by Victor Pryor
Tokyo Tribe is playing at the School Of Visual Arts Silas Theater in Manhattan on July 11. For tickets and further details, click here
Though there will be a couple more write-ups, and it’s not the final film I watched of the festival, there is no better conclusion to everything I’ve seen here than the batshit insane glory that is Sion Sonos’ Tokyo Tribe.
We here at Cinapse have already taken looks at a few of Sono’s previous films Cold Fish (which gets a meta-name check in Tribe), Love Exposure and Why Don’t You Play In Hell, and Jon Partridge covered Tribe during it’s turn at last years Fantastic Fest. And though I managed to have somehow missed all of that, five minutes into this movie the reason for the extent of our appreciation became very, very clear:
We talk about him so much because he’s awesome, and the world needs to know this.
Based on a manga by Santa Inoue, the story of Tribes is as simple as this: in an alternate version of Tokyo where each ward is ruled by a different street gang, the various factions jockey for dominance.
Also (and I admit that this might be burying the lead a bit), the film is a musical where almost every line of dialogue is rapped.
I know, I know: this sounds like a disaster.
I assure you; it is not.
And the reason it is not is due to the relentless level of invention and playfulness on display. Sion Sono is a director of stunning technique and grand ambition. And as such, there’s a joy of filmmaking here, a joy of performance, a joy of pure musicality that isn’t just catchy… it’s downright infectious.
The movie is dense with memorable, visually arresting characters, impressively imaginative art design, laugh out loud sight gags, and a pulsing, throbbing hip-hop beat that captures the inherent abandon of hip-hop in as pure a form as I’ve ever seen.
“Stylized” doesn’t even begin to cover it. The world Sono creates is a hyperreal wonderland. The sets look like day-glo playsets from the toyline for some long forgotten post apocalyptic cartoon. And through it dance the wildest set of characters seen onscreen in quite some time.
(And, for good measure, a geriatric grandma DJ, because why the hell not?)
Star of my other favorite film from the fest Kabukicho Love Hotel Shota Sometani, reappears here in a very different (but equally entertaining) guise, as “MC Sho”, the heavy lidded Narrator with the corduroy flow who sets the scene.
The tone is set when bottle blonde thug (and, as we’ll find out later, speedo enthusiast) Merra traces a map of the various factions into the bare torso of a rookie female cop who we never see again after that opening scene. Each gang gets a few bars about how tough and badass they are. Though with the exception of Merra’s Wu Ronz gang and the real overlord of Tokyo, the majestically grotesque Buppa, they all seem more interested in rapping about how tough they are than actually proving it.
Merra has an irrational hatred of Kai, leader of the Mushashino Tribe, and it’s this enmity that becomes the backbone of the movie, even as events swirl around a girl named Sunmi who is taken to the slums of Saga Town to become a prostitute. Her oddly serene reactions (and even encouragements) of the de rigeur sexual threats (and her clear ability to beat up pretty much every last one of her captors) makes for a very odd damsel in distress, until her story is revealed in a delightfully daffy twist that it would be a shame to reveal here.
Indeed, this write-up could easily become just a list of things that I loved, which would cover everything from the hairstyle of Merra’s sidekick Skunk (best described as a horizontal mohawk) to a fight scene in a bamboo forest” made of industrial pipes with blades attached to them to bad guy Niko’s red lit room of living human “furniture” to the all-too brief appearances by a character I can only refer to as “Beat Boxing Tea Girl”. The film is an endless treasure chest of wonders.
But instead… let’s talk about rap, shall we?
Because I imagine a scenario where the movie is accused of cultural appropriation by hip-hop “purists”. The possibility exists that the movie could be considered in some circles to be disrespectful of rap, or to be leeching off of black culture to affect some sort of “coolness” factor.
Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, in its focus on youth and community, there’s a very strong case to be made that Tokyo Tribe is a genuine follower of the ‘First Principles’ of rap.
Though, as in all things, there is plenty of variety if you know where to look, it’s hard to argue that the mainstream face of current hip-hop consists mainly of conspicuous consumption and mindless booty jams. The specter of so-called “gangster rap” still exists, but isn’t nearly the dominant force it once was. But while this has been the standard mode of the genre for quite some time (possibly long enough that most people don’t realize it was once otherwise), once upon a time rap was all about community pride and the only conflicts were verbal. You weren’t the best rapper due to your bank account or your skill as a killer; you were the best because when you got on mic, no one could touch you. And in the boasts of the various gangs (who, it has to be said, don’t all approach the gold standard), we see that spirit resurrected in a strange and wondrous new form.
This is not the bandwagon rap we got in every third McDonalds commercial in the 90s; this is at least trying to be the real thing. Or at least a faithful and respectful homage to same.
These gangs are at the mercy of a system has them set up as rivals, as enemies, but gangs seem mostly harmless here, content to pose and stunt in their individual territories. It is only their acceptance of (and the irrational fury of Merra that tips things into all-out war. These guys just wanna have a good time. Which is kind of an old school concept.
On the other hand, COUNTERPOINT: The Shinjuku Gang have a fucking tank…)
And while to the untrained eye Tokyo Tribe may come off as a frivolous oddity, or some kind of gimmicky affectation, it’s ambitions and it’s techniques deserve deeper consideration the conclusion puts the lie to that as well. When we learn the real reason for Merra’s seemingly baseless hatred of Kai, it’s both hilariously arbitrary and stupid, as well as a perfect and trenchant metaphor for the inherent pointlessness of all conflicts. And the final message, one of unity, resonates with a sincerity that’s pretty much unthinkable anywhere but Japan.
I couldn’t have asked for a better ending to my New York Asian Film Fest experience. In a couple of weeks filled with new and wonderful visions of international art and the potential future of cinema, Tokyo Tribe stands head and shoulders above them all (no faint praise, considering how much I loved damn near everything I saw this year). It’s a fever dream adrenaline blast straight to the skull, and if you’re a fan of the offbeat, you need to seek it out immediately.
