Three Short Reviews

Here are three short reviews I had written for Letterboxd that I wanted to share and archive. The films mentioned below (listed in chronological order) come from three different time periods, three different countries, and are in three different languages.

1. Stray Dog (1949)

Original title: Nora inu

Director: Akira Kurosawa

Writer: Ryûzô Kikushima | Akira Kurosawa

Country: Japan

There are some films that I try not to watch on my laptop because I feel I’d be doing them a disservice by not watching them on a big screen; Kurosawa’s films are among those. But I’ve been trying to tick off films from my watchlist lately, so I decided to watch Stray Dog last night - my first Kurosawa film. Well, now I know why he’s considered a master. There is so much energy in his filmmaking. Every frame is full of life and vigor, a vibrant documentation of post-war Tokyo reeling from devastation.

The story follows a rookie homicide detective who loses his service pistol while traveling on a crowded bus. He manages to spot the thief, runs after him, but fails to catch him. He feels ashamed and scared. He worries that the pistol might be used to harm someone, and that would be difficult for him to live with. He wants to find the pistol at all costs. You can see his repentance in every frame - desolation and guilt enveloping his mind. Mind you, this is a young man who fought in a war, a war he lost. His self-worth and pride are already in shambles. On top of that, his belongings were stolen while he was traveling back home, and now his pistol is gone. He must redeem himself.

With the help of senior officials, he starts tracking possible suspects and embarks on a journey to find the stolen pistol. The dialogue-free sequence in which he plunges into the poverty-stricken underbelly of Tokyo to track illegal gun sellers in the black market is absolutely mesmerizing. The screen presence of Mifune is electric. His feet are always on the move, his eyes darting constantly. Surrounding him is a Tokyo that represents the back alleys of Hell - filled with pain, vices, and hopelessness. As the movie progresses, events take sharper turns, and we witness an epic chase where time ticks with every bullet fired from the pistol.

I miss this kind of storytelling in modern cinema. It is so simple, yet so layered. Everything is set up perfectly, and you spend enough time with the characters to understand them and feel for them. The film presents certain ideas and explores different themes, but never at the cost of telling a good story. Everything is in harmony.

2. Lone Star (1996)

Director: John Sayles

Writer: John Sayles

Country: USA

Lone Star, in my opinion, is an underrated gem of American cinema. Sayles’s screenplay is a puzzle whose pieces are buried in memories and lore. Time does not seem to flow in a linear path here; rather, it overlaps with moments long gone. People exist among apparitions that quietly haunt the troubled border town of Texas. The only way to make sense of the present is by looking back at the past.

This is somewhat akin to Chinatown, but it is even more astonishing in the way it immerses itself in the history and politics of the place to inform the thoughts and actions of the characters. There is tension not only around the central mystery but also in what surrounds it. 

What I really like about this story is that even amid the barren harshness of it all, there is enough space for tenderness, like a bright red flower blossoming on a prickly dull cactus.

3. What Do We See When We Look at the Sky? (2021)

Original title: Ras vkhedavt, rodesac cas vukurebt?

Director: Aleksandre Koberidze

Writer: Aleksandre Koberidze

Country: Georgia

Georgian filmmaker Alexandre Koberidze’s understanding of the medium is so refreshing; and that is not only evident in his work, but also in the way he talks about it in his interviews. It is very easy to fall in love with his vision, his gaze - especially his gaze. The way he spots beauty in the nooks and corners of everyday life is something to cherish. What’s fascinating about this film is how he makes the medium his own to tell a story, and also to share his personal lamentations. There is something so endearing about the way he has crafted it to make it feel wholly unique and personal, both thematically and formally.

There are many things to like in this film, but my favourite is how well Koberidze captures the city of Kutaisi: its people, its streets, its parks, its stairs, its statues, its dogs, and even its local traditions. There is a quaintness about Kutaisi that makes the place so likeable, and so fitting for a fairy tale such as this film. Similar to any Edward Yang or early Hou Hsiao-Hsien film, this too feels personal.

Koberidze really knows how to make the banal beautiful. He implores the audience to find the magic in the mundane. And, like he hints in the end, it’s not impossible to find it.