In a distinctly contemporary Tokyo that looks backwards to the city’s disappearing past, Yoko is a writer investigating the life of a modernist composer of the 1930s. She is pregnant by a man she does not want to marry, and has found a kindred spirit in a used-bookstore owner who aids her research.
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HHH is one of my favourite filmmakers, and his films always grown upon revision, so I'm hoping something will change, but I was not much a fan of this one.
It doesn't quite have the simple elegance of Ozu's stillness and it doesn't quite have the resonant emotional impact of HHH's usually affecting imagery/music/cinematography (all of which are muted in this tribute to Ozu).
HHH & Trains tho...
70/100 - Good.
Rich with gently iterative, dream-like doublings, and suffused with a pellucid, melancholy calm, this wryly recursive contemplation of the impulse(s) to research, represent, and do homage may be the peak of serene Hou. Or so watching this last night convinced me. Experiencing films like this one has got to be just about the closest approximation of mindfulness available to nervous dreck like me.
Hou Hsiao-Hsien rend là un bel hommage formel à Ozu. Non seulement on retrouve l'art du maître, mais également ses thèmes de prédilections : l'incommunicabilité familiale et sociale. Derrière l'errance urbaine et humaine de Yoko, dans ce Tokyo bien plus agité que ne l'était le Tokyo d'Ozu, HHH distille avec une grande économie de moyen une part de l'immuabilité de la vie. Magique.
Tribute to Ozu. Like all of Hou Hsiao-hsien’s films, Café Lumiere denies the audiences the traditional comforts of movie-going. It's an aggressively minimalist and hauntingly provocative look at Tokyo and the overall drift of the world that’s slow to reveal its secrets and beauties.