Must be over a year. Rooms of the house, locations, the characters and their mute-and-not choreography remain with me, but somewhat ajumble. The violence that precipitates and defines "Eureka's" story feels random. The shooter's apolitical. In the limited frame of the film, he's self-motivating, whatever his back story. So comparisons to 9/11's strike at politically symbolic targets, or even to the Aum incidents, seem facile. Don't be frightened by the film's length, unless you're just not a film person. In comparison, Jean Eustache's "La maman et la putain" lasts a lifetime. Maybe because its Paris no longer quite exists, leaving "Putain's" world is like being wrenched from a dream. A dream interrupted is a trip out with no trip back. Make any unfamiliar journey and return, especially on foot, the trip back feels shorter because, even by their reverse side, you know the landmarks. The world's so homogenized now, no matter where you live no shot in "Eureka" can be unfamiliar. "Eureka's" all trip back. Everything registers. Time rushes. By placing color exactly where he did in this black and white film, Aoyama tells me he knows this.
I shouldn't stick my neck out on Japanese stuff, but the kids' young uncle Akihiko's name sounds Autumnal for its "aki."
"Eureka" contains Koji Yakusho's most successfully complex role. A touchpoint for this performance is his more simply written character in Kiyoshi Kurosawa's "License to Live."
I shouldn't stick my neck out on Japanese stuff, but the kids' young uncle Akihiko's name sounds Autumnal for its "aki."
"Eureka" contains Koji Yakusho's most successfully complex role. A touchpoint for this performance is his more simply written character in Kiyoshi Kurosawa's "License to Live."