An haute, minimalistic view on loneliness
Cinematic flapper
Anna Nguyen
Issue date: 1/26/09 Section: Lifestyles
Among the piles of books scattered throughout my bedroom, Haruki Murakami's latest novel, "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running," was one of the books I read during the holiday break. I cannot recall how long it has been since I read a piece by Murakami, but every time I finish one of his novels I'm left breathless by his prose and wit.
I can never have enough Murakami books. Films, too, of course, are another great, indulging escape. As I wait for Tran Anh Hung to complete his film adaptation of "Norwegian Wood," the only, and first, film that perfectly tailored a Murakami piece is the late Jun Ichikawa's "Tony Takitani." Faithfully based on Murakami's short story of the same name, the film beautifully captures all of the author's characteristic traits. The quintessential isolated man, mysterious women who come and go and return, American jazz, and references to Japan's post-war experiences are all present in the film.
"Tony Takitani" begins with a narrated biographical account of Tony Takitani as a child and his father, a carefree jazz musician who was in prison because of war conflicts. The film then gradually focuses on Tony's transition as a young man who works as a freelance mechanistic illustrator. His career choice is the perfect profession as Tony, even in youth, is a man who lives an emotionless life. Although his father is still alive, Tony only visits him once a year. This loneliness is echoed in the film's discourse, as characters only speak sparsely and the narration is almost the only dialogue the audience hears. Drawing machines, then, perfectly describes Tony's view of life.
The second half of the film explores the conflicted relationship between loneliness and love. Tony falls in love with a much younger woman, named Konuma Eiko, allured by her ability to wear high fashion naturally. The two eventually get married, and Tony begins to fear the possibility of being alone again His wife's addiction to shopping, however becomes problematic. While Tony was able to avoid emptiness, Konuma Eiko confesses that she is self-centered and likes to indulge in shopping as a means to fill the void she feels inside of her. As an ode to her love of fashion, the film features darkly satritized scenes showing his wife's couture wardrobe, including a small montage of the shoes she wears. Despite Tony's initial desire to avoid confrontation, he begins to feel that his wife's alarmingly expensive shopping habits could escalate into a bigger problem. Tragedy ensues, and Tony's biggest fear returns.
As the film perfectly illustrates, Murakami's story explores the fear of the character's emptiness and the material objects that have variegated and unexpected meaning for the characters and Tony's denial of the shadows that his wife's memories have left him with.
It seems, to me, almost impossible to discuss the response I have whenever I think about Murakami's literature. The film, although very simple, leaves me with a familiar unsettling feeling, one that always occurs whenever I contemplate on the last sentence of a Murakami novel. It is the inconclusive endings that constantly bewilders me. And despite the film's extended ending scenes, "Tony Takitani," too, has left me troubled.
Anna Nguyen is the Lifestyles Editor of The Arkansas Traveler. Her column appears every other Monday.
I can never have enough Murakami books. Films, too, of course, are another great, indulging escape. As I wait for Tran Anh Hung to complete his film adaptation of "Norwegian Wood," the only, and first, film that perfectly tailored a Murakami piece is the late Jun Ichikawa's "Tony Takitani." Faithfully based on Murakami's short story of the same name, the film beautifully captures all of the author's characteristic traits. The quintessential isolated man, mysterious women who come and go and return, American jazz, and references to Japan's post-war experiences are all present in the film.
"Tony Takitani" begins with a narrated biographical account of Tony Takitani as a child and his father, a carefree jazz musician who was in prison because of war conflicts. The film then gradually focuses on Tony's transition as a young man who works as a freelance mechanistic illustrator. His career choice is the perfect profession as Tony, even in youth, is a man who lives an emotionless life. Although his father is still alive, Tony only visits him once a year. This loneliness is echoed in the film's discourse, as characters only speak sparsely and the narration is almost the only dialogue the audience hears. Drawing machines, then, perfectly describes Tony's view of life.
The second half of the film explores the conflicted relationship between loneliness and love. Tony falls in love with a much younger woman, named Konuma Eiko, allured by her ability to wear high fashion naturally. The two eventually get married, and Tony begins to fear the possibility of being alone again His wife's addiction to shopping, however becomes problematic. While Tony was able to avoid emptiness, Konuma Eiko confesses that she is self-centered and likes to indulge in shopping as a means to fill the void she feels inside of her. As an ode to her love of fashion, the film features darkly satritized scenes showing his wife's couture wardrobe, including a small montage of the shoes she wears. Despite Tony's initial desire to avoid confrontation, he begins to feel that his wife's alarmingly expensive shopping habits could escalate into a bigger problem. Tragedy ensues, and Tony's biggest fear returns.
As the film perfectly illustrates, Murakami's story explores the fear of the character's emptiness and the material objects that have variegated and unexpected meaning for the characters and Tony's denial of the shadows that his wife's memories have left him with.
It seems, to me, almost impossible to discuss the response I have whenever I think about Murakami's literature. The film, although very simple, leaves me with a familiar unsettling feeling, one that always occurs whenever I contemplate on the last sentence of a Murakami novel. It is the inconclusive endings that constantly bewilders me. And despite the film's extended ending scenes, "Tony Takitani," too, has left me troubled.
Anna Nguyen is the Lifestyles Editor of The Arkansas Traveler. Her column appears every other Monday.
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