One of the primary frustrations of following a monthly series is the occasionally painfully long hiatuses series take. Case in point, Homunculus. A psychologically dense, sinister maze of a comic, one that demands the reader’s attention to past events and symbols that aren’t always so obvious, at this point in time – it’s unclear whether this gem will ever see a new chapter again. And they chose potentially the worst possible place to leave everyone hanging. Upon the precipice of clarity, upon the moment of the greatest clarity and insight into a character whose odd behavior has become at best, muddy after 100+ chapters of deep, tangled story.

Homunculus plays itself carefully, often appearing more like a dense puzzle than a coherent narrative, partially due to Hideo Yamamoto’s meticulous approach to character detail and pace – as scenarios unfold throughout the story, there’s the sense that the author is taking his time to unveil what lays behind the curtain – or even opening up the answer at all. This rarely feels frustrating more so, there’s an overwhelming desire to keep on going into the psyches of these people, however grotesque their desires may be. On the surface, one might make a comparison to the bodyshock horror of David Cronenberg, but the visual oddities the series presents through it’s premise often present a well-hidden study of the id, ego and the unconscious the visual oddities can present. The premise as such, feels quite secondary to this. But as such, at its simplest Homunculus is the story of a man with a hole drilled in his head so he can see the forms human hide from the outside world, the images people project upon themselves, or the images the protagonist, Nakoshi projects upon people. It’s rarely clear whether Nakoshi is lacking sanity or not.

The stream of characters and settings is a consistent flux and flow of people, with only two central figures taking to the drawn stage at any given time, the rest serve as instruments of discovery and identity, within Nakoshi’s mind, he’s an exorcist of sorts, expelling the personal demons by the order of the man who drilled the hole in his head, Ito. As one navigates the flux of people, we find examinations of the human mind brought fourth through the curious ‘power’ Nakoshi has been granted, be it the masculine yakuza boss who clings to the harm he inflicted as a child or the hollow businessman who lacks any identity at all, there’s a great care put into the visual symbolism at play here – At it’s best, Homunculus plays its intrigue as if it were eluding the reader, not letting on too much information, instead letting the reader figure out the symbols on their own, playing the hand it has with care and caution, and rarely slipping into a hyperbolic reveal of information. I’d forewarn those who look for action within their comics/manga that this isn’t that – it’s a carefully plotted mystery and a mind game; the work is driven by visual language and expert storytelling. Those who have never enjoyed a comic, or dismiss the form as childish, this is a proud example of storytelling built for the thinking person, its dynamic, well drawn and fully worth anyone’s time – and much like Hideo Yamato’s previous effort, Ichi the Killer, it’s deceptively labyrinthine, although it shares a similar attitude and approach to story, I can guarantee you this is nowhere near the violence that particular series contains, so no worries if you’re squeamish.

-Les Yper Sounds.

Ples v dezju [1961/Bostjan Hladnik]

I’ve seen this before actually I just rewatched it. Always wanted to write about it. Evidentally, this is Slovenia’s best film according to Slovenia, it’s not hard to see why. Although I can’t say I’ve seen that much from Slovenia. The film’s sound design is conceptually and technically striking. It uses human expression and movement quite wonderfully in coordination with some seriously inventive uses of ambient noise and musical ques. The camera shows a frequently well thought out placement of close-up, montage and contrast between light and dark to suit mood and setting. I like the naturalism of interaction – but it uses surrealism and symbolism extremely effectively as well, emphasizing fetishes and desires to a sometimes amusing and sometimes unsettling effect. All to the effect of getting the audience into an immersive frame of the various mental states the people we watch inhabit. I suppose you could call it a story about love, but there’s so much more that’s interesting about it to absorb.

Tōkyō boshoku [1957/Yasujiro Ozu]

okyo Twilight is perhaps best described as Ozu being himself, while it lacks the more subtle points and mannerisms that define Ozu’s finest moments (A Story Of Floating Weeds, among many others, pin-pointing a single highlight is something I’d consider nearly impossible to do considering his career). The film is somewhat notable darker than his other films, certainly less so than Ohayô (which perhaps ironically, I consider to be amongst his better films). Nonetheless, it plays on themes and ideas that were at that point, trademarks of his. The aesthetic is suitably static, and perhaps a bit grayer than some of his earlier works. The focus on night photography and on locale is a nice touch on top of Ozu’s usually excellent framing and editing. The testament of whether this is worth singling out within his canon is really up to the performances. Ozu isn’t much of anything without the subtlety of his actors, given that so much of his style is pitted in expression and much of his concerns are distinctly human ones. The performances given are suitably subtle yet expressive enough, with some particularly excellent attention to pose and posture.. It’s one worth giving a look, as it’s notably darker material for the director anchored by some fine performances, but I’d approach it after his more iconic work and after getting situated with his quirks a bit, as you’ll undoubtedly get more out of the experience.

The Entity [Sidney J. Furie/1981]

The Entity is perhaps best described as an old Roger Corman film with rape sequences and somewhat better acting. That may sound derogatory to some, but those people can stop reading. Because I consider Roger Corman to be a pretty great director, one that effectively used ideas that allowed him to cut corners with effects. To be fair, the actual horror sequences of The Entity are pretty effectively unnerving, each assault feels quite violent, and is fairly unsettling, to the point where I’d caution anyone going into the film to expect some pretty harsh and quite unrestrained sexual violence despite the fact that the attacker is invisible. The films not without problems, it lets the violence happen a bit too early on in the film. While it’s effective, there’s not much dread or anticipation of the act. The act simply happens, and we’ve still got about 2 hours in front of us to fill. Additionally, there’s a slight bit of cheese within the film’s later portions, which feels entirely inappropriate given that we’re watching a film about a woman who is being sexually assaulted within her own house on a semi-regular basis while her family and colleagues doubt her sanity. Although I concede the issue with pace isn’t too huge, it could certainly be tightened and worked into a more effective and leaner horror film. Although what’s there is worth a look for genre fans such as myself, what works, works really well, the film is choppy in pace, but the concept and the attacks themselves are more than enough to keep the film a satisfying to the horror fan, and while Barbara Hershey and company take their acting a bit too far at times, it’s fairly well acted to boot. Worth hunting down if you’re a horror aficionado like myself, and also worth a look if you’re a fan of Peter Tscherkassky’s Dream Work, from which the film uses footage.

Red Road is also occasionally frustrating in this regard – insofar as how we’re very slowly let into the heads of the people the film quietly observes. The film has a tendency to take its time with revealing the elements of the plot, and while this is a strength of the film to a point, it also reveals itself to be something of a weakness. As the film leads into the story, it unfolds, but at a pace that sometimes results in a momentary lapse of tension and mood. The story, while there sometimes feels as if it’s taking potency from the film’s mood and finer moments that give feelings that ease on paranoia. Big brother is watching, but in Red Road, we’re not being paranoid of being watched, we become paranoid by watching. Terrible ideas casually drift throughout one’s head as the camera shows what’s happening on the wall of TVs that are frequently in front of the characters. Ultimately, it’s this that makes Red Road interesting. It’s a worthwhile film with occasional pace issues that are overcome by wonderfully directed moments of unease and a good eye for character and body language.

5 Centimeters Per Second is a film I’m returning to visit again. It hasn’t lost most of its charm and atmosphere, but in a way, returning reveals all the familiar elements and devices Makato Shinkai has used before to varying degrees of success. The film is certainly somewhat familiar territory for him. His animation style remains amongst the highest quality in terms of fluid movement, detail and color but there’s something I’m missing that utterly captivated my eyes like when I saw Voices of a Distant Star and Place Promised in our Early Days. There was a kind of rawness and a sense of abstractionism in the animation of the former and a higher level of polish while retaining that similar feel for abstractionism in the latter that I feel is slightly missed here. The film is beautifully clear, there’s a gorgeous fluidity and a strong eye for detail in every composition the film offers. But at the same time it feels off in a way.

In a lot of ways I feel like 5 Centimeters per Second occupies two spots in Shinkai’s thus far spotless filmography. It’s his most thematically ‘full’ film but also his weakest work thus far. That’s not to say it’s at all bad, just not as good nor as evocative as his earlier works. There’s a lovely consistency of mood and color within each of 5 centimeters per second’s animated moments. Frame after frame of deep contrasting hues, vibrant colors and flares of light are presented in a manner that shows an eye for detail and color that’s too often missed in a lot of animated films that come out of our shore’s studios. The mood is palpably saccharine, it breathes nostalgia easily and infuses our tongues with the emotional palettes at play wordlessly. But you’ve felt this before. This is more apparent re-approaching the film a second or third time. In a way, it’s a holding film for Shinkai, in terms of the methods he uses to tell the story and the story itself. The familiar feelings of distance can be found frequently throughout his earlier works – and with often more poignancy and interest. At the film’s finest it moves with a great grace, intoxicating the senses with the tales of young love, wonderfully animated and realized, but at the same time, just a bit too familiar to be as satisfying as what Shinkai has shown himself capable of in the past.

The film’s plot is utterly secondary. Roeg has no interest in our moral compass, nor in resolving the issues at hand in a timely manner, he’s here to let us observe the power of what happens along the way. Things both nightmarish and beautiful all at the same time. So we walk. We observe. We see a blossoming of a man and a woman that never heads anywhere and often comes across as more deeply unsettling than it does romantic, Roeg could tilt us in one direction or the other – but instead he feels that observation will be more suited to the film’s need.

There’s not much said – there’s a massive barrier constructed by language and will. For 100 minutes, we watch three people wander in what feels like the dreams of the outback, but reality sometimes decides to unsettle us from our dream. Strange vignettes of life within the vicinity of the three strangers we follow serve as punctuation and exposition of mood and theme. But we come back to the dream, even at the end. Walkabout is a film of miscommunicated feelings and barriers, yet at the same time, it’s something I keep on coming back to in my dreams, in my thoughts. It remains, it lingers, and it simply wanders on in my mind.

Look forward to it stranger.

The album is perfect in most senses of word. Mos is constantly on form as an MC, keeping a consistent level of intelligence throughout the entirety of the record, balancing the social and political aspects of his work (New World Water, Mathematics, Fear not of Men) with his concern with hip-hop and persona (Hip-hop, Know That). The beats punctuate what Mos is saying, and each deviation from formula works. The instrumental outro (May December) doesn’t take away from the flow of the album, instead doing what an outro should do, close the album. Black on Both Sides is proof of Mos Def’s talent, he hasn’t been as focused since and to this day, it is his masterpiece.

Open Chords is a relatively short, two-track tape McGuire put out some time early in 2008. The tape represents some of Mcguire’s loveliest, most euphoric music to date. The music builds elegantly, layer by layer of acoustic guitar builds on each other, and each new layer is stunningly clear. The clarity of McGuire’s playing and ability to build rhythms and melodies are two of his strongest talents as an artist, and Open Chords is thus far, the best representation of those talents. Each song winds and twists along a road, and the ears follow, each detail ingrained upon the memory. To be hummed along with upon further listens.

Wonderful Rainbow is to this day, the most varied thing Lightning Bolt has ever done. Although they play the kind of music where the term ‘variety’ kind of loses it’s meaning, it’s sometimes nice to alternate between skull throbbingly aggressive at a fast tempo and skull throbbingly aggressive at a bit slower but still fast tempo. This is music driven by it’s forward momentum. Once things pick up, stopping is fatal to the ebb and flow of the song. Lightning Bolt knows this, and as the album progresses, things become more and more primal, and by the end of the record, it’s evolved into what can be best called ‘symphonic white noise’, the massive, throbbing wall of sound constantly assaulting the listener. Lightning Bolt is not ‘smart music’, nor have they ever expressed the desire to play anything with the notion of intelligence in the first place. What Lightning Bolt has strived and admirably achieved with some consistency Is to kick you in the skull as fast, hard and aggressively as possible with only drums and bass. God bless their souls.