Anime fans have been rejoicing.  Spirited Away has won an Oscar for “Best Animated Feature” and Disney is making a concerted to effort to release all of Hayao Miyazaki’s films here in the U.S.  I can only hope that Disney, or some other animation company, will give the same treatment to the films of Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli comrades.

To the best of my knowledge, the only other Studio Ghibli film that has been released domestically is Isao Takahata’s haunting Grave Of The Fireflies. However, according the Nausicaa.Net website (an excellent source for all things Studio Ghibli), that still leaves at least 6 movies that are only available to American anime fans via expensive imports (or bootlegs, if you wish to go that route).

But if Whisper Of The Heart is any indication (and I have no reason to believe otherwise, given the uniform excellence I’ve seen so far from Studio Ghibli), that means there’s a veritable goldmine of films just waiting to be discovered.

The first half of Whisper Of The Heart is truly magical, a meandering fairy tale where wonder abounds at every corner.  The film’s main character, Shizuku, is a young girl preparing for high school.  A bookworm and songwriter, she has decided to read as many books as possible during her vacation while also translating various songs into Japanese for her friends.  Thumbing through one of her books, she sees that a boy named Seiji Amasawa had previously checked it out.  Recognizing the name from several other books she has read, Shizuku decides to discover more about this kindred spirit.

Shortly thereafter, she meets a mysterious cat on the train who leads her to a strange little shop full of knick-knacks and curios.  The shopowner, a grandfatherly man named Nishi, introduces her to Baron Humbert Von Jikkingen, a tall statue of a cat dressed in a suit, and whose emerald eyes come alive in the light.  The shop is also where she finally meets Seiji, and she discovers that the boy she found herself falling for is the last person she expected or wanted.

Soon after the two meet and share their feelings, the movie takes a subtle but noticeable turn.  As the first seeds of love sprout between the two, Seiji reveals that he’ll be leaving for Italy to pursue his dream of becoming a violinmaker.  Shizuku realizes that, unlike Seiji, she has no real ambitions or dreams of her own.  In fact, she’s isn’t really excited by her life at all; even the books she once loved don’t mean as much to her anymore.  Inspired by Seiji and determined to find her own path in life, Shizuku decides to write a novel about the Baron and his exploits.

At this point, the film takes a colder, more distant tone.  It took me awhile to realize it, but when Shizuku begins to work on her novel, things didn’t feel quite right.  At first, I almost felt like I was watching a different film.  But as it slowly dawned on me what was going on, I realized that this simple, heartfelt story had suddenly become a bit deeper and more complex.

Through her encounters with Seiji, Nishi, and the Baron, Shizuku has experienced some truly wonderful things.  These moments empower her, and she desperately tries to use them to inspire her story.  At first, things go smoothly, and Shizuku’s imagination runs wild as she begins her story.  This leads to one of the movie’s most awe-inspiring scenes, as Shizuku dreams of soaring with the Baron over a floating landscape reminiscent of Miyazaki’s Laputa (Castle In The Sky).

However, Shizuku is afraid that she won’t complete the story before Seiji arrives.  She constantly pushes herself, and begins slacking off in school and ignoring her family.  Worst of all, she begins to doubt herself.  She worries that she isn’t a good writer, that her story will turn out to be a failure, as will she.  Her dreams become more troubled as her growing desperation threatens to snuff any inspiration.

I realize that the story I’ve described may not sound all that dramatic on paper, but watching it unfold onscreen is an entirely different matter.  When I first watched the movie, I had to pause it three times to take care of something else in the “real” world.  Each time I did so, it was a jarring experience, and I couldn’t wait to be drawn back into the film’s world.  It’s been said that, after reading Tolstoy’s novels, one felt as if they were returning to something paler and less true than the art itself.  Watching Studio Ghibli’s films, and Whisper Of The Heart in particular, I feel like I have some understanding of that sentiment.

It should be a bygone conclusion that any film produced by Studio Ghibli will be full of lush animation and visuals, but Whisper Of The Heart seems especially so.  Everything is rendered without compare, from the labyrinthine streets and crowded apartments that make up Shizuku’s world to the mysterious shop and the Baron’s fiery eyes.  While the designs of the characters themselves are somewhat plain (though still very expressive, especially Shizuku when she’s teased), the world they inhabit is as detailed as you can imagine, if not moreso.

Deftly interwoven throughout the scenery is Yuji Nomi’s beautiful score, which moves from lush string arrangements to quirky pop songs to delightful little jigs.  The music makes for one of my favorite scenes in the entire movie, as one of Shizuku’s compositions, a rendition of John Denver’s “Country Roads”, is brought to life.  It’s a delightful scene, if only to see Shizuku’s reaction when she realizes the beauty in her own creation.  As an added bonus, it sets up the cute scene where Shizuku finally realizes Seiji’s identity.

I was excited to watch Whisper Of The Heart, but I found it far more rewarding and relevant than I thought possible.  I think we all know what it’s like to experience magic in our lives, and to want to create a work worthy of such moments (you’re looking at one).  However, doubt and anxiety inevitably set in.  We stop listening to the work (to borrow a page from Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking On Water) and start focusing on our own perceived flaws and weaknesses.

Like Shizuku, we forget that it is not about us, but always about where the inspiration, the work itself takes us.  We become so intent on living up to our inspiration that we lose sight of it altogether.  What should be a joyful task becomes laborious, drab, and desperate.

Whisper Of The Heart is a gentle warning against such things, even as it reminds us that beauty remains everywhere, be it in something as special as a first love, as simple as singing a song, or as mundane as concrete roads.

It could be that The Blade (no, not Wesley Snipes’ tour de force) is Tsui Hark’s lost film.  I’ve known about it for years, read scattered reviews, and picked up info here and there.  After having seen it, I can say this… it’s definitely his most maddening, confusing, and disturbing (at least, of the ones I’ve seen).  It may also be his most intense, savage, and beautiful.  A retelling of the Shaw Brothers’ classic The One-Armed Swordsman, Tsui Hark takes the oldest of kung fu movie cliches—that is, avenging your murdered father—and distills it to its rawest essence.

The result is a highly stylized treatise on life and suffering, a surreal film where the ghosts of one’s past can be deadlier than any kung fu master and where honor and virtue are almost always swallowed up by violence and madness.

Hark wastes no time in preparing us for the brutality of his film’s world.  In one of the first scenes, a group of bandits trick a dog into stepping in a trap.  While it howls in pain and tries to get free, the men laugh in cruel joy.  It’s immediately reminiscent of The Wild Bunch, which opens with a group of children torturing a scorpion with ants before setting the whole bunch on fire.  Like Peckinpah, Hark’s world is far darker and dirtier than normally seen in other kung fu movies.  You can almost smell the sweat, filth, and grime that coat the film’s scenes.  No pristine Shaolin temples are anywhere to be found, and those with any shred of virtue are either killed or immediately forced into savagery to survive.

On (Man Cheuk Chiu, a.k.a. Vincent Zhao) and Iron Head (Moses Chan) work as apprentices at Sharp Foundry, which is renowned for its swords.  On is quiet and reserved, whereas Iron Head has a furious temper that often gets both of them in trouble.  Their relationship is strained by the antics of Ling, the foundry owner’s daughter (and also the film’s narrator).  Ling is determined to start a rivalry between the two men for her affections, and plays the two against eachother.  The announcement that On will be the foundry’s heir just worsens the situation between the two men.

Meanwhile, vicious bandits roam the countryside, terrorizing anyone they please.  Iron Head wants to use the foundry’s swords to put an end to the rampage, and knows that as the new master, On will be too passive and weak.  Then comes the revelation that On’s father was murdered by a mysterious and powerful swordsman.  On sets out to avenge his father’s death, with Ling in hot pursuit.  When the bandits capture Ling, On rescues her, but loses his right arm and gets thrown off a cliff in the process.

Presumed dead, On wakes up in the hut of a strange woman named Blackie (presumably because she’s that dirty).  His only link to the past is his father’s broken sword, which he buries when he realizes that, armless, he’s unable to carry out any vengeance.  Instead, he resolves to live in peace with Blackie.  But, as these things go, the bandits don’t stay away for too long.  After their house is burned down, Blackie finds a hidden book on martial arts.  On tries to learn from it, but instead develops an unorthodox style of fighting to compensate for his severed arm and shattered weapon.

Technically, the film follows the same plot cycle of most kung fu films.  It’s easy to map out the storyline within the first 10 minutes.  But within that structure, Hark inserts a sense of madness and pain, of lostness, that is almost palpable.  Rendered through Hark’s camera, The Blade‘s world is often nightmarish, especially when Hark lets loose with all of his little stylistic embellishments.  Hark’s camera is all over the place, disorienting the viewer and further cementing a sense of insanity.

The action lacks any sense of grace and finesse, but rather becomes swift and disturbing.  They lack the flair and flash (not to mention Jet Li) of the Once Upon A Time In China series and their realistic (and often clumsy and brutish) physicality is a complete 180 from the effects-laden Zu.  At times, the fights become unbearable to watch, not due to gore (though there is plenty of that), but by their sheer craziness.

The closest contemporary I can think of is Wong Kar-Wai’s surreal wuxia film, Ashes Of Time.  Both films mine similar subject matter; the subject of trying to live in peace with the past is a central theme.  On tries to deal with the knowledge of his father’s true past, and responds with vengeance and resourcefulness.  Ling must live with her ghosts, literally, as she grows increasingly unable to deal with the violence of the world around her and the weight of the lives she’s damaged.  Unfortunately, she’s not so successful.  The film’s final image, that of an older Ling living inside the abandoned foundry and imagining On and Iron Head’s visits with the help of opium may be the film’s most tragic shot.

The concept of violence begetting violence is another theme, as is the realization that sometimes those cycles cannot be broken, regardless of how much you long for a peaceful life.  In this regard, I’m also reminded of Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven, another film that takes a genre’s basic concepts and creates a signature film for said genre.  Not the most enjoyable or most successful, but one where a genre’s themes are seen in as raw and perfect a form as possible.

However, I hesitate at calling The Blade brilliant for no other reason than being unorthodox or challenging to the viewer.  However, I did feel like I was honestly watching something unique and special with this film.  Unlike some kung fu movies, The Blade is completely unswerving in its focus.  No comedic relief, no silly sidekicks, and no needless romanticism, flaws that often seem to plague otherwise great films.  For me, that shows a lot of confidence by the filmmaker in his subject matter.  It’s also an interesting counterpoint to the more commercially viable films that Hark has made, not to mention his work with Jean-Claude Van Damme.

Regardless of how unremitting the film gets at times, how violent and maddening it is much of the time, The Blade is a brutally honest and intense film.  Not the best film for a newbie, but for diehards, it offers something very fresh and insightful into our favorite of genres.

I don’t think that most people realize the impact that Bruce Lee had.  Oh sure, most people can identify him, and maybe even do a crappy imitation of his patented “ooooo” or quote a line of dialog.  But in the Asian world, Bruce Lee is pretty much the man.  His movies were a first for any Asian, becoming a cult figure in the West while still remaining fiercely loyal to his cultural heritage, working hard to integrate Asian thought and philosophy into his movies.  So it should really come as no surprise that recent years have seen a number of remakes, homages, and even parodies.

Some of these are absolutely brilliant, such as Jet Li’s Fist Of Legend, which is not only a fine homage to Lee, but also one of the finest martial arts films ever made.  Others, such as Sammo Hung’s Enter The Fat Dragon, are less so, an homage with tons of heart but still almost painful to watch.  Perhaps the most ambitious Lee homage was the 1995 TV series Fist Of Fury, a Chinese production that took Lee’s classic film and expanded it into 30 episodes, creating whole new storylines and characters and fleshing out the story of China’s struggle against Japanese invaders.

Now, I say “perhaps” because all I have to go on is this, a 2 hour slice n’ dice distillation of the series courtesy of Tai Seng, and a pretty poor one at that.  That became painfully clear as I watched the “Making Of” featurette included on the DVD.  Whole character arcs and backstories had been cut out, which explained why some characters just suddenly appeared in the movie, with little or no explanation, and yet noone else in the movie seemed to notice.  The movie’s entire pacing feels rushed, as if they’re trying to condense as much of the series as possible into 120 minutes, a futile attempt that becomes painfully obvious as the movie continues.  Rather than adding depth to the movie, the result is a slow, confusing mess that drags nearly every single minute.

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I guess I found it hard to call myself a fan of anime when I’d only seen bits and pieces of Neon Genesis Evangelion.  I’d rented an episode or two, read about it on various websites, and knew my brother raved about it, but that was it.  Unable to live with such hypocrisy, I snagged the “Perfect Collection” (all 26 episodes on 9 DVDs) as soon as it came out, hoping my investment would be worth it.  At first, I have to admit I was disappointed.  The animation was decent enough, the mecha designs were cool, and the premise seemed intriguing enough, but something was lacking.  Something that gradually revealed itself with each episode.

On the surface, Neon Genesis Evangelion seems like your typical “big robot” story, the kind that seems all too prevalent in anime.  Powerful aliens are threatening to destroy Mankind, with humanity’s only hope lying in a group of powerful robots operated by a group of 14 year-olds.  Man, where was this when I was in junior high?

Honestly, I felt like I was watching “Power Rangers” at times.  A giant alien descends, completely obliterating everything in its path.  However, in the end, some predictable gambit or last-ditch miracle would save the day.  About 10 episodes into the series, I was getting pretty disappointed and wondering how Best Buy handled DVD returns.

The basic storyline is this: in 2000 AD, the “Second Impact” occurred in Antarctica.  Supposedly caused by a meteor strike, it wiped out nearly half of the world’s population and throws the world into chaos.  However, the year 2015 finds life restored to some degree of normalcy.  That is, until mysterious creatures called “Angels” begin to attack.  The only weapon against the Angels are the Evangelions, massive robots that can only be piloted by a select group of children born 9 months after the “Second Impact”.  Overseeing the Evangelions is the agency known as “NERV”, a top-secret group that seems to have an agenda all its own concerning the Angels, the Evangelions, and their pilots.

Thrust into this is Shinji Ikari, a troubled child whose father, Gendo Ikari, just happens to be NERV’s commander.  Shy and awkward, he has a serious complex towards Gendo, who abandoned him at an early age for NERV.  At first, Shinji recoils from his father and the agency, but an Angel attack forces Shinji into action.

And for awhile, the series seems preoccupied with showing one Angel attack after another, with little rhyme or reason.  Mysterious terms are thrown about (“Human Instrumentality Project”), obscure religious references (the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Magi) become major plot points, and disturbing clues concerning the Evangelions’ true natures are revealed.  As the series continues, all of these begin to gel, especially in the second half.  Soon the storyline’s true depth comes out, though it remains as mysterious as the Angels and NERV’s true aims.

Neon Genesis Evangelion‘s real strength lies in the characters, in their relationships and flaws.  All of Neon Genesis Evangelion‘s characters are flawed, but none more so that Shinji.  As the series goes on, Shinji is explored in full detail, revealing an awkward young boy terrified of being alone, of what others will think of him.  This plays out in his relationship with his father (who only sees Shinji as a tool), his fellow pilots (who are either ambivalent to him or see him as a rival), and those he works with at NERV.

At first, this awkwardness is seemingly played for cheap laughs only.  One episode has Shinji and fellow pilot Asuka (Shinji’s fierce rival) forced to work together, with humorous results.  But watching these people, even the youngest, struggle with their growing inner demons keeps you glued to the storyline’s details.

It certainly doesn’t help matters that Shinji and the other Evangelion pilots are constantly bombarded by combat with a deadly force.  The series goes into great detail exploring the effect that the battles have on these children, physically and emotionally.  It can be a very riveting, disturbing, and emotional experience.

One sequence stands out in my mind, as Shinji’s Evangelion is taken from his control and forced to destroy another Evangelion.  Unbeknownst to Shinji, it’s piloted by one of his few friends, a fact he doesn’t find out until after the fact.  It’s a powerful, moving sequence, as Shinji begs his father to stop, to no avail.  When Shinji finds out the truth, the sense of hurt and betrayal is tangible.

As the series nears the end, you wonder how they’re going to wrap everything up.  How they resolve all of these mysterious subplots that, until now, have remained footnotes, mentioned briefly in early episodes.  Just what is the “Human Instrumentality Project”?  Just what is the purpose of the Angel’s attacks?  What is the true nature of the Evangelions?  What are NERV’s true aims?  It seems like the series is headed towards one final climactic battle, a final showdown between NERV and the Angels.  And hopefully, answers to all of the questions, not to mention fitting resolutions for Shinji and the others.

While there is a final confrontation, it’s probably not the kind you’re expecting.  There will probably be a fair amount of head scratching during the last two episodes, which consist of a blurry montage of psychological and metaphysical images and themes.  There’s an unexpected ending, but one that strangely feels more satisfying and touching in its resolution than any action-packed showdown.  It also opens up some interesting possibilities, not for sequels, but for closure.

So… was it worth the hard-earned money I spent?  In a word, yes.  It lives up to the hype, to the mythology, to the press that surrounds it.  Neon Genesis Evangelion is controversial, action-packed, muddled, exciting, confusing, and maybe even profound in a way that most anime you see isn’t.  But that’s probably why it’s been touted as one of the most important anime series ever.  Not because of the animation (which is good), or the mecha designs (which are pretty cool), but because of an engrossing storyline.  A storyline that must be seen from beginning to end to truly appreciate the characters, references, depth, and resolution.  Its sum is truly more than its parts, it will stick with you long after the final credits roll, and you will want to put aside a few days to watch it all over again.

Not too long ago, I read that Jackie Chan and Jet Li were going to work on a movie together sometime in the near future.  Now, if you’re as big a kung fu movie nut as myself, that’s a dream come true.  Granted, something like that could turn out to be really bad, but it does get the imagination all fired up, doesn’t it?  The two make fairly different kinds of movies - Jackie’s more comedy-oriented, whereas Jet’s more focused on the butt-kicking - but needless to say, I’ll be in the theatre whenever it finally arrives.  However, there’s one thing that I can foresee sabotaging this fanboy’s dream come true, and that’s High Risk.

You see, High Risk is nothing more than a parody (perhaps skewering is the more accurate term) of the kind of movies that Jackie makes, and also of the character that Jackie often plays.  Oh, to be sure, it has its moments where I was doubled over in laughter at the silliness of it all.  If you’re at all familiar with kung fu movies, you’ll recognize all of the jabs.  Nothing is safe from Wong Jing (New Legend Of Shaolin, Naked Killer), and at times you wonder how much of it is in fun, and how much of it is savage satire.

Kit Lee (Li) is a soldier turned bodyguard for Frankie Lone (Cheung), the biggest action star around.  Unfortunately, Lone’s been resting on his laurels lately.  He spends all of his time chasing women and getting drunk, and his kung fu abilities are slipping.  It’s so bad that Lee has to stand in for him during stunts.  Of course, this can’t be made public, since everyone believes Lone does his own stunts.  If they find out otherwise, he’ll be disgraced.  However, when a snoopy reporter (Yau) starts tailing Lone, his secret’s in danger of getting out.

Jackie Cheung rules in this movie.  Lone’s a buffoon, lecher, and coward, and Cheung goes completely over the top with the role.  He even manages to pull off a lot of Chan’s little quirks and facial expressions.  And he doesn’t stop at Chan; a lot of his character is also a parody/satire of Bruce Lee, especially during the fight scenes.  Just listen for the Bruce-like whoops and taunts.  In fact, you’ll probably get a bigger thrill from watching Lone get in and out of precarious situations than from any of the action scenes.

But back to the movie… Lone gets invited to a celebrity gala event, a showing of the Russian Crown Jewels, at a plush hotel.  He shows up (wearing blue jeans, of course) and proceeds to start chasing girls.  The reporter is there as well, hoping to get more evidence of Lone’s fraud.  During the middle of the event, a group of terrorists arrive, intent on stealing the jewels.  Lee realizes that their leader is the same man responsible for the deaths of his wife and son, a man he knows by voice only, and he charges to the rescue.  Unfortunately, he must also keep Lone safe from the terrorists, as well as a man who is convinced that he must fight Lone to prove his abilities.

If you’ve seen Die Hard, you’ve seen much of High Risk.  Many of the hotel scenes feel eerily reminiscent of John McClane’s adventure, just with a crazy kung fu twist.  And I suppose that should be one argument against High Risk.  So much of it feels lifted from other movies.  But that’s really all part of the fun.  Yeah, it steals a lot, but at the same, it pokes fun at everything it steals.  Sometimes, it gets a little mean-spirited, but whenever I think of Lone’s little antics, I have a good laugh.  Watching Lone try to hide from the terrorists, while still trying to bed pretty women, is worth the price of the rental alone.  And his final battle manages to beat Chan at his own game, as common items become deadly weapons (or visual gags) and Lone rediscovers his kung fu abilities.

Just don’t take anything too seriously, and you’ll have a blast watching this one.  That goes for you too Jackie.

Now hurry up and make that movie!