It was my first time to watch this film and I knew just from the first scene that it would not disappoint. I was immediately captured into the world of Shinkai Makoto’s beautifully crafted animations which showcased detailed images from many angles and perspectives and colourful aesthetics as well. Since the film was partly set in Tokyo, I couldn’t help but reminisce the last time I went to Tokyo and walked the same streets Mitsuha and Taki walked on. Aside from the scenery, the way the characters were designed shows how they weren’t overly detailed but yet, each character was distinctive. Overall, the animation largely contributed to bringing light to the story of the film. 

The film did an excellent job in evoking the emotions of its audience through the characters of Taki and Mitsuha. Their relationship could somehow be compared to that of a long distance one but more unconventional with the body switching kind of plot. As the film progresses, the audience gets to see the development of the characters especially, Mitsuha and Taki and how they forge that intangible connection after getting used to being in each others bodies. They both fall in love without realizing it — their innocence making the film all the more heartwarming. Through the notes they made for one another, it just shows how they were trying to make the other appreciate life more and try to help improve the others’ life in some way. One of my favorite scenes was when Taki, upon visiting Itomori, discovered that the Mitsuho he swapped bodies with was from three years in the past. It is from this scene onwards that everything begins to unfold. Earlier on in the film, Mitsuha’s grandmother talks about the concept of musubi and how everything they do is musubi — from tying thread to connecting people. It is a connection moving between people and objects in the world. But the film explored the concept of musubi in a deeper level, far more complex than concrete connections like the tying of Mistuha’s red string. Her red string symbolizes her relationship with Taki that despite the fact that they live in different time periods have different circumstances, they are still binded by that long red string — the red string of fate. 

To describe the film as a masterpiece still wouldn’t do it justice. It takes the audience on an emotionally engaging journey that is Mitsuho and Taki’s life and shows how two lovers can transcend time and space just to be with each other. The line “I feel like I’m always searching for something, someone.” which starts off the film tugs at our emotions since there are times when we too feel a sense of displacement in our lives that leaves us searching for something or someone. Aside from this, Makoto’s use of trains as a metaphor gives the idea of a hopeless and distant love. Just as how trains arrive and leave the station, Mitsuha and Taki’s love was fleeting too. The film ends with the two characters uttering the words “Your name is…” which gives the audience that assurance that everything worked out in the end while leaving it to their interpretation on what could happen next in Mitsuha and Taki’s future. 

I’m just glad I was finally able to watch Makoto Shinkai’s Kimi no Na wa (2016) for the first time after so long. As someone who loves anime and manga, I’ve only seen a handful of Japanese animated films – the bulk of them being the ones by Studio Ghibli. This was my first Shinkai film, and I’m happy to say that I found it very enjoyable. The art and animation were phenomenal, the voice acting was superb, and I loved the chemistry between the film’s two protagonists. It goes without saying that this might be one of the better films I’ve seen this year and I’m really glad I finally got to see it after all of my friends have been hyping it up for so long. Personally, I believe the film’s strongest suit was its use of destiny, and this can be seen most clearly through the recurring images of string, threads, and the diverging meteors representing the separation of Mitsuha and Taki’s bond.

An important aspect of the film was “Musubi” and musubi manifests as the red string of fate that ties Mitsuha and Taki together. This string is musubi, and musubi connects people. Musubi is also the flow of time, and this could possibly be about how Mitsuha and Taki are permanently bound together by this red thread, meaning that no matter where they go or how long it has been, they will always find themselves drawn to one another; this is because they are destined to be with each other. Perhaps this is why the body swapping began – for Mitsuha and Taki to be together, she must survive the meteor strike that devastated Itomori, and in order for her to survive, Taki must find a way to restore the link between himself and Mitsuha and warn her. Before, it was Mitsuha traveling forward into the future and living Taki’s life, and although Taki essentially did the same thing but in reverse, this time his actions could have a serious effect on the timeline.

Taki manages to restore the bond by drinking the kuchikamizake she left behind at the shrine, causing him to reawaken as Mitsuha on the day of the meteor strike. He warns her friends and the rest of the town before running off to meet with Mitsuha who is now inhabiting Taki’s present-day body. Although the two separate once more, Mitsuha is able to convince her father to gather everyone and get to safety, ultimately leading to the survival of Itomori’s residents. Mitsuha and Taki forget each other’s names and move on with their lives, but the red string of fate has not yet broken. Five years later, they reunite and ask for each other’s names – no matter how many times it takes, destiny will bring the two of them back together.

The film’s emphasis on destiny is what made the film so interesting. Originally, Mitsuha was meant to be dead. That was supposed to be her destiny. However, on the day before the meteor strike, she traveled to Tokyo with the intent to meet up with Taki without realizing that the Taki she knew lived three years in the future. By giving him her red ribbon, she essentially forged an inseverable tie with Taki and changed her own destiny. This is rather peculiar as Mitsuha unwittingly gave herself and the rest of the Itomori residents a shot at surviving what was meant to be their deaths in the first timeline by creating her own bond with Taki – a bond so strong that it transcended space, time, and even death.

Still, this raises another question. How and why exactly did the body swapping begin in the first place? It is established in the film that the women in the Miyamizu family – Mitsuha’s family – experience body swapping at some point in their lives, but because of the Great Fire of Mayuguro, all the documents that could have explained it have been destroyed. Mitsuha’s grandmother experienced it, but only sees them as dreams. This suggests that unlike Mitsuha and Taki, the two were not bound by the red string of fate; perhaps this is why their link was weak enough to get severed completely. It can be interpreted that the body swapping from past to present was a supernatural, precognitive series of happenings that helped predict when the meteor would strike so that all of Itomori could be saved. Seeing as the Miyamizu line was meant to end with Mitsuha and Yotsuha, it would make sense for the body swapping to happen right before their deaths so that they could at least find a way to survive before the meteor strike actually happened. Despite this, nothing is explicitly stated and this is all just speculation.

The ending of the film caught me off-guard. I half-expected the film to end with the two crossing each other on the bridge without acknowledging each other’s existence. I was ready to shout at the screen. Truth be told, I actually prefer that we don’t get to see what happens to Taki and Mitsuha after they ask for each other’s names. It’s perfect. It’s established that the two are destined to become lovers when they meet again, but the tension came from wondering how long it would take for the two to be reunited. Since the film ended with both of them in the same area, talking to one another, one can deduce that they’ve already sealed the deal – they’ve secured their happy ending. Why? Because the red string of fate has them tied together. They’re star-crossed lovers, after all, and it’s high time they were able to finally meet – or rather re-meet – one another. It was also great how the film was able to touch on Tessie and Sayaka’s future as a married couple, as well as Okudera’s and Tsukasa’s. All in all, the film ended on a much higher note than initially expected, and that makes it a total win for me. Kimi no Na wa was a film that tugged at the heartstrings like no other, and even though I didn’t cry, I was heavily invested into each and every one of the characters.

Orson Welle’s F for Fake (1975) was a little different compared to the rest of the films we’ve seen thus far. For starters, it was a rather unconventional documentary about art and authenticity though there was a keen focus on Elmyr de Hory, an infamous art forger who hid away in Ibiza. Despite this, there were other forgers present throughout the film, including Orson Welles himself. In terms of filmmaking, the way the documentary was structured allowed Welles to keep the audience’s attention without ever breaking it. Even though there are several things going on at the same time – Elmyr’s story, Irving’s story, Welles’ dialogue, the final plot with Oja – the way everything is paced and ordered flows so naturally that the audience can’t help but pay attention to whatever’s going on in the screen. This is probably what makes the final twenty or so minutes of the film so effective. I was so captivated by the story that I failed to realize that I’d already forgotten Welles’ words at the beginning of the documentary:

“During the next hour, everything you’ll hear from us is really true and based on solid facts.”

Orson Welles

Welles himself has to remind the audience that their “hour” already expired, and that everything that came after the hour was just made up nonsense. This was particularly interesting as I totally didn’t see it coming, even if I should have. The entire documentary was about deception and trickery – Welles stated it several times over the course of the film, yet he was still able to catch me off-guard. I’d like to think I wasn’t the only one who didn’t expect that but if I am, then I guess that’s on me.  

The documentary primarily focused on three different forgers: Elmyr de Hory, Clifford Irving, and Orson Welles – the director of this very same documentary. However, the film didn’t just focus on their backgrounds and accomplishments; it also focused on their philosophies and beliefs, and this becomes evident when we learn a lot about the sort of life de Hory lived and how he came to be the man he is now. We learn that de Hory was a deceptive, yet charismatic man who speaks little of his genuine past and instead tells tall tales such as how he came from a wealthy background when in truth, he was from the lower middle class. It made sense, given de Hory’s status as a wanted criminal. If he told everyone the truth, and nothing but the truth, then there’s no doubt that he would be discovered and arrested. I found de Hory to be a rather interesting person as he raised many valid points – points that made both Welles and the audience question the importance of authenticity in art. It was established that de Hory was a brilliant artist who could accurately capture the mindset of the painters whose work he forged, even calling them out for hesitating and stating that he could do better. He was arrogant, but he had the skills to back up his arrogance.

As for Irving’s deceptions, he wrote a bogus biography about the elusive and reclusive millionaire Howard Hughes. He did this by writing up a fake diary that was supposedly written by Hughes, and he used it as one of his primary sources of information for the biography. There’s an irony to it, for Irving himself wrote a book about Elmyr titled Fake in which he criticized the art forger despite being something a forger himself. Later in the documentary, Welles talked about his background as well, revealing how he used to lie his way into getting jobs and how one of his biggest successes as a media giant was through his fake radio broadcast The War of the Worlds (1938).

But what was the point of it all? Surely there was far more to this documentary than a mere coverage of Elmyr de Hory’s, Clifford Irving’s, and Orson Welle’s innumerable deceptions over the courses of their lives. I’d like to believe there was a message. What I got from the documentary was how the name of an author shouldn’t matter; instead, one must celebrate the art itself regardless of authenticity. A fake can be just as good, if not better, than the original piece. Picasso himself stated that art was a lie – a lie “that makes us realize the truth”. What this could possibly mean is that the art itself represents the lie; it is the thing that we see at the surface, but it is not the full picture – the full story that the artist wants to tell. In other words the art is simply the medium, but where does this leave the meaning? This is where the truth comes in. It can be interpreted that the truth Picasso speaks of is the point that the artist intended to make with their piece. In the case of F for Fake, one can guess that the entire point of the documentary was to show that there’s a lot more to art than the artist – that sometimes authenticity isn’t all that matters.

Lost Highway (1997) was my first David Lynch movie and I was beyond excited to to be able to finally see one. I’d heard so much about him but I never got around to watching any of his films. The next of his films on my list would definitely be Eraserhead (1977) followed by Mulholland Drive (2001), but of course, I digress. This entry is supposed to be about Lost Highway, after all, and I certainly did enjoy the film even if I didn’t fully understand it. In fact, I’m confident enough to say that it went way over my head, but at least it was an enjoyable two hours. Perhaps if I were to watch it again, it would all make sense. If I do find the time to go through it a second time then it’s very likely I’ll write a follow-up. As for now, this is all I’ve pieced together.

There was that one standout line of Fred’s, where he mentions that he prefers to remember things his own way rather than how they happened. It was a rather well-placed line that gets you thinking about how it’ll tie in to the rest of the film, and truth be told, it didn’t really click with me until after I’d heard another group do their discussion on the film – specifically with how it can be interpreted that Fred really did murder his wife Renee, and that the rest of the film was simply how he tried to justify it in his own mind. It makes sense if you really think about it. It’s established very early on that Fred and Renee are rather distant to one another, and it becomes even clearer when she chose to stay at home rather than watch him perform at the club – his career and his interests no longer appeal to her, and during Andy’s party she seemed to spend more time with him as opposed to her husband. Later, he gets arrested out of nowhere by the two police officers signed to monitor his house and they seemed very confident that Fred was the one who did it.

Similarly, much evidence seems to point to how Renee and Alice are indeed the same person, and the events that transpire throughout the film involving Pete are all fantasies or projections in Fred’s mind. It can be interpreted that Rene/Alice was having an affair with Dick Laurent, and that prompted Fred to kill him as well. Since it is also within the realm of possibility that Fred was projecting as Pete, it’s likely he was the one who killed Andy as well however he simply chose not to believe it. Not that I’ve committed murder or anything, but I would imagine most murderers would try their best to justify their actions by reshaping and rebuilding events in whatever way they see fit. Perhaps this is what Fred did. Perhaps this is how he justified his decision to murder three people. I’d once read that it would be a mistake to try and rationalize a David Lynch film, so maybe I might be grasping at non-existent straws. Another important clue could be the fact that towards the end, Pete spots a picture that has both Renee and Alice within the frame, however this picture transforms later and it’s revealed that Alice was never there – only Renee.

Now this leaves the Mystery Man. Just who is he, and what is he meant to represent in the film? He only appears a handful of times throughout the film, and when he does, it’s only in places where either Fred or Pete can see him. With that said, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that the Mystery Man might be a figment of their imagination – and that’s if Fred and Pete are two different people. It’s entirely possible that Pete doesn’t really exist, for he and Fred are one and the same. Perhaps the Mystery Man represents something within Fred – something that he doesn’t fully understand, or something he doesn’t want other people to realize him. What if the Mystery Man represented Fred’s darker, more twisted side that he tries to suppress but it ultimately gets the best of him, leading to the murders of Renee, Laurent, and Andy. This enigmatic figure might not even exist, and instead might serve as a way for Fred to try and justify the murders. This ties in to that one peculiar line of Fred’s, where he chooses to remember things how he remembered them as opposed to how they actually happened. It’s quite scary if one thinks about it – a person deluding himself and others into thinking that he’s nothing but an innocent husband who unwittingly found himself tangled with the likes of mystery men, passionate affairs, and inexplicable transformations. In truth, he killed three people and that’s just about it. No mystery men, no affairs; just cold-blooded murder.