Tokio Blues

Anh Hung Tran obviously thinks that the way to film movies, especially adaptations of books founded on characters and melancholia, is to leave the characters to sit/walk/copulate (really only for the thickest-skinned viewers, five minutes of macro detail of a motionless face yelps in the end), then he lets them recite a randomly chosen sentence from the book and then willy-nilly graft on the “artiest" elements possible (e.g. soul torn asunder = shots of waves crashing onto rocks, never-ending shots of waves breaking onto rocks) and he repeats this over and over until he fills the entire one hundred and thirty minutes of the movie. I suffered in the movie theatre as I never have before. For the duration of projection, I was trying to think of who I most hate, so I could send him a copy. I found the answer very soon - Anh Hung Tran. (28/01/2011)

The book is better; the movie, come to think of it, fails to capture the whole atmosphere. Not that it's downright disappointing, but it's not what I wanted to see. It's a bit calculated and literally has a "feel good" ending. Those who haven't read it may have trouble navigating at times. The images alternate, but it doesn't feel like it's conveying anything. When someone died, it didn't even move me, I just stared blankly at the screen. It lacks the soul that the book has, which Trần Anh Hùng simply failed to bring to the screen. You can't even get a sense of all the bleakness and loneliness and uncertainty you feel while reading it. If I hadn't read it, this would have been an empty film for me. Too bad, I was really looking forward to it. (28/01/2011)