Modern folklore-focused anime and manga owe a huge debt to the work of 1960s manga Ge Ge Ge no Kitaro‘s artist and writer Shigeru Mizuki. A second world war veteran, the traumatic amputation of his left arm, due to an air raid explosion, never held back his pre-existing artistic ambitions. An avid researcher of international folklore, he poured his encyclopedic knowledge of the supernatural not only into his wildly influential manga, but also into countless factual tomes – some of which are available in English. Mizuki made his journey to the otherworld in 2015, at the age of 93, leaving an unparalleled legacy that this movie attempts to do justice to, acting as a prequel to the most recent anime adaptation and as an entry point for newcomers.
I’ll admit it now – before watching this, I was only familiar with Kitaro, and Mizuki’s work in general. Mainly on the strength of Scotland Loves Anime’s presenter Jonathan Clements‘ urgings, in preparation for this review I sought out several volumes of the original manga and episodes of the 2018 TV anime. It appears I am now very much a Mizuki fan, though not necessarily due to this movie.
Oddly, while Ge Ge Ge no Kitaro‘s TV incarnation is aimed primarily at children (with a theme song that claims it’s more fun to be a ghost because school attendance isn’t required), Birth of Kitaro is a grim and gritty horror film targeted at an adult audience. It loosely adapts a short manga chapter from 1966, however only uses the most basic of elements from it, crafting a mostly original story, tonally removed from the progenitor TV show. There’s even an “uncut” version, released only very recently in Japan, that dials up the already bloody violence even further. Birth of Kitaro has an unusual pedigree: it’s written by Hiroyuki Yoshino of Macross Frontier and Dance in the Vampire Bund, while directed by Gō Koga, best known for Precure and Digimon.
We’re first subjected to a baffling non-sequitur of a prologue that clumsily attempts to tie into TV show continuity with an appearance from Kitaro and pals in the “modern” day before jarringly segueing into the film’s primarily historical setting – it’s not a promising start. Most of the action transpires in 1956, during Japan’s post-war Showa-era economic recovery. Protagonist Mizuki (who is apparently a stand-in for author Mizuki himself) is an ambitious middle-management businessman who works for the “Imperial Blood Bank,” a company run by the mysterious Ryuga family. When the family head dies, Mizuki is summoned by his boss to the Ryuga’s remote mountain village estate to observe the transfer of power to the deceased head’s nominated heir. As expected from this genre, events don’t exactly proceed according to plan.
It’s immediately obvious this village is a strange place – accessible only by dangerous, unmaintained mountain roads, even locals from nearby areas avoid it entirely. Mizuki’s arrival is viewed with either novelty (from a village child), interest (from the main female character), or outright hostility (from most of the rest of the cast). His status as an unwelcome outsider is constantly reinforced by various senior Ryuga family members. Once poor Mizuki realizes he’s now trapped in a Hinamizawa/Twin Peaks/Royston Vasey-esque situation, it’s too late. This section of the film is slow-moving, perhaps as an attempt to build dread, but so many characters involved in random mafia/yakuza movie-style politicking are introduced that it’s extremely hard to follow. Eventually, this doesn’t matter, as most of the extended cast are murdered horribly anyway. There’s a lot of death in Birth of Kitaro, probably unsurprising for a character that fans already know will be born from the corpse of his mother, as the last of his kind. (So, spoilers for the uninitiated… I guess?)
Kitaro himself only barely appears in this prequel – instead, the focus is on the horribly-out-of-his depth Mizuki who finds an ally in the mysterious, white-haired, googly-eyed interloper he named “Gegero”. (The Japanese sound “ge” typically means “creepy” or “icky”, and when repeated like “gegege” it adds emphasis.) Gegero is really Kitaro‘s father, Medama-oyaji, who is destined to become a talking, disembodied eyeball who resides in Kitaro‘s empty left eye socket.
Mizuki and Gegero investigate the creepy Ryuga family’s secrets to discover the truth of “Substance M,” an experimental blood product marketed by Mizuki’s employers. It doesn’t take a doctorate in hematology to intuit that the Ryuga are up to no good. Once all of the narrative pieces are in place (and various Ryuga family members are either impaled by trees or otherwise mutilated horrifically), the plot finally rushes headlong into batshit insanity. The final forty minutes or so are a relentless descent into stunningly animated violent hell, with some truly breathtaking action sequences. A particular highlight is Gegero’s battle with an army of armored ninja dudes atop a multi-leveled tower, depicted with stylish, fluid, incredibly kinetic animation. A final confrontation centered around a demonic underground tree almost reaches Evangelion-esque levels of surreal metaphysical nonsense.
Birth of Kitaro‘s ultimate antagonist is somewhat difficult to take seriously (the audience audibly laughed when they revealed themselves), but really isn’t that incongruous when viewed in the context of the often goofy manga. I do wonder that if there had been a bit more of that unselfconscious goofiness added to this film, it might have been more entertaining. Without author Mizuki’s more whimsical influence, at times Birth of Kitaro feels disappointingly like a more by-the-numbers anime horror without much personality of its own. Its overall seriousness meshes uncomfortably with its more outlandish character designs (such as the Mizuki-accurate cartoony undead, who appear later on), and its overly complex story really doesn’t amount to anything by the end, considering the literal mountain of corpses left in the film’s wake.
Japanese folklore fans will enjoy the glimpses of yokai, like the water-borne Kappa who briefly appear, while there are plenty of rich cultural references likely to fly over the heads of most Westerners. By the time Kitaro himself arrives, we’ve seen so much death and destruction that we’re almost numb to it, so his birth scene plays as more silly than tragic. That part is adapted more or less panel-for-panel from the original manga, even if the circumstances leading up to his birth are completely different. A bookending flash-forward epilogue re-contextualizes the odd prologue in a genuinely emotionally affecting way – but doesn’t make up for the tonal disconnect that makes the opening so off-putting. It would have been better to move the prologue to the end, uniting it with the epilogue.
Advertisement
While I enjoyed the action aspects of Birth of Kitaro, I can’t say it works that well as an entry point for new fans. Tonally, it’s completely different from both manga and TV shows, plus it’s also quite dull and plodding in its first half. Existing fans might get a kick out of this darker, more violent incarnation of the franchise, but I’d recommend newcomers start with the manga or 2018 TV series, which a lot more fun.
Satya Dev’s upcoming heist drama, Zebra, is set for a grand release tomorrow, with the actor expressing high hopes for its success. Kannada star Daali Dhananjaya plays a pivotal role alongside Satya Dev.
Advertisement
To build anticipation, the makers recently released a sneak peek and hosted a special show for a select audience. The latest update reveals that the film’s runtime has been set at 164 minutes (2 hours and 44 minutes), which may feel a bit lengthy for a heist thriller. It remains to be seen how well the film engages its audience.
The movie also stars Priya Bhavani Shankar, Sathyaraj, Amrutha Iyengar, and others. Produced by OldTown Production and Padmaja Films Private Limited, the film’s music is composed by Ravi Basrur, known for his work on KGF.
Directed by Amber Sealey. Starring Phoebe-Rae Taylor, Jennifer Aniston, Rosemarie DeWitt, Luke Kirby, Judith Light, Emily Mitchell, Michael Chernus, Courtney Taylor, Catherine McNally, Kate Moyer, Maria Nash, Jeff Roop, Sharron Matthews, Kim Huffman, Ian Ho, Gabriela Francis, Gavin MacIver-Wright, Maya Lee O’Connor, Nicholas Fry, Miley Haik, Lauren Plech, Nylan Parthipan, Pip McCallan, Isaak Bailey, Christian Rose, Cristiano Buchanan, Anabelle Dietl, and Mia Burke.
SYNOPSIS:
Melody Brooks is navigating sixth grade as a nonverbal wheelchair user who has cerebral palsy. With the help of some assistive technology and her devoted allies, Melody shows that what she has to say is more important than how she says it.
Advertisement
Born with cerebral palsy, Melody Brooks (played by Phoebe-Rae Taylor, also born with that condition and unquestionably a significant key to the authenticity on display) is a nonverbal wheelchair user. She is also knowledgeable with ambitions and has a lot to say, but she is limited to communicating through a board attached to her wheelchair tray (a slight, realistic touch that most films about disability seem to ignore the existence of for some inexplicable reason) containing a chart of basic sentences, thoughts, feelings, and moods for simple expression.
Directed by Amber Sealey (from a screenplay by Daniel Stiepleman and based on the novel by Sharon M. Draper), Out of My Mind mainly works because it understands that giving Melody a Medi-Speak device (an electronic tool that reads off whatever is prompted, while also coming with preprogrammed basic phrases and sentences, read aloud in the usual generic computerized voices) won’t entirely solve the problem if everyone from the school faculty to her friends and immediate family vary in their struggles to listen to those words. The issues raised stem from society and the education system, not the disability itself. That’s not to say electronic voice communicators are useless. A voice is a voice, and her father Chuck’s (Luke Kirby) reaction to hearing her daughter “speak” for the first time in which he lets the waterworks flow is a heartstrings-pulling moment that doesn’t ring false.
However, even he sometimes misses the point and gets so caught up discussing what’s best for Melody with his wife, Diane (Rosemarie DeWitt), that they both end up ignoring her in the heat of the moment. He does happen to be the more forward-minded of the parents, as fearless as his daughter is about enrolling into a standard 6th-grade class rather than overachieving in special education. If expectations are already met, why not raise the bar? That alone feels like a mantra most disabled people already live by, consistently feeling the need to prove themselves to able-bodied people who can’t even be bothered to learn that they don’t have to talk to someone in a wheelchair with an awkwardly kind, pitiful tone. Nevertheless, Diane is the helicopter parent raising justifiable concerns over ostracism and bullying.
As for the speaking device, what Melody chooses to say first is equally moving, as it encapsulates and sums up the frustrations and misunderstandings she has felt, even from her family, her whole life. It’s also important to point out that the film isn’t vilifying the parents; caring for a disabled child is tricky, will wear anyone down, and inadvertently cause those miscommunications, or lack thereof. Despite one or two powerful scenes of them standing up for Melody, whether it be from an ablest school system (including a teacher played by Michael Chernus who is technically qualified at the job but is immensely punchable when it comes to his ableism and treating Melody’s classroom presence as a distraction and nuisance), the film primarily sticks with her perspective, sprinkling in some inner thoughts using the voice of Jennifer Aniston.
It’s a device used sparingly, thankfully not overdone. As for why Jennifer Aniston, Melody loves watching Friends, but one is eager to know if that’s also a choice from the book or one encouraged by Phoebe-Rae Taylor. From little details such as classroom desks placed too close together for wheelchairs to fit through the aisles, classmates feeling an awkward pressure of losing “cool” status if they are caught giving friendship a chance with Melody, and grossed-out glances her way as eating messier foods becomes, well, messy to her face, the film understands the pitfalls of public and social disabled life. Again, maybe that’s already in the novel or screenplay, but it can’t be overstated enough that when filmmakers cast disabled actors, it comes with extra layers of authenticity and insight.
Advertisement
Remember that this is still a Disney+ production, so the material has a sanitized, sentimental feel while broadly playing every narrative beat. Once a nationwide quiz competition comes into play, the narrative’s focus shifts there, perhaps too much, even if it still explores Melody’s othering by some of her peers and that enraging teacher. Bluntly put, it all becomes too plot-focused and even contrived. Feel-good songs also repeatedly pop up to remind viewers that the material will never get too challenging. However, a film is sometimes so well-meaning and educationally beneficial that such saccharine material is worth overlooking. Out of My Mind offsets that with a huge heart and a dignified, optimistic, touching performance from Phoebe-Rae Taylor.
Robert Kojder is a member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and the Critics Choice Association. He is also the Flickering Myth Reviews Editor. Check here for new reviews, follow my Twitter or Letterboxd, or email me at MetalGearSolid719@gmail.com
And a pussycat shall lead them! Flow, the animated film that’s Latvia’s submission for the Best International Feature Oscar, kicks off with a beautiful moment of tranquility: A small, black feline, staring wide-eyed at itself in a rippling puddle. It’s somewhere in a forest, surrounded by foliage, and the ambient sounds of nature fill the soundtrack. A rabbit runs by, momentarily startling the cat. It’s soon followed by a pack of dogs, chasing the bunny and barely registering the meowing bystander’s existence. The creature will eventually amble up to a house with a cracked attic window, slipping inside for an early afternoon nap.
It’s all very soothing, giving you the sense that you’re watching the animation equivalent of ASMR. Then, after some business involving a stolen fish, our furry little friend finds itself in the same patch of green earth as before. Once again, the dogs sprint past it. This time, however, they’re followed by a thundering herd of deer. The animals appear to be running away from something. In the background, the trees begin to violently sway back and forth. And then, a huge wave rushes through and washes away everything in its path, including the cat. It eventually gets back to dry land, but then the water keeps rising. And rising. And rising….
A survivalist thriller that’s designed to appeal equally to animal lovers, avant-garde-cartoon aficionados and environmental doomsayers, Flow will spend the next 80 minutes following this feline and his fellow interspecific travelers as they try to navigate the end of the world as we know it. Eventually, the Golden Retriever who’d been part of that roving gang of doggy miscreants will join the freaked-out kitty on a boat they happen to spy passing by. So will a capybara, a lemur and a secretarybird. When the cat falls overboard and can’t paw its way back to the surface, it’s rescued from drowning by the opportune passing of a mammoth humpback, who catches the animal on its nose and breaches just in time. Saved by the whale! One life down, eight to go — although given the obstacles it will continually face, you worry that this resourceful lil’ buddy will eventually run through all of them before the day is over.
Editor’s picks
Advertisement
Director Gints Zilbalodis may be gathering an admittedly adorable posse of all creatures bright and beautiful, each of them rendered in a gorgeous, sometimes crude style of animation that would be best characterized as Early PlayStation Cut-Scene Chic. But in terms of storytelling, he’s going a specifically anti-Disney route here, and this road less traveled makes all of the difference. There’s no dialogue, at least none decipherable to human ears — everything is a symphony of meows, woofs, squawks, grunts, squeaks, squeals and simian cries. With the possible exception of one act of heroism late in the film, none of the animals are anthropomorphized. They more or less act in accordance with their IRL counterparts. There is no identification regarding where this is taking place — some of the stunningly detailed backgrounds suggest Angkor Wat, others bear a striking resemblance to Venice — though the predominance of both medium-sized and massive cat statues suggest it’s some sort of SPCA-sponsored sanctuary city. No explanation is given as to where the humans have gone. No explanation is given as to why a biblical flood is threatening to destroy it all, though for anyone who’s cared to keep their eyes open and their heads out of the sand, no explanation is necessary.
Trending Stories
The stars of the Latvian animated movie ‘Flow.’
Sideshow/Janus Films
Advertisement
There’s little to no hand-holding — and/or paw-, talon-, or hoof-holding — in Flow. There’s simply making sure you keep your nose above water. There’s another enigmatic sequence that occurs as Zilbalodis ushers us into the third act, in which some sort of cosmic force grants one of these critters what appears to be a last-minute reprieve from terra firma. But the real takeaway is that we have to rely on each other for salvation. And it’s here where this experiential experiment in empathy, eco-activism and elation over the creative possibilities of a medium too often hijacked to sell toys truly hits its marks. Most of these animals either show up with or encounter a group of their fellow species (monkeys, dogs, birds). Most of them are abandoned or rejected by their peer groups, thanks to tribalism or simple self-preservation. The one moment in which these four-legged beasts resemble their furless, featherless two-legged neighbors is when several of them abandon a rescue mission midway through because of a passing distraction. Ain’t that just like a Homo sapien?
Related Content
Yet this disparate band somehow manages to endure, and though you can’t accuse Flow of having a happily-ever-after ending, it somehow does go out on a optimistic note — a water-logged Planet Earth half empty, rather than half-fully ruined. There is a reprise of that lovely opening shot, basking in a calm before the inevitable storm to come. The movie ends as it begins, with no easy solution in sight. Only now we see a makeshift community staring back at themselves, no one alone, everyone companions in the apocalypse. It’s a timeless moral. And yet, at this particular moment, for many of us staring down the next four years, the idea that a community can come together to take on the rising tides couldn’t be more welcome or needed.
/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25739950/247386_Elon_Musk_Open_AI_CVirginia.jpg "Inside Elon Musk’s messy breakup with OpenAI")