There is a radical passion to Paul Thomas Anderson’s storytelling in One Battle After Another which matches the unruly spirit of the characters themselves, hurtling revolutionary chaos and reactionary absurdity towards impact on a dizzying rollercoaster, and sending one washed-up activist on a desperate mission to save the only family he has left.
The domestic melodrama of Tokyo Twilight is so morose by Yasujirō Ozu’s standards, its darkness seeps into virtually every corner of his meticulous, homely interiors, unearthing guilty secrets within a family shattered by silence, grief, and regret.
Where a better Spike Lee film would consistently swing hard for audacious set pieces, Highest 2 Lowest teases us with glimpses of the Kurosawa adaptation that could have been, settling for a bland remake of a once-thrilling crime plot and moral dilemma that severely flattens whatever tension remains.
Within Early Spring’s delicately composed reflection of 1950s Japan, one office worker’s affair becomes a shattering disruption to the status quo, as Yasujirō Ozu’s melancholy meditation navigates the consequences of intimate betrayal and marital breakdown.
If all the world is a stage, then A Big Bold Beautiful Journey sensitively understands the roles we must play to uncover hidden truths, channelling Kogonada’s immense imagination through the romantic, metaphysical odyssey that two strangers undertake into each other’s memories.
As we follow one elderly couple’s visit to their adult children in Tokyo Story, the meditative passage of time very gradually becomes visible, transforming the act of dutiful repetition into a contemplative poetry that delicately traces post-war Japan’s shift away from a past it would rather forget.
Armed with a sharp wit and touching sincerity, Eva Victor skilfully keys into the quirks and foibles of modern companionship in Sorry, Baby, composing a fragmented study of sexual trauma and healing over many years of one academic’s life.
The Roses is evidently far more a showcase for Tony McNamara’s crackling writing than its bland visual direction, yet this darkly funny autopsy of a dysfunctional marriage wields wit and cruelty with surgical precision, exposing the combustible tensions that drive vengeful lovers to self-sabotage.
Although Taeko and Mokichi’s marriage has been left to wither in The Flavor of Green Tea Over Rice, Yasujirō Ozu never stops yearning for the love that lingers beneath their contempt and sorrow, seeking a return to steady companionship through routine, redemption, and grace.
Post-war Japan’s shifting cultural attitudes tangibly manifest within the cluttered, multi-generational household of Early Summer, its domestic interiors of birdcages and shoji doors infused with Yasujirō Ozu’s introspective meditations, and simmering tension around its eldest daughter’s longing for independence.
