Black Gate

I had errands keeping me away from the Fantasia film festival on Monday, July 25. Now, interruptions are a sad fact of life, but sometimes it’s easy to get back into the swing of things; and as it happened the next day I made it back to the De Sève theatre to watch an American horror film called We Go On, which served to get me back into the Fantasia spirit. Then the day after that I saw two more movies at the De Sève, an odd Swiss romance called Aloys followed by a French horror film called Therapy. The latter had been directed by 16-year-old Nathan Ambrosioni — his second feature film. Together the movies made an odd meditation on life, death, and horror.

We Go On was written and directed by Andy Mitton and Jesse Holland (the IMDB credits Holland with “story,” while Mitton gets credit as “writer” as well as for screenplay and story). Miles Grissom (Clark Freeman) is an adult man in Los Angeles suffering from a crippling fear of death. He therefore offers $30,000 to anyone who can prove that there’s life after death — reincarnation, ghosts, anything. Deluged with people who claim to have proof, Miles and his cynical mother (Annette O’Toole) begin a quest to investigate the most promising responses. Things do not go as Miles might have expected.

Nor do things go as the audience might have expected either, and in this case I mean that in the best way. We Go On is thoroughly unpredictable, with an unusual structure and a story that moves between horror and character-based drama. Miles and his mother almost alternate as leads, and one can make a strong argument that the crucial choice shaping how the climax plays out is hers.

More than that, when Miles first gets responses to his offer, he’s able to eliminate most out of hand except for three or possibly four. He then investigates those few contacts one by one; as you might expect he has no luck at first. Also as you might expect his early investigations end up returning to become relevant to the movie later on. But how they become relevant is interesting. In one case it’s plot-related, but another is more thematic, putting forward ideas about fear and the supernatural that inflect the rest of the movie.

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Impossible to predict some things. Notably: you can’t know how you’ll react to a work of art until you’ve experienced it. Looking at the movies Fantasia offered on Sunday night, July 24, I thought I’d try If Cats Disappeared from the World (Sekai kara neko ga kietanara), which promised a tale about a terminally ill man who makes a surreal Faustian bargain. After that, I decided I should watch Superpowerless, as it was a genre piece about an aging superhero who’d lost his powers. In truth, I had my doubts about both movies; Cats looked it might suffer from excess of romanticism and forced whimsy, while Superpowerless seemed like some kind of mumblecore satire treading ground comics had worked over decades past. In the event, I was wrong to doubt. If Cats Disappeared from the World would be likely the best movie I saw at Fantasia, and probably my favourite. Superpowerless, meanwhile, turned out to be the festival’s most pleasant surprise, the film which most greatly exceeded all my expectations.

If Cats Disappeared from the World, which played the large Hall Theatre, was directed by Akira Nagai and written by Yoshikazu Okada from a bestselling novel by Genki Kawamura. It follows a young postman (Takeru Sato, of Rurouni Kenshin fame) who as the film opens is diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor. His death could come at any moment, the doctor tells him, but when he returns home he’s met with a double of himself who is, evidently, the devil; and the devil guarantees the unnamed postman he’ll die tomorrow. There is another option, though. The devil will give the mailman another day of life if the postman will allow the devil to remove a given thing from the world, retroactively changing events so that the thing never existed — removing as well all memories and feelings to do with that thing. Every day the devil will take another thing from the world, with each thing taken giving the postman another day of life. He agrees, and the devil announces the first thing he’ll take: telephones. Which, we soon see, is a problem as the postman’s ex-girlfriend (Aoi Miyazaki), the great love of his life, met him due to a wrong number.

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I’d marked four screenings on the Fantasia schedule to attend on Sunday, July 24. The first two were both at the small De Sève Theatre: a presentation of the 1983 Shaw Brothers film Holy Flame of the Martial World (Wu lin sheng huo jin), followed by a short film showcase. The showcase, Fragments of Asia 2016, promised half-a-dozen pieces from across Asia, both animated and live-action. Afterward I’d have time for food, and then two more movies would follow. Before all that, though, came one of the films I’d immediately highlighted when I first saw what was playing at this year’s Fantasia.

Each of the last two years I’ve been covering the Fantasia festival, they’ve shown a vintage film from the Shaw Brothers Studio, a classic martial-arts movie house from decades past. After last year’s Buddha’s Palm (Ru lai shen zhang) and 2014’s Demon of the Lute (Liu zhi qin mo), I was eager to see what would follow. That turned out to be Holy Flame of the Martial World, directed by Lu Chin-ku from a script he wrote with Cheung Kwok-Yuen from a story by Siu Sang. (I’ve seen references saying it was based on a comic, but can’t find a title or creator credits.) The print we saw was on 35mm film, possibly the last remaining such copy, and followed an equally-vintage trailer for Secret Service of the Imperial Court, also directed by Lu.

Holy Flame of the Martial World is one of several films from the Shaw Brothers house in the early 80s that turned to special visual effects to try to draw audiences in the wake of the success of Star Wars. The formula of ritualised martial-arts combat from earlier movies was expanded with mystical powers, supernatural beasts, and energy beams, all in the service of an aesthetic bent on entertaining the audience first, last, and always — character development and dramatic coherence be damned. In this case, the story’s engagingly complex and mostly coherent, with martial-arts factions proliferating, mystical quests, and a final high-powered showdown. A young couple are killed by baddies, and their infant son and infant daughter raised by enemy kung-fu teachers. Eighteen years later, the two children (Max Mok and Yeung Ching-Ching), without knowing the true story of their parents or who each other really is, seek the different halves of the ultimate weapon, the Holy Flame.

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The evening of Saturday, July 23, was going to be busy for me, with three shows at the De Sève Theatre. First, a showcase of short films called Born of Woman, which the Fantasia program told me would feature nine films by women directors “centred largely around themes of the body and interpersonal malaise.” Then after that two science-fiction features. The first would be Realive, about a man from our time (or close to it) who dies and is cryonically revived in 2083. The second would be Tank 432, about a squad of soldiers seeking shelter from a surreal battle within a battered tank. It looked like a promising night, and it got off to a good start in the late afternoon with the Born of Woman showcase.

The first film in the showcase was “Skin,” written, starring, and directed by Jessica Makinson. It’s an ambiguous but character-based piece, in which (if I’m reading it right) a woman (Makinson) charms a lover (Johnny Sneed), using a piece of herself. It’s beautifully shot, drenched in light, and the minimalist dialogue allows the story to be told almost entirely in visuals. Languid yet brief, the film created an almost fable-like atmosphere.

Next was “Venefica,” by Maria Wilson (director, writer, and star), following a nervous young witch as she approaches a nighttime ritual that will determine her destiny. Will she follow the path of the magic of the dark, or the magic of the light? It’s a quiet story, with long leisurely shots, in which at least one life hangs in the balance. At seven minutes, the piece is short, builds nicely, and leaves an audience with just the right amount of questions at the end. What is determined by the ritual, and what by Venefica’s own character? She has very definite ideas about which path she wants to follow, and it’s possible that the actions she’s taken to prepare the ritual show who she is as much as do the results of the ritual itself: she gets what she hopes for, but then perhaps also the hopes are a sign of what her path must be. Character, then, is destiny.

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