Fantasia 2024 reviews: A chainsaw musical, Korean and Japanese thrillers and Yakuza grime

The Fantasia Film Festival continues till Aug. 4, bringing genre cinema to Montreal theatres at Concordia University’s downtown campus.

Confession

Confession lost me two thirds of the way through — there were moments prior to this where it verged on the implausible, but its third act deployment of an all too familiar trope elicited an audibly negative response from myself and much of the audience.

Confession starts out strong with two friends, Asai (Ikuta Toma) and (Rieu Yang Lk Jun), making their annual trek up a mountain in memory of their friend Nishida, who went missing 20 years prior and is presumed dead. They find themselves in dire straits with Ryu seriously injured and a life-threatening storm descending upon them. In this fatalistic moment, Ryu confesses to a major crime. Intent on survival, Asai manages to drag them to safety in a nearby cabin. Relief rapidly descends into mutual dismay as they are forced to confront the ramifications of the confession; a tense game of cat and mouse over who will survive consumes the remainder of the film.

Both performances are solid, although Toma in particular veers into overacting as the onscreen action becomes more outlandish. Director Yamashita Nobuhiro keeps the wheels turning. The movie gathers considerable momentum before being derailed by the aforementioned turn of events. After this, Confession more or less falls apart as it descends into a very choppy conclusion. The film is an adaptation of the manga series Kokuhaku: Confession, and while many key plot points are retained, or slightly modified, the manga is a stronger piece because it doesn’t move into the same outlandish territory that was decried by the Fantasia audience. As such, fans may find themselves disappointed by this adaptation. Those unfamiliar, however, may find it a helpful springboard to the original material. (KF & MC)

4PM

It’s better not to know yourself — this aphorism begins 4PM, the Korean absurdist comic thriller. It also serves as a summation of its fatalistic perspective on human relations, and as an attempt to answer the question of how you deal with flagrant, willful violations of social norms when the prospect of doing so means utter paralysis for those wishing to avoid outright conflict.

4PM begins with its protagonist, Jeong-In (Oh Dal-su), a philosophy professor, beginning a sabbatical that seems more like retirement. Setting off with his wife Hyeon-sook (Jang Young-nam), he is sideswiped by a drunk driver. His passive interaction with the offender (he politely lets him off the hook) and his wife’s frustration are harbingers of what’s to come. Once at their new country home, the couple immediately start relishing the cleaner air, forest trails and countryside, along with afternoon tea and meditation. This tranquility is disrupted by their neighbour, Yook-nam (the frighteningly taciturn Kim Hong-Pa). After Jeong-In leaves a written open invitation at his door, he begins his daily visits. Ever punctual, he arrives at 4 p.m. and departs two hours later. He makes no effort to converse with his hosts and offers terse monosyllabic replies to their questions. Any attempt to elicit a more complex reply goes unheeded.

Once the initial humour begins to wane, tensions rise as the couple butt heads over how to deal with their intruder. Hyeon-sook wishes to pursue logical options (going out, ignoring the door or dropping all pretence of politeness and simply telling him he’s unwelcome.) Jeong-in’s steadfast commitment to courtesy and his philosopher’s curiosity, a desire to understand Yook-nam, leads the couple deeper and deeper into despair as the visits become increasingly bizarre. 

Director Jay Song is no stranger to making thrillers, and 4PM is consistently compelling. It’s also a genre rarity in that the ending does not seem preordained — most of the way through, you really can’t tell where it’s headed. Some of its stylistic flourishes (such as time-lapse, slow motion, etc.) are a bit overworked, but a dreamlike suspension of disbelief is sustained throughout as you anxiously await the climax. This produces, however, a multitude of implausibilities that may only really occur to you after viewing; this includes things that would appear like glaring plot holes in a Hollywood version of this story, such as the absence of the police. Some of this may, of course, be chalked up to cultural differences.

It’s a tribute to the film that, immediately after watching it, I felt like going straight to the source novel by Belgian author Amelie Notomb to compare and contrast. Also worth noting is the fascination exerted by seeing the ferocious hero of Oldboy as the often maddeningly ineffectual male at the film’s centre. A big part of the excitement Oh Dal-su generates in the role comes from waiting for his inevitable angry eruption, as he, like many of us, suppresses his anger to avoid conflict. The beauty of 4PM is that even when it gives you what you want, it’s never quite how you expect it. (KF & MK)

Tatsumi

Tatsumi is a gritty, relentlessly downbeat Japanese crime drama. In contrast to some of the familiar yakuza titles like Tokyo Drifter and Sonatine, this film is not flashy or absurdist, nor is it exactly action-packed. Rather, it establishes a mournful tone from the start, with its hero Tatsumi roughing up his meth-addicted brother in a desperate attempt at toughlove. The brutality of this scene is typicaly of the film’s treatment of violence: up close and grimly realistic, with an emphasis on the physical and emotional pain inflicted.

Tatsumi (Endo Yuya) is a cleaner for a small-time crime gang. It’s his job to dispose of the bodies that are the collateral damage of business. Conflict arises when some of the meth supply is stolen by an associate, Yamaoka, and his young sister-in-law. She is a rebellious, streetwise mechanic named Aoi (a fiery Morita Kokoro), who everyone refers to as “the punk.” In retaliation, Yamaoka and Aoi are to be killed. Kyoko (Nanami), wife/sister, enlists her ex-boyfriend Tatsumi, much to his dismay, to protect Aoi. When Kyoko is killed after witnessing her husband’s murder, Aoi and Tatsumi find themselves bound together in a revenge plot. Tatsumi’s melancholy, self-contained disposition, plus simple fear, mitigate his desire to get involved. Of course, events very much force his hand.

Writer-director Hiroshi Shoji has created a fatalistic yakuza noir with a grimy palette reminiscent of the more depressive American crime movies of the 1970s, like The Friends of Eddie Coyle. Anchored by vital performances by Yuya, Kokoro, and a piercingly scary Tomoyuki Kuramoto as the slack-jawed psycho Ryuji, Tatsumi is not necessarily a fun time at the movies, but it’s grimly compelling. (KF & MK)

Chainsaws Were Singing

Chainsaws Were Singing is a bananas mashup of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and a Broadway operetta style musical. (The poster mentions Les Misérables but you might find yourself thinking of The Sound of Music, or any number of Rogers & Hammerstein epics.) Made over a 10-year period by Estonian filmmaker Sander Maran, the movie is a true labour of love. It’s the kind of gonzo DIY gorefest that can reaffirm your love of cinema like nothing else, and that’s before you get to the songs. All composed by Maran himself, they often reach true heights of delirium, especially juxtaposed with all the viscera.

The movie has a post-Tarantino structure of four overlapping stories with chapter headings and an epilogue, each focused on an individual character. This reinforces the overall freewheeling absurdism. Coupled with the musical numbers, it also adds considerable narrative weight to the proceedings. (The movie clocks in at a longish 117 mins, though it almost never lags.) At its core, the story is quite simple: star-crossed lovers Tom and Maria are attacked by a “fuckface with a chainsaw,” who kidnaps Maria. 

Tom chases after her with the aid of the relentlessly positive Jaan, and two very incompetent police officers. Maria ends up in the hands of a cannibalistic clan akin to Leatherface’s family. The gore is delightfully excessive throughout, and Maran sustains a hearty, self-mocking tone allowing absolutely nothing to be taken seriously. Monty Python and Trey Parker & Matt Stone are cited as influences, and it is to Maran’s credit how much he equals his inspirations. Despite Maran’s lack of musical training, his songs are remarkably catchy, to the point where you could see any number of them rivaling things like “The Bright Side of Life”  as future standards. 

The performers are game, to say the least, and are often inspired. Particular attention must be paid to Janno Puusepp as the likably dopey Jaan, Martin Ruus (a dead ringer for J.D. Vance!) as the sad-sack chainsaw killer and Rita Ratsepp as his mother, whose ferocious hatefulness carries much of the third act. When she’s on screen, the movie receives a welcome jolt of genuine horror, like that extra special ingredient that makes the stew. Maran’s Chainsaws Were Singing is a horror musical extravaganza for those who normally despise the latter form, one that might also appeal to more adventurous musical theatre people. To be seen with as big an audience as possible.  (KF & MK)

The Fantasia International Film Festival continues until Aug. 4. For the complete program and to buy tickets, please visit their website.

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