Paprika: Is This The Real Life? Is This Just Fantasy?

Dreams are a tricky concept to explore and depict in the medium of film. When dreams become abstract, they can embody the way that we actually see dreams but we risk losing any connections to be made to the real world. The opposite is true of dreams that are too structured and concrete in their depictions because although the connection to reality may be evident, the poetic truths that arise from the abstract qualities of dreams will not be. The Japanese animated film Paprika (2006) deftly manages a balance of abstract and structured by drawing from many influences and genres. An obvious parallel to make with Paprika is Inception (2010), the Christopher Nolan mind-trip that mainly took place within dreams in the context of information thieves. That film utilized the concept of dream levels, where multiple dreams could occur within one dream. However, Paprika opts to go a different route by allowing those exploring dreams to travel to the dreams of other people, almost as if they are through through different universes/realities, which allow for more complex and intellectual concepts regarding dreams to come to fruition.

In this film, scientists have created a device called the DC Mini, which allows people to travel into their own dreams to explore them for psychological purposes. This gives Paprika an introspective tone as a film, as many of the events that occur are about going into oneself or another's self to realize fundamental truths about a person, whereas Inception was a film about gathering information from dreams. However, there is one crucial aspect of both films that are similar: The struggle to determine what is a dream and what is reality. In Inception, the main character Cobb's wife Mal loses her grasp regarding when she is in a dream and when she is in the real world. This ultimately leads to her suicide, as Mal believes that she is in a dream when she is in reality, so she dies so she can "wake up." Paprika has a similar concept as Dr. Shima becomes crazed upon using the DC Mini and jumps through a window, almost killing himself. The difference here is that there was no concrete belief that one realm was dreams and one realm was reality. They had become so muddled to Dr. Shima that he tried to escape this fear of not knowing, but could not, because if a person dies in a dream, they die in real life as well, revealed in the death of Dr. Osanai.

Paprika is able to accomplish being both infinitely labyrinthine by presenting a more complex take on Inception, but it is also able to be far more accessible due to the influences it takes from Japanese animation. Borrowing from Akira (1988) in terms of urban setting and complex ideas while also harnessing the bright, colorful visuals and elaborate, imaginative sound and design of Hayao Miyazaki films. This in many ways allows Paprika to emerge with the best of both worlds, and become a film worth noting for both fans of mind-bending science fiction and any fans of Japanese animated cinema from the last few decades. It's a film worth being awake for.

Metropolitan: When Austen Met Allen

Jane Austen and Woody Allen seem like an unlikely duo to be fused together in a cinematic rendering. However, Whit Stillman's 1990 film Metropolitan is no ordinary film. Taking the comedy-of-manners style and themes of class from Jane Austen novels, Metropolitan sets out to depict a specific group of people that no anticipated would ever get a movie about them made: The young urban debutantes in late 20th century New York. The film opens with the title card "Not so long ago," which immediately showcases the influence Austen had on Stillman. Austen novels are often commentaries on the desire for class among the young and the greedy, who lament that things are not how they once were. The key difference here being that the protagonists of Austen novels were often female, whereas the protagonist of Stillman's film is a Tom Townsend, a male Princeton student.

Stillman claims that much of the film is pulled from his own youth when he met up with high society university students while on Christmas break from Harvard University. This is where Woody Allen's influence on the film becomes apparent. Opting for a low-key, meandering style of cinematography to fit the pace that the story moves (much like a 70s'-80s' Allen film), Stillman lets the characters, acting, and dialogue speak for themselves with as little technical distraction as possible. Because Tom is, in many respects, Stillman's surrogate in Metropolitan, one would think he may lionize the character as a result of vanity. Again, this is where Stillman wisely takes a cue from Allen and goes the route of self-deprecation, albeit in a far more subdued way that fits his film perfectly. Tom claims to be different from the rest of the debutantes, but as the film progresses, the lines between Tom and the rest of the group become more and more blurred as Tom seems more and more hypocritical of their behavior. By combining the personal nature of the story as a result of his own experiences a la Woody Allen with the biting commentary of Austen on high society life, Whit Stillman makes Metropolitan into the rare film that stands out for both its uniqueness, but also its truth.

Puzzle Cinema

Some of the most complex and challenging storylines are those that revolve around the concept of time travel. Shane Caruth makes it almost impossible to keep up with Primer on the first watch. Even with guidance, timelines, and discussions, the film is difficult to grasp. What’s clear is that Aaron and Abe invent a device that functions as a time machine. Naturally, they try to use this discovery to their advantage and begin to exploit it. Wanting to stop a shooting at a party, the two repeatedly travel back and forth in time to gather the information they need to perform the scene. Along the way, they make mistakes with grave consequences and over-stress their bodies. But the audience is forced to draw connections throughout the film on its own. Caruth expects the viewer to spot their slip ups and understand the outcomes with practically no clues. To keep up, viewers have to keep a visual of the multiple timelines on their mind as they watch. Audiences, usually watching films for leisure, rarely expect to be asked of this much, and undoubtedly end up lost for the most part. The main thing that the film has to achieve, however, is to intrigue them enough to look further into it. There are countless discussions and websites on the internet of fanatics trying to fully understand the film. Debatably, this is the biggest success that a film can achieve -- making viewers care just enough to rewatch it.

A similar picture that comes to mind is the time travel animation, The Girl That Leapt Through Time by Momoru Hosoda. I was sent off to Ukraine for my 7th grade summer vacation to spend months on end with no internet or much television. The only entertainment I had was an mp4 file of this film on my new smartphone. It similarly tells the story of a girl who discovers time travel and attempts to alter her fate. Once discovering this power, she excitedly begins to overuse it, often to avoid uncomfortable situations or correct her faults. Like Aaron and Abe, she abuses this power, but her mistakes along the journey (which are vital to the story) are tricky to spot. I watched the film over and over again, noticing something new every time. Even by the end of summer, at which point I must have watched the movie over fifteen times, my understanding of the plotline wasn’t 100% complete. I obviously would have preferred to just watch a variety of movies or TV shows, or play video games, but I had fun immersing myself in investigating the complex puzzle of this film. Like The Girl That Leapt Through Time, Primer gives audiences an itch to solve its puzzle. With such a tight budget of $7,000, the film acts as a reminder that the brains behind cinema are much more valuable than the money.

Music as Medicine in God Help The Girl

God Help The Girl provided a fun, quirky glimpse of the origins of a band in the form of a musical. But while the melodies we hear are uplifting and cute, the subject matter is quite dark. Eve is introduced as a victim of severe anorexia with her only escape being music. This is nothing new in cinema. The contrast between the music heard and the situation on screen portrays denial and evokes melancholy. Seen that. The frequent musical break-outs propel the storyline and reveal characters’ emotions. Been done. Stuart Murdoch’s take on this concept is nowhere as powerful (or traumatizing) as that of Lars von Trier in Dancer in the Dark, nor is it politically significant like Bob Fosse’s in Cabaret. So what makes God Help The Girl stand out?

I am personally intrigued by the musical numbers because they are Eve’s only signs of hope. They aren’t used so much as hopeless calls for help like in Cabaret, or as sudden, dreary daydreams like in Dancer in the Dark. Music is actually what steers Eve in the right direction and gets her out of difficult times. It stands for something positive in her life and makes her happy. Rather than being a delusional escape from her problems, digging her further and further into denial of reality, it is essentially the solution. With her twee soundtrack, she captivates the viewers and makes them root for her. Every time the music plays and Eve, James, and Cassie begin to sing and dance, the viewer can actually sit back and enjoy the number instead of having to read into the underlying tragedies that it’s supposed to be pointing to. Hearing the songs, the audience can be reassured that Eve’s making progress and recovering from her depression as she uses music to express herself in good times and bad. In the "Musician, Please Take Heed" performance, when she begins the song with a sad tune, singing about her feelings of abandonment, the track quickly picks up in speed and takes an uplifting turn. She sings, "I pick the soundtrack with immaculate care; Such a lot rests upon it; My life upon a song; You don't know how much I need; Musician, please take heed." Here Eve suggests that music is the only thing that won't abandon her, so she might as well pick a good song. This philosophy of hers is what drives her out of her low points as she hits rock bottom time and time again. In the same song, she sings about her moment of relapse and how she gives into lust and takes a dose of hallucinogens to avoid dealing with her demons. We are shown a choreographed drug-deal and see Eve popping pills and drinking in bed with an unidentified girl. Although escapism and denial is very present in Eve's coping with her troubles, the songs themselves are completely sincere. Rather than being a distraction from what she had done, music acts as an outlet to her.

Eve forms a band and puts her talents to use, really doing something with her life, and that’s what the musical aspect of the film represents. It monitors her progress as she climbs out of the hole that she’s introduced in and gets her life together. Authentic and explicit positivity is nice to witness every once in a while, especially when accompanied by indie aesthetics and fantasies. Obviously, there have been uplifting musicals before, but the use of the musical genre to unravel the story of three hipster outcasts overcoming prevalent issues and making something of themselves is refreshing to me. Or maybe I just need to take a break from watching so many depressing movies.

Primer, or Inception? Blog Post #4

Primer is quite well the definition of a time traveling version of Inception. That sentence was complex, but so was Primer. In fact, I think the complexity of this film is what made it so genius. You can't just watch Primer by yourself and fully comprehend the plot, you need at least six full IB students around you to assist. 

The film, relatively short for a large scale plot, encapsulates an audience extremely well - it habilitates curiosity. I think that the film does very well for itself in terms of not running the plot out too much. It could've been very easy to have the real pair run into the future pair, but they drew it out as long as they could without sacrificing the integrity of a lower budget film. For example, when they go wait in the machines for 5/6 hours for the time to reset for the first time, the audience gets an odd feeling. With full attentiveness, the film is a bit hard to keep up with. Not small things, but large ideas in the film are complex and hidden. 

The UHB in IB

Whit Stillman’s Metropolitan seems to follow a crowd somewhat resemblant to Bethesda’s privileged youth. I’ve become used to getting caught in intellectual conversations, spending much of my time around IB students -- some of which are now Ivy League bound. Having been disciplined to speak on subjects like literature, society, politics, and philosophy, many of these people love to boast of their theories and share how much they know. Like the Urban Haute Bourgeoisie, they’re snobby and uptight at a distance, but, with a closer look, they appear to be just as clueless as anyone else. 

The group dynamic in the “Sally Fowler Rat Pack” shows a constant back and forth of insightful theories like games among the upper-class college students in Manhattan. But, although they have the capacity to involve themselves in worldly, “bigger picture” issues, it becomes clear that they lack self-awareness and are actually shielded from the real world. This unfortunate irony is present as Tom becomes more involved with the SFRP over winter break. As an outsider to the upper-class bubble, Tom is more in touch with personal values, which makes him more inclined to later pursue Audrey, the girl he cares for in the end. He stands out on most fronts -- he rents his tuxedo, lives in the Upper West Side of New York, walks home, and wears a raincoat instead of an expensive overcoat. Even his habit of reading book reviews in lieu of actual novels contributes to his “outside looking in” persona. While there is definitely depth to the other characters in the SFRP, their self-delusion makes them fade, along with their superficial relationships. It is only Charlie, who expresses his cynical worldviews throughout the film, that can join Tom in the revelation that genuine connections and friendships are what’s most valuable in life. 

Of course, the SFRP is only an exaggeration of the exclusive International Baccalaureate clique in BCC, but Stillman’s message remains relevant. Yes, intelligence is impressive and is something that everyone should strive for. But when it begins to overshadow basic human values, there’s nowhere to go but down.

Dreams vs. Reality in Paprika

Watching Paprika for the first time at a Japanese Film Festival when I was eight, I remember being baffled by the film's many elements of fantasy. Following an absurd scenario where a dream monitoring machine is stolen and exploited, the film shows the chaos that ensues as dreams leak into reality. It was disturbing, confusing, eerie, yet intriguing, and left me pondering the films for days after I walked out of the theater. Now, with further analysis and a closer look, Satoshi Kon's techniques to evoking this reaction from the typical movie goer become more evident.
The title scene of the film establishes Paprika as Dr.Chiba's alter ego, and reveals her fluid essence. As she rides her motorcycle, she projects herself onto the vehicles and objects around her, and then jumps back and forth between different mediums and realms like billboards and computer monitors. When the sun begins to rise, Paprika returns to the road, and, in a match cut, transforms into Dr.Chiba. This launches the film's major concept of two existing worlds in which the characters live.
To blur the line between dreams and waking life, Kon heavily relies on match cuts, which are often confusing to audiences. The film begins with a sequence linked together by disorienting graphic cuts, and disturbs the viewer with absurd scenes that Detective Konakawa finds himself in. It is only when he wakes up that the audience is explicitly told that what it was just shown was a dream. But as the film goes on, the dreams become less distinguishable from reality. When Dr.Chiba investigates the home of a missing colleague, she follows a hidden passage into an empty amusement park, where she spots an eerie "Ningyo" doll staring at her. Wanting to approach it, Chiba hops a fence, and in mid-air, the park vanishes and she finds herself hopping over the apartment's balcony fence instead, with her partner grabbing her at the last instance before she plummets to her death. Experiencing this, the audience is directly taken into the environment of the film through the confusion and paranoia that the careful juxtaposition of dreams and reality evokes.
Satoshi Kon skillfully presents contrasting ideas and images in his animation to place his viewers in the shoes of Paprika's characters (whether they like it or not). By the end of the film, themes from the dream world begin to all merge with reality, and such contrast -- sometimes drawn within the same frame -- grounds the viewers in the world of the film.