Takeshi Kitano's 'Hana-Bi' is something of an oddity. True to his previous efforts as director, the film contains its fair share of shockingly-graphic violence, and yet at its heart lies a touching tale of love, loyalty and devotion. For the entire running time, Kitano (who, aside from directing, also wrote and starred in the film) treads a perilously fine line between the two thematic extremes; it is an intricate balancing act that, if attempted by a less-talented filmmaker, might very possibly have turned into a complete cinematic disaster. Nevertheless, the director manages to pinpoint this perfect centre of balance, and the clash of beauty and violence combines to create a jarring amalgamation of conflicting emotional responses. We, as the audience, as simultaneously repulsed and entranced; as a whole, 'Hana-bi' is one of the most beautiful film experiences of the last decade or so.
The title of the film itself acknowledges these opposing visual styles. Whilst the Japanese word 'Hanabi' translates to 'Fireworks' (the title under which it was released in the United States), the addition of the hyphen to the title ('Hana-bi') emphasises two individual components of the word, which translate respectively into "Fire" and "Flower," the collision of destruction and beauty/renewal. Much of the film concerns a cop named Yoshitaka Nishi (Kitano), who is forced to retire after a shooting on the job leaves his partner, Horibe (Ren Osugi), paralysed, alone and confined to a wheelchair. All the while, Nishi is still coming to terms with the impending loss of his wife, Miyuki (Kayoko Kishimoto), who is slowly dying from leukemia. As any grieving husband might do in such a situation, Nishi decides to quietly rob a bank, and he then uses most of the proceeds to fund a final loving family holiday for his ailing partner.
The scenes between Nishi and his wife are among the most touching I've ever witnessed. Miyuki has only two lines in the entire film, and so the couple spend most of their time in complete silence and quiet reflection, and yet you can truly sense the affection that they both have for each other. Their love is completely unspoken, and this makes it all the more touching when Miyuki does finally speak. Another touching character is Horibe, the loyal police force partner whose crippling injury leaves him alone and depressed. After attempting suicide, Horibe receives painting materials in the mail, and he commits his emotions to canvas, finally uncovering a reason for his continued existence (importantly, the artwork we see in the film was actually created by Kitano in 1994, after a near-fatal motorcycle accident). The film's phenomenally moving soundtrack was composed by renowned Japanese composer Joe Hisaishi, in his fourth collaboration with the director.
There are very few negative criticisms that can be said of 'Hana-bi.' One possible item is that the film's unusual flashback structure made some plot-points difficult to follow, and I'm still unsure of which cop's lonesome widow Nishi was in the habit of visiting. However, that's the only critique that springs straight to mind. All in all, 'Hana-bi' is a gloriously assorted blend of violence, love and gentle humour, and a first viewing is not likely to be forgotten in a hurry.
The title of the film itself acknowledges these opposing visual styles. Whilst the Japanese word 'Hanabi' translates to 'Fireworks' (the title under which it was released in the United States), the addition of the hyphen to the title ('Hana-bi') emphasises two individual components of the word, which translate respectively into "Fire" and "Flower," the collision of destruction and beauty/renewal. Much of the film concerns a cop named Yoshitaka Nishi (Kitano), who is forced to retire after a shooting on the job leaves his partner, Horibe (Ren Osugi), paralysed, alone and confined to a wheelchair. All the while, Nishi is still coming to terms with the impending loss of his wife, Miyuki (Kayoko Kishimoto), who is slowly dying from leukemia. As any grieving husband might do in such a situation, Nishi decides to quietly rob a bank, and he then uses most of the proceeds to fund a final loving family holiday for his ailing partner.
The scenes between Nishi and his wife are among the most touching I've ever witnessed. Miyuki has only two lines in the entire film, and so the couple spend most of their time in complete silence and quiet reflection, and yet you can truly sense the affection that they both have for each other. Their love is completely unspoken, and this makes it all the more touching when Miyuki does finally speak. Another touching character is Horibe, the loyal police force partner whose crippling injury leaves him alone and depressed. After attempting suicide, Horibe receives painting materials in the mail, and he commits his emotions to canvas, finally uncovering a reason for his continued existence (importantly, the artwork we see in the film was actually created by Kitano in 1994, after a near-fatal motorcycle accident). The film's phenomenally moving soundtrack was composed by renowned Japanese composer Joe Hisaishi, in his fourth collaboration with the director.
There are very few negative criticisms that can be said of 'Hana-bi.' One possible item is that the film's unusual flashback structure made some plot-points difficult to follow, and I'm still unsure of which cop's lonesome widow Nishi was in the habit of visiting. However, that's the only critique that springs straight to mind. All in all, 'Hana-bi' is a gloriously assorted blend of violence, love and gentle humour, and a first viewing is not likely to be forgotten in a hurry.