I was fortunate to come across this book while browsing through the film section of a local usede bookstore. Being a fan of Asian cinema, I try to obtain as many texts as possible to expand my knowledge of the subject, and this seemed like a nice reference to have in my personal library.

Essentially it’s a collection of 24 essays written by different film scholars and critics, each on a specific film – obviously – from either Japan or Korea. Some of the essays are more informative, analyzing a film in the context of historical or political events, while some are more like personal reflections.

The unfortunate thing about the book is its decision to choose only so many films to represent two countries who both have a wide enough array of films that each should have been given its own book, in my opinion. Still, the selection is a refreshing change of pace when compared to other Asian cinema books that tend to look at films most people in America are already familiar with; naturally they include Kurosawa, but they chose to look at Stray Dog, one of his noir films, as opposed to something so overly discussed like Seven Samurai.

The nicest thing about having this book is that it’ll make you want to go out and watch every single film talked about, if anything so you’ll understand it more. If you’re not the type to do that sort of thing, move along. It’s not meant as an introduction to Japanese or Korean cinema; it’s more like a glance at specific films that serve as examples.

For some reason I had a hard time sitting through this film in its entirety. Instead of watching the entire two hours in one go, I spread it out over a few days, watching maybe forty minutes each time. It’s not because it was a bad movie or even that it was uninteresting; there’s something about the way it’s done, I guess.

Mabel Cheung’s visual style is interesting. There’s a lot of manipulation of time and space, giving the film a rather appropriate music video quality, which is meshed early on with documentary style interviews with the protagonists. It easily compliments the slightly jaded story.

Ultimately though, the film is somewhat inconsistant. It was a bit predictable after awhile, and towards the end it felt like thye kind of gave up on maintaining the rather suave style of the early scenes; the same goes for the documentary segments, which really make it hard to get to know the other major characters.

Still, Beijing Rocks is a classy film that tackles issues like the difference between mainlanders and those from Hong Kong, as well as the restrictive nature of Chinese society when it comes to the arts. Worth watching, but you have to be somewhat patient, because the film feels a bit like it’s on A.D.D.

If you’re not already familiar with the basic story of Journey to the West, check out the Wikipedia page for it. It’s a classic staple of Chinese literature, and Arthur Waley’s translation is quite entertaining and accessible for even those that have never read a single piece of Chinese literature before.

That being said, Waley only translates about 30 out of 100 total chapters of Journey, but the ones he chooses are some of the good ones from what my Chinese literature professor said. He does leave out some other important chapters, but Monkey as it is stands up on its own well enough, and it’ll entice you enough to seek out one of the full translations.

If you’ve ever been interested in reading the original novel and don’t actually know Chinese, this is probably the best copy to start with.

Admittedly, I’ve never listened to Tom Waits’ material before. So saying that, the biggest problem with this album is that the music isn’t suited for Scarlett Johansson’s particular vocal style (or vice versa, depending on your preference). The only song I actually liked was the one that was composed specifically for this album.

It’s a shame though. I don’t think Johansson’s a bad singer. Far from it, actually. It’s just that she needs music that is actually flattering for her to sing, as opposed to making her voice sound even lower pitch.

While Suicide Club is one of the more creepy and interesting contemporary Japanese films I’ve seen recently, it also failed to meet my expectations as a whole. On the one hand it’s shot really well, with a ton of hand-held camera movements and long takes, with a plot that straddles the line between traditional Japanese horror and detective mystery, but on the other hand the real message is lost somewhere in the second half of the film. It’s as if after nearly reaching the summit of a mountain the film decides to throw all logic and sense off a cliff – a fitting metaphor for a movie commenting on the disturbingly real problem of suicide in Japan. Apparently the sequel doesn’t really fill in the gaps either, which is unfortunate.

Sure, you can argue that the open-ended nature of the film leaves everything purely up to the audience, but when you spend practically the entire film leading up to something – come on, you mean those creepy kids had nothing to do with anything? – you can’t just stop all of a sudden and say, “Figure it out yourself!”.

Overall I just feel kind of let down. I’d heard so much about Suicide Club and it turned out to be pretty bleh.

Personally I always like to see the work of contemporary Chinese authors being published here in America. It just goes to show that our mainstream society is, slowly but surely, becoming slightly more open to multiculturalism. That being said, it’s also ironic that the first translated work by Yan Lianke to make it here comes from a UK publisher and is a huge critique on China’s Communist government. In fact, the book itself was banned in China, which is something that a lot of pro-Tibet/anti-Maoist people probably went ga-ga over. But, whatever. I didn’t read this for the politics.

Serve the People! in its own right is a well-written novel, utilizing some interesting conventions and presenting the reader with a dramatic love story set during the height of the Communist revolution in China. While it is a critique of the Communist regime’s effect on the people, most notably the army, the story is also an introspective look at the individual.

While an enjoyable read, the novel is incredibly short and ends pretty abruptly. Don’t let the page length fool you; the margins and font are way bigger than they need to be, which means you could probably finish it in one sitting if you’re a fast reader. I would’ve liked to have seen a bit … well, more. I mean, it’s not as if the story feels incomplete, it’s just too short to make it that memorable.

I’m hoping more of Yan’s novels are translated in the near future, as he seems to be quite a prolific author in China, but I do hope publishers pick up something other than political commentaries. Enough with the politics.

I don’t mean to sound racist, but this is pretty much a revival of the standard Hollywood Orientalist affair. You have to give the filmmakers props for actually forming a movie around such a classic story like Journey to the West, but at the same time it totally makes a mockery of it to anyone who actually knows the story.

On the positive, The Forbidden Kingdom has some great action – as usual – from Yuen Woo-Ping, Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and Colin Chou. The fight sequences are all done well, though in typical Hollywood fashion (flashy movements, quick cuts, occasional slow-motion), and come at a pretty leisurely pace to keep your attention. Unfortunately, that’s all I really liked about the film.

My biggest gripe has to be the story. First off, if you’re billing this as a Jackie Chan/Jet Li film, why include such a meaningless character like the white kid? He has no place in a movie like this, and the whole narrative built around him somehow being in ancient China is staggering and reminiscent of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III – which was also a pretty stupid idea. And the fact that he turns out to be the hero of the whole film seems ridiculous. Don’t even get me started on the whole Tripitaka thing.

Another problem was the language, as usual. Somehow, the major Chinese characters all know how to speak accented English, making them sound incredibly stiff and fake. As much as I love seeing Jackie Chan and Jet Li getting a break by being in an American film, they sound terrible in this. And by far Colin Chou was the worst. Of course, none of this is their fault; if the average American moviegoer was willing to read subtitles then we could skip the whole fiasco (which probably would’ve meant the white kid could’ve been left out too).

As a fan of real Asian cinema The Forbidden Kingdom is actually pretty cringe-worthy. Instead of creating a nice hybridity between Asian cinema and Hollywood, Hollywood instead finds a way to stamp a dominant ideology onto the film. And pretty blatantly too. Definitely not a movie I’d want to watch again, though I’m sure most regular moviegoers won’t see a single thing wrong with this.

Sigh.

I really dug this collection of stories. Most of them feel just as complete as his novels, mainly due to the amount of characterization Chandler manages to fit into such short tales. And every story has the typical kind of Chandler touch, with bullets, broads, and booze at every turn of the page.

One of the problems though is that sometimes it can be hard to tell them apart because of the similarities. Every protagonist is some sort of ‘dick’, every female lead feels similar, and such. Still, it seems to be what Chandler does, and it’s hard to fault him for sticking to his style.

A good collection to pick up as an introduction to this great writer.

Very different film for Stephen Chow. Unlike some of his previous films (i.e. Shaolin Soccer, God of Cookery), CJ7 is more of a kids’ film. While the film has a strong sci-fi element to it, Chow retains his usual style of over-the-top comedy and martial arts parody, making references to some of his other films.

Overall it’s a very fun movie to watch, though it’s probably not the same type of martial arts comedy you’d expect from Stephen Chow. Still, give it a chance and you might just find yourself enjoying it.

Not really sure why people seem to like this. I was kind of expecting more from a film adaptation of a Stephen King novel, but Cujo just disappointed me. It’s not really scary, and it’s way more misleading than you’d think, based on the summary.

I can see how a killer dog would be scary, in the same way Jaws makes a great white shark even scarier than it already is, but the effects in Cujo are almost kind of laughable in an almost B-movie kind of way, and the story seems to focus more on family troubles than Cujo himself. Feels like a Tarantino film in that sense – you get a bunch of useless banter to build character for the majority of the movie until you get to the flashy parts.

Might make you more scared of big dogs than you already are, but it won’t really keep you up late at night like some other horror films.