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Review by
Calvin
McMillin: |
Was it Confucius
or Roger Moore who once said, "Before setting
off on revenge, dig two graves"? Whatever
the case, Portrait of the Wind (a.k.a.
Tagatameni) is a revenge drama that explores
that credo by eschewing the vicarious Kill
Bill-like thrills of gratuitous violence
in favor of a more realistic take on how the
desire for vengeance can consume one's very
soul. Discussing this film is impossible without
spoiling its crucial first act turning point
- even dancing around it would require the use
of language that would immediately give away
this major story point. So be warned, spoilers
ahead!
Portrait of the
Wind centers on Tamio Murase (Tadanobu Asano),
a world-traveling photographer who came home
to take over the family business after his father's
fatal heart attack. One day at the family photo
studio, he finds a kindred spirit in Ayako (Erika)
and the requisite sparks fly between them. The
initial portions of the film deal with their
budding romance, and it isn't long before the
two become a serious couple, and Ayako is pregnant
with Tamio's child. As compelling as all of
this proves to be, the romance is merely setting
the viewer up for film's abrupt, ultimately
tragic narrative turn.
While helping a lost
child find his mother, Ayako is spotted by a
creepy young man named Tatsuya Yamagishi (Teppe
Koike). Unbeknownst to her, he promptly follows
her home. When she answers the door, he barges
in and brutally murders her - without the slightest
hint of motive. Tamio, of course, is thoroughly
devastated by the loss and feels even worse
when he learns that Tatsuya's status as a juvenile
affords him certain privileged rights despite
his heinous crime. Not only are Tamio and his
family barred from the court proceedings, but
the secret trial itself has only one goal: rehabilitation,
not punishment. Thus, a light sentence is guaranteed,
and Tatsuya will be walking the streets in no
time. If he was only a few years older, he'd
be given serious jail time, but as a minor,
the law is in his favor.
In the year that
follows, Tamio falls deeper in depression due
to his heartbreak, unable to move on despite
his friends' and family's encouragement. And
thanks to the intrusiveness of a nosy reporter
feeding him details about the case, Tamio finds
his desire to avenge his beloved's death festering
within, and he quickly finds himself purchasing
a knife with the idea of someday exacting revenge.
Even so, he eventually seems to find some joy
in life by dating his childhood friend, the
ever-devoted Mari (Chizuru Ikewaki) and piecing
together the events of Ayako's past and her
last photo project. But when Tamio discovers
that Tatsuya has been set free, the viewer begins
to wonder whether he'll succumb to his need
for retribution or find happiness with the pure-hearted
Mari.
Portrait of the
Wind is a film chock-full of any number
of topics: a critique of Japan's criminal justice
system, a commentary on the futility of revenge,
the consequences of broken homes, a plea for
the rights of victims and their families, an
essay on the impossibility of finding any real
closure in life, etc. But thankfully, it doesn't
feel like a stereotypical "message movie"
that really wants to hammer its audience over
the head with its BIG TOPIC. Its "issues"
are complicated and contradictory, meant more
for serious after-movie discussion than for
knee-jerk polemics or political agendas. Ultimately,
Portrait of the Wind tackles the concept
of revenge in a way that few films have: by
focusing on the enormity of the act itself.
As usual, Tadanobu
Asano does a fine job, and is somehow able to
convey in his eternal stoicism an inner life
that simply wouldn't register in the face of
a lesser actor. Interestingly enough, while
the film sympathizes with his character by showing
the depth of his sorrow and emphasizing that
bloody retribution is more or less inevitable,
it also makes it crystal clear that revenge
would only end his life as well. The cruel irony
of the film is that the somewhat morally justified
actions of Tamio (ending the life of a killer
who went unpunished) would make him face serious
consequences in the criminal justice system
that the cold, morally repugnant Tatsuya did
not.
Revenge aside, the
film is an intimate, often fascinating meditation
on love and life. The usage of flashbacks enlivens
Portrait of the Wind considerably in
that they help deepen one's impression of the
loving relationship between Ayako and Tamio.
Rather than rely simply on the concept itself
- a murdered loved one - the film peels back
the layers of the relationship to show both
her character and her history. Slow and ponderous,
Portrait of the Wind isn't for everyone,
but it's certainly a welcome break from the
norm. Although a more polished conclusion would
have been preferable, Portrait of the Wind's
ability to raise questions about a great number
of issues without resorting to pat answers or
political polarization, enhances its simply-told,
ever-engaging tale considerably. (Calvin McMillin, 2006)
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