spoilers
It will take more than a few paragraphs to study Takeshi Kitano, and it will certainly take much more than an average movie-goer who just happens to have seen 7 out of the 10 films he directed up to Dolls (he acted in a lot more). Still, we can take a few paragraphs to try to look at Dolls to see where Kitano is going.
It's not too difficult to come up with a list of things that are so characteristic in Kitano's films. These can go from one extreme of his brand of abrupt (but not necessarily vicious) violence to the other extreme of subtle, unspoken tenderness. To some people, it could be Kitano's unique sense of humour, sometimes noire, sometimes innocently playful. Still others may be struck by his frequent use of shots of characters (in many cases played by himself) that remain absolutely still, with no facial expression whatsoever. There is also the consistent tone of tragedy. The list can go on and on.
Inasmuch as he has kept mostly to his unique style, Kitano has also tried things different, most noticeably in his 8th film, Kikujiro, a light-hearted story of the relatioship between a man who is a bit of a rascal and a boy, under the popular highway movie formula. Conspicuously missing the usual violence or tragic tone in Kitano's films, Kikujiro is mildly sentimental, with considerable satire on the central character played by himself and reflecting, some say, much of himself. While I think that Hana-bi (Fireworks) in the traditional Kitano genre is still his best work to-date, Kikujiro has had considerable success in trying something new and different. Dolls is a new attempt at the same thing. It is easy to agree that many of the traditional Kitano elements are no longer found in Dolls. It's harder to agree on what is new, and for what purpose.
People talk about Dolls as three stories. It is not entirely so, at least not in the sense of Amores Perrors (2000), a brilliant Mexican film in which a car accident is used to connect three beautifully interwoven stories that are well balanced. In Dolls, the main story of Sawako and Matsumoto dominates. The episode of the pop singer disgifured in a car accident is only a brief interlude. The third story, about the yakuza boss, has a little more background but is still too scanty to be considered a parallel story. The connections between the three stories are quite haphazard.
A frequently applied angle in looking at Dolls is its beautiful cinematography, simply in terms of Kitano's desire to show the natural beauty of Japan in the four seasons. That Kitano loves to shoot the beauty of the sea is well know to followers of his work. It is not unreasonable to assume that he has gone further in that direction to try to shoot a film of cinematography splendour. But I do not totally agree. While I won't go to the extent of saying that pursuit of aesthetics in Dolls is purely incidental, I think it's only a small part. I would even venture to say, although many would undoubtedly disagree, that these beautiful scenes were put in there as an afterthought. Without undermining the cinematography achievement in Dolls, I would say that such achievements are not particularly outstanding in comparison to many other films. For the best, one would still have to go back to the likes of David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia.
Also frequently mentioned is Dolls' obvious theme of absolute devotion. Such emotions in Doll, however, are one-dimensional. The pop fan's expression of devotion towards the disfigured idol will more likely bring a shudder than a sigh. The woman's weekly bento box for the yakuza boss may elicit for her some pity which, however, would be more for a mentally imbalanced person than for a devoted lover. Even Matsumoto's devotion to Sawako stemmed from his having gone astray in the first place. From Dolls, the audience does not get the depth and warmth of resonance as in Hana-bi, from detective Nishi's feeling towards his terminally ill wife and disabled partner.
One thing I particularly notice is the gradual evolution of Sawako's physical movement as the mystical journey progresses, from that of a disoriented mental patient to that of a Bunraku puppet. How deliberate this transformation is, I cannot tell. But this does seem consistent with the refrain of the Bunraku scene at the end, and the ultimate fate of the couple. The tragic end does follow Kitano's tradition but here at least is some joy in seeing Sawako's memory revived from being brought to the scene of her original wedding engagement with Matsumoto. The interpretation of the Bunraku metaphor, however, is left to the audiences' imagination.
Artists may not always on a conscious level be fully aware of what are the motivations and ultimate objectives of their creation. In the case of Dolls, it may well be that from a spontaneous inspiration by the Bunraku theatre, an idea gave birth to a project, and the film simply evolved as things moved along. After all, even Tolkien confessed that Lord of the Rings originated from a much humbler endeavour in a children's story The Hobbits, and "...the story grew in the telling", as he said.
Often quoted is Kitano's own remark that Dolls is his most violent film. The obvious interpretation of this is that while there is clearly less visual, graphic violence, the emotional violence in the name of devotion surpasses everything we have seen before in Kitano's films. But Kitano could be making this remark simply to provoke reactions, to initiate debates.
In conclusion, and also as a possible alternative summary line: Is there really a need to explain everything? Could we not see Dolls simply an another experiment of Kitano at creating something new and different?
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