A Film a Week - The Last Goze

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

“Goze” is a term that stands for a woman, usually, but not necessarily blind, who works as a travelling musician and singer. The tradition dates at least back to the Edo period, and it was present in the rural areas from Kyushu island in the south to Yamagata and Fukushima prefectures in the north. It was active well into the second half of the 20^th century when the last professional goze Haru Kobayashi retired from her work in 1978. “The Last Goze”, directed by Masaharu Takizawa, is a biopic about her, and too bad it is not a good movie.

The movie follows her from her birth, through her childhood and goze training and apprenticeships with different mentors, in the early adulthood and the beginning of her career as an independent artist, guild member and group leader. It starts with a warning printed on the screen, stating that the harsh language and actions are merely the reflection of the state of things back in the day, and it actually comes pretty handy.

Haru was born blind in the year of 1900, which was just the first tragedy in her life. She lost her father early on and she was raised by her grandparents. Back then, visual impairment was a severe limitation even to the women born in higher classes, so becoming a goze was pretty much her only option to make a living. In order to do so, she had to endure a strict training both at home, where her mother Tome (Hiroko Nakajima) undertook the role of an “ogre mother”, forcing little Haru (Non Kawakita) to learn sewing, to carry heavy burden and to walk almost barefoot in the cold, and on tour with her abusive first mentor, Madam Fuji (Shin Togashi). The things got a bit easier later on as she grew up (Miyu Yoshimoto takes up the role of Haru in her late teens and early adulthood) was picked up by the second mentor, Madam Sawa (Ayako Kobayashi), but the life of a goze is never an easy one, since a travelling musician has to endure a lot of hardships on the road, and also by the hands of the competition.

Largely all the problems in the film come from the script written by Takizawa with the help by Arei Kato and Isao Shiina. Firstly, the fact that it focuses only on Haru’s early age is a grave mistake, making it too reliant on the well-known clichés about the Japanese traditions and the life in rural parts of the before the WWII and before the modernization. In fact, Haru had an interesting life full of hardships also in her adulthood and old age (she lived to the age of 105, dying in the year of 2005, achieving the status of the national treasure before that), but the dying out of the tradition, which should be a central topic in the film about the last goze, is never addressed.

On top of that, their script is marred with the rigid dialogues, which results in rigid, declamatory and theatrical line delivery by the cast, and the over-abundant use of the narrator makes it feel like a literary adaptation, when it is, in fact, based on the semi-factual, semi-legendary, but actually well-known and publicized “wikipedian” bits and pieces from Haru’s life. Not everything that went in the acting department could be attributed to the script, some of it is the director’s fault. Takazawa does his best to mask the script’s faults by using the wider shots as much as possible, but the troubles become painfully visible in close-ups: being blind is not the same as having the eyes closed, which is the thing what the cast members playing the blind characters do most of the time.

Certainly, “The Last Goze” was seen as an important project aimed at preserving a piece of now-lost tradition. The appearance of the famous actors like Hiroyuki Watanabe, Ken Tanaka and others in bit roles signals it loudly. Some saving grace could be found in detailed production and costume design, as well as the use of the period-appropriate props, and generally in technical components like cinematography handled by Hideo Sasaki and Moritada Iju that shines especially in the open spaces, and the editing by Satoru Shiraishi that tries to establish some sense of rhythm in something very linear and flat-lined, but when the basis is crooked, there is not much to be done. Too bad.

A Film a Week - Toma

 previously published on Cineuropa

For audiences of a certain age in the former Yugoslavia, there is no need to introduce Toma Zdravković, since he was a famous public figure – a true bohemian and a singer of Serbian folk music. Although he died of prostate cancer 30 years ago, many still remember his sad songs about the disappointments and the lack of happiness in love, and the anecdotes from his colourful life, like his passion for cigarettes, booze and gambling. His biography would seem an ideal topic to make a film about, so it was a tad odd that a biopic based on it had not been made yet.

This mistake has now been rectified by Dragan Bjelogrlić (both of the Montevideo movies and the regional hit TV series Black Sun) and Zoran Lisinac (the 2013 Michael Madsen vehicle Along the Roadside). The world premiere of Toma is a fitting choice to close the Sarajevo Film Festival in multiple open-air locations, bearing in mind that the protagonist was also quite popular in Bosnia and Herzegovina, but the film’s chances of being distributed outside the Western Balkans region are slim.

The plot of Toma unfolds on two parallel tracks. The first covers the last few months of his life, from his collapse after a concert in Belgrade until his death at the time of the fall of Yugoslavia in 1991. The key relationship during that part is the one with the doctor played by Petar Benčina, and while the doctor tries to cure Toma’s body, Toma heals his soul. The second story covers the period of over 30 years in which we see Zdravković’s rise from humble beginnings in the town of Leskovac to national fame and fortune, as well as his subsequent succumbing to vices owing to unfulfilled romantic desires and the inherent sadness in his soul that he sang about. The main points in his life are covered there, but the core of the story is a melodramatic subplot involving his unfulfilled romance with fellow folk singer Silvana (Tamara Dragićević), for whom he wrote his best song.

Milan Marić (of Dovlatov fame) plays Zdravković both as a young man and as an old man, concentrating on nailing the “aura” of the character, despite the physical dissimilarities. He does a commendable job, with the only misstep being that his speaking voice is simply not the voice of an elderly man. As for his primary acting partners, Benčina is slightly wooden in his line delivery, while Tamara Dragićević channels the sexiness of a rising folk star with a hint of sadness in her soul. The other characters are usually types (Andrija Kuzmanović fares best playing the comic-relief provider, manager Drda), while some other well-known public figures are relegated to extended cameos, which will probably be corrected in the forthcoming series.

On a technical level, Toma is a decently made film, thanks to the detailed production design by Jovana Cvetković and Jelena Sopić, and the retro-stylish cinematography by Goran Volarević. The plentiful use of Željko Joksimović’s score makes Toma almost (but not exactly) a musical, and some of the connections between Zdravković’s songs and the main points in his life are just too obvious, while the metaphorical connection of the singer’s death to the collapse of the country is simply far-fetched. There is also a problem with numerous plot elements being presented but not quite fully developed, and the over-reliance on melodrama makes Toma even more of a tearjerker than Zdravković’s songs, but this self-proclaimed impressionist portrait of a well-known figure still opens up some new avenues for Serbian cinema.