Takeshi Kitano, also known by the stage name Beat Takeshi (北野 武, Kitano Takeshi; Tokyo, 18 January 1947), is probably one of the greatest directors of all time. He started out and became very popular as a comedian, and in that role, in my opinion, he is not even funny, at least by Western standards.
Then, at a certain point in his career, during the shooting of Violent Cop, in which he had been cast as an actor, the appointed director pulled out. So Kitano offered himself as a replacement, explaining it more or less like this: “I’ve never done it, I want to try.” The result is a fine, intense film that already contains all the themes of the more mature Kitano, though perhaps not a masterpiece.
Things build up with A Scene at the Sea, which marks his wonderful artistic partnership with the composer Joe Hisaishi, the one who also wrote the music for Studio Ghibli, to be clear. A Scene at the Sea, though, is perhaps in a category of its own, being an almost silent film in which both protagonists are deaf. Sonatine is unmissable. But paradoxically Kitano gives his best after hitting rock bottom, in keeping with the Japanese practice of kintsugi, in which gold is poured into the cracks.
After a silly, absurd film that I watched anyway, Getting Any?, Kitano had a very serious accident while riding his motorbike drunk. A very long convalescence followed, which marked him deeply in body, leaving him with a partial facial paralysis that he still has today and that gives him that particular expression.
Returning to directing, Kitano came back with a masterpiece, Kids Return, which is also a key film for understanding his personality, since it is almost entirely autobiographical: it deals with the director’s beginnings as a comedian, his closeness to the yakuza as a boy, and his youth as a boxer. The director splits himself into two, perhaps even three different characters to tell the events of his life, but it is still Kitano’s autobiography.
Then came the beautiful and moving Hana-bi, which also refers to the remarkable body of paintings he produced during his illness. But are we surprised by all these talents?!
No! After all, Musashi too was an extraordinary poet and painter (The Book of Five Rings, third precept: “study all the arts”). I should add that Kitano has many other talents, which you can easily find on the internet.
Anyway, this brings us to the poetic and partly surreal Kikujiro, from 1999, and to the marvellous Dolls, a film about Japanese society and human relationships, all immersed in a heart-rending lyricism and an aesthetic of sorrow that is typically Japanese. It also refers to the famous legend of the red thread of fate.
Finally, Dolls has unmatched cinematography, and I read somewhere that in that film Kitano does not get a single shot wrong. How true: it is an absolutely perfect film.
To be continued…
