produced sparkling romances, and immortal beauties such as Audrey Hepburn led us through them. Though it might not evolve into a classic in its own right, this is a drama which channels cinema's golden era with gusto. Western viewers, as well as those who exalt in old films, will enjoy and understand its purpose best. But doubtlessly, those "old souls," among us will find something to love as well.

"Familiar" describes Dokushin Kizoku wonderfully, though without the negative connotations that word sometimes bears. So frequently one hears the hardened drama veteran lamenting a fine watch stooping to the "same-old, same-old." However, the devices used in the plot here are not cliches often seen in Asian film and dramas; they are rather western conventions, so far fallen out of use as to be refreshing. What results is a delightfully nostalgic romantic comedy with the flavors of East and West delightfully blended. And if you've heard this feels somewhat like King of Dramas, that would be true enough; just don't expect a remake or more than superficial similarities.

My most serious issue is that the romantic conflict became a pain around the ninth episode. Much as I loved the ultimate pairing, it eventually felt set in stone so the continual flutter around the subject was frustrating.

Another point of interest will be the awesome use of romance/marriage quotes used to preface each episode.

Kusanagi Tsuyoshi always struck me as one of the better actors to come out of SMAP; my observation stands. As the commitment-phobic director Hoshino Mamoru, he rises above the realms of two-dimensionality. By the end of the series, we have a clear portrait of a man with unique interests and solitary pleasures, a person who believes he's happy alone but doesn't realize he just hasn't met the right person yet. Ito Hideaki plays second lead and brother to Kusanagi-san, as Susumu. This character was well-realized too and felt like a real person, despite his over-the-top playboy reputation. Wrapping up the leads, we had the lovely Kitagawa Keiko; her Haruno Yuki might be one of my favorite leads from a romantic comedy in ages. She felt strong despite her romantic confusions. Her unique adoration of film and the script writing process really bolstered her likability.

The supporting cast was somewhat forgettable, though one or two portrayals were poor. This includes the awful Hoshino aunt, whose lines felt as though they were being delivered from a cue card. Sasai Eisuke, however, has a hilarious though brief turn as Susumu's divorce lawyer. Did I laugh out loud any time he appeared? You bet.

Much of what helps boost a film into iconic status is its soundtrack. Dokushin Kizoku adopts various themes from famous romance films, mostly shirking original tracks of its own. This added to the classic, beautifully dated atmosphere the drama exuded throughout its pace. Vocals from Breakfast at Tiffany's (Moon River) and Sleepless in Seattle (If I Fall In Love) are most memorable among these. Some viewers may not enjoy this, however; while following the drama, I did notice people expressing displeasure at the inclusions. And for SMAP fans, yes: they provided the theme song as always (Shareotsu).

Lire davantage

Have you ever built a sandcastle at the beach? Perhaps you spent hours under the warm sun, carefully sculpting each fine grain with the precision of an architect. Up came the walls, the keep, the towers; your ambitious fingertips caressed open windows, kissed detail into the facade. When your labors ceased, there stood a work of art (now beautiful, a thing to be admired) where once was but formless sand. At that time, did you know your lovely castle was destined to crumble? That soon, the ocean must exert its endless force and by rolling waves down would come the towers, down the keep, down the walls. Gone again would be your castle, returned to wind-battered shore.

Suna no Utsuwa (Vessel of Sand) spins a tale of unavoidable fate, embodying this sort of transient beauty with dark resonance. We follow pianist Waga Eiryo, a secretive man running from his past…and the cruel destiny he believes might also shape his future. Just when it appears he has shed both, a face from his troubled childhood resurfaces to torment him once again. One moment lost to passion and a sharp shove is all it takes—in rush the waves ready to destroy his new life. So begins our tale of murder and mystery, tragedy and deception, of happiness which crumbles like so much sand.

This series will haunt me for a long time to come. Understated as it is, Suna no Utsuwa nonetheless delivers an elegant atmosphere with serious impact. Each of its elements folds together with an artistic flourish that must be marveled at. In all my experience with Asian television, no other example has so impressed me with its visual beauty—what stunning cinematography and evocative scene composition! Time has not diminished one bit of the vibrant aesthetic. All one could further wish for are stirring themes, unique plots, and powerful performances; here one receives all three and more besides.

Our mystery is unveiled via a masterful combination of fragile character interactions and clever police investigation. Do not expect any resemblance to your regular detective drama. As powerfully constructed as the puzzle is, this is not a crime series but a character study. No guessing remains to be done; viewers are meant to witness the desperate battle of a man against fate. Who is Waga Eiryo and why? I loved how the two story aspects were tied together, often serving to create parallels between pianist and detective. One example may be seen in the counterpoint between interrogation sessions and those featuring musical composition/performance sequences. Please also note the tremendous ending undertaken over two episodes. The result left me trembling with so much emotion it was difficult to properly compile this review.

An idol was asked to play Waga Eiryo: SMAP’s Nakai Masahiro. Could anyone have better portrayed this extremely complex figure? Not on your life. Nakai-san’s excellence begins with the eyes; his are large and dark with suspicion, the sort which might remind one of a hunted animal. For the most part Waga sinks beneath an icy facade, a disdainful and haughty mask. But as Suna no Utsuwa continues, this mask chips away piece by piece. We are made confidants of his vulnerability and fear, tenderness and anguish. Undoubtedly the role of a lifetime, Nakai strikes every chord without stumbling. Next is incomparable Ken Watanabe, an utter gift to the small screen. He presents Imanishi with gentle normalcy, a believable brilliance stemming from hard work and consideration rather than trumped up genius. If only we could see such effortless acting in dramas more often! Let us not forget the wonderful Matsuyuki Yasuko either. Her Naruse is the clinch-pin of fate for Waga Eiryo, and few actresses could sell it as well as she did. No matter what the role, Matsuyuki-san’s passionate beauty and exquisite expressions must always be appreciated.

But above all else, music is where Suna no Utsuwa most excels. Just as it offers visual delights, this drama must be nothing if not pure auditory bliss. Not one track has been left awkward or misplaced by the passage of years. Some masterful touch seems laid on the compositions, which are so crucial in elevating scenes and construction of emotional atmosphere. Most memorable must be what is represented as Waga Eiryo’s devastating magnum opus, “Shukumei,” an embodiment of the fate he longs to escape. Also exceptional is the romantic vocal theme in “Yasashii Kisu no Shite (Kiss Me Gently)” provided by Dreams Come True. The first to catch my ear, however, is the choral piece played only at pivotal moments; if you want goose bumps, this one should do the trick.

Lire davantage

"Do you love your family?”

There are no perfect families. Even with the same blood coursing through our veins, we all remain human; living in close quarters, we’re bound to have differences. Disagreements will accompany warmth and support, affection and acceptance mix with disappointment and misunderstanding. But when we have nowhere else to go, we can always return home (right?) Yet like any other relationship might fail, so may a family—romantic as it sounds that familial bonds are unbreakable. So much is stacked against this most important of relationships, though the ideal is that word again: “unbreakable.” Outside external problems like financial concerns, personal failings and instances of abuse and neglect constitute the most daunting. You see, while there are no perfect families, there *are* many unhappy ones.

Kazokugari (literally “Family Hunting”) takes this idea to ask some harsh questions. At its very worst, can a dysfunctional family be saved? If things appear hopeless, should the entire institution of family be torn down—even if that necessitates murder? When we’re hurting too much, is it better to live or die (and do we have the right to make that decision for others)? To answer, this drama uses three intertwining stories whose themes and importance overlap. Our main characters combat their own demons separately, but each is being suffocated by family issues and lack of direction or comfort. What links the three are the family suicides (murders?) which haunt their city; as they sink deeper into the mystery, they’re drawn closer together for better or worse. Of these, two combine beautifully (Hizaki and Sudo) though alone Hizaki was far and away the most interesting character in the series. The third, Detective Mamihara, ends up feeling the least focused and connected despite his story’s thematic importance. He’s ultimately one of those characters that might have worked better as a supporting character.

But the brilliant, atypical nature of Kazokugari begins with *how* it tells the story: this drama is a strange chimera of the horror and family genres. Touching scenes often find themselves sandwiched between ones that might seem more at home in a slasher flick. Like in Karamazov no Kyodai, isolated disturbing imagery is used to transition scenes (for instance, perfect fruit that turns to reveal rot—just before the mold is sliced away by an unseen hand). Viewers may find themselves warmed to the core, then frightened off the edge of their seats. My only issue would be that sometimes these elements are pushed too far and muddy the intent, which is to create an uncanny atmosphere. When things worked out it was great, but sometimes my reaction was “Huh,” rather than “EEK!”

Just like her character Hizaki, Matsuyuki Yasuko hooked my interest from the first. This is my third encounter with this talented actress, and I’ve come to realize she often stars in excellent projects. That suits her, since her performances are just as exemplary—and she maintains her standard here. Her vivid expressions betray the character’s feelings to the core, whether it’s an insight to her hollow pain or a rare moment of peace. Ito Atsushi, whom I have great affection for, absolutely pales in comparison. But while he might not have the charisma of his character's favorite Basquiat, he holds his own in terms of everyman relatability and likability. Of the rest of the cast, I wanted to point out as notable Kitayama Hiromitsu. His Keitoku was excellent and much-needed comic relief that somehow fits right in despite the dark themes of the drama.

Music wins a high score for two reasons. First, the orchestrations are perfect mood-setters. No scene would have half as much impact without them, whether creepy or tender. My favorite example will be the inclusion of tragic Ozaki Yutaka’s heart-wrenching “I Love You.” It’s used devastatingly in many scenes; if one knows the lyrics, it enriches the context. There’s also the lovely theme (“Shout” by androp) which ends each episode with a suitable bittersweet feel. Secondly, the sound effects in this series are just genius. These offset dialogue and actions with fabulous timing, giving them new atmosphere—whether it’s a painful sentence being repeated in horrifying tones or some cruel violin riff.

Please be forewarned this drama includes depictions of domestic abuse by and against children, blood, and disturbing imagery. Sensitive viewers may find some parts unpalatable.

Lire davantage

In continuing my exploration of Japanese literature and cinema, it strikes me how intertwined the classics of each medium really are. Of course, films have been based on novels since the dawn of cinema; look no farther than George Méliès (A Trip To the Moon) and you can see the truth in that. However, it’s rarer to have a screenplay come directly from the original author himself. Through Suna no Onna (Woman in the Dunes) we’re given that special treat in the form of Kono Abe’s script, based on his magnum opus of the same name. Married to the visionary skill of a young Teshigahara Hiroshi, this film is not only a stunningly accurate adaptation of the source material, it might even be an improvement.

“Are you shoveling to survive, or surviving to shovel?”

This lone stretch of dialogue succinctly sums up the thematic heart of Woman in the Dunes. It is a momentous parable that speaks of the human condition—but which part and to what effect? Is this a story of emancipation despite physical confinement? Perhaps our characters are two Sisyphuses, doomed sinners and prisoners twice over. Or maybe things are more hopeful, despite the bleak atmosphere of the story. What if all of us are digging away at the sands of life, just trying to stay ahead day by day, lest we be crushed? We might be stuck struggling at the bottom forever, but at least there –is- still a bottom. And we may not be alone down there forever, either. What do you think it might be?

Woman in the Dunes speaks to the viewer on a visceral level, using shots so finely detailed as to tickle the senses. There are times the sand moves vibrantly across the screen—one might expect to dip their fingers through the television and feel the grains. Once when the male lead drinks from the limited water, I cringed, almost tasting the salty corruption of the sands.

Our leads engage in an intense sexual relationship, one desperate yet almost like a calculated carnal exchange. The woman acts as a seductress—to bind the man to her?—yet something about the scenes build up and inflame to suggest more as the film rolls along. Please be prepared for sexual elements as they play a large role in Woman in the Dunes. It is not quite a “pink film,” however; we predate those by several years.

Despite the exemplary cinematography, my favorite element of this film must be the score. Without the stylings of Takemitsu Toru, the uncanny atmosphere of Woman in the Dunes would be shattered. He lends scenes an off-kilter feel, sometimes even palpable suspense, though they might seem otherwise quiet. This helps build the overall effect of the film to its crescendo. One effect in particular left an impression on me: a high-pitched sound, as if rocks were scraping across a tin roof.

Lire davantage

Stop and consider for one moment: what is your most precious memory? Would it sustain you if all the others were completely washed away? Might it be enough even if you could never form another? In the haunting and emotional After Life (originally Wandafuru Life or “Wonderful Life,”) heaven and hell do not exist. There is but one choice. After dying, you must select one memory to “live” inside for all eternity—with nothing but the thoughts and feelings of that moment for just as long. Everything not contained in that memory returns to dust.

And so viewers join a group of counselors, long dead, as they work with the newly deceased to find their best memory. Each counselor is charged with several individuals, and they interview them one by one in order to root out what will make them most happy. As such, much of the film takes place in documentary-style interviews. We hear various stories from many individuals, diverse in ways from content to age range and era. However, there are a few unable to pin down anything anything at all. One man has never truly had a happy moment in his life, while another refuses to select anything despite ample material. Another young lady realizes times she thought were special were not quite as she remembered. What will happen to unfortunate people like these? There is also a mystery surrounding the counselors themselves… who are they and why were they chosen for this work?

Yet with such intense subject matter, After Life manages to be gentle and slyly humorous. It never reaches into your chest to tear out your heart, but delicately stirs that part of you which values sentimentality and fears death. What makes this film excellent is how carefully it explores these subjects: mortality and memory. It may induce laughter in you, perhaps it will leave a lump behind in your throat; but above all else, After Life will make you think long and hard. What would you choose?

Many familiar and veteran names grace the cast listing, such as Iura Arata, Terajima Susumu, and Iseya Yusuke. They stand out here as well, particularly the two counselors. However, the real stars are the memories and the people who share them. Many of the “interviews” were completely impromptu, and the people depicted are not actors, but real people reminiscing on film. Though it isn't clear which are scripted and which are authentic, they all leave great impact.

I always claim music is of paramount importance in both film and television. Despite this preference, it seems I've found an exception in After Life. This is a movie that does just fine without much of a soundtrack to recommend it. In fact, the silence lends realism, a solemn kind of respect and authenticity. There are no emotional cues for the audience, either…which is surprisingly nice for a change.

Lire davantage

When one watches enough medical dramas, one starts to notice increasing similarity between them as experience with the genre builds. Some common inclusions are wildly rare disorders, mercenary management and hospital politics, callous senior physicians, and the idealistic newcomer (who may or may not be a genius surgeon) ready to shake things up. So if I were to say DOCTORS checks every box on the above list, why should you watch it?

Surprisingly unique elements exist in this drama, including a twist on one of the above tropes. Sure, our hero is an idealistic newcomer (one with mad surgical skills), but his coworkers are unaware he is also a master manipulator. Beneath his smiling exterior and cheerful persona, this is a person constantly calculating how to position things to fall his way. Luckily, his "way seems to be improvement in the staff and hospital, despite the questionable methods sometimes employed.

As such, the plot revolves around the changes the manipulator (Dr. Sagara) tries to effect upon the broken hospital structure. Medical cases accompany these conflicts on an episodic basis, often with an interesting dynamic or social commentary (for example, in the fourth installment). But while the title refers to an "ultimate surgeon," and surgery is definitely an important part of any medical drama, the two aspects occasionally feel like a footnote to the workplace study.

Unfortunately, DOCTORS ends too soon. We commonly hear of dramas overstaying their welcome, but this series could have done with more time to solidify its premise and characters. This is especially true if watched as a standalone, though both a special and sequel exist.

In the role of Sagara Kosuke, then, we have Sawamura Ikki sporting an infectious smile and sharp charisma. Even as his character displays warmth toward patients and (sometimes superficially) his colleagues, Sawamura-san reserves something of himself. The effect is wonderful, allowing for Dr. Sagara to appear pleasant yet ultimately unapproachable. Another performance stands out, this one against reason: rival surgeon Moriyama Suguru, as portrayed by Takashima Masanobu. Immature and childish in every sense of the word, Moriyama actually becomes a highlight as the series continues. Takashima-san adds a quirky campiness and snappy timing which elevates his character from annoying... to hilarious.

Similar quirkiness carries over into the music as well. From the fun nostalgia of the upbeat violin, to the lumbering oddity that is Moriyama's theme, DOCTORS boasts a memorable soundtrack. However, it was not always to my taste (particularly the conflict anthem led by an electric guitar). The lone vocal felt somewhat awkward, with the usually spot-on JUJU covering the classic "Lullaby of Birdland."

Lire davantage

During what could be considered a slow drama year, Wakamono Tachi (“Young People,” international title: “All About My Siblings,”) was greatly anticipated from the first. One exciting aspect manifests itself in its status as an anniversary drama, a fact that often denotes heightened quality. Another comes in the form of Shugo Muto, who wrote the script for this remade series as well as last year’s excellent reboot of Kazoku Game and the beloved 2005 Densha Otoko. Yet for an overwhelming number of potential viewers, the prospect of another reunion between cast members Mitsushima Hikari and Eita—with the added bonus of fantastic Tsumabuki Satoshi—constituted the biggest delight. So with all these expectations riding on its back, how did well Wakamono Tachi fare?

Regrettably (how it pains me to begin with that word!) soaring expectations might cost this drama points with viewers. While Wakamono Tachi manages to score a place in the storied collection of worthy Japanese “life dramas,” it cannot be called perfect or even particularly groundbreaking. We follow the trials and tribulations of the orphaned Sato siblings, as well as those of their romantic prospects. Most story arcs focus on one sibling/issue at a time, detailing how the family pulls together so as to overcome it (or not). As might be expected from such a system, certain parts watch stronger than others. Characters Asahi, Satoru, and Hikari are front and center for the better episodes, most of which are warm and emotional. However, as focus spreads to the youngest siblings (and onward to the “girlfriends” and “boyfriend”) it becomes harder to swallow parts of the writing. Certain plots begin to touch upon the melodramatic and the tone/time frame for others ceases to reflect reality, though otherwise most events are thoughtfully placed. As strongly felt as the finale was, I could not but want for better closure. Several more episodes might have alleviated these issues, and I doubt viewers would object to extra time with the Sato family.

My favorite aspect of Wakamono Tachi must be its vibrant and quirky humor. The siblings primarily communicate in high-speed bickering around the dinner table, which often yields audacious and unbelievable dialogue. Many members of the Sato family are also wrestling fans, and so the most difficult emotional conundrums are solved over hearty talks—and outdoor brawls! What results is an unexpectedly lovable and relatable family that, despite any oddity, ends up working its way deep into the viewer’s heart. No matter the issues with the script, one begins to feel as though they will miss them when the series ends. I also believe the financial state our heroes are portrayed in (almost destitute!) helps them remain understandable. It is refreshing to meet with an every-man and his family for once, rather than a privileged member of the upper crust.

Without a doubt, Wakamono Tachi cast well. Tsumabuki Satoshi wins viewer sympathy as the sincere, hardworking Sato Asahi, whose more cliché characteristics are eclipsed masterfully by a strange mix of immaturity and fatherly instinct. A figure inherently good, Tsumabuki-san infuses Asahi with fetching laughter, contagious tears, and a performance most memorable. I'm not afraid to admit I fell in love. The widely lauded Eita settles into another complicated role as Sato Satoru, who explodes onto the scene as a menacing figure—but might his true self be loyal and loving? Mitsushima Hikari is safely one of the best actresses of her generation, and so in Sato Hikari maintains her standard. Hers might be the most precariously balanced story in the series, caught as it is between two moral poles; however, Mitsushima-san dons the role without the barest suggestion of difficulty. As for the other parts of the cast, most performances were passable to good with an almost universal connection of chemistry (particularly within the Sato family). If there were any weak links, I’d point either to Nomura Shuhei (Sato Tadashi) or Yoshioka Hidetaka (Shinjo Masaomi) but only when compared to the “big three.”

For those who concern themselves with music, this series employs a decent enough score with a good sense for incidental pieces and silence. Perhaps the only song worth writing home about would be the beautiful theme. It is provided by sweet-voiced Moriyama Naotaro, “Wakamono Tachi (Young People)” after the title of the drama. This gentle and nostalgic vocal suits the overall feeling of the series with surprising strength, even as it accompanies the credits. These show the characters, interspersed between the candid photographs of other (perhaps real?) examples of the modern Japanese youth.

Lire davantage

Modern war movies have garnered something of a reputation. When one now thinks of the genre, visions of blood-soaked battlefields, blazing weaponry, and mushroom clouds fill the mind. Themes often include brotherhood and the importance of peace, sometimes subtle, often not. How refreshing Welcome to Dongmakgol must be in comparison then, as it gently rejects (if not wholly abandons) all this. Instead, it opts to be one of the most beautiful and imaginative war films ever made.

Simply described, Welcome to Dongmakgol leaves the impression of a Studio Ghibli animation sprung to life. The similarities are numerous, felt from the fanciful bones of the premise, right down to vivid ambiance set by the cinematography. Even music lends itself to the comparison, having been contributed by legendary Joe Hisashi. Little events (such as the incredible, now-famous, popcorn scene) might have been directed by Miyazaki himself. This is all intentional of course, a sure credit to Director Park Kwang Hyun (a self-proclaimed fan of the studio).

As one might glean from the information above, the story maintains elements of fantasy. North and South Korean soldiers, as well as one stranded American, end up meeting in an idyllic little village during the Korean War. They learn that the village, Dongmakgol, has been isolated for so long the inhabitants have no knowledge of the war, or modern technologies in general. From here, it develops into a story of friendship without borders, of innocence that brings happiness and peace, and reconciliation despite old wounds. Sprinkle in a little comedy and a heart-rending scene or two, and you've basically got Welcome to Dongmakgol.

The cast is phenomenal, as are the characters. Veteran actors Jung Jae Young (as North Korean officer Su Hwa) and Shin Ha Kyun (haunted South Korean Lieutenant Pyo) light up the screen. Being able to see both of these talents work together is such a treat, and their interactions with others are simply magnificent. Kang Hye Jung, best known from the Korean classic Oldboy, lands another iconic role here as the innocent and child-like Yeo Il. Together with Ryu Deok Hwan, she rounds up the memorable figures in the cast.

Unfortunately, the western actors were shakier. Steve Taschler doesn’t derail the film as Neil Smith, but his performance is obviously weaker than those around him. His character still manages to be somewhat interesting, despite these issues being combined with limited screen time.

Earlier I mentioned Joe Hisashi; fans of his work will automatically connect this name with quality. Those unfamiliar among you, don’t worry. This is music that has to be heard to be believed. Without his incredible compositions, the effect of the film would be nowhere as strong.

Lire davantage

How might one describe the taste of peppermint? Refreshing and cool? Slightly sweet? How about the “clean” sensation left over once the candy has gone? In this intense and emotionally raw film, the peppermint transforms from mere confection into the reminder of one man’s lost innocence—and arguably, that of South Korea after the war. Though we might bite into the peppermint hoping for sweeter breath, whatever has dirtied the mouth still remains. So it goes with the attempt to live decently again, once personal sins and harrowing experiences begin to take their toll.

One might notice something unusual about Peppermint Candy straightaway: it’s backwards. It affects a non-linear structure, forcing the viewer to witness the lead’s story in reverse chronology. We start with a broken maniac ready to commit suicide on some train tracks, and end with a starry-eyed youth, happy and in love. What must have happened between these two points to result in such a drastic change?

That is what the viewer must uncover, journeying back through the years 1999 to 1979. The film separates into several segments to allow this, pinpointing only the most important details of the character’s life.

These specific years represent tremendous importance to the narrative, especially those sequences spent in the 1980’s. That decade was a particularly troubled one for South Korea; police brutality and government-sanctioned violence were not uncommon, as seen from the infamous protest crackdowns portrayed here in unabashed detail. The country many of us know and love today was a totally different place in that era.

Peppermint Candy relies heavily on visual motifs, particularly moving trains and the namesake sweets themselves. Trains appear at pivotal moments, usually during (or after) an unfortunate action taken by the lead. When I noticed this happening, the effect chilled; my stomach automatically dropped and I almost felt cold. Because the story segments are also broken up by footage taken from the back of a train, the effect is twofold. Note also the pensive string music which accompanies these instances. Other details become apparent over the course of the film; names and objects which make no sense in one part suddenly burst with recognition in another.

After seeing him as Kim Yong Ho, our tragic main character, Sol Kyung Gu definitely has my respect as an artist. He impressed unilaterally, whatever incarnation of the man he needed to portray. I hated and feared Yong Ho, I judged and even pitied him—but above all, I understood him. All this thanks to a masterful performance by a true talent. Moon So Ri also acted memorably, despite appearing very little; her Yun Sun Im was so built up, so discussed, over the course of the film, that it would have been easy to disappoint. She did not. The supporting cast does just as well, playing off the leads without drawing away focus.

Those viewers who devour character studies, art films, powerful acting, or are just looking for something different might take interest in Peppermint Candy. Please be warned that this movie contains varying degrees of violence, brief nudity, and depicts suicidal tendencies. Certain scenes can be disturbing.

Lire davantage

Based on a pair of popular novels from award-winning author Jun Ikeido (notably a former bank employee himself), Hanzawa Naoki has enjoyed monumental success. Ratings opened through the roof in Japan and, continuing to rise every week, eventually stood at a dazzling 42% on the finale. Even more impressive is how the Japanese have embraced this drama and its titular character, almost to the point of pop culture status. When people start naming limited edition breads after something, you know it has to be special.



Hanzawa Naoki treads the waters of Japanese financial culture, following a brilliant man who dove in after experiencing its volatility firsthand. The main body of the tale begins once this man, Hanzawa, has established himself at the management level of a certain bank. We follow him through two intense loan crises, each taking five of the total ten episodes. While the first, occurring in Osaka, is truly excellent, this drama shines most brightly in the second (Tokyo). Everything feels tighter, more intense, and more character development occurs; the first half is merely beautiful set-up in comparison. If you feel daunted by business talk, don't worry. With a clear narrative careful to explain everything, Hanzawa Naoki is very accessible. Long story short, this is an intense and unpredictable drama -- sure to get hearts pounding and fists pumping. Bring on a sequel, I say!



Sakai Masato, one of the finest actors currently working in Japan, is the real draw here. As Hanzawa himself, Sakai-san oozes nuance and dynamic characterization. How hard it must be to portray this samurai-like banker, full of ferocity and compassion at once! But he makes it look easy, with his sharp and seemingly effortless performance. Even his delivery of the now-famous catchphrase: "If you screw me, I'll screw you back. It's double the payback!" induces goosebumps.



Of the supporting cast, Takito Kenichi (troubled Kondo) and Oikawa Mitsuhiro (cheerful Tomari), are memorable as Hanzawa's old compatriots. Their chemistry with Sakai-san is really wonderful, especially during the Tokyo arc. Some intense kendo practices occur between Hanzawa and Kondo, making for telling character interaction. Also featured, veteran Kagawa Teruyuki rounds out the talent as deliciously two-faced Owada.



Sweeping, dramatic instrumentals fill every scene. They are of a cinematic quality, perfectly placed, and unique. Without realizing it, I recently found myself humming the theme song while doing laundry. Though there are no traditional vocal pieces, you won't even notice.

Lire davantage

Sherlock Holmes meets Cyrano de Bergerac in this candied romantic comedy. With short episodes and series duration, Dating Agency: Cyrano doubles as a perfect marathon drama. Though admittedly of little sustainable substance, if you're seeking airy and memorable fun, look no further.

Much of the plot follows the titular agency as they tackle cases. This system produces miniature arcs usually lasting around three episodes. Since each case aims to jump start relationships for supporting characters (often depicted by famous guest stars), various romances are sketched out. Each of them appears to pay homage to a romance type common in dramas (mystery, melodrama, teen, etc). As the series goes on, the cases improve in quality; though still fun, the very first as initiated by the veterinarian was almost silly. Several agency members experience plots of their own, mostly bridging all 16 episodes. Unfortunately, the "main couple" was not to my taste. Age gaps rarely bother me... but lack of chemistry does. Here sparks never fly and, while the romance makes sense on paper, the entire thing felt stilted.

Most performances were solid. Something about Seo Byung Hoon struck me as similar to Sherlock in the recent BBC adaptation; Lee Jong Hyuk has magnetic prickliness down to a fine art. Soo Young spins a potentially cliche weak-spined bore into a refreshingly spunky, strong, realistic woman. Her immediately clear screen presence actually drew me into Dating Agency: Cyrano in the first place. Here I must admit that I fell hard for Lee Chun Hee as "Master". It doesn't make me proud, but whenever he was on screen I often degenerated into a giggling puddle. Whether it's because he played the character so well or because he's drop dead gorgeous, it's hard to say. The rest of the cast performs well, if not memorably. Each guest spot was wonderful too, with Lee Kwang Soo standing out in arguably the best case in the series.

Though eventually it may have become repetitive in a longer series, the soundtrack excels. "Chance!" by The Peppertones burrows into the brain, while Ra.D romances tenderly with "Something Flutters." Most of the instrumental fare felt funky and modern; the intro particularly impresses.

Lire davantage

What constitutes a “good” life? Can it be deliberated by the weight of earthly possessions? Does the perception of having achieved something tip the scales of fulfillment? Or might it be something simpler – that our honest connections with other people and the lessons we have to share are the truest measure? Good Life ~Arigatou Papa. Sayonara~ explores this substantial question, offering its own answer effectively and with surprising eloquence.

Having spent the better part of the series sobbing, I will attest that this is a tear-jerker. Stories that deal with severe illnesses often are. Refreshingly Good Life avoids becoming maudlin and though tears well up, they don’t always spring from tragedy. I found myself most moved by the powerful relationship between Waku and his father; the change love brought into their lives at the most crucial hour…this is more important than anything else. The short length of the drama guarantees a sharp focus on their journey. There’s just no time for romantic detours or melodramatic spoons dipped in to stir extra conflict. (As a side note, Waku’s adorable yet illuminating narrations were fantastic; their presence bolstered the emotional atmosphere of the plot exponentially.)

Only two performers stand memorable, which works since Good Life focused almost solely on their characters. Sorimachi Takashi tugs insistently at the heartstrings as Daichi Sawamoto, the “papa” of the title. His character brought to mind the imagery of a trembling pillar; Daichi tries to take everything on his own shoulders, never letting anyone else see his deep vulnerability. As a result, he appears strong but aloof – blindly unable to understand that his life is lacking. Transformation from such a person into the gentle and loving father whose heart finally opens is conveyed compellingly, both by the writing and Sorimachi. On the other hand we have Kabe Amon, who played impressively as Waku. Not only is he super cute, he’s startlingly believable. It was easy to forget Kabe is healthy in real life and that Sorimachi is not actually his father (despite their immense chemistry).

Music is fittingly simple and nostalgic. Unfortunately, the soundtrack soon feels repetitive by the halfway point. A specific piano melody manages to stick in my mind, as well as the tender “Mata Ashita,” by JUJU.

Lire davantage

"Where's the love in that?" —Kashiwagi Tatsuya

Many consider the 1990’s a golden age in Japanese drama. It’s been said there was a certain spark at that time, an outpouring of talented writers and actors, even more daring scripts and sizzling romances. Unfortunately I have yet to experience many of these gems from another era. But after Hitotsu Yane no Shita (Under One Roof), believe me when I say they will be a priority and a must! As one whose go-to genre must be considered “family,” I cannot remember the last time I’ve seen one as memorable or involving. Plus the screenwriter is Nojima Shinji (Pride), so how can you go wrong?

Viewers join Kashiwagi Tatsuya—or An-chan—as he attempts first to reunite with his scattered siblings, then to keep them together again. But can blood ties bridge seven years’ worth of separation, resentment, and loneliness? Are they better off as a family or apart in their new situations? Hitotsu Yane no Shita ventures to answer these questions, focusing on the Kashiwagis and their struggle to live both as individuals and a family. Each sibling is granted their own plot line, from which many types of stories spring (some with shockingly mature themes); these build up throughout the series and connect to the final arc with a masterful touch. What stays constant across the board is the unique humor and gentle warmth that allows Hitotsu Yane no Shita continued relevance. One might connect deeply with the members of the Kashiwagi clan, and then leave the drama feeling they’d all grown a lot. What an incredible experience—though I must admit I didn’t watch quickly. It would have meant saying goodbye to this wonderful family, and I wasn't ready to for a while.

For those familiar with Wakamono Tachi, they are very similar to one another. They have the same high-speed bickering, brotherly wrestling matches, etc.

Casting a family must be tricky. If one member fails to ignite chemistry with the others, you can bet the whole thing will be thrown askew. But have you seen this cast? It’s pretty much perfect for the purpose. First we have Eguchi Yosuke, now an exquisite veteran actor, but apparently he could carry a drama even twenty years ago. His An-chan is a lovable dummy who follows his heart with admirable determination and adores Ken-Ken the Dog (Muttley from Whacky Racers!); beneath all his silly bluster, An-chan is reliable, hard-working, and every bit a pillar of strength. Eguchi-san proves his ability to perform comically and turn right around with the most believable tears time and again. The second brother Masaya/”Chi-niichan,” lands us another present-day veteran in Fukuyama Masaharu. Perhaps being a good friend to Eguchi-san helped, but their scenes make you believe they might actually be brothers. An early episode between the two could be considered one of the best of the series for that matter. And if you allow me a moment’s shallowness, both are as cute as anything in Hitotsu Yane no Shita.

Of the other Kashiwagi siblings, most memorable are Yamamoto Koji and Sakai Noriko. Sakai-san performs beautifully as the backbone of the Kashiwagis, the adopted daughter Koyuki; her presence is calm, gentle one without being pretentious, and there’s a maternal strength in her performance that’s very appealing.

For someone who grew up in the 90’s, Hitotsu Yane no Shita is a delightful nostalgia trip. Every single track sent me back in time and was an utter delight, especially paired with the series. Probably most memorable will be the fantastic theme song, “Saboten no Hana” by TULIP; between this and the family Muttley-laugh, there's a lot that I'll take away from this series. You can bet it's worth watching twice, too~

Lire davantage

Upon completing the “Will I or won’t I?” routine with Top Star (we’re all masters of this dance: check the cast listing first, read the synopsis, watch the trailers, et cetera and so on), I was overcome with the most unfortunate thing. Positive expectation! I typically take care with allowing those feelings to rise up in the first place; after all, expectations more often disappoint or diminish experiences than actually fulfill themselves.

Yet when those dreadful expectations of mine were ultimately dashed, it still surprised me. What I had just encountered was somehow much better than initially imagined. You see, I had the impression Top Star would be a seedy melodrama or, at best, one of those dank and miserable discourses on the evils of celebrity. This film could be described instead as a character study and human drama: the bittersweet tale of two flawed men and their wildly unbalanced friendship. If you like western film, you might compare this one to The Talented Mr. Ripley with Matt Damon and Jude Law (or other adaptations of the same). Instances of deja vu were undeniable.

Most impressive about the execution of Top Star must be the fact it was not at all over the top. Its characters are very human and dark in the way people sometimes are, especially the privileged or overly ambitious among us. They have both good points and bad, but the things they do are not outside the realms of reality. Of course, fame does play a role in events depicted in the film; however, it is neither deified nor demonized. Rather, celebrity is measured by the quality of the person wielding it—and the choices they make, while possessing it.

Two men share the screen in Top Star: Kim Min Joon and Uhm Tae Woong. Between the two, despite being a fan of the latter, the former captivated me most. Min Joon looks the part of an A-Lister, switching between masks of charm and thoughtlessness without difficulty. He can be warm or hateful, desolate or bright, all with surprising depth. Uhm Tae Woong isn’t called “Uhm-force” for nothing, though; he stood on equal footing with his co-star. I’m a little used to his goody-two-shoes image from dramas, but in film he seems to spread his wings a little more. The Tae Shik character was “nobody” reaching toward the stars, but I believed him completely…even if it was strange to see this “top star” playing such a role. Great chemistry between the two, with an okay check-in by So Yi Hyun as the less developed Mi Na.

Top Star has such a lovely soundtrack; I enjoyed how well its various tracks were interspersed between stretches of silence. Many interesting cinematographic sequences stood out in no small part to the accompanying auditory cues. Some viewers may like the rendition of “You Were Always on My Mind” and its off-vocal insertion a little less. However, as time rolls along and one takes the lyrics out of context, the usage suddenly makes sense. I liked its unique orchestration anyway; it may not be the original, but it’s still pretty nice.

Please note the crisp and pretty cinematography as a whole. Everything looked gorgeous and glitzy, from the surroundings to the main cast. There are a couple cameos near the beginning, too: who can you spot?

Lire davantage

TV Asahi presented the special, "Olympic no Minoshirokin" (The Ransomed Olympics) as part of its 55th Anniversary in broadcasting. What began as an award-winning novel by Okuda Hideo was likely selected for this purpose due to its relevance to current events. After all, this short drama aired two months before the start of 2014's XXII Olympic Winter Games in Sochi. This story centers on the 1965 Summer Games in Tokyo, where a possible terrorist attack looms over the event and its attendees.

While I found the investigation aspect tight and fascinating, palpable suspense falls somewhat low. There was definitely an air of “racing against the clock,” but the actual culprit becomes apparent too soon. Nevertheless, learning about that person’s mindset and motivations retain interest. My attention often caught on the atmosphere built by the depicted time period; the clothing, cars, and social activities truly seemed accurate. And the feeling of a city ready to host the biggest sporting event in the world? That was well presented too, though the viewer’s time is spent primarily with the case. I would note that this SP leaves me with little desire to see it again; enjoying it once seems to be enough. Time will tell.

How about that cast? If one takes a quick peek at the listing, one might be taken aback at the sheer amount of star power contained there. Names such as Amami Yuki, Kuroki Meisa, Sawamura Ikki, and many more represent the supporting cast alone. Of the leads, we have Takenouchi Yutaka and Matsuyama Kenichi, both remarkable whatever the role. Matsuyama-san in particular performs with great energy and depth, though Takenouchi appears fresh-faced and blue-collar heroic. My only complaint would be how crowded the drama feels at times; it’s a little weird to see so many familiar and famous faces at once, even should they perform well.

Incidental music suits each scene nicely. Most offerings add something to the instance they are used in. Unfortunately, none are particularly memorable after the fact. This also accounts for the lack of vocal pieces, which typically add to score memorability.

Lire davantage