Cure (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 1997)

Koji Yakusho in Cure

Cast: Koji Yakusho, Masato Hagiwara, Tsuyoshi Ujiki, Anna Nakagawa, Misayo Haruki, Yoriko Doguchi,  Denden, Ren Osuji, Masahiro Toda, Toji Kawahigashi, Yukijiro Hotaru, Shun Nakayama. Screenplay: Kiyoshi Kurosawa. Cinematography: Tokusho Kikumura. Production design: Tomoyuki Maruo. Film editing: Kan Suzuki. Music: Gary Ashiya. 

The endings of horror movies typically don't provide a definite resolution of the plot, completely eliminating the cause of the horror, if only to leave things open for a sequel. Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Cure is no exception: The ending is a kind of blink-and-you'll-miss-it, except that even if you don't blink it's still enigmatic. That's not because Kurosawa has a sequel in mind, but that he wants you to stay as unsettled as you've been throughout the movie. The title is ironic: There's no cure for the "disease" the film has shown us because the dark drives that afflict the characters and the motiveless crimes they commit may be endemic, part of the nature of being human, submerged until something triggers them. Kenichi Takabe (Koji Yakusho) is a police detective in charge of investigating a series of strange murders in which ordinary, even respected people -- a teacher, a doctor, a policeman -- kill people and leave an X slashed across their chests. In some cases, the victim is close to the killer and in others they're random. Eventually, Takabe discovers that the one link between the killers is that they all came in contact with a very eccentric young man who at first claims to be suffering from amnesia. Takabe discovers that his name is Kunio Mamiya (Masato Hagiwara), and that he's a former student of psychology with a special interest in the 18th century physician Franz Mesmer, a controversial figure in the use of hypnotism to treat patients. Is Mamiya, whose manner is infuriatingly passive-aggressive, responsible for the psychotic breaks of the unlikely killers? It's a conventional horror-movie plot treated in a brilliantly unconventional way by Kurosawa, who perhaps in his own way hypnotizes the viewer into a persistent sense of dread. The performances by Yakusho and Hagiwara are terrific.     

The Third Murder (Hirokazu Koreeda, 2017)

The Third Murder (Hirokazu Koreeda, 2017)

Cast: Masaharu Fukuyama, Koji Yakusho, Shinnosuke Mitsushima, Mikako Ichikawa, Izumi Matsuoka, Suzu Hirose, Isao Hashizume. Screenplay: Hirokazu Koreeda. Cinematography: Mikiya Takimoto. Production design: Yohei Taneda. Film editing: Hirokazu Koreeda. Music: Ludovico Einaudi.

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple." Oscar Wilde's pronouncement could stand as an epigraph for The Third Murder, which could be just a murder mystery in which the defense attorney, Shigemori, serves as detective as well, but tries to make serious points about the relationship between truth and justice. Shigemori is faced with defending Misumi, who has apparently committed his third murder. Moreover, his trial for the first two, a double murder, was presided over by Shigemori's father, who now feels that he was too lenient in not sentencing Misumi to death that time. Shigemori's defense of Misumi is also complicated by the fact that Misumi confessed to the killing. So it seems that the best Shigemori can do is to try to get the man sentenced to life imprisonment instead of death. Things begin to get complicated when Shigemori encounters Sakie, the daughter of Misumi's victim, at the site of the murder. She is the same age, 14, as Shigemori's own daughter, from whom he has been separated by divorce and by his addiction to his work. The growing relationship between lawyer and client is visually manifested in the gradual merging of their two faces, which are reflected in the glass panel that separates them in their conferences at the prison. Shigemori is drawn much deeper into the case than he expected, and the film becomes laden (if not overburdened) with revelations about why Misumi murdered Sakie's father -- if in fact he did. It's an absorbing story, even if it doesn't quite fulfill its intellectual and moral ambitions, and the film is strengthened by beautifully subtle performances by Masaharu Fukuyama as Shigemori and Koji Yakusho as Misumi.

Tampopo (Juzo Itami, 1985)

Nobuko Miyamoto and Tsutomu Yamazaki in Tampopo

Goro: Tsutomu Yamazaki
Tampopo: Nobuko Miyamoto
The Man in the White Suit: Koji Yakusho
Gun: Ken Watanabe
Pisuken: Rikiya Yasuoka
Shohei: Kinzo Sakura
Noodle-Making Master: Yoshi Kato
Rich Old Man: Hideji Otaki
Mistress of the Man in the White Suit: Fukumi Kuroda
Mistress of the Rich Old Man: Setsuko Shinoi

Director: Juzo Itami
Screenplay: Juzo Itami
Cinematography: Masaki Tamura
Production design: Takeo Kimura
Film editing: Akira Suzuki
Music: Kunihiko Hirai

I would like to experience bliss like that of the baby at its mother's breast at the end of Juzo Itami's Tampopo, oblivious to anything else but its food and its source. If Itami's charmingly satiric film is to be trusted, of course, that kind of bliss is available to us at any well-made meal. I say "well-made" because that's the process that forms the plot of the movie: the quest for the perfect bowl of broth and noodles. There weren't as many foodies around in 1985 as there are today, and Tampopo may be credited with awakening some who now dabble in gastronomy, not to mention the others like me who are voyeurs of the food-obsessed and the translation of cuisine into competitive sport on shows like Top Chef or Chopped. The recent death of Anthony Bourdain brought on a wave of mourning that used to be reserved for the passing of beloved movie stars. But Tampopo is not just a celebration of food and eating; it's also a survey of food as accessory to other pursuits, such as sex -- the interpolated scenes featuring the Man in the White Suit and his girlfriend -- and business -- the scene featuring the stodgy corporate honchos baffled by a French menu and one-upped by a lowly but savvy junior executive. Tampopo feels as alive as it did more than three decades ago.