Release Date (UK) – 14th March 2011
Certificate – 15
Country – Japan
Director – Gen Takahashi
Runtime – 195 minutes
Starring – Shun Sagata, Junichi Kawamoto, Kunihiko Ida
A film so controversial that it has yet to receive a full release in its native Japan, Confessions of A Dog is a searing indictment of the Japanese police department and the corruption that courses through it. Takeda (Sagata) is an honest local police officer who, after coming to the attention of Superintendent Saegusa, is promoted to CID and is exposed to the double dealings, back-handers and pay-offs rife within. Initially uncomfortable with such blatant corruption, he gradually embraces it as he rises higher and higher in the force, participating in drug deals, staged seizures and brutality towards suspects. Meanwhile, freelance journalist and club-owner Kusama (Kawamoto) uncovers increasing evidence to bring down the police’s corrupt empire, but finds his path blocked by an unresponsive, pliant media and a biased judicial system. Undeterred, he and fellow journalist Kitamura (Ida) embark on a course of action that will have disastrous consequences for Takeda.
With a run-time of three hours and 15 minutes, and with subject matter that draws on real occurrences within Japanese law enforcement, it is no surprise that this film has struggled to find a distributor in its homeland. It is frank about its outrages, and implicit in pointing the finger at a rotten system of law and order which is aided and abetted by a subservient and uninterested media, exposing a Byzantine web of corruption through the trappings of the police thriller. Takahashi handles his gargantuan film and modest budget with consummate skill, neatly inverting the motifs of the police procedural to great effect, whilst simultaneously injecting a gritty realism to his camerawork, one particularly effective example being Takeda’s violent interrogation of a Korean gang member which turns out to be a trade agreement: using an immediately familiar set-up, Takahashi lures us in with his impassive camera before flipping the outcome: as a result, we are left bewildered and appalled. Not content with merely showing, his direction becomes gradually more expressionistic and explicit, the lighting and camera movement begin to mirror characters’ emotions and, in the climactic press conference and jail cell scenes, we have direct actor-audience interaction, Kusama and Takeda’s faces framed in close-up as they detail the rotten heart of the police force. It is a bravura performance by Takahashi, but he is not the true star of the film.
That honour falls to Shun Sagata, who turns in one of the performances of the last ten years. His transformation from honest family to corrupt liar, all the way down to resigned, desperate scapegoat, is utterly compelling and expertly played. He uses his hulking frame to great effect, from the “cuddly bear” of the opening ten minutes to the violent brute of Take, the man he becomes after years of corruption. The most affecting however is the shuffling, humbled gait of the scapegoat, as he realises that he has been set up for a fall. It is, fittingly for his size, a towering performance.
Beyond this central performance, credit must also go to Kawamoto for a more subtle role as the renegade journalist Kusama. His transformation from brash know-it-all to quietly determined moral compass is handled with great skill and an admirable lack of showiness. The scene between Sagata and Kawamoto is a highlight of the film, the only time the two men are in shot together seeing them feel each out: Takeda, still clinging to notions of honour and loyalty, struggles to persuade Kusama to let alone his line of questioning; Kusama, arrogant in his pursuit of the truth, shuns his advice. It is only a short scene, but is unquestionably a turning point for both men, capturing Takeda just before his slide into the mire and Kusama just before some of the sheen is taken off his quest. It is shot to simple yet stunning effect, marking it as a distant cousin to the De Niro/Pacino scene in Heat. Also impressive is Hironobu Nomura as the yes-man Yamazaki who gradually begins to realise the true implications of so much corruption, and offers a tiny glimmer of hope of redemption at the end.
It is thematically though where the film really delivers. It takes the standard notions of loyalty, honour and family, so intrinsic to Japanese values, and twists and plays with them to thought-provoking, even heartbreaking effect. The notion of police force as family is nothing new, but the manner in which this notion is used and abused is gut-wrenching, particularly in a scene where the police round up a group of youths and beat them senseless, due to some twisted notion of duty. The use of ‘family ties’ is used to justify reinforce corruption, especially in the case of Takeda, who feels honour bound to do what his boss says, even if it goes against his own principles, to the point that the twisted morals of the police become his own. It is a wonderful conceit and expertly handled, particularly in Takeda’s final betrayal. This examination of the link between Japanese values on honour and corruption also broadens the scope to implicate Japanese society as a whole for its own part in allowing such disgusting abuses of power.
Confessions of a Dog is a monumental achievement, exposing the faultlines in Japanese law and order and the impact it has on morality and justice. There is so much that it packs into its running time that a more detailed examination of it would take days and would probably crash the server. Not a frame is wasted, each expanding the web and compounding the tragedy. Sterling performances abound, and Takahashi sends out a warning shot to the police force in inflammatory style, and the mere fact that it has been suppressed shows the power that it could wield. If you have any interest in cinema as social and political tool, then this film is for you. Come to think of it, if you have any interest in cinema at all, then this film should be compulsory viewing.
Extras include a 40 minute making of, illuminating Takahasi’s approach to film-making; an interview with the director about Yu Terasawa, the inspirational journalist behind the film; and a panel discussion and Q&A session taken from the Japanese Canadian Cultural Centre screening of the film, which gives further background and insight into the way in which Takahashi works and the goals behind the film. An excellent complement to an already excellent film.
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