I could probably think of several worthier films to ring in the New Year with, but I’ve shelved this one long enough, so here we go. It seems that most films set in Japan – helmed by non-Japanese directors – share a common, irksome trait: the directors’ overzealous approach in exploring the cityscape, various customs and foreign lifestyles which, of course, is aesthetically pleasing, but ultimately transforms their work into a lengthy travelogue that turns out to be more taxing than enjoyable to sit through. Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation – which I really admired for its ethereal quality – suffered from “travelogue” syndrome in a few areas; focusing more on setting while leaving scant room for story, but at least Coppola was considerate enough to imbue some life into her script in terms of characterization.
With Map of the Sounds of Tokyo, Coppola’s fellow Japanophile Isabel Coixet (Elegy, Paris, je t'aime) not only managed to strike me as a travel agent under the guise of a filmmaker, but also as someone who seems overenthusiastic about bathing their film in ornate visuals to cover up a weak story. However, despite being a prime example of style over substance, what Map does well, it does extremely well.
The film opens with a gratuitous nyotaimori scene, showing a roomful of international businessmen eating sushi off the chests of five or six nude women, but radical feminists needn't concern themselves because Coixet makes sure to wag her finger at the practice by having the film’s soon-to-be griever Nagara (Takeo Nakahara) frown upon the display. But here’s the real kicker: the very same women are shown again in an arbitrary shower scene mere seconds after Nagara receives a distressing phone call informing him that his daughter has committed suicide. Not only is it one of the most out-of-place – and tasteless – scenes I’ve seen in, well, years, it’s also a mark of the poor craftsmanship and integrity that exudes in this film; not to mention the insufficient cultural research that was most likely doled out during production.
Nagara – alongside his faithful associate Ishida (Hideo Sakaki) – eventually discovers that his daughter’s suicide may link back to her recent breakup with David (Sergi López), a Spanish wine-seller based in Tokyo. Distraught over Nagara’s suffering, and personal matters of his own, Ishida hires Ryu (Rinko Kikuchi) – a fish-market employee who doubles as a hit-woman – to kill David and attain retribution. But Ishida’s act of vengeance is put on the backburner when romance blossoms between Ryu and her target.
What really threw me for a loop is how Coixet incorporates the film’s fifth player: a character simply referred to as “the narrator”, played by Min Tanaka, who gives a spectacularly nuanced performance, but like the rest of the cast, is cheated of better material. His intriguing setup in the beginning – from his observational musings of Ryu’s silent nature to his odd profession of audio engineer (one who records prosaic, but distinctive sounds) – is completely ousted the moment David and Ryu’s series of romantic trysts comes into play. Tanaka provides one hell of a compelling character, and it’s almost upsetting the way Coixet tunes out his potential. Having a narrator recount the story is swell, but if a director opts for the unconventional route and decides to play up the narrator’s role as a pivotal character, they should at least leave room for effective characterization.
The “love story” between Kikuchi and López that shadows any evidence of the narrator’s existence is largely forgettable, even bland compared to the quaint aspects of Tanaka’s few scenes. But like Tanaka, Kikuchi and López manage to somehow transcend the spiritless dialogue they’re given – animating flat lines in semi-coherent English – and their chemistry, while not electrifying, revolutionizes the norm. As I mentioned above, Coixet’s fixation here is clearly on visuals; capturing the colorful and “cute” features of Japan – all relatively embellished to re-establish the setting in case the viewer forgets – but her general handling of the scenery remains solid throughout, noteworthy even. Unfortunately, the compliments wane there. Pure technical exercise – and visual eye candy – opposed to an engrossing experience, Map of the Sounds of Tokyo exhibits ambition on the surface, but very little underneath.
6.5/10
