When discussing Japanese anime, planarity is often highlighted. There are many arguments emphasizing the flatness of anime, in which it is sometimes associated with traditional Japanese art and considered a unique Japanese characteristic. While distancing himself from this debate, Thomas Lamarre also focuses on the flatness of anime. He calls the structure that combines multiple planes specific to the animation stand used for cel animation production an “anime machine” and terms the movement of planes produced by anime machines “animetism.” The concept of animetism has become important, especially when analyzing anime aesthetically.
However, Steamboy (2004), which he cites as an example of animetism, is created by a different structure than that of the anime machine. The setback camera used by Fleischer Studios is a preceding example of such a structure. This paper defines the unique images created by the structure of the setback camera as Fleischerian space and claims that it also appears in Japanese anime. This Fleischerian space highlights what is missing from the discussion of the anime machine. The potential for anime that are not confined to flatness appears there.
In Thai movie theatre, a propaganda film of the king is shown before the screening of the film. It is a composition of the king controlling the nation-state through the projection of images. Filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s feature film Cemetery of Splendour (Cemetery of Splendour, 2015) exposes this intimate relationship between Thai cinema/projections and the king and the state, and reconstructs the history of Thai cinema and the politics surrounding it. The aim of this paper is to bring to light the relationship between Thai cinema and the king and the state through the technology of projection. The first section reconstructs the conventional history of Thai cinema in terms of the relationship between the king and cinema=projection. The second section further historicizes projection in Thailand, referring to the earlier work of Thai regional scholar Thongchai Winichakul. The map is the king’s screen. The king projects a virtual, disembodied land on this screen. The author juxtaposes the political use of projection with the political use of cinema in Tomb of Light. In this article, Apichatpong casts a critical eye on the history of Thai cinema and the political relations of projection, and reveals the process of renewing his own projective practices.
This paper deals with Uchida Tomu’s jidaigeki film The Horse Boy (“Abarenbo Kaido,” 1957), which is adapted from Chikamatsu Monzaemon’s joruri and kabuki.
After the defeat in World War II, nationalistic movements by the left wing became active in Japan. In such trend of the times, they got to reinterpret Chikamatsu. In the film industry, Chikamatsu’s works were adapted to films in line with these discourses.
Uchida spent eight years in Manchuria after Japan’s defeat in World War II. We discuss how his nostalgia for traditional performing arts and his ethnic sentiments were developed and heightened during this time.
Through examining multiple scripts, we presume that Uchida planned to make The Horse Boy together with left-wing filmmakers, and the script was written from the viewpoint of criticizing the feudal system.
We show that in this film, the deprivation of the character’s status is depicted by the changes of their names, which are involved in their self-identity.
The two lamenting scenes, including the main scene in the original, are filled with melodramatic elements. However, we focus on that these sequences will direct the audience to the realization of the situation itself rather than to identify with the characters’ emotions.
Cinema City swept the Hong Kong film industry as soon as it was established in 1980. Cinema City films dominated almost all theaters in Hong Kong. The monopoly prevented independent productions distribute their films, therefore opportunity of debuts for young directors was limited severely. For this reason, Cinema City has been often criticized as a company that reduced the manifold possibilities of Hong Kong cinema, which many critics had expected in the late 1970s. Furthermore, its works have been viewed as a uniform fashion about their stories and gags. However, the company improved the previous box-office record, and contributed to the extension of the market in the 1980s. This article argues a filmmaking method of Cinema City, and especially focuses on Tsui Hark who participated in the main members of the company. One of the important characteristics of Cinema City is the collective creation. The collective creation prohibited that all directors made a film freely and spontaneously. This method led the industry into chaos and un-institutionalization of filmmaking, because it dismantled the professional divisions. This article examines how the system of Cinema City exerted an influence on the 1980s Hong Kong film industry and the authorship of Tsui Hark.