A review of "Still Walking" by Hirozaku Kore-eda

I can't think of another recent film that resembles too much the culture that it attempts to meditate upon, that the end result becomes a formless mass of polite inaction.  Politeness and inaction, two things Godard would never approve of, nor would I. 

Here we have a very well reviewed film from Japan, from a very respected, and relatively young film director.  Unfortunately, for a film that draws intensely from minute (thus invariably) petty family dynamics, it falls under the weight of its own over-elaborateness.  Case in point, the luscious shots of food which open the film, continue throughout, but their existence serves no purpose of conflict or drama, unlike food in Ang Lee's Eat Drink, Man Woman.  If this was coming from a western director, I'd be willing to make excuses, but from a Japanese?  Does he not understand that his carefully photographed images end up, embarrassingly, as mere cultural porn?  As if we don't find enough images of Japan to go ga-ga over already.  ( Just so you know, Flickr's most tagged item, is Japan)  This is where I think Takeshi Miike, at least with his work from 1998-2002, deserves to more recognition than Koreeda--Simply, he does not make movies to appease naive eyes and minds. 
 
At the same time, I also question, whether Kore-eda had simply made too much of a "Japanese" film, and within the rigid cultural restraints that he venerated and was all too aware of, cinematic possibilities were sacrificed in order to make the film conform to what Japan "should" be. Sadly, by putting all his eggs into one basket and showing us the truest of the truest details about family life in Japan (and I would know!), Kore-eda concedes his work to make it comprehensible to the hollow expectations of those who read travelbooks.  (Although even then, I don't know what they get out of it). 

What also saddens me, is the visual virtuosity displayed in Nobody Knows, which excited me so much (especially the 400 Blows homages) has been replaced completely by a very cringe-worthy, perfectly composed, I-love-my-dSLR, postcard cinematography.  There are moments in the film where I cry out for a long tracking shot as an ominous rhythm in the soundtrack suggests, but too bad, as Kore-eda edits his transitions as if we are watching a slideshow at an antique shop. Again, Kore-eda acts as if he's been watching too many NHK travel specials. 

To reinforce this sense of responsibility for his mother-culture, Kore-eda has sacrified his auteurship for curatorship.  I won't even go to the big betrayl in the story that happens at the end.  Because once again, the grounds for this problematic film is in Kore-eda's elevated mission to keep carrying the flag as Japan's most important film maker.