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Tekkon Kinkreet 
2006 / Michael Arias > Tekkon Kinkreet paints a portrait of adolescence with the right pigments and shades, with beauty and sorrow, loneliness and anger all packed into tight spaces that refuse to go away once the credits roll. Arias and Studio 4°C's inventive style fits the bill perfectly, with its depiction of the fictional Treasure Town's grimy streets and the two youthful protagonists' parkour-style street running. But it's not just about how pretty it all is. The writing is superb, capturing brotherhood in a way that's neither sensationalist nor ideal. Violence and loyalty are two thematic elements that carry the film from beginning to end: The former as a medium of by which to prove the latter. It's got the kind of gutsiness that can provoke the imagination as well as the heart.
Lost in Translation 
2003 / Sofia Coppola > Coppola's sophomore effort has quite a few tangibles working for it: Impactful yet understated acting, a functional/moody location and a near-perfect mixture of ambience and rock for the soundtrack. But these only tell half of the story. The feel of it all—being alone in a city where your mind and body seems misplaced, not knowing if what tomorrow brings is worth waking up or going to bed for, wondering if the past you've lived is the past you've wanted to live—these are the intangibles that are undeniably infused into the self-analyzing experience that is Lost in Translation.
But I'd be lying if I said this was a perfect film: I find Scarlett Johansson's character to be weak, though part of it's because Bill Murray puts forth a subtle yet powerful performance portraying a man of such humanity that she comes off comparatively cookie-cutter. The pacing isn't always perfect, with hiccups that seem misplaced and solo scenes of Johansson that pale in comparison to those of Murray. And while I never really found the film to be racist by any means, the xenophobic viewpoints sometimes come off silly rather than calculated. But the point remains that Coppola, with the help of Brian Reitzell and Roger J. Manning Jr.'s effusive score, has concocted a mood piece of master quality that takes away our sense of vengeful cynicism and fills it with the kind of hope and bewilderment that both the young and the young at heart seek.
Strawberry Shortcakes
2006 / Hitoshi Yazaki > As a story of four women in the anonymous city of Tokyo, Strawberry Shortcakes paces itself like life, with a steady unraveling while interjecting jolts of reality. Yazaki's direction is meticulous and endearing, streamlining his own craft's sensitivity to the existence of the women he's portraying. By themselves, none of the stories are necessarily special, but rather simple slices of life with which the viewers should be able to find some sort of commonality. There are some balancing issues: For example, Akiyo the escort is a complex character and almost all her scenes yield something special for the viewer. But Chihiro, the office worker, is almost intentionally stereotypically girlish, to the point where you pity her instead of extending sympathy. Somehow, though, these balancing contradictions actually make the film more poignant with its ebbs and flows.
Vexille 
2007 / Fumihiko Sori > Filled with pedigree from animation legends, Vexille is one of the most astonishingly beautiful films to come out in its medium in recent memory. But as was the case with 2001's Final Fantasy debacle, the story just can't keep up with the visual feast. Fans of quality anime have become accustomed to plots that challenge the intellect while fusing in hardcore action. While we see loads of the latter here, only shades of the former appear in disappointment.
Always: Sunset on Third Street 
2005 / Takashi Yamazaki > Always may have been dominant in winning 12 of the 13 major Japanese Academy Awards in 2005, but its overly sentimental tone will hold it back from being a true classic. Set in the feel-good days of post-war Japan, the film's depiction of family life in Tokyo is charming and full of heart, but the script's overbearing emotion tends to undermine the sublime potential the characters themselves hold. Combined with the acting (which may be the strongest suit of the film and deserving of all its awards), Always ingeniously suckers you into tearjerker moments even if you could smell the set up a mile away—pretty impressive for a sterile, heavy-handed script.
Sakuran
2007 / Ninagawa Mika > Having been unable to watch more than 10 minutes of Memoirs of a Geisha, I delved into Sakuran with a level of skepticism. But Ninagawa's depiction of oiran lifestyle is a drastic difference in mood, style and enjoyment. (Of note is that oiran are high-class courtesans while geisha are usually considered entertainers. As it turns out, the rise of geisha led to the eventual decline of oiran culture.) Taking a cue from Marie Antoinette, the film's best attribute may be its successful mixing in of contemporary pop music within an Edo period setting. Otherwise, the pacing isn't half-bad, and there's something magnetic about Anna Tsuchiya's portrayal of Kiyoha that finds one glued to the screen. The story itself isn't particularly novel, but as it stands, it's a fine romantic drama on its own right.
Paprika
2006 / Satoshi Kon > Maybe the shine of pseudo-existential anime is new to America, but this has been done before (notably in Ghost in the Shell and Akira, but most recently in Satoshi's own Paranoia Agent). For all its beauty, I can't help but think that Paprika falls short in actually showing us something new. And because of that, I also can't really justify the complexity of the storyline and obtuseness of the conclusion. In Satoshi's oeuvre, Tokyo Godfathers still reigns supreme in my book.
Cure 
1997 / Kiyoshi Kurosawa > Visible horror is often forgettable. It's the creepy feeling that remains after the film is over that really drives home the chills. Unfortunately, most films fail at this and end up being filled with unnecessitated gore or overtly pretentious psychological mazes. Cure, however, connects with the inner-horror of every man and woman, filling us with a sense of paranoia that may very well stay with us at days on end. What's amazing, though, is that that feeling isn't necessarily "evil," as most horror would expect us to presume. It's simply a feeling that seems almost eye-opening and surprisingly natural.
Memories of Matsuko
2006 / Tetsuya Nakashima > Considering I couldn't bear more than 30 minutes of Tetsuya's Kamikaze Girls, imagine my surprise when I found Memories of Matsuko creeping up my mind months after having watched it. While it may be a ridiculous musical with an abrasive color palette, misplaced violence and oodles of sexual innuendo, it also ends up falling just short of being a masterpiece of human resilience.
Miki Nakatani's portrayal of Matsuko is one of the year's great performances, showing a wide emotional range while still successfully hitting every note. Her ability to be a chameleon is further complimented by Tetsuya's storyline of life's ironies and heartbreaks than span multiple occupations and decades, creating an epic of personal proportions. This is a story about one person, a very normal person who has dreams like the rest of us. And this is the story of one whose dreams don't come true in the fashion that was intended, but magically we find solace in the fact that life isn't dictated by those failed dreams.
The Bad Sleep Well
1960 / Akira Kurosawa > It's taken me quite a while to appreciate the power of Kurosawa's storytelling, but The Bad Sleep Well is one step closer to the nail on that coffin. Forget the fact that this is a Shakespearean adaptation (and note that knowing the story itself is of no consequence). What we have here is an elegantly crafted corporate revenge thriller that touches on multiple facets of capitalism as well as social construction. While there may be a leftist bias, thankfully the gravity of that bias is appropriate when the plot and setting are put in perspective.
Toshiro Mifune is as lean and mean as ever: No Seven Samurai-style overindulgence is necessary for him to convey his character's anger and compassion. The remainder of the cast each flower the pot to full bloom, notably Ko Nishimura's paranoid contract officer and Tatsuya Mihashi's loving brother. The cryptic and often jolly musical accompaniment is haunting, and the pacing slowly builds an emotional snowball within the viewer that enhances attachment. Too often we get bored and want the bad guy to win—but here, even though at times we question the protagonist's moral tactics, we stand by him and hope for the best.
The film is often forgotten among the annals of samurai flicks in Kurosawa's ouevre. But The Bad Sleep well is not simply about social relevance to today's society, but rather a sobering experience in expert storytelling. It lacks the gimmicks that drive most of today's films, and instead depends on human curiosity itself, an obvious yet underused technique. The wedding cake scene alone is worth the price of viewing.
Rashomon
1950 / Akira Kurosawa > No doubt that it's quite sad when such a revolutionary film does not age well: Rashomon's contrasting viewpoints and inquiries into the nature of truth was of great importance when the film had its initial release. But while it's important to respect the film for its place in the annals of history, it's bound to underwhelm the majority of viewers who've seen the same techniques further refined in a barrage of films over the past decade or two. Thus, it's important to not ask, "Is The Usual Suspects better?" but rather to focus on how it has improved upon the foundation originally laid by Kurosawa.
Sorry
2002 / Shin Togashi > In short, Sorry's portrayal of "first love" may be the finest of its kind ever put on celluloid. And no, this can't be compared with Romeo or Juliet or something equally as melodramatic. What we have here is a simple, beautiful but strong as ever tale of a boy who's just hit puberty falling head over heels for a girl who he randomly comes across at a pickle store. The film's comic and often childish, but that's fitting for our 12-year-old protagonist. Sorry matures as he does, step by step, by unwounding the mystery that is love.
Silent Hill
2006 / Christophe Gans > At the hands of the director of Brotherhood of the Wolf, I expected more: At the very least, I imagine, a level of depth that gives meaning to the film outside of its video game universe. The tone of the film evolves from abject horror early on to a psychological metaphor of oppression and injustice. And while that may be a brilliant wavelength to follow, the underlying foundation doesn't satisfy. Once I got past the so-called conventions of a proper film, however, the perverse beauty of the villains and their inversely gorgeous surroundings, together with a polished shine on the overall product, combine into a relatively memorable experience for an otherwise mediocre event.
Fear and Trembling
2003 / Alain Corneau > Set in the Tokyo of 1990, it's hard to grasp exactly how accurately Fear and Trembling represents the typical Japanese office atmosphere. One can argue, however, if that's even the point of the film: Maybe we shouldn't notice the relative stereotypes presented here in this story about a Japan-born Belgian woman who comes back to her birthland to work in a conglomerate.
Her experiences are comic and tragic, and her pitfalls in misunderstanding the way to climb up the social ladder keeps us interested. Minus the somewhat illogical lull that occurs in the middle, much of the storyline is entertaining and curiously thought provoking. It might be harder to digest at face value (especially when we have companies like Sony being headed by a British-American), but with a grain of salt, one can find definite enjoyment in this little gem.
Until the Lights Come Back
2005 / Takashi Minamoto > Until the Lights Come Back revolves around six couples on Christmas Eve, a night where unidentifiable debris from space renders the city of Tokyo without electricity. It is, in short, a smarter, more contemplative and considerably more identifiable take on Love Actually. While it lasts over two hours, the film is very well-paced and succeeds in building up several different characters without having to resort to absolute cliches. It's beautiful and subtle, and while the strings aren't blatantly visible, it does end up being somewhat formulaic. But even with such a mold, it leaves an impression of contentedness that is hard to find in film.
A Stranger of Mine
2005 / Kenji Uchida > Directors who utilize the one-story, multiple perspectives technique generally depend on the gimmick to drive the film. For a change, however, Uchida's A Stranger of Mine gives each storyline enough strength to carry the film on its own without having to resort to "other viewpoints" for support. It's not really a gimmick here, but rather a well-thought out method to preserve holistic continuity without disrupting each character's personal storyline. The end result is a charming film that utilizes loose Japanese stereotypes (i.e., the salaryman, the yakuza) as cornerstones in both keeping our attention as well as entertaining our curiosities.
Howl's Moving Castle
2004 / Hayao Miyazaki > I had high expectations for the next Miyazaki project after Spirited Away, which ranks as my favorite animated film of all time, and fortunately Howl's Moving Castle does not disappoint. Unfortunately, however, it fails to surpass the near perfection of its predecessor.
The strengths are all understandable: A decently complex, unpredictable storyline dealing with fastastic elements that get your inner child all worked up while wooing and pleasing your ADD-exceling, older self. The characters are imaginative, and the animation is vivid.
But the flaws, in the end, pull it back and make it ultimately less memorable than most of his other work. Much of the last third of the film felt rushed, the storyline often felt unclear and confusing, and it seems mostly that unless you know the story it's based on, there is too much left for interpretation that really shouldn't be. In theory, the only qualifying statement here is that Disney did an incredibly subpar job in coherently doing the English subs, and if that is true, it's a pity.
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