Pan’s Labyrinth
Foreign films were once one of the most difficult to find, nearly on par with finding theaters that ran independent films. Now, with Netflix, YouTube and other digital technology, watching foreign films has become much easier to pursue in this day and age – yet still a large majority of the American public shirks away from them for various reasons, the most common being “I don’t want to watch and read subtitles.” And even if there is a dub, sometimes good old ethnocentrism is enough to deter a viewer from engaging in a non-American production.
Shaolin Soccer
I believe foreign films are essential to one’s moviegoing experience. To disregard them because they are non-American, non-English or from a different culture is to have a fallow understanding of rich cinema; this is nothing short of depriving oneself from a variety of experiences that will invariably supplement and enrich one’s appreciation for the narrative power of film that is both specific and universal. Otherwise, claiming that one is a cinephile without willing to see foreign films is unfounded and untrue (I say willing because circumstances often dictate what one is able to watch). Additionally, American productions have consistently ranked highest in worldwide box office gross; this is indicative of Hollywood’s domineering presence in the world, and how American productions are often at the forefront of popularity, both domestically and internationally. This is not to say American productions are thus less auteuristic, creative or original – all it means is that American films frequently receive the most notice on a domestic and global scale. Thus, it is all the more important to expand one’s horizons beyond the average American fare if one is to truly become a self-proclaimed cinephile.
The Lives of Others
When I speak of foreign films, I’m talking specifically about non-American and mostly non-English language films (I find this is appropriate since I grew up in the States, and am most familiar with American productions). The term “foreign film” is malleable, specifically defined by what one considers their home country and foreign countries to be. Speaking strictly from an American perspective, I believe foreign films have political, social, historical, cultural, and target audiences distinctly different than what the average American filmgoer expects. This definition also includes English films to an extent, but vaguely so since there are English films that may be accessible regardless of the cultural references they make. Here, I will attempt to discuss how one may consider and critique the foreign film holistically in order to appreciate it as much as possible. My analysis will somewhat segment into social, political, historical and cultural aspects of foreign films respectively, but it must be noted that these distinct aspects are not separate from one another, and oftentimes overlap. Here goes!
The Host
One of the first aspects is to consider the social-political differences that one may not pick up on while watching a foreign film. A recent South Korean film, The Host (괴물, Gwoemul – “Monster”), was one of the most financially and critically successful domestic films in South Korea to date: it’s hilarious, moving, and terrifying – all in one unique bundle. The tone shifted seamlessly from one to the next, a tragedy instantly transforming into a comedy, and vice versa in the next second. Underneath the drama and farce lies a deeply political charge that has historical and social significance to South Koreans: the premise is partly inspired a 2000 incident in which a U.S. military-hired Korean mortician dumped large amounts of formaldehyde down the drain; this added some antagonism against the United States, notwithstanding the environmental concerns raised. In the movie, this is the same reason for the genesis of the monster. The film also references the chemical Agent Orange, code name for the herbicides and defoliants used by the U.S. military in its herbicidal warfare during the Vietnam War; the movie’s equivalent is Agent Yellow, the chemical used by the American military to combat the monster in the final scenes. Additionally, Bong Joon-ho’s film satirizes the South Korean government as bureaucratic, inefficient and callous. The tone shifts could throw off the average viewer who didn’t understand this political and social context, but those who understood such a sentiment could easily appreciate Joon-ho’s idiosyncratic take on a classic monster genre.
Taare Zameen Par
Sometimes, to fully appreciate a foreign film, you need someone who can explain to you different details and the significance of such throughout the film. Such was the case a few months ago when I watched the 2007 Indian film, Taare Zameen Par (तारे ज़मीन पर, “Like Stars On Earth”) with a good Indian friend of mine. The story is about a young boy, Ishaan Awasthi, who is failing in school because unbeknownst to his family, classmates and schoolteachers, he struggles with dyslexia. His learning disability is unacknowledged by everyone, and only when he is sent to boarding school does a temporary art teacher, Ram Shankar Nikumbh (“Nikumbh Sir”), truly understand and empathize with Ishaan’s troubles and how much psychological and emotional pain the boy has endured.
During the viewing, my friend would occasionally interject (and sometimes pause the film for full explanations) different bits of information that I found interesting and enlightening: even though the film is as Bollywood as it gets, he noted that the songs (mostly Hindi) were unusually well integrated into the overall narrative, and even translated a few key lyrics that the subtitles didn’t capture; then there’s the classic Indian family that he pointed out, with the strict father and the nurturing mother; there’s also a scene where Ishaan is continuously smacked by his classmates in the hallway, who call him “stupid” over and over again, thus highlighting a significant cultural emphasis on intelligence; and most interesting of all (that I didn’t know prior) was that it is rare for anyone to speak 100% Hindi without any English words thrown in – and such was demonstrated by one of Ishaan’s teachers at his boarding school in one scene.
Even without my friend’s input I would’ve received Taare Zameen Par warmly; with this additional cultural knowledge throughout the film, I appreciated Aamir Khan’s film that much more, and am even more open to Indian Bollywood films thereon after (in fact, we’re both planning to watch the 2009 film 3 Idiots in the near future).
Departures
Sometimes foreign films require extra research post-viewing to completely understand what has happened on screen. Such was the case with my initial viewing of Departures (おくりびと, Okuribito), the 2008 film by Yōjirō Takita. I fell in love with the story, cinematography and music during my first viewing, which was with my family as well (both my mother and older brother had seen it prior, and he provided some quiet commentary throughout). The film had such a uniquely sad and remorseful quality that was not overwrought but simply human, and strangely healing at the same time. Most significant of all was that it tackles the idea of life and death, how we define life, and why a dead loved one’s body is so sacred (Viet Le has been in the process of writing a very, very long article on this – I will notify readers and link the article immediately once it is published. We’ve been discussing it for over three months and I look forward to its completion). After finishing the drama, I looked up some additional information about the film’s production, and learned some amazing things: for one, the film took ten years to make (and understandably too, since the topic is on one of the most taboo social subjects of Japan); actor Masahiro Motoki, who played the torn Daigo Kobayashi, learned the art of 納棺 nōkan, “encoffinment,” first hand from a mortician, and learned how to play cello for certain scenes of the movie. I’m still awestruck by director Takita’s sensitivity and his profound approach to such a taboo topic, and how incredibly humane and emotionally gripping the final film came out to be. Unsurprisingly, it won Japan’s top prestigious award of the year and the Oscar for Best Foreign Film in 2009 – and for good reason too.
The Scent of Green Papaya
Understanding the historical context can be invaluable to one’s foreign film experience. As a Vietnamese American, I can fully empathize and understand the context of films such as The Scent of Green Papaya (1993), Three Seasons (1999), and Journey from the Fall (2006) since they all deal with my cultural heritage that I strongly identify with; in talking about these films to others, I do my best not only to explain the film itself but why certain aspects have a significance to Vietnamese history and the Vietnamese community (i.e. human trafficking, reeducation camps, Thai pirates that raided escape boats, foreigners visiting Vietnam, French-occupied Vietnam, changing social, cultural and infrastructural tides, etc). Taking the time to research and read further on the historical context is, perhaps, crucial if one wants to understand why a film is so beloved and successful in its country of origin. For instance, The Secret of Kells draws lovingly from Irish history, and its aesthetic draws heavily from Celtic mythology; Robert Tan compiled a list and wrote a great analysis on the Irish roots of Kells, which I highly recommend for anyone who has seen Kells already (or is planning to and greatly enjoys history and mythology of any kind). Another great film for worthy of historical research is the 2006 German film, The Lives of Others (Das Leben deer Anderen), a fascinating look into the agents of Stasi in East Germany before the fall of the Berlin wall and German reunification 1989 (I need to re-watch the film – it’s been awhile, and a lot of details have been lost from my memory).
Lust, Caution
Cultural aspects are always a bit trickier to address when you don’t have someone explain and put things in perspective, and sometimes these aspects are lost in translation or simply can’t be translated at all. For instance, years ago I knew a girl who remarked she didn’t want to see Stephen Chow’s Shaolin Soccer (少林足球) because “it was too weird” despite my enthusiasm for its slapstick and over-the-top premise (in fact, she later added that she didn’t like the idea of “weird ass” kung fu being combined with soccer at all – the comedy and style was completely foreign to her). During my first viewing, I didn’t understand all of the jokes, as some were very distinctly Chinese (a good friend of mine told me later what the jokes were about, but even then I had trouble grasping the punchline). There was a similar problem with Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution (色，戒) in 2007 with American critics, most who concluded that it was a overdrawn espionage that was primarily about sex (some even said the acting was flat, which I completely disagree with). The same friend who enlightened me about Shaolin Soccer’s jokes described the film as “very Chinese,” and after my recent viewing of the film I can see why: the film feels very much like a novel, and relies heavily on the emotions that are not explicitly stated but subtly expressed with small gestures and glances – a style that is very much embedded in East Asian cultural normality, where we often do not say aloud but hint at and quietly understand the visceral nature of socializing.
Tekkon Kinkreet
Things getting lost in translation are inevitable, and the most profound are often the terms themselves. When the name of the Japanese anthology of Studio 4ºC’s short animated films was released in 2007, Genius Party, there was some backlash from some of the online community who believed the name was arrogant and pretentious; however, it turns out that the term “genius” is actually one of respect for those who do exceptional work, and by no means entails any sense of arrogance or pretension in the Japanese language. A similar problem occurred with the 2006 film Tekkon Kinkreet (鉄コン筋クリート Tekkon Kinkurīto, a child’s mispronunciation of “Tekkin Konkurito” – steel reinforced concrete), a Japanese animated film that relied heavily on wordplay and homonyms. A lot of the clever dialogue was untranslatable, and understandably it didn’t receive a wide English release outside of Japan since only those exceptionally familiar with Japanese culture and language would be able to fully understand the film beyond its premise.
The Triplets of Belleville
On a subtopic of cultural differences, I feel it’s important to address how differently many Americans perceive animated films to be than the rest of the world (as snarkily stated by Mr. Fox at the 2009 Academy Awards and demonstrated by Anne Hathaway’s comments about animated films during the 2007 Academy Awards – the second clip that I cannot find, unfortunately, but remember very distinctly since she was bouncing off of Steve Carrell during the announcement). Foremost, animated films are not a genre, and they are not exclusive to children; in fact, some of the best animated films have incredibly adult thematics, as demonstrated by Isao Takahata’s Grave of the Fireflies (火垂るの墓 Hotaru no Haka) in 1988, Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Paronnaud’s Persepolis in 2007 (I’ve read the book but have yet to see the film, which I heard is an amazing adaptation of an already amazing story) and Sylvain Chomet’s quirky 2003 film The Triplets of Belleville (Les Triplettes de Belleville). Most Americans commonly associate animated films to be pandering exclusively to children, much due to Disney’s tremendous legacy and domination of American animation for over 70 years; additionally, with the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences deeming the awards for animated features as “Best Animated Film,” it essentially reinforces the belief that animated films are completely separate from live-action films. This is a false assumption: live-action and animated films are not separate, and both are very capable of telling amazing and moving stories with their respective strengths and weaknesses. A further demonstration of such cultural differences would be to juxtapose Japan’s equivalent award ceremony to that of the American Oscars, which is the Japan Academy Prize (日本アカデミー賞 Nippon Akademī-shō), also known as the Japan/Japanese Academy Awards. For animated features, the Japan Academy Prize award is listed as “Best Animation of the Year,” which is a subtle but significant difference from the Oscar’s “Best Animated Picture” category; to say the least, the Japan Academy Prize treats animation as technical and artistic prize much in the same vein as “Best Cinematography,” and thus does not exclude animated features from a chance at the prestigious prize, “Picture of Year” (in fact, Hayao Miyazaki’s films Princess Mononoke (もののけ姫) and Spirited Away (千と千尋の神隠し）won this award in 1998 and 2002, respectively).
Paprika
But back to cultural differences, which can also entail a target audience that may not transfer over easily to another country by virtue of who the artist or work is. For instance, fans of Satoshi Kon would expect nothing less than the inane psychological madness and dazzling, unbounded dream sequences of his work, as demonstrated in one of his English wide releases Paprika (パプリカ) back in 2006; yet many American critics faulted the movie for this very reason, most who were unfamiliar with Kon’s filmography and work up until this point. A similar reaction happened with Shinichirō Watanabe’s 2001 film debut Cowboy Bebop: Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door (劇場版 カウボーイビバップ 天国の扉), which was essentially an extended and exceptionally well-animated episode of the hit and legendary anime series Cowboy Bebop (1998); yet again many American reviewers did not know of its origin or cultural significance, and simply regarded the movie as a practice in jazzy bebop stylization, and nothing else.
Antichrist
There are times, too, when cultural differences cause a major backlash when foreign films are released domestically. Take for instance the sweet and lovable Amélie (Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain) by Jean-Pierre Jeunet in 2001, which received an R rating from the MPAA due to a 15 second compilation of orgasms – I argue that this was an incredibly unfair rating (especially considering what other PG-13 films have gotten away with, i.e. Coyote Ugly) but alas, such is what the MPAA does when determining what “is” and what “isn’t” suitable for American audiences. Similarly, Lars von Trier’s 2009 film Antichrist was highly successful in Denmark, financially and critically so; yet at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival the film polarized critics, all acknowledging the artistic execution but ultimately divided on its substance and message. There was also the discussion about Miyazaki’s Ponyo not getting the nomination for “Best Animated Picture” despite its outstanding visuals and animation feat; I suppose it must have been a slight backlash from Disney being its sole marketer (a friend of mine commented she thought it was “a weird Disney attempt at doing anime,” which may be indicative of how the public felt) but there was also a distinct xenophobic aspect to the decision, especially considering that The Secret of Kells – which received no wide release prior to the Oscars – was nominated instead (please note I am not lambasting Kells; I believe it is a fine film that equally deserved that nomination as well as Ponyo). And then there was the heartwarming Taare Zameen Par that failed to get a Academy Award nomination in 2009 for “Best Foreign Film” despite being better received in India than Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire – a sentiment that I agree with full-heartedly – yet some stated it was too long and had too many songs to be worthy of consideration. In the end, sometimes you really don’t know how these things work out, and you just do the best you can to get over this kind of cultural backlash when you watch foreign films.
Treeless Mountain
Technical aspects are always fair game. Cinematography, composition, editing, special effects – the technical workings of film have an almost universal standard, and I believe firmly that these aspects have no distinct cultural root otherwise (as I’ve said before, visual composition is not distinctly Western or Eastern – the aesthetic and depiction of subjects are, but not the cinematographic fundamentals). For instance, a few weeks ago I watched a South Korean drama film called Treeless Mountain (나무없는 산, Namueopneun San) by newcomer So Yong Kim, released in 2008: it was a very sweet and moving story, and would’ve been a great film had it not suffered from one great flaw – the overuse of close-ups. Nearly every shot of the film was a close-up shot, and very rarely was there any establishing shot that put the scene and characters into context; in fact, at various points I got so fed up with the gross amounts of claustrophobic close-ups that I almost stopped watching entirely (I didn’t, but there were a few close calls). Another Netflix instant stream that I watched was the 2006 French film Tell No One (Ne le dis à personne), which was once of the best thrillers I’ve seen in a long while. Contrived? You bet. But that’s beyond the point of thrillers – what it did well was the directing, acting and editing, keeping you on the edge of your seat with twists and turns and gunshots until finally, the last trick – and then you’re relieved, but shaken from the amazing ride. The same could be said about the Zhang Yimou’s 2002 Chinese film Hero (英雄), which used a beautiful palette of distinct and contrasting colors as a function of the multiple tales told by the nameless warrior portrayed by Jet Li.
House of Flying Daggers
So how do we consider the story of a foreign film, knowing full well that there are cultural, social, historical and political forces behind the final product? Is it fair to judge the story on its own accord, based solely off your own experience? Are you self-aware of your own lack of understanding? If so, are you willing to acknowledge such and approach the film with a sense of cultural humility? Personally, I think that with a holistic understanding you gain a greater appreciation of a great story or one you may not quite comprehend upon first viewing (similar to reading the introduction of a book, which usually puts a lot of the content into perspective). There are times, though, where having a greater understanding may not salvage your foreign moviegoing experience: such is the instance I had with Yimou’s 2004 film House of Flying Daggers (十面埋伏), where despite the use of strong colors, graceful choreography and classic Asian theatrical drama I was ultimately turned off by the numerous plot twists that seemed far too contrived, more than what I’m willing to believe (this might be hypocritical on my part, considering it is a Wuxia film and invariably lends itself to fictitious representations by default, and theoretically I should appreciate it more for what it does well… but I digress).
Let the Right One In
There are times, though, when foreign films are just outstanding on their own accord, and that understanding cultural, social, political and historical context only makes the film greater in itself. My top three favorites at moment are: Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (El laberinto del fauno, “The Faun’s Labyrinth”) in 2006; Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (七人の侍) in 1954; and Tomas Alfredson’s Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) in 2008. Personally, I believe that these films are essentially stand-alone from the respective countries they were produced in: everything from the story, directing, acting, cinematography, editing and so on is masterfully done that supplementary information thereafter only enhances your experience of the narrative. I watched Seven Samurai years ago and knew very little about film or Japanese history, and still loved the film; now, with more knowledge years later, I understand what Kurosawa achieved in filmmaking, and it only reaffirms my respect for the man. The same goes for Pan’s Labyrinth, which I saw with a horrific and awestruck fascination when it was first released: I remember going in thinking that it would be a Tim Burton-esque fantasy story, only to watch and leave the theatre realizing experiencing a very, very classic fantasy story – the horror and gore elements all included. And now with my current reading of Grimm’s Fairy Tales I am able to appreciate del Toro’s vision even more so, and am still haunted by images of creatures like the Pale Man (still one of the most traumatizing scenes in my life thus far). And let’s not forget the strangely romantic Swedish film Let the Right One In, which raised some interesting questions as to one’s existence as a vampire (questions I further raised and addressed in a previous article); the film brought to light a lot of emotions that were odd when in conjunction with the horrific nature of vampires, but was nonetheless sweet, touching, and amazingly visceral.
Taking into account our own lack of understanding for any culture different from that of our own is essential if one is to fully appreciate a foreign film. There is a universality to narratives, as detailed by Joseph Campbell in The Hero with a Thousand Faces, but there is also a ethnocentric tendency that we must tame in pursuing a holistic critique, one that does not involve the “that’s bizarre!” or “why on earth would you do that?” typical of those lacking any sense of cultural humility.
Journey from the Fall
I have the benefit of understanding Asian culture, which is why I’m so familiar with East Asian cinema (if it isn’t already obvious from the list of foreign films I’ve mentioned). So whenever I talk about a Asian film I make the extra effort to communicate the knowledge I have, so as to do justice not only to the film but also to viewers who do not possess the same knowledge as I do. This does not detract away my appreciation of other foreign films not based in East Asian cinema – it only makes me account for my shortcomings even more, and to appreciate that there is a limit to my immediate understanding when I watch the reel play across the screen. I’m sure that in due time I’ll have added more foreign films to the list of “movies I’ve watched” thanks to the aid of Netflix, which has made foreign, independent, documentary and non-Hollywood films that much more accessible. Before, I didn’t have this luxury, and was dependent on what the local theatre was showing. Now that I am able to watch a greater diversity of films, I’ll be sure to keep my eyes open for anything that seems interesting and anything that has been heralded by “Great Movies” lists. So far, the list is thus (and in no particular order):
Tell No One
• The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (I’d like to read the book prior as well)
• The Funeral
• Horus: Prince of the Sun (太陽の王子 ホルスの大冒険)
• 3 Idiots
• Persepolis (I highly recommend reading the book)
• Waltz with Bashir
• Tokyo Sonata
• Akira Kurosawa’s entire filmography (I might as well marathon it – he’s that amazing)
• Tokyo!
• Big Man Japan
• Y tu mamá también
• The Class (I actually watched about a quarter of it so far – I’ll need to finish it when I get back from Vietnam. It also seems like the original autobiographical (?) book would be a great read as well)
• The Motorcycle Diaries
• Three… Extremes (I’m actually terrible when it comes to horror films, but I know I’ll eventually have to see extreme Asian horror – so why not this one?)
• Cache
• Belle de Jour (I actually watched this before, but would like to see this again in a different light)
• 8 ½
• 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days
• The 400 Blows
• Floating Weeds
• Tokyo Story
• Ugetsu
• Park Chan-wook’s Vengeance Trilogy (I’ve seen Oldboy, now I need see the other two)
• Thirst
• Antichrist (again, tackling one of my fears head-on and doing it with one of the most extreme examples… yikes)
• Nosferatu
• Metropolis
• Le Samouraï
• Life is Beautiful
• The White Ribbon
That’s all for now. Additionally, Allan Estrella has provided me with some very helpful links that provide some critique for some Asian films and dramas:
The Secret of Kells
• Critical reviews for Korean Dramas
• Critical reviews for Korean Films
• Mark Schilling, who reviews Japanese films and pop culture
If you have any suggestions for foreign films and/or criticism on foreign films, feel free to leave them in the comments or send me a email through the contact form. Cheers!
