THE WONDERFUL STORY OF HENRY SUGAR (2023)

Throughout his prolific career, Roald Dahl’s short fables for adults (which he wrote long before he gained fame as a children’s author) were noted for their macabre and misanthropic tone. Thus we come to Henry Sugar, published in the seventies, an uncharacteristically breezy, balming little gem with a rich tinge of magic. As such, it’s little wonder that Wes Anderson – no stranger to realm of Dahl adaptations – would select this matryoshka doll of a tale to be translated to the screen.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, the first of several Anderson helmed shorts taken from Dahl’s lesser-known stories (the others will be Poison, The Swan and The Ratcatcher), works wonders as both an Anderson project and a reworking of a distinctly Dahl text. With his inimitable visual style, gentle melancholia and deadpan wit, Mr. Anderson’s endearing little film is an elaborate amalgam of the lyrical, rhythmic and theatrical trickery of Ophüls and knowingly provocative Godardian self-referential playfulness. Like most of his filmography, Henry Sugar is sheer style over substance but the style is irresistibly sweet and sumptuous.

A HAUNTING IN VENICE (2023)

Visually A Haunting in Venice, the third pictorialisation of Agatha Christie’s eccentric sleuth by and starring Kenneth Branagh, is the most interesting thus far. This is in part a credit to the Venetian locale – which instantly recalls Roeg’s superb translation of Daphne Du Maurier’s Don’t Look Now (1973) – but also due to the assortment of camera trickery (fish-eye lenses, dutch tilts, extremely ominous close-ups). The added horror factor, though lukewarm and clichéd (those flickering candles and grey and grim clouds of thunder sure are convenient timed), also adds a certain panache when compared to the leisurely cases that M. Poirot indulged in previously, Murder on the Orient Express (2017) and Death on the Nile (2022). One only wishes that Mr. Branagh and co had doubled down on the creepiness and gone into full-blown Hammer territory. Alas.

No amount of fancy dressing and luxurious period décor, however, can mask the predictability of the plot which takes many of its cues from Hallowe’en Party, one of Dame Agatha’s later and considerably more languid yarns. Still, the punchy pacing, Branagh’s sombre performance as the celebrated Belgian detective and some sumptuous mise-en-scène ensure that this ghostly mystery is a consistently entertaining, undemanding, tasteful and resplendent production.

THE NUN II (2023)

Devoted readers of VC will likely recall that The Nun (2018) was one of the earliest releases I critiqued on this platform. I didn’t care for it that much. Five years later (surprised it took them this long, quite frankly) and The Nun II, the latest in The Conjuring tableau, is out. I don’t care much for this film either, but it is still drastically better than in nearly every aspect.

In fairness, this is a technically polished production with set-pieces and scenes that commendably drip with rich atmosphere and the presence of the titular demon (again played by Bonnie Aarons), complete with her statuesque build, beady eyes of yellow, pale and gaunt visage and sharp fangs, is legitimately unsettling at first though one cannot help but feel that her appearances are getting a little trite at this point. In the grand scheme of things, The Nun II is a fairly rote tale of terror in which the flashes of brilliance are merely that – flashes; the fleeting moments of excitement are awkwardly and unevenly sandwiched between mountainous clichés as the film seems content to merely traverse through a well-trodden path of familiar tropes and trappings. Consequently, whilst watching The Nun II, one frequently felt a sense of déjà vu; it’s a flat, fatuous film – and for that matter a franchise – that needed a shot of brawny creative adrenaline which is conspicuously absent.

I’ll be making more of these in the future…

TOKYO STORY (1953)

Seventy years ago, Yasujiro Ozu unveiled Tokyo monogatari, better known to non-Nipponophiles as Tokyo Story, to the world. Since its initial release in 1953, it has remained a consistent fixture within critical polls and surveys and now, given that it’s now being re-issued in cinemas across the UK, one can think of no more appropriate time than the present to revisit this quietly moving masterwork.

The tale is one of deceptive, delicate simplicity: an elderly couple excitedly travel by train to Tokyo from their small rural to visit their son and daughter, the former a doctor, the latter a beautician. Initially, the interaction between the parents and their offspring proves pleasant enough, but it swiftly becomes apparent that the adult son and daughter simply don’t have much time for their parents amidst their busy lives and schedules. As such, the ageing husband and wife decide to leave earlier than expected and are forced to ruminate on the entire situation.

Considered “the most Japanese of Japanese filmmakers”, the director Ozu is known for drawing outwardly formal characters and plotlines, as evidenced not only here but also in his earlier work The Flavour of Green Tea Over Rice (1952). Given that all the figures in Tokyo Story are so polite and understated, it might take a while for one to fully come to grips with their emotions. But once one gets into the film’s rhythm, the feelings touched upon are as profound as any that one will find in the best western dramas.

As the enfeebled, physically ancient looking couple forced to share a palpable and dreaded belief that they have failed as parents, the film’s two primary players – Chishu Ryu and Chiyeko Higashiyama – give subtle but powerful performances. As for the children, though perhaps unintentional, one cannot help but perceive that their insensitive and neglectful nature may embody the-then topical themes regarding post-war Japan and the never-ending quarrel concerning tradition and modernity, the rural and the urban class. Speaking pictorially, though the camera rarely moves, the images that Ozu-san elegantly captures are so poetic, so poignant that it is easy to comprehend why many have compared him to a Haiku master.

As a work of minimal, melancholic filmmaking, Ozu-san’s Tokyo Story may appear rueful and reticent but its sombre tale of the generational divide is impactful beyond feeble and futile words. One struggles to recall a picture wherein so much is revealed from what is unsaid.