In Criterion’s blu-ray release of Stalker, Geoff Dyer observes one of the greatest moments in cinema: the gradual change of sound as the train car passes into the Zone. Here, Tsukamoto channels the power of transformative cinema through a similar miracle. In its conclusion, our two main heroes, Goda and Chisato, run away from each other. The scene is comprised of many cuts back and forth between the characters as they run away from one another. But Tsukamoto’s (he’s also credited as cinematographer and editor) power lies in the evolution of this sequence of shots. At an imperceptible point, that may differ for each viewer, it begins to feel like they are running toward one another.
Tsukamoto’s films are verbs incarnate. His best works (think Tetsuo) command momentum and trajectory in a transcendent way. Even a minor work like Hiruko the Goblin features stunning cinematic motion. Unlike Tetsuo though, Bullet Ballet’s momentum is an illusion, adding to the prestige of this work. No better sequence captures this than a long series of shots showing Goda and Chisato walking and facing different directions. If you pay attention to their sequential orientation, you will see a holistic story of a dance in place.
Long ago, a friend remarked the movie La Haine highlighted the impact of a gun in a gunless society. Apparently, he’s never seen this. Where La Haine might ask, “What if there was a gun?” Bullet Ballet asks, “What if a man wanted a gun?” If you know me, it should be obvious which question I find more interesting. One is about an object or tool. One is about a man, or maybe about humans. I will always take human stories over object/event stories.
This is a major work.
In Criterion’s blu-ray release of Stalker, Geoff Dyer observes one of the greatest moments in cinema: the gradual change of sound as the train car passes into the Zone. Here, Tsukamoto channels the power of transformative cinema through a similar miracle. In its conclusion, our two main heroes, Goda and Chisato, run away from each other. The scene is comprised of many cuts back and forth between the characters as they run away from one another. But Tsukamoto’s (he’s also credited as cinematographer and editor) power lies in the evolution of this sequence of shots. At an imperceptible point, that may differ for each viewer, it begins to feel like they are running toward one another.
Tsukamoto’s films are verbs incarnate. His best works (think Tetsuo) command momentum and trajectory in a transcendent way. Even a minor work like Hiruko the Goblin features stunning cinematic motion. Unlike Tetsuo though, Bullet Ballet’s momentum is an illusion, adding to the prestige of this work. No better sequence captures this than a long series of shots showing Goda and Chisato walking and facing different directions. If you pay attention to their sequential orientation, you will see a holistic story of a dance in place.
Long ago, a friend remarked the movie La Haine highlighted the impact of a gun in a gunless society. Apparently, he’s never seen this. Where La Haine might ask, “What if there was a gun?” Bullet Ballet asks, “What if a man wanted a gun?” If you know me, it should be obvious which question I find more interesting. One is about an object or tool. One is about a man, or maybe about humans. I will always take human stories over object/event stories.
This is a major work.
