Rachel Bellwoar reviews the Nobuhiko Obayashi’s 80s Kadokawa Years box set…
When talking about Nobuhiko Obayashi (at least in the US) it’s almost a given that any conversation about his work will start by mentioning House (1977), and for good reason. House is a one-of-a-kind movie – a film that garners recognition – yet, given how long Obayashi worked as a director, his career shouldn’t be reduced to one film (even one as bonkers and creative as House).
Nobuhiko Obayashi’s 80s Kadokawa Years is a box set containing four of Obayashi’s films from the 80s that were also produced by Haruki Kadokawa. All of the Blu-Rays have English subtitles and are listed as region 2. It’s purely a case of the films being arranged chronologically, but it also doesn’t hurt that disc one starts with the most experimental film in the box set and then they gradually become more conventional. Obayashi tried his hand at many genres but this way fans looking for more films like House can acclimate themselves to his films that were more mundane and less fantastic.
School in the Crosshairs seems like your average school drama at first – almost idyllic. Yuka (Hiroko Yakushimaru) is both popular and the smartest girl in her class. She skips out of bed in the morning. Yuka’s school, meanwhile, is a little more eccentric – think Fame meets Xanadu – with students seen coasting to their desks on roller skates and an orientation where all of the athletic clubs have choreographed routines. Then, on the way home from school, Yuka discovers she has psychic powers when she saves a child from being hit by a truck (onscreen, these powers look like a green spiral).
Next time Yuka employs her abilities it’s much lower stakes – she helps her friend, Koji (Ryôichi Takayanagi), win his kendo match – but then a new girl (Masami Hasegawa) arrives at school and Yuka realizes she’s not the only one with superpowers and that, if she doesn’t intervene, her school will embrace fascism.
It’s a far cry from the idyllic drama the film started out as, but it’s a fun time and disc one has the best bonus features of the set. First there’s a select scene commentary with Yale professor, Aaron Gerow. At first, I was concerned that “select” would mean sitting through long moments of silence, but instead the scenes are condensed into a featurette that’s a little under 30 minutes long and has Gerow talking about how he met Obayashi, program films, Yakushimaru’s build up as a teen idol (hence all of the close-ups on her face), and Obayashi ‘s anti-war stance which comes through in a lot of his movies.
Then there’s a conversation (around 30 minutes long) between Gerow and Obayashi’s daughter, Chigumi Obayashi, who appears as one of the students in School in the Crosshairs. They focus on the four films contained in this box set as well as Chigumi Obayashi’s childhood (she grew up on film sets, not just as a spectator but as a member of the crew).
Lastly is a featurette I wish was included all the time called “Translation Notes” by Ragnar XIV (Owen Baron), which is basically like if you’ve ever watched a film with info text. In this case, the translation notes don’t run for the entire movie but it’s basically a subtitle track that provides some cultural context for the film and insight into how the English subtitle track was done (for example, phrases that were difficult to translate). It’s not long but answers questions viewers might not have thought to ask (like how tally marks are done in Japan – there’s a character that’s drawn instead of four lines with a slash).
The Girl Who Leapt Through Time adopts a much slower pace and relies on the promise of its title and time travel to hold viewers over. Those patient with it, though, will find a love story that aches due to Obayashi’s decision to prioritize character. If that means the time travel elements are subtle and only build up in the last third, the relationships are worth the wait and lack of rules for how time travel actually works.
When Kazuko (Tomoyo Harada) and her friends are assigned clean-up duty at school, Kazuko offers to finish by herself, only to fall unconscious. Kazuko is convinced there was another person in the lab when she fainted, but Goro (Toshinori Omi) and Kazuo (Ryōichi Takayanagi) – while not dismissive of her claims – didn’t see anyone.
While there is a love triangle of sorts at play, it’s not an angsty one. Mostly, Kazuko, Goro, and Kazuo are friends and while the lack of drama is almost startling, it’s not unpleasant. At one point Kazuko uses Goro’s handkerchief and offers to clean it for him – not an event that requires follow-up – yet Obayashi goes through the rigamarole of showing Kazuko return it, and it’s oddly charming.
While the ending is semi-undermined by a music video during the closing credits that squashes any lingering emotions, it’s a film that needs to be seen to the end before it can fully resonate. The main bonus feature on disc two is an archival interview with Obayashi who talks about filming in his hometown of Onomichi. At least the making-of story for the music video is interesting.
The Island Closest to Heaven begins with a flashback to Mari’s father (Yukihiro Takahashi), as he tells her about his dream to visit New Caledonia. Back in the present day, Mari’s father has died, and Mari (Tomoyo Harada) wants to make the trip herself. Despite only being 16, Mari’s mom (Kayo Matsuo) gives her permission, and the rest of the film is her solo search to figure out which of New Caledonia’s islands is the island closest to heaven.
There’s no time travel or superpowers in this movie, but Mari’s fearlessness is pretty uncanny, especially since she’s not the savviest of travelers. While another young woman (Maiko Ogawa) is introduced as a possible travel companion for Mari, nothing ever comes of it. Instead, Mari opts to explore the islands on her own and, in one of the films more nerve-wracking sequences, even goes to a casino with a much older man (Tôru Minegishi), who then takes her to watch the sunset in hopes of seeing a green line (this phenomenon also comes up in Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray). Luckily, it’s a case of see no evil, there is no evil… Not sure if that saying tracks in real life, and unfortunately, while Samm Deighan provides an overview of Obayashi’s career and looks at how Mari’s romance with a more age-appropriate Taro (Ryōichi Takayanagi) plays out compared to young love in Hollywood films, her commentary doesn’t touch on that sketchier relationship. Still, while The Island Closest to Heaven is pretty straightforward, there are a few surprises, like when Mari stays with a war widow (Nobuko Otowa), whose husband was killed on a submarine during WWII, and some class commentary regarding Mari being a tourist.
His Motorbike, Her Island is the outlier of the set. Like The Island Closest to Heaven, it doesn’t have any fantasy elements (though it is the film where Obayashi experiments with color the most, with the film constantly switching back and forth between color and black and white). It’s the only movie in this box set to feature a male protagonist. Also, while none of the (unofficial) couples in the other three movies so much as kiss, His Motorbike, Her Island sets itself apart as being more adult, with characters who have sex and occasional moments of nudity.
While the film jumps around in time at the start, the bottom line is Ko (Riki Takeuchi) is a music student in love with his motorbike (a little like Arnie Cunnigham and his car in Stephen King’s Christine) but who over the course of the movie dates two women: Fuyumi (Noriko Watanabe), who is happy to be a passenger, and Miiyo (Kiwako Harada), who wants to ride a motorbike herself. Instead of a love triangle, the film catches Ko at a moment of transition — his breakup with Fuyumi so he can date Miiyo. The most interesting part of the film, though, is that Obayashi shows Fuyumi thriving after the breakup and there’s never any danger of them getting back together.
Tom Mes’ commentary for His Motorbike, Her Island occasionally addresses what’s happening on screen and pairs well with the archival interview with Obayashi that’s included on disc four. The interview and the commentary cover a lot of the same territory, like Obayashi having to cut footage from His Motorbike, Her Island so that it could be screened as a double bill with Kadokawa’s Cabaret. but whereas Mes draws attention to Ko’s line about his dreams, “always [being] in monochrome,” Obayashi seems to credit his decision to switch between black and white and color on the film being a B-movie. Obayashi also talks about filming the nude scenes but according to Mes, Harada and some of Kadokawa’s other actresses went freelance after this movie and it sounds like a situation where an intimacy coordinator would’ve been helpful.
Nobuhiko Obayashi’s 80s Kadokawa Years is out on Blu-Ray from Third Window Films and comes with a booklet by Ren Scateni and Joseph Kime.
Rachel Bellwoar
