Perhaps our generation is spoiled. Last year, David Bordwell posted an entry on his and Kristin Thompson's ever-illuminating blog, describing the frighteningly recent pains a student or lover (or a student lover) of film had to endure to gain access to his or her texts. In a day we take for granted the fact we can readily acquire Jacques Tati's masterful Playtime at our more noble bookstores, that the works of Michael Curtiz can be nabbed On Demand, or that you can press a button to deliver almost any of Akira Kurosawa's films to your doorstep in a matter of days, the idea of trying to search out rare commercial or archival prints of a select number of arbitrated classic is chilling and just a bit unfathomable. If we're spoiled, that's okay, because with any luck, future generations will be even more spoiled. As it is, I don't have access to every movie I want and I'm going to whine about it.

Around the same time, Twitch posted an interview with mad Japanese auteur, Minoru Kawasaki, the director and co-writer responsible for films bearing titles such as Calamari Wrestler, Executive Koala, Rug Cop, and The World Sinks Except Japan (released in Japan at around the same time as a remake of classic disaster picture Japans Sinks). The man has a theme apparent in just the synopses of these works. A businessman... who's a koala! A wrestler... who's a squid! A goalkeeper... who's a crab! A cop... who wields his toupée like a flying guillotene!

Sadly, the only exposure he's had here in the West, outside of a couple of popular screenings at festivals like Toronto and Fantasia, has been his 2004 sophomore theatrical feature, The Calamari Wrestler. Is it a great film? Probably not. But it's a profoundly silly film, something that can't be said about the vast majority of modern comedies. Even Hong Kong's mo lei tau genre (literally, something like "makes no sense") has kind of washed up over the years. In America, we've had the Adam McKay and Will Ferrell collaborations in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy and Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby that have come close, but few films the world over seem to be willing to make themselves truly, unabashedly silly.



Thus, The Calamari Wrestler is a breath of fresh air. We have a squid (very obviously an actor in a pretty cheap costume) who shows up to defeat a wrestling champion. There are hints that he's there to avenge a disgraced wrestler who has disappeared. The struggle is unabashedly epic as he fills all the necessary underdog challenger requirements. He even is loved by the poor market owners. Things get even more absurd as he begins to fall in love with the missing wrestler's girlfriend and other anthropomorphic challengers begin to make headlines.

Some other anthropomorphic characters factor into the picture later. Soon, there's speculation that perhaps this wrestling calamari that's shaking up the professional wrestling world might, in fact, be a reincarnation of the reportedly dead, former champion. Gasp!

The picture wouldn't work so well if it didn't--while still being extremely silly--take itself extremely seriously. There's very little winking irony here. Everything that matters to these characters matters. Watching this movie was a minor revelation for me: It's okay to be this gol-danged silly.

If there's one scene that sold me on this movie, it's a very quiet one. The squid, now living in Japanese society, finds himself living in a friendly urban neighborhood. He goes grocery shopping at the sidewalk markets, a bag draped around one of his tentacles. As he walks down the street, children and old women wave hello to him, in the warmest, friendliest manner possible. The squid waves back. Truly, he is a hero of the people.

I've only seen one other Kawasaki film, The World Sinks Except Japan, which was a little lackluster, though enjoyable. Hopefully, someone decides to bring his other comedies over.

Labels: babbling about films