samedi 26 mai 2012

Witchdoctor of the Living Dead




Je l’ignorais encore il y a 20mn, mais Witchdoctor of the Living Dead de Charles Abi Enonchong (198?) est sans doute le nadir de la série Z.
Il a la particularité d’être le premier film nigérien tourné en vidéo soit l’ancêtre du Nollywood… et leur premier film de zombie, sans doute inspiré par ceux de Lucio Fulci. On peut déduire que le magnétoscope sur lequel Charles Abi Enonchong a visionné ses sources d’inspiration était passablement détraqué, ses zombies de  se mouvant avec d’étranges mouvements saccadés – évoquant (un peu) les Neighbours de Norman McLaren.
Aussi ridicules qu’ils soient, ces morts vivants ayant gardé leurs vêtements de tous les jours, le visage à peine enfariné comme seul maquillage et crachant des vers de terre, m’évoquent aussi des cousins farceurs des Maîtres fous de Jean Rouch.

Merci à Frank Lafond pour la découverte


Psycho - affiche tchèque (1970)


Affiche tchèque de la première sortie du film en 1970, conçue par Zdenek Ziegler

vendredi 25 mai 2012

Le Jour où Mishima a choisi son destin




Illustrations venant de cette revue, ici



Le jour où Mishima choisit son destin, de Koji Wakamatsu (2012)


lundi 21 mai 2012

Mauvaises filles et mauvais garçons (Katsumi Watanabe 2)

Katsumi Watanabe - Gangs of Kabukicho 


Dans le magnifique recueil consacré au travail de Katsumi Watanabe à Kabukicho (PPP Editions, 2006), on trouve cette très belle préface de  lizawa Kotaro qui éclaire sur l'étrange profession de "photographe de rue" mais aussi sur l'histoire de Shinjuku et de son quartier des plaisirs. 





Shinjuku's Photographer - Watanabe Katsumi by lizawa Kotaro
Watanabe Katsumi's workplace during the 1960s and 70s was the living streets of Kabukicho in Shinjuku. Each night he went out into the neighborhood, working as a photographer, taking portraits and selling them, "three pictures for 200 yen." These pictures, in staggering volume, cast an overwhelming spell on the viewer; they embody miraculous power.
Watanabe Katsumi was born in 1941, in Morioka City of Iwate Prefecture, some 600 kilometers north of Tokyo. His family was poor, and after graduating middie school, he helped support them by working as an assistant at the Morioka City bureau of the Mainichi Shimbun, a national newspaper. The duties of such assistants, dubbed children were varied; sometimes Watanabe developed and printed photographs. Gradually, he became fascinated with the medium.
Watanabe moved to Tokyo in 1962 and joined Tojo Kaikan, the legendary portrait photography studio near the Imperial Palace. At the time, vestiges of the apprenticeship System persisted at photo studios and Watanabe had to survive a grueling training regimen, which began with rinsing photo paper, before they allowed him to actually make prints himself. Once he mastered the technique, he began to feel restless with the mechanical part of the production process.
Around that time, he became attracted by the work of Mr. S., an acquaintance who worked as a street photographer in Kabukicho. Visiting S.'s room, Watanabe saw rows of photographic prints from the previous day's work lined up on tatami mats: "They looked like money to me." Besides S., there were three or four other street photographers who were regulars in Shinjuku, they had worked there since World War II, when it was hosting black markets in its ruins.
Watanabe learned the basics of the trade from S., and, borrowing a camera and strobe light, he began working as a street photographer in the entertainment districts of Shibuya, Shinbashi and Ueno. Soliciting bar hostesses and cabaret busboys before working hours, he would photograph them and sell them the prints. As his customers increased, he could no longer keep his position at Tojo Kaikan, and in 1967, he quit his job and began working exclusively as a street photographer.
With S.'s permission, Watanabe began to photograph in lucrative Shinjuku. Through 1968, he commuted to Kabukicho nearly every night. Watanabe said his peak years of success, when he produced some of his best portraits, were between 1968 and 1970. In those days, cameras with strobe lights were still rare and Watanabe's beautiful photographs were popular. Some subjects wanted to send them to their families back home, others wanted to mount them on wooden panels and hang them in their establishments. His customers were picky about how they posed, but Watanabe was accommodating and formed warm ties with them, as if they were family.
In the 1970s, the atmosphere of the Shinjuku streets changed; the predominantly one or two story buildings were demolished and replaced with taller buildings. The rich human connections that occurred in easily accessible ground floor establishments became strained when they moved to the upper floors. Compact cameras with built-in strobes became increasingly popular and street photographers' customers dwindled. Watanabe's work entered a transitional period.
 Shoji, the editor of Camera Mainichi, and applied to Album 73, a Camera Mainichi, project that solicited photographs from the general public. His acceptance leads to a significant shift in his status as a photographer. Watanabe's seven-page spread Shinjuku Kabukicho," in the June, 1973 issue, received the Album Prize, awarded for the best photographs of the year, and his name became widely known.
1973 was also the year that Watanabe's first photographic book, Shinjuku Guntoden 66/73, [Shinjuku; The Story of a Band of thieves 66/73] published by Camera Mainichi (in association with Barakei Gahosha) and edited by Nishii Kazuo, was realized. In January 1974 his solo show, "Hatsunozoki Yoru no Daifukumaden" [First Peek at the Nocturnal Demon’s Lair] dazzled visitors to the Shimizu Gallery, where innumerable photos were pasted on every surface, including the floor and ceiling.
And yet, although his photographs were critically acclaimed, his commercial prospects in Shinjuku did not recover. As a consequence Watanabe temporarily stopped working as a street photographer and sold roasted sweet potatoes in the streets. In 1976, he picked up where he had left off and opened a small studio in Higashi Nakano, two stations away from Shinjuku. He managed his studio for five years but continued to visit Kabukicho at night.
After folding his studio in the early 80s, Watanabe made ends meet with magazine assignments and successfully published tree books: Discology, a selection of photographs he made in discotheques along with text he wrote about h's experiences, and a revised edition of his first book Shinjuku: The Story of a Band of Thieves, also accompanied by his own recollections and series. They were both published in 1982 as part of a series by Bansei-sha. And later on, in 1997, Shinchosha published a hefty, 500-page retrospective monograph titled simply: Shinjuku 1965-97. 
Anyone who sees Watanabe's photographs of Shinjuku - especially those taken between the late 60s and throughout the 70s - will feel powerfully drawn into that world. To help understand the energy they radiate, the source of their charm, we cannot overlook the history of Shinjuku.
In 1698 a new station was established along the Koshukaido Road, one of five major arteries leading from Edo (now Tokyo) to the provinces. This is how Shinjuku was born; it flourished as a way station for travelers, where inns jostled or space and eating and drinking establishments. During the Meiji Era [1868-1912], railroad stations (on what are now the Yamanote and Chuo lines) were built in Shinjuku. Later, as the private rail lines of Odakyu, Keio and Seibu linked the city center with Tokyo suburbs, Shinjuku developed into a leading entertainment hub. Department stores, movie theatres, cafes, and bookstores all thrived there ; during the 1920s, Shinjuku became the center of modernist culture in Japan. 
But there was another face to Shinjuku. Before World War II, in contrast to the celebrated world of glamorous consumer culture the reclaimed swampland on the north side of the station had given rise to specialty eating and drinking establishments that also provided sexual services. Shinjuku was devastated by the war but its resurrection from the ruins was swift. Off the main boulevards in a warren of bars, illegal prostitutes entertained their clients on second floors, and the area came to be known as the Blue Light district (in contrast to a Red Light district where prostitution was legal). So, the two faces of Shinjuku, the front and the back, the light and the dark, the commercial district and the sexual entertainment district co-existed.
Immediately after the war, there was talk of creating a Kabuki Theater in Shinjuku, like the original in Ginza. Although the project never materialized the area was then dubbed Kabukicho. The idea of situating Kabuki, already solidly established as Japanese classical entertainment near the Blue Light district, was preposterous. Nevertheless, Kabukicho continued to develop as a gigantic nightlife district centered on the sex trade. Along the way, Kabukicho began to be known as Nihon no kahanshin [Japan from the waist-down]. 
The Kabukicho area of Shinjuku was Watanabe's stomping ground. He felt an affection for the hard-bitten survivors that inhabited its streets, surviving on violence and Eros; with the sympathies of an insider Watanabe went about his business with ease.
The subjects of Watanabe's photographs are always clearly aware they're being photographed; their poses present their innate body language. Watanabe was fond of saying "All Shinjuku is a stage." His strobe managed to illuminate the essential vulnerability that lurked beneath his subjects' blustery performance.
In the mid-1970s, as Watanabe's Shinjuku clients began to dwindle, one of his resident models exhorted him, "Nabe-chan (his nickname) take our pictures, save them as mementos!" Kabukicho today is hardly recognizable as the area where Watanabe once worked as a street photographer. Since the 1990s, as Chinese and Koreans have made their way into the neighborhood, its population has grown increasingly heterogeneous: in some areas forests of signs are posted in languages other than Japanese. The young people's carefree looks, as they chatter on their cell phones and walk down the streets, betray no trace of the past.
But step into the back alleys and there is a distinct sense that marginal characters are still lurking about. Although significantly reduced in scale, nightlife areas such as Golden Gai still retain vestiges of the postwar black markets and Blue Light districts. No doubt Shinjuku will continue to transform itself like a giant creature perpetually in flux, a fate shared by many cultural centers of great cities. 
Watanabe Katsumi died on January 29, 2006 at the age of 64.
This essay is based on the last interview he made in his office in Roppongi, Tokyo, on December 13, 2005.













Parmi les gangs de Kabukicho, on croise l'un des rois de Shinjuku : Terayama Shuji !

samedi 19 mai 2012

Noboru Tanaka - La nuit des félines (1972)




Je continue mon cycle hasardeux «Kabukicho au cinéma». Bien sûr, en tant que quartier des plaisirs, Yoshiwara moderne, il fut le lieu de prédilection des roman porno Nikkatsu. Night of the Felines est un film de Noboru Tanaka, les «félines» ces sont les employées d’un «bain turc» (ce que l’on appelle maintenant «soapland»). Ce pourrait être l’équivalent des salons de massage chinois à Paris, sauf que le rapport sexuel (sans pénétration) se fait par le frottement des corps couverts de savon - un sujet en or pour le cinéma érotique japonais, donc, la mousse du savon cachant les organes tabous mais devenant l’expression des «humeurs» que le corps sécrète par le frottement.
Pourquoi les appelle-t-on ici «félines» ? Sans doute parce qu’elles vivent la nuit et avalent au petit matin de petites bouteilles de lait.
C’est un film de Noboru Tanaka, que je tiens pour le plus grand cinéaste de Roman Porno, genre qui ne manque par ailleurs pas de cinéastes d’exception (Konuma, Kumashiro, Yabe, etc). Pourtant là où les autres n’auraient sans doute pas pu s’exprimer pleinement en dehors du  Roman Porno, Tanaka a la particularité d’être presque un cinéaste classique : à l’intérieur d’un genre aussi astreignant et codifié, il «tient» ses scénarios avec un sérieux sans faille. En définitive, après avoir vu un film de Tanaka on s’en souvient à peine comme d’un film érotique. Peut-être parce que le film est érotique en permanence, c’est-à-dire basé sur des schémas de contrainte sadomasochistes strictes, n’excluant pas les sentiments, ou au contraire sentimental et erratique, la sexualité faisant davantage partie d’un flux de vie que d’un cahier des charges. Dans le premier cas, ce serait le sublime et complexe Bondage, dans le second Night of the Felines, ballade mélancolique dans Kabukicho avec le bain turc des filles comme lieu d’ancrage.
Il y a une continuité Mizoguchi - Masumura - Tanaka, chacun s’arrêtant à peu près au moment où l’autre commence à tourner. La transmission entre Mizoguchi et Masumura est évidente puisque l’auteur de La Bête aveugle fut assistant sur les derniers films du maîtres qui découvrit par ailleurs Ayako Wakao. Mais on peut établir un lieu entre Cinq femmes autour d’Utamorao et Tatouage ; et un autre entre La rue de la honte et Night of the Felines même si les bains turcs de la bulle économique remplacent les bordels de l’après-guerre. Le désenchantement c’est aussi la figure de Ken Yoshizawa, le sublime révolutionnaire de L’extase des anges de Wakamatsu qui interprète chez Tanaka un vagabond de Kabukicho, bisexuel, tourmenté, perdant magnifique, qui s’effondre au petit matin sur le béton alors que les banques et les boutiques de vêtement ouvrent leurs rideaux métaliques. Tanaka reprend l’acteur mythique de la gauche révolutionnaire, celui qui un an plus tôt allait faire sauter Tokyo, pour le montrer totalement anéanti, ne trouvant un refuge que dans la nuit interlope de Kabukicho. 








vendredi 18 mai 2012

De la vie des marionnettes et des arts martiaux


" Ces poupées, déclara-t-il, ont de plus l’avantage d’échapper à la pesanteur. Elles ne savent rien de l’inertie de la matière, propriété des plus contraires à la danse : car la force qui les soulève est plus grande que celle qui les retient à la terre. (...)  Les poupées n’ont, comme les Elfes, besoin du sol que pour l’effleurer et ranimer l’élan de leurs membres par cet appui momentané ; nous-mêmes en avons besoin pour y reposer et nous remettre des efforts de la danse : moment qui, manifestement, n’est pas lui-même la danse et dont il n’y a rien d’autre à faire que de l’éliminer autant qu’on peut."
Heinrich von Kleist, Essai sur le théâtre des marionnettes (Uber das Marionettentheater), 1810




Tsui Hark, Il était une fois en Chine (1993)

mercredi 16 mai 2012

Découvrir Patrick Tam




Patrick Tam n’est surtout connu en France que pour The Sword (1980), wu xia pian «nouvelle vague». Il y exprimait un goût marqué pour l’abstraction et les corps devenaient des étoffes légères comme portées par le vent. Ses autres films ne passèrent pas nos frontières, une injustice bientôt rattrapée par la programmation 2012 de Paris Cinéma. On peut en effet parler d’injustice pour un cinéaste qui fut le mentor de Wong Kar-wai et l’influença durablement (il fut par ailleurs le monteur de Nos années sauvages et Les Cendres du temps).
On peut le dire : sans Patrick Tam, pas de Wong Kar-wai. Ou du moins un Wong Kar-wai qui n'aurait pas trouvé son style avec une telle évidence.
Tam est un formaliste exigeant et élégant mais n’oubliant jamais la dimension pop de son cinéma.
Il faut donc découvrir au moins 3 de ses chefs-d’œuvre.

Love massacre (1981)
* S’inspire du même fait-divers que Les anges violés de Wakamatsu ; débute comme un drame romantique sur fond de psychiatrie et tourne au film de terreur.
* On retrouve Brigitte Lin avant qu’elle ne soit redéfinie en escrimeuse androgyne par Tsui Hark.
* Ce qui couve de sang et de violence est d’abord exprimé par une visite à une exposition Rothko et se prolonge dans les murs colorés de San Francisco, dans la robe rouge que l’amoureux «fou» offre à Brigitte Lin. 
* Le formalisme n’est jamais gratuit chez Tam.








Nomads (1982)
* Une comédie sentimentale soudain fendue par le tranchant d’un sabre japonais.
* Avant Wong Kar-wai, Tam travaille les cassées-croisées amoureux de quatre jeunes gens dans un Hong Kong nocturne.
* La figure rêveuse de Leslie Cheung que Wong kar-wai prolongera dans Nos Années sauvages.
* La plus belle scène des scènes d’amour, dans un bus qui traverse la ville la nuit.
* Un cinéma qui exalte la beauté des corps masculins, sans jamais céder à une tentation de puissance.
* Les 4 personnages, dans une maison sur une île, apportent chacun une lanterne pour éclairer la salle à manger, formant un ballet doux et sentimental, une utopie d’amour et d’amitié.
















My Heart is that Eternal Rose (1989)
* Christopher Doyle à la photo pose les bases esthétiques de son travail chez Wong Kar-wai : images tour à tour pop et sucrées, irisées, clairs obscurs ténébreux, vitesses fractionnées.
* Tony Leung, encore tout jeune homme, est le garde du corps amoureux de la belle Joey Wong, futur fantôme d’amour de Tsui hark.
* Le monde du crime est toujours une corruption des sentiments ; une réaction en chaîne funèbre où l’on devient la maîtresse d’un gangster pour sauver son père ; où le gangster entraîne la dégradation de la jeune femme parce qu’il ne supporte pas son propre avilissement, et qu’aucune rose ne doit rester belle et pure dans son monde.
* Et si My Heart is that Eternal Rose était le plus beau mélodrame d’action de Hong Kong avec The Killer de John Woo ?














 Le site de Paris Cinéma, ici