Categories
Interview Monthly Screening Series News Writing

Interview: Adam Torel (Third Window Films)

Adam Torel is the founder and one-man-band leader of Third Window Films, established in 2005 with the express intention of broadening the canon / taste / market for Asian cinema in the UK, beyond the J-Horror boom of the late ’90s and early noughts. When we were trying to source a screening licence for Sogo Ishii’s The Crazy Family for WWI, back in 2018, Adam was one of the first trees we shook for a lead. Now, the film is finally getting a UK disc release, part of Third Window’s Director’s Company series, and we jumped at the chance to screen it again, in a brand-new restoration, for its 40th anniversary. We spoke to Adam about the origins of Third Window and the work behind a release like The Crazy Family.

We started discussing last month’s screening, Kim’s Video, and how regional institutions, like the Florida video store where Adam cut his teeth, are comparatively unsung and undervalued. Adam had seen Kim’s Video while sitting on a film festival jury.

[WW] One of the through-lines for our monthly series is curation and the people who build collections and shape other people’s collections – arbiters of taste, I suppose, would be one way of saying it. Really, it’s about way-finders, as opposed to gatekeepers, and curating the canon in that sense.

[Adam] When I worked at the video shop, I was like that. I was really into independent films, and I lived in a small town in Florida. There was nothing there, but there was this amazing video shop that I ended up working at. I was always into film, but it was there I got into, you know, hardcore, like, super-rare films. And that video shop, the owners just basically bought every single VHS that was ever released, whether they liked it or not. They just thought, “We need to buy everything and keep it in the shop,” you know, to keep these films alive. And they never threw anything away. So, as films would lose their licenses or they would become out of print, copies still existed in this shop.

The owner of the shop made his money through real-estate, but his passion was cinema, this tiny shop in Florida that nobody ever really came to, but you’d have, like, 50,000 films. They’d been buying VHS since the format started, so there were all these films that you could never find anywhere, ever. And this was obviously before the internet as well, so if you wanted to find out about something, you would go to the shop, and these two – this owner and this manager – they basically had an encyclopedic memory in their brain. You’d come in, or a customer would come in, “Yeah, I remember this movie when I was, like, 15 and, like, this cat died,” and they’d just, boom, they’d know exactly what it was, who directed it, who the cameraman was. It was an unbelievable experience. Actually, I wasn’t old enough to work there, but I managed to convince them to let me work there when I was 16. And I worked there for four years, just watching movies in the shop, day and night, and then taking stuff home and watching it till the morning. I couldn’t sleep very well at the time, so I’d be watching all day and night.

I got into Asian cinema because it was the films that you couldn’t see, even though they had everything. I was always trying to find the films that were just impossible to find. At the time, [Asian films were] really hard to see overseas, so I was, like, “All right, I’m going to get into Asian films and do all these trades with Video Search of Miami and all these places.” They’d send you a catalogue of handwritten titles, in the post, and you’d get it, and you wouldn’t even know what any of them was, because it’s not like you could look on the internet and say, “What’s this Centipede Horror?” You’re just like, “Oh, Centipede Horror, that sounds all right.” And then you would either trade them with what you had or you’d post the money in the post, and then, months later, this VHS would arrive. And I would just do that and then copy them and bring them in the store myself to rent out to people.

So, obviously it was a bit dodgy in that respect, but, you know, that was the only way that you could see these films. And also, this was in the ’90s, and Tartan Films in England were becoming this big thing for Asian films. So, me being in America and buying a lot of those Tartan DVDs and VHS from the UK, I’m English, so I thought, “I’m going to go back to England and see if I can get a job at Tartan Films.” And I went back, and I got a job interning there at first, and then became an employee, and that, I guess, started the concept of me working within the world of distribution, not just, like, being interested in it.

[WW] So, what was the step to you setting up Third Window?

[Adam] When I got into Tartan Films, I guess it was around the time that everyone fell in love with them. They were releasing all these bangers every month, and it was a sort of golden age for them. Not just Asian cinema, but for all sorts of films. And then, as the DVD market started to peak, and as J-Horror started to fizzle out, I was there telling them, “Stop just putting all these shit, long-haired ghost films. If you’re gonna buy J-Horror, or, like, genre films, there are all these films from Asia.” But, you know, the thing about a company like that is your image, as a consumer, is, “Wow, they’re this amazing company and everybody must love cinema a lot.” When you end up working there, nobody knows anything about cinema, except for the interns, you know, or, like, the really low people. So, you get a bit disillusioned, and you’re like, “Well, there are all these great films, but they’re just a business,” you know? “They’re just thinking about what to make money with.” So, I started saying, “All right, I’m going to get these films that I think are good for you.” Actually, I initially went to the boss, Hamish McAlpine, with titles, saying, “Look, I’ll buy these films for you and you can release them, because it will make the company better and you won’t have any risk on the money for them.” I went and bought these films, and then, when I told him that, he fired me immediately. In my mind, it was a good thing. But he was, like, “You’re a traitor to the company, and you’ve gone behind my back.”

When I started Third Window Films, my whole point was being a company that anybody could just mail and I’d reply back to them. Because any company or any person that owns a relatively large company, even if they’re distributing minor cult films, he has no connection at all to the consumers. So, he doesn’t care, he’s just living in Soho with, like, a Lamborghini and asking people from the office to sit outside for his car so he doesn’t get a ticket. That’s basically the way that he ran things. And I was really sort of against that. But I thought, you know, “Wouldn’t it be great if I pay for them, and therefore there’s no risk on you?” But, for him, it’s all about money, it’s he that decides everything, and if you go against him, you’re… So, he immediately fired me, the moment I said that, and then I thought, “Well, I better just start it myself.”

[WW] And you make a point of being more collaborative, more kind of collegial, of having good relationships with other people in the industry.

[Adam] It’s really important for me. I mean, I don’t have the name brand or the money or the status to do what I want, like Hamish McAlpine, so I need to be on good terms with everybody. There’s loads of times when I work for, like, months for free, just to help out, even other distributors, where even it could be a loss to my own releases. For example, with films like Crazy Family, the rights are so complicated that I need to basically work as a sales agent on behalf of the Japanese, for free. So, no commission. But what I do is, in order to clear the rights, I need to go to the producers or the rights-holders and go with, like, this much money from all these distributors. Then I can go to them and say, “Look, I have $30,000,” or something like that, “we can do a deal like that.” I work as a producer as well and you always have to think of how everybody would think of an outcome.

So, what I do is, including films like Crazy Family, or any of these other titles that I do, I find distributors overseas, like Error 4444, who are also handling Crazy Family, which I’ve also sold to France and Germany and all these other countries, and then take all their money, together with mine, and go to the rights-holders. But at the same time, that loses sales for me. Even if the region codes may be different, I can still get some sales to America, but now I won’t be able to. And it’s not like I’m getting the film for free myself in exchange, nor am I getting a commission for their sale. And in order, also, to make their release easier, I need to make loads of bonus pictures, subtitling, do all these things for free and then give it to them to make their release easier. It causes a lot of time and stress, and I get nothing out of it. But if I don’t do these things, the films don’t get released at all because the Japanese, like, with Crazy Family and Mermaid Legend, all these films haven’t been released in 40 years because it’s too hard to work with the Japanese rights-holders, especially if the rights are a mess, and also in terms of restorations as well. You can’t just say, “Well, I’ll pay you for the license fee,” then use that to make the restoration. The companies are going to say, “No, you have to pay us the money for restoring and pay us a license fee on top of it,” which is impossible. So, that’s why I do all these things and get all this money from here and there. Like financing a film, like producing a film, it’s imperative to do these things, just for the sake of these films.

[WW] We have a very limited experience of the same process, with some non-English language films. The energy, psychic energy, expense – it can be a wild amount of investment and time.

[Adam] Working with Japanese is not easy at the best of times. Luckily, I do speak Japanese and I live here, so that does move things forward. But there is a reason why Japanese films just don’t get released overseas. I’ve lived here for long enough, I understand how they work, but that also means that I need to switch my mind to…a Japanese mode when I deal with them. But then also, like, the Western mode when I deal with the Westerners and the Western companies and back and forth. And especially for contracts as well, I need to make the contracts in certain ways, and I have to translate it to Japanese. With these, like, ’80s films, especially the Director’s Company, because it’s from a company that went bankrupt, it’s especially complicated. I’ve been working on these for a long time and, in the end, because I’m selling it to all these other distributors in order to get the ball rolling, not only will I lose out on the financial aspect of it, but there’s nothing exclusive about it. When I did Door recently, which was a huge amount of work, and then I sold it to an American company called Terror Vision, and everybody’s like, “Wow, Terror Vision rescued this film Door.”

I’ve only recently started to realise that I should put my logo on the front of the data before I send it [to partners], so that at least, when they put their release out, it says “Third Window Films” on the front. I guess I’m not very good at promoting myself or my company, even, which is just me anyway. But I do realise, for example, there are many film producers that you look on IMDb and they’ve got these lovely profile photos of themselves, and you actually look into it and they’ve done nothing whatsoever. There are other people that do all the hard work and don’t get the credit. But do you really want to put the energy into promoting yourself, or is it the promoting the product? It depends on the person, I guess.

[WW] How do you gauge success, for yourself and for Third Window?

[Adam] Just the sales units. I mean, I also work as a sales agent, for titles like Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes and River and all that, where I take the film from the beginning and I bring it to festivals, I create a buzz, I do PR, and then I sell it, the rights only, as a job, so I get a commission for that. And in that case, if I sell the remake rights, which I’ve done for a few films, I get money, so that’s fine for me. It helps me buying, like, these tiny, obscure films, but, otherwise, yeah, I guess it’s sales. But it gets hard, because sales just aren’t that good. I would have never done this in the past, but maybe I need to release a film like One Percenter or something, like, a genre film, because maybe that will sell more to people that haven’t heard of Third Window Films, and that might get them into watching the films, which are completely different films anyway. But I’m just trying to try different things, because it’s a lot harder nowadays. I see companies like Radiance, who are doing massive amounts of sales, but they’re a lot more structured, and they’re also not handling just Asian films. When you’re dealing with niche Asian, or especially Japanese-only films, it’s just too niche, I guess, even if you do try to release, like, an action film like One Percenter every so often. It’s tough. I never wanted to distribute a film that has already been distributed, or has a chance of being distributed. You know, my mindset was always, like, if somebody’s going to distribute this film, then there’s no reason for me to distribute the film.

[WW] How do you practically approach something like The Crazy Family, then, that’s arguably even more niche than the earlier Ishii films?

[Adam] Yeah, more obviously genre films have been distributed. I mean, Crazy Thunder Road was a real pain because the music rights had never cleared for overseas use and we had to clear them, but I think Burst City is quite well-known enough that releasing Crazy Thunder Road off that, because it’s a better version of Burst City, made it a little more accessible, ’cause it’s a sort of rock-and roll-punk film. But Crazy Family, even though it’s not really been seen, it’s a film that everybody sort of knows of, like Typhoon Club. Everybody thinks it’s amazing, but it’s just not available. But I’d always wanted to release Crazy Family because it’s my favourite of his, or one of them. I mean, he’s got so many great films that are so different. Years ago, I was looking out for the rights and I ended up at Toho because WField and Toho owned the rights, and neither can move without the other. And Toho were just impossible to work with. If you asked to do a one-off screening, even if it’s a ten-seat cinema, it’s, like, $1,500 minimum. But they don’t care, because they own Godzilla and they’re making so much money.

When I came to Japan, I started learning a little more about the culture here, and also working with Korea before and working with Hong Kong, the reason why they do these things is because even big companies like Toho or Toei, the international divisions are so small. We’re talking a couple of people. Toho, a little more, but Toei’s, like, two people. It’s not worth it for them to draw up a contract and do all this stuff for one screening, unless it’s $1,500. So, those companies, they all have a rule where it’s just, “We’re just not going to sell it.” A film festival can’t play it, or we’re not going to sell the rights to it, unless it’s… For Toho, they won’t sell any film for under $10,000. Any film. Doesn’t matter if it’s, like, a film that no-one’s ever heard of, that’s never been released. They just don’t care. It’s a mix of them not caring and also that they’re just too busy. Japan, it’s all based on the domestic market, because all the money is made domestically. It’s like India, the reason why Indian films aren’t released properly overseas is because everyone who works in the Indian film industry works on the domestic side of it. So, conversely, the reason why Korea is such a big thing and Korean films are such a big thing is because they have had K-pop and everything to expand around the globe and therefore each company has a massive section for International. And they all speak English really well and know exactly what the international market is like, so they know what prices they can sell it at and how to deal with distributors, and all these things which the Japanese just don’t know. For example, Kadokawa is a massive company, they’ve been around for 100 years, they have all these films, and they have one person who handles international film festivals, she doesn’t fucking understand a word of English. Her job is working with international film festivals, she can’t fucking speak English! It’s unbelievable, when you think about it, but, like, that’s just Japan.

Before I came here, when I was working as a festival or buyer or anything, I was like, “What are you asking me, $2,000 for a fucking film screening?!” Even if we had an 800-seat cinema, it’s not going to make the money back for us. Like, it’s crazy. And then I came here, and I realised, like, “Ah, that’s the reason why.” I still think they’re ruining Japanese film culture because, by not doing the deals, no films are being released, and then when you have a new film that you want to go overseas, people are going to be so far away from Japanese film culture that they’re not going to be interested in buying your new film. Also, working as a producer here and distributor also here as well, I realised it’s just such a small amount of money, compared to the amount of money we’re going to make in Japan, that, like, is it even worth it? You have to put so much energy in for such a small return. I mean, you have to really think of the big picture, so that’s why, I guess, you have all these issues with so many of these films, especially the older ones, because there are less and less people alive who are even connected or remember them.

So, a friend of mine, a few years ago, found all these negatives for Director’s Company, including Door and Typhoon Club and Crazy Family, all these films. Obviously, I loved Crazy Family, but him finding the negatives started the process, this rights clearance issue and these re-scanning of films. And because I started releasing all these Director’s Company films – first of all with Door and Typhoon Club and Guard from Underground – I thought, “Well, Ishii Sogo was part of the Director’s Company,” and Crazy Family was his only film for them, except for Half Human, which is a short film, “that needs to be a part of this series, because it’s a seminal film of the Director’s Company.” The thing about Ishii Sogo, he’s a director. There are some directors who also understand the other aspects of the industry, like Tsukamoto Shinya, who understand about distribution, understand about rights, ownership. But Ishii Sogo, he goes to anybody, “I’m just desperate to make this film.” Like, “Just make it happen.” And he goes on to the next project. So, he doesn’t understand about the rights to the film, who owns it. So, his films just get lost, in that respect. And he’s always onto the next film, so he doesn’t really, I guess, care so much about finding out about what happened to the last ones. I wanted to release some of his other films, like Angel Dust and Labyrinth of Dreams, but that would be just more hectic. Considering I’m already focused on the Director’s Company series at the moment, I might as well just put all my attention on The Crazy Family. There are more obscure titles from the Director’s Company that become a little more sellable, once people are buying into that label, that sub-label, and therefore, it keeps it going a little more. It was only around for ten years, and most of the films from the company aren’t very good and so it’ll probably fade out by the end of year, I’d imagine, and I’ll have to move on to the next thing.

Japanese poster for The Crazy Family, featuring chaotic cartoon image of the titular family, framed with sections of Japanese.
Theatrical poster for The Crazy Family (illustration by Teruhiko Yumura)

[WW] And so, you always have your eye on the next thing, you must have stuff percolating. Or do you have to kind of keep your entire focus on the current thing?

[Adam] I need to plan at least a little bit ahead, but a lot of the time things just fall out of the sky. This Director’s Company series was just a situation where I ran into somebody, they had these negatives and, okay, let’s move on with that. But I don’t even know what I’m going to release next year. I know what I’m releasing this year, in terms of other titles, but next year I have nothing. So, I need to hope that new films get made, or things fall into place.

[WW] When you have the film and you know you’re going to release it, I understand that you do the subtitles yourself. Does that mean translation or preparing the materials, or both of those things?

[Adam] For the feature subtitles, usually I don’t, because they’re usually ready. You know, I think most Japanese films, even if they’re old, they usually have feature subtitles because they’ve played at a film festival in the past. There have been some films where I’ve just re-subtitled the film myself. Like Door and Door II, I just did them myself, because in those cases, I was also working with the sale agent for them, so I needed to have subtitles to show them to film festivals. So, in those cases, I will do the subtitles, but it’s mostly for the bonus features.

Obviously, I need to save as many costs as I can, so usually I do all the subtitling for the bonus features, like audio commentaries, making-of’s, interviews – anything like that, I’ll do that. For the translations, usually [I work] with a few different people. I have a Japanese friend that speaks English, who lives in England, to do some work, to read through, and then I’ll read through and I’ll send it out to a few people, and we’ll just fix it up, in that respect.

For the extras, first of all, when I came into the industry 20 years ago, and it was like you could sell a DVD with burned-in subtitles and, like, no extras and, like, you’d sell it for 20 quid and it would totally be fine. Now, everybody wants fucking all these extras and, like, stupid packaging and all that. And as somebody not from that generation… I don’t even have a television, I don’t care about 4K or anything like that. For me, it was just more important that I was seeing the film, and nowadays, that just doesn’t work. But, then again, nobody watches the extras, but you’ve got to have them on there.

Sometimes, I try to find people on YouTube that have made, like, good video essays and just ask them, “Do you want to do one for me?” I think the problem is sometimes you end up just going back to the same old people. But then, I think, as a consumer, every time you look and it’s another commentary by this person or it’s another one by that person, it gets a bit stale. The design, as well, for posters, you don’t really want to ask the same designer every time, but you find somebody who’s easy to go with and it just becomes a sort of go-to. It’s just, I guess, ease of a rhythm, I guess, than trying to find out new people and hoping that they turn out well or not. Because you could go and make the effort to find these people that sound like they could do a good job, and then you get the product, you’re like, “What the fuck is this?”

Black and white still image of older man wearing a safety helmet attacking a younger man with a pick axe. The younger man wears a transparent pyramid on his head, and defends with a baseball bat.
The Crazy Family (逆噴射家族, Sogo Ishii, 1984)

[WW] How do you feel about piracy? Are there degrees of it that you’re comfortable with?

[Adam] Yeah, I mean, it’s a double-edged sword, because I understand why somebody would want to help enrich others with a film that is not available anywhere, and therefore they put it on the internet. Of course, at the same time I’d be like, “Well, I’m just not going to release that film now,” because it’s available too easily on the internet. But then again, I might think, “Well, the moment I release my copy, it’s immediately going to be put on the internet anyway.” Which is a reason why a lot of Japanese companies don’t want to sell the films for small amount, because they sell somebody the rights for, like, $3,000, and then the person who puts it out makes it available to be pirated when it’s a film that has never been pirated before and therefore it’s going to kill their sales.

When I bought a film recently from another company, I put it out, and then it got put on the internet, and they were, like, “Now we’ve lost the US sale for it,” because now it’s just too easily available everywhere, and what can I do? But I understand that that makes them think, “Well, we’re just not going to want to sell it for anything less than an amount that makes it worth it being now available to anybody online.” So, it’s complicated. But I think people who are going to download it are going to download it whether or not there’s a copy to buy anywhere.

I think there’s so many people nowadays that they’re just used to it. It’s unbelievable sometimes. I’ll post up something on the Third Window Films’ Facebook, and the moment I put it up, they’re like, “Can somebody send me a download link?” I’m like, “What the fuck?” But that’s just the mindset of people now, especially people that are from an era that films are so readily available, internet is so fast that that’s how they think. Maybe they don’t think it’s a bad thing and you can’t tell somebody with that mindset, “No, you should be paying for this.” And the world has changed with Netflix, because somebody could pay £10 a month and have access to thousands of films. And it’s like, “Why should I rent this one film digitally for, like, £3? I can pay £10, £5 a month and get MUBI with 1,000 films,” or, “£5 is close to zero, I’ll just download it”, you know? There’s no gap any more, in that respect. And, in that case, what am I to say? That’s just the world we live in. That’s why we have to make these collectors editions, because it has to be worth something that people want to have in their home, that they’ll pay the amount for. Otherwise, if it was just a disc with no bonus features on it, people will just download it anyway.

One of the reasons I moved to Japan – I enjoy living in Japan so much – is that I was getting a bit tired of distribution in the UK, because of piracy and such. Japan has no piracy, no piracy whatsoever, because the police cracked down on it, big-time. The whole market is completely different. Video-on-demand is really not a big thing here, despite the fact we have such great internet. It’s like going back in time, you know? The UK market, it’s all day-and-date, you release it in cinemas and you’re on digital, and it’s all the same day. Back in the days of distribution, before Netflix, you always had the holdbacks, and you’d have a VHS rental. Before sell-through, you’d have a copy just for rental shops. The world has changed so much, and with that, film distribution. But Japan is like an outlier because most films only get a theatrical release here and don’t get a video release or VOD release. Recently, VOD has become a little more, but there’s no sell-through on a lot of titles, a lot of it’s just rental. You still have video rental shops as, like, a normal thing. And people still go to the cinema, and there’s still a hold-back of, like, six months or so between the theatrical and the video.

UK theatrical poster for One Cut of the Dead, a composite image of various stills from the film

The cinema experience is quite different here because a film can only be seen in the cinemas, and therefore, you know, you have to go to the cinema to watch it. And it also allows for the film industry and for independent cinemas to continue going, where you can see so many independent films in cinemas. I think one of the reasons I stopped theatrical distribution in the UK was cinemas would take a film of mine, not put any of the posters up, not promote it at all, and then, like, give it a fucking 11am slot, and then nobody would come on the first day and they would just cancel it. And, it’s like, well, what about word of mouth, you know? There are so many films, if it wasn’t for word of mouth, the film would have died. And in Japan, you can have a film made for, like, $5,000 by a student get a three-week run. Boom. No problem. Every day. And that allows for word of mouth and for things like One Cut of the Dead to become huge successes. And the cinema will do so much effort to promote your film. That really made me fall in love with distribution again, because they’re keeping it like the old style.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Weird Weekend present The Crazy Family on Friday 26th April, 2024, part of our monthly screening series at OFFLINE, Glasgow. Tickets are available here.

Third Window’s restoration of The Crazy Family is released on Blu-ray on 17th June, 2024, as part of their Director’s Company series, details here.

Categories
Monthly Screening Series Writing

Archive: Tony Rayns on Gyakufunsha Kazoku (The Crazy Family)

NB skip the italicised synopsis to avoid spoilers.

The Kobayashi family fulfils a long-standing ambition by moving into a two-storey, three-bedroom suburban house. While his son Masaki studies hard for university entrance exams, his daughter Erika rehearses for a possible record company audition, and his wife Saeko busies herself running the household, breadwinner Katsuhiko submits to a gruelling daily round of commuting, work and exercise. The apparent idyll is disrupted when Katsuhiko’s elderly father Yasukuni arrives for a visit and outstays his welcome. Katsuhiko privately begins to worry about a return of “the sickness” to the family. Goaded by the women’s com­plaints, Yasukuni is preparing to leave when Katsuhiko has the idea of digging a cellar for him under the living-room. He attacks the floor with saws and axes, assuring his horrified family that the cellar will also serve as a fall-out shelter. Soon armed with power tools and increasingly obsessed, Katsuhiko works day and night on the excavation, forgetting his office job and oblivious to the effect on the others in the house. Masaki becomes a zombie recluse, immersed in esoteric revision; neglect drives Saeko into frenzies of frustration; Erika throws tan­trums in her room. Katsuhiko presses on until he strikes a nest of white ants and diverts all his energies to the task of exterminating them. He tries to go back to his job, but the thought of white ants haunts him and he is soon back in the living-room cavity – where he ruptures a water main. Hysteria grips the house and Erika attempts suicide. During the night, Katsuhiko barricades the doors and windows to keep everyone in and tries to trick the family into a group suicide. When this fails, Katsuhiko goes on a would-be murderous rampage and the family turn on each other. Next morning, Saeko prepares breakfast as usual. Katsuhiko is ominously silent until another idea strikes him: they must demolish the house so that they can make a fresh start. Everyone but Erika enthusiastically pitches in, and they leave the house as it collapses. Some time later, all five members of the Kobayashi family are living happily in the wide open space between two motorway flyovers…

Kramer vs. Kramer, Ordinary People and The Family Game are all admirable films dealing with family problems. They are serious films, much praised by critics, and some people regard them as masterpieces. But some of us think differently. We consider them timid films, more or less like the TV family dramas made for middle-aged audiences, and the critics like them more than we do. And so Sogo Ishii and I decided to make a more radical film on the same subject. We wanted a film about the family that would be filled with fun and poison… There are four things that traditionally frighten the Japanese: earthquakes, thunder, fire and fathers. This list is as valid now as it ever was”.

Co-writer Yoshinori Kobayashi’s com­ments explain clearly enough where Gyak­ufunsha Kazoku is coming from (although the joke of bracketing Morita’s subversive Family Game with the two American films may be less apparent here than it is in Japan), but nothing could fully prepare any audience for the way it moves or the final direction it takes. Sogo Ishii’s film is a live-action comic strip, each sequence shattered into component images like panels on a page and edited to rock rhythms. The stylistic attack is matched, blow for blow, by the ruthlessness and cruelty of the humour: satire, slapstick, pain and black comedy are primary elements, but the film goes beyond them all into an area harder and more vicious than anything seen on screen since the early days of Monty Python. Its triumph is that it is (a) consistently funny, and (b) sustained as a narrative, rather than collapsing into a series of sketches. And the bizarre, ‘visionary’ ending (reached by way of a ‘special visual effects’ sequence created by the brilliant avant-garde structuralist film-maker Takashi Ito) is at once a serenely logical extension of the premises of the storyline and a twist that retrospectively gives a science-fiction gloss to the whole proceedings.

Still from The Crazy Family, featuring several of the titular characters amidst a chaotic living room, brandishing weapons; a young girl sits on the ground, head in hands.
The Crazy Family (逆噴射家族, Sogo Ishii, 1984)

At the risk of hammering the jokes into the ground, it should be pointed out that the film’s humour springs from two central paradoxes. First, the proposition that the family’s hard-working, selfless, long­ suffering breadwinner is actually a seething mass of paranoia, haunted by the ‘imperial’ past (in the person of his senile father) and unshakeably convinced that there is a deep­ rooted ‘sickness’ in his family that only his love can cure. Second, the proposition that a family would destroy its own house in the name of saving it from attack by white ants (which represent Japan’s version of dry rot and are not, as might be imagined, monsters dreamed up by the scriptwriters). A Japan­ese audience is alerted to these paradoxes by the title, which translates literally as “The Back-Jet Family”. The reference is to an incident that occurred at Tokyo’s Haneda Airport in the early 1980s. A pilot named Katagiri was about to land a JAL airliner at the end of a short, internal flight. At the crucial moment, he fired the plane’s back jet, causing the aircraft to crash and killing many of the passengers. Pressure of work was blamed for Katagiri-san’s crack-up.

These paradoxes clear the way for the film to tackle its prime targets: the masochism of male students who willingly submit to cramming for exams; the vacuousness of the ‘interests’ that teenage girls are encouraged to pursue; the stereotype of suburban wives as barely repressed Mata Haris; the matching stereotype of suburban husbands as timorous creatures brought out in hot sweats by any sexual proposition; and the general notion of the Japanese nuclear family as an ad-fed unit that literally has no space to accommodate its grandparents, no matter how large its impeccably crafted house. Every one of these is gleefully pushed to an extreme, and the ‘saving grace’ of irony is completely absent. The film also represents a major step forward for Sogo Ishii, whose previous features -­ Crazy Thunder Road (1980) and Bakuretsu Toshi (Burst City, 1982) – were anarchic fantasies about neo-fascists, bike gangs, urban breakdown and mass sodomy con­spicuously lacking in aesthetic judgment and control. Ishii (now approaching his twenty-ninth birthday) has this time gathered a team of outstanding collab­orators – including the cinematographer Masaki Tamura, who also shot Fire Festival – and come up with a film that not only means business but also delivers. He has also had the wit to rescue Hitoshi Ueki from the oblivion of Japanese TV by casting him as the appalling grand­father, a role that deliberately evokes his
’60s heyday in the Irresponsible film series.

Tony Rayns

Tony Rayns’ new book Just Like Starting Over: A Personal View of the Reinvention of Korean Cinema will be published in 2024.

This article was originally published in Monthly Film Bulletin, Jan 1, 1986. Re-published here by very kind permission of Sight and Sound.

The complete archive of Sight and Sound magazine (dating back to 1932) and the Monthly Film Bulletin (1932-1991) is available in digital form for your desktop. Access is included for S&S print subscribers or can be purchased for £35, here.

Weird Weekend present The Crazy Family on Friday 26th April, 2024, part of our monthly screening series at OFFLINE, Glasgow. Tickets are available here.

Watch ICO’s three-part conversation with Tony Rayns

Categories
Monthly Screening Series Writing

Trapped in the Bubble: The Crazy Families of a Pressure Cooker Society

One of the ironies of living in an age of plenty is that it becomes impossible not to feel as if the walls are closing in. The commodity that seems to be in shortest supply during Japan’s period of high prosperity is space and it’s the lack of it, both physically and mentally, that begins to drive people quietly out of their minds until they themselves become the metaphorical termites they so feared quite literally undermining the foundations of their own home. It’s a desire for clearly-defined individual space that sees the Kobayashis longing to escape the cramped conditions of the post-war danchi housing estates, but achieving their dream of becoming homeowners only seems to compound their anxiety. After all, what are they supposed to want now?

The cinema of the 1980s is filled with “crazy families” and a sense of impending doom that the salaryman dream is about to implode. The danchi had been a byword for post-war aspiration, but all the respectable salaryman wants is to get off them and become master of his own domain, as the owner of a home in the suburbs. One of the chief reasons the Kobayashis wanted to move seems to have been a mutual desire for privacy in which the children could have their own rooms leaving the parents space to restore their intimacy as a couple. Of course, this desire is immediately frustrated by the arrival of the grandfather, which forces the parents to sleep apart and provokes a crisis in their new utopia as it becomes clear that once again there is simply not enough space for everyone.

Black and white still from A Sandcastle Model Family Home, featuring the titular family posing in front of their house. Both sons wear blazers, one makes a peace sign.
A Sandcastle Model Family Home (砂の上のロビンソン, Junichi Suzuki, 1989)

The Kidos, a similarly ordinary middle-class family, experience something similar in A Sandcastle Model Family Home (砂の上のロビンソン, Junichi Suzuki, 1989), in which the parents spend their evenings sitting in a cupboard watching TV with headphones on to avoid waking their children who all sleep together in the main room of their tiny danchi apartment. When they win a mansion in the suburbs in a competition to find the ideal family for an ideal home, they think all their dreams have come true, but the changing nature of aspiration in the high pressure Bubble society quickly undermines their familial bonds. All they have to do is live in the house for a year for it to become their legal property, but during that time they must agree to have their entire lives on show and allow the general public – including, at one point, a party of elderly people determined to hold a funeral there – into what is quite literally a show home. Not only do they experience constant harassment from unsuccessful applicants to the competition, but also fierce, class-based resentment from those around them and, most particularly, the father’s colleagues, who demote him to demonstrating their revolutionary blender at a supermarket until the act of performing family life eventually destroys the familial unit completely.

Still from The Family Game, featuring a young Japanese man man looming over a Japanese woman, who seems a little intimidated
The Family Game (家族ゲーム, Yoshimitsu Morita, 1983)

Yoshimitsu Morita’s The Family Game (家族ゲーム, 1983) similarly hinted at the hollow performativity of contemporary family, though the Numatas are among the small number who show no desire to leave their danchi home, even if the father is forever ordering people to his car so they can “talk without whispers”. Like Mr Kobayashi and Mr Kido, Mr Numata is a hardworking salaryman, largely absent from the domestic space, though on the rare occasions he is present simply orders everyone around, at one point telling one of his sons that they have no need to think for themselves because it’s his job to think for them. He also tells his wife it’s her job to manage the domestic space, over which he accepts no responsibility, largely leaving her to parent alone but forever blaming her when his sons don’t live up to his expectations. A traditional housewife in a very conventional family, she is lonely and unfulfilled, quietly regretting having had children so young and reflecting that her life would be easier if her kids were just nicer. The children, meanwhile, are forced into the roles of good son and bad, with the youngest rebelling against social expectation by slacking off at school until the incredibly strange tutor his parents employ begins to take a paternal role and teach him to think for himself only to see him accept conventionality on achieving their shared goal of getting him into the better local high school.

Mr Numata’s obsession with getting into the right schools is indicative of a society ruled by status and hierarchy with the father, of course, sitting at the top. Mr Kobayashi and Mr Kido are evidently less comfortable in that position or with the constraints of the salaryman existence, while Mr Kobayashi’s conviction that his family suffer from the “disease of modern life” also hints at his own anxiety about the negative effects of consumerism. He worries about his daughter’s immaturity and precociousness and his son’s obsessive studying to get into a prestigious university, reflecting that the space he thought would save them has only driven them further apart, while putting distance between himself and the corruption of the city has in fact compounded the family’s madness. The solution that he finds amounts to a deconstruction of the family unit, in which the world they inhabit becomes open and borderless, perhaps devoid of privacy but equally of constraint.

These Bubble-era families are all in their way “crazy”, struggling to redefine themselves in age of excess and increasing individualisation which leaves them dissatisfied with their allotted roles and the diminishing returns of conventional success. The persistent claustrophobia of life lived under oppressive social structures and the breakneck pace of a nation shooting straight past the economic miracle can’t help but drive them out of their minds, resulting only in a kind of unseeing mindlessness or an unstoppable desire to burn it all down and seek freedom in the now abundant space of civilisation’s ashes.

Hayley Scanlon

Weird Weekend present The Crazy Family on Friday 26th April, 2024, part of our monthly screening series at OFFLINE, Glasgow. Tickets are available here.

Hayley Scanlon is a Japanese and East Asian Cinema specialist, writing at Windows on Worlds. Follow Hayley on X, here.