Tag: Ayumu Saito

The Hunter and the Hunted (油断大敵, Izuru Narushima, 2004)

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The thrill and excitement of being a thief only exist when there’s a great detective around, according to the legendary cat burglar, Nekoda, in Izuru Narushima’s warmhearted crime drama, The Hunter and the Hunted (油断大敵, Yudan Taiteki). The film takes its title from a four-character idiom, a proverb advising that the greatest danger is complacency, which is indeed one of the weapons employed by Neko, nicknamed “the Cat”, as he builds a relationship with the man he hopes will become his greatest adversary. 

Jin (Koji Yakusho) is a widowed single-father coming to the conclusion that his career as a policeman is incompatible with his responsibilities as a parent. Perhaps bearing out the still sexist nature of the early 2000s society, everyone keeps telling him to remarry so that he won’t have to worry about childcare any more, or else find a job that doesn’t require being constantly available in order to work on the criminals’ schedule. The problem is that Jin really likes his job as a thief catcher having transferred from the local police box after his wife passed away from an illness. He really doesn’t want to give it up, but is beginning to feel as if he has no choice. Neko (Akira Emoto) too encourages him to remarry and Jin lets slip that he’s taken a liking to a lady that works at his daughter’s daycare. But though Misaki really likes Makiko (Yui Natsukawa), the thought of her father remarrying causes her to go on a three-day hunger strike. Reluctantly, Jin has to give up on his romantic hopes, though he refuses to do so in terms of his career and in fact goes on to be promoted after receiving a commendation for catching Neko seemingly by chance when he stepped in to fix Misaki’s broken bicycle while Jin was too busy with something else.

It turns out, however, that it wasn’t really by chance at all. Neko has an MO. He essentially allowed Jin to arrest him because he needed medical treatment. Neko’s life of crime means that he can’t enrol on the government health insurance scheme so he can’t afford to go to the hospital where he’d be arrested anyway. Nevertheless, he seems to take a liking to Jin precisely because of his mild-mannered earnestness and tries to teach him how to think like a thief so that when he gets out in 10 years’ time, he’ll be a worthy adversary and their cat and mouse game can truly begin. Having Neko out there gives Jin a concrete reason to stay in the police and polish his skills, while knowing he has Jin to play off gives Neko a sense of purpose in an otherwise aimless life of total freedom. He describes thievery as his calling and claims that as laws are made by humans and a vocation is given by god, he has a right to pursue it that transcends human justice even if Jin scoffs at his sophistry.

Deciding against remarriage, Jin’s main personal relationship outside his daughter becomes that with Neko who is somewhere between friend and adversary. Once Misaki has grown up and tells him that she plans to do humanitarian work abroad after training as a nurse, Jin can’t help but feel betrayed. She prevented him from marrying a woman that he genuinely cared about, but now tells him he should meet the woman the lady from the bakery is trying to set him up with and plans to palm him off on someone else, just as she feared he might do if he married again leaving his new wife care to Misaki and devoting himself to work. But what he realises it that his relationships with Misaki and Neko are basically the same. He has to accept that his daughter has grown up and chosen her own path to follow. It’s time to let her go. Neko, meanwhile, has found his freedom in thievery, and so he will never stop doing it no matter how many times Jin catches him or how many times he escapes. All Neko wants out of life is that they both stay healthy enough to keep playing this game right to the very end so that he can die as a thief having experienced the true joy of battling his nemesis while Jin too enjoys the thrill of the chase as a thief-catcher hot on the trail of a master. Which is to say, no one actually wants to win this game, and what has really come to matter is their extremely co-dependent friendship that transcends the limits of the law.

Doing Time (刑務所の中, Yoichi Sai, 2002)

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Who ever thought that life in prison could be so…peaceful? Adapted from the autobiographical manga by Kazuichi Hanawa, Yoichi Sai’s 2002 drama Doing Time (刑務所の中, Keimusho no Naka) is a slice of life dramedy somewhat typical of the early 2000s save its unexpected setting in a state penitentiary. Unlike the average prison movie, the main thing that Hanawa discovers is that life inside is incredibly dull, yet he approaches his brief sojourn in this other world with anthropological precision observing and mimicking the behaviour of his fellow prisoners while making the most of this hopefully once in a lifetime experience reflecting that he’ll likely never have the opportunity to wear such worn out undergarments ever again. 

A quiet man already in middle age, Hanawa (Tsutomu Yamazaki) is no dangerous criminal merely a firearms enthusiast who liked to fire modified pistols into bottles of water. He’s got three years for illegal possession of weaponry and explosives, which seems to be quite a harsh penalty considering another man is doing seven for murder after shooting a man he says waved an axe at him when he went to collect a debt. There are clearly men who have committed violent crimes in Hanawa’s immediate vicinity, yet this is not a traditional tale of prison gangs and factional infighting, the only violence we witness concerns one prisoner who appears to have broken the rules accidentally in thoughtlessness or ignorance rather than direct rebellion. Rather it is, ironically enough, almost like a summer camp in which Hanawa and his four cellmates attempt to amuse themselves during the little free time they are offered for contemplation and relaxation. 

Even so, every inch of the prisoners’ lives is micromanaged by the guards from the way they walk to when they are allowed to move or speak. So entirely stripped of their dignity are they, that they must ask for permission even to use the toilet in their own cell while in solitary confinement and dutifully report back once they’ve finished. The communal squat toilets at the back of the workshop where Hanawa works crafting wooden tissue boxes are entirely open with only knee-height doors on each stall for privacy. The prisoners’ days are tightly ordered, early to bed and early to rise with work in-between and only the promise of rest to look forward to on weekends and holidays. 

Ostensibly a shy man, Hanawa dislikes having to ask permission all the time though not so much as an affront to his autonomy as simply bothersome. Surprisingly he begins to warm to the rhythms and routines of prison life discovering in them a kind of liberation, finding his time in solitary for “unauthorised communication” the most enjoyable of his sentence free as it is of the necessity of interacting with other people. Like the bug collector in Woman of the Dunes, he finds freedom in simplicity appreciating the mindlessness of his absurd new job folding paper bags for medical prescriptions. He can abandon any sense of responsibility for his life, submitting himself entirely to the guards’ authority and surrendering the need for control, happy to allow his existence to be managed for him without needing to decide on anything for himself. 

That aside, it’s difficult to see what other purpose prison could serve for a man like Hanawa who merely had an unusual if potentially dangerous hobby save providing him with a unique life experience he seems to be treating as a kind of adventure. He may at times look down on his cellmates who have their own routines, but otherwise appears grateful for their input and advice regarding prison life often listening to their explanations for behaviour he regards as strange such as removing one’s trousers before entering the bathroom and then deciding to do as they do. With so little stimulation the mundane becomes exciting, each meal a culinary adventure listening to a cellmate recount his group treat of a film screening (Takeshi Kitano’s Kid’s Return) as if he had returned from exotic land relishing his description of the chocolate biscuits and cola he was given to snack on. Time is what Hanawa is doing, but he does at least gain the opportunity of experiencing life in slow motion learning to appreciate the beauty of a single dandelion while observing the absurdity of the world all around him which is perhaps no more absurd than that which exists outside.