I had never heard of Shinoda or Double Suicide prior to enrolling in a Japanese literature and film class in college. The memory of watching it, though, remains with me. As I did when I first saw Chinatown or Greed or 2001, I sat there like a codfish, mouth open and catching flies. I had never seen anything like it, and I have not seen anything like it since.
The film is based on Chikamatsu's 18th-century bunraku play (a type of play that uses puppets and leaves the cloaked puppet masters in plain view of the audience) and offers a wonderful translation of that text and that style of theatre. That's correct, cloaked puppetmasters move about on screen along with the characters. This element and this element alone could have caused my love of this film to grow. It's a simple choice, really, but creates such depth to the story. In the traditional play, the puppetmasters were there because they had to be. In the film they become fate, guiding the actors through the world. It's a wonderful touch and an interesting concept.
The photography of the film is incredible as well, though; the stark black and white melding beautifully to the basic, raw emotions of the characters and the harsh view of love put forth by the film. The set design is mindblowing as well, with its over-sized woodblock prints of that era.
The film has a visceral impact on its audience, but it does so without overly manipulating one's emotions. If anything, the audience is kept at a distance from the characters and is therefore unable to feel anything sentimental for them. However, the film's bleakness is effective and affective, giving one the feeling, at the end, of having been punched in the guts. Granted, such a feeling is not for everyone, but I appreciate films that can affect me in such ways.
The film is based on Chikamatsu's 18th-century bunraku play (a type of play that uses puppets and leaves the cloaked puppet masters in plain view of the audience) and offers a wonderful translation of that text and that style of theatre. That's correct, cloaked puppetmasters move about on screen along with the characters. This element and this element alone could have caused my love of this film to grow. It's a simple choice, really, but creates such depth to the story. In the traditional play, the puppetmasters were there because they had to be. In the film they become fate, guiding the actors through the world. It's a wonderful touch and an interesting concept.
The photography of the film is incredible as well, though; the stark black and white melding beautifully to the basic, raw emotions of the characters and the harsh view of love put forth by the film. The set design is mindblowing as well, with its over-sized woodblock prints of that era.
The film has a visceral impact on its audience, but it does so without overly manipulating one's emotions. If anything, the audience is kept at a distance from the characters and is therefore unable to feel anything sentimental for them. However, the film's bleakness is effective and affective, giving one the feeling, at the end, of having been punched in the guts. Granted, such a feeling is not for everyone, but I appreciate films that can affect me in such ways.