Serdar | Genji Press

Throw Away Your Books, Let’s Go Out Into the Streets is unquestionably a product of the late Sixties and early Seventies, when rebellion ruled the artistic roost and everything from “anti-theater” to “un-universities” were in vogue. In the same way, Books is something like “anti-cinema”: it’s unburdened by anything like a linear plot or conventional storytelling, has no real beginning or end (or even a middle, really), and floats freely from one loony scene to the next. Despite all this, it’s not the unwatchable disaster it could very easily have been; it’s actually quite charming in its ragged insistence on being its own self.

Books was written and directed by Shuji Terayama, known widely in Japan as a filmmaker, poet and screenwriter. Among his scripts were My Face Red in the Sunset and Tears on the Lion’s Mane, two of Masahiro Shinoda’s better movies. He was also one of the co-founders of the avant-garde Art Theatre Guild, which was responsible for some of Japan’s most interesting and confrontational movies through the Seventies and Eighties. Books was produced as an ATG project, along with Terayama’s outlandish and controversial first film Emperor Tomato Ketchup. While it isn’t as flat-out unreal (and frankly indigestible) as Ketchup, it’s no less bizarre—but endearingly so.

Here we have one of the most uncompelling movies in recent memory, wrapped up in a visual style that's needlessly confusing and weighted down with performances that have all the flavor of a loaf of unbaked bread. Yesterday is not the worst of many recent Korean SF flop-busters—the all-time loser in that regard is the lamentable Resurrection of the Little Match Girl—but it's quite a tiresome mess unto itself. It’s so excruciatingly uninvolving that it took three separate sittings for me to watch the whole thing, making a two-hour movie feel like four.

Yesterday is like one of those Movie-By-Numbers jobs, where the ingredients are all there but the flair of the chef is missing. It contains a great many things—serial killers, genetic experiments, futuristic police work—but they all just sort of sit there. They never gel into a reason to keep watching. Plus, there's a fight or chase every ten minutes just to keep the audience awake—the sort of thing that in a better movie would work as punctuation but here is more like stammering.

If someone like me, a fairly seasoned veteran of moviegoing and -reviewing, can’t make head or tail of Dogura Magura, what does that bode for everyone else? I ask this question not because I’m hostile to difficult movies; in fact, I actively seek them out. But Dogura Magura has a narrator that can’t be trusted telling a story that may have no substance in a plot that may never have existed to begin with. It’s a pretentious version of one of those thrillers where every piece of evidence can be read one of two ways, and the identity of the killer can be changed in the very last shot to appease the test marketers.

The movie is an adaptation of a widely-revered surrealist novel from 1935 Japan, repeatedly described as unfilmable, so maybe you need to be a fan of the book to feel any connection with the material. From what I understand, the movie actually follows the book fairly closely, but a movie version of any story needs to stand on its own and not require support from the readers. The director was Toshio Matsumoto, the avant-garde filmmaker who gave us Funeral Procession of Roses, so he was no stranger to outlandish material or non-linear storytelling. I’m not sure it helped.