politic1983

Blue is very much the colour in Eiichi Kudo's "Yokohama BJ Blues", a laidback story of a private detective-cum-blues singer among the grottier parts of Yokohama. But the blue tint throughout and soundtrack don't portray a sadness, but a cool given off by its star Yusaku Matsuda.

BJ meets with his old friend, now a detective, when they are ambushed; the detective left dead. His young partner believes BJ is responsible, interrogating and trailing him around the city. Meanwhile, BJ delves into the underworld of the city, looking to clear his name, as well as performing at the blues club and meet with his various girlfriends.

All around him is anger and chaos, but BJ barely flinches at anything, letting everyone else take care of themselves, leaving him to walk away from it all to the next song.

For this to work, it requires several things. Alongside the blue tint throughout, Seizo Sengen's cinematography has a mix of distance shots and cropped close-ups, giving both a mix of Yokohama's urban, port city sprawl and the unmoved expressions of BJ, making this the portrait of a man in the city.

The Blue Note aesthetic needs a decent soundtrack to go with it, which this has, with Matsuda having the right look and delivery for the part. Indeed, this is very much a Matsuda piece, bouncing around the city with a nonchalant swagger, unphased by anything put in his way. Whether arriving at a girlfriend's apartment and finding her in bed with another man, but still needing his nap time; or being shot at.

This is, therefore, a little surface-level, all about the look and style, but makes for an entertaining and enjoyable watch. Indeed, you'd happily watch BJ in another scenario as a recurring character in a series of films, though maybe not quite to Tora-san levels.

For an aesthetically-driven film, there are a number of obvious downfalls. The plot isn't particularly groundbreaking, and BJ is somewhat bulletproof in the face of danger. Some scenes also feel a little throw-in for the sake of it; and there is a somewhat out-of-place playful scene that is obscure more than anything.

This is a lovely dollop of Seventies to Eighties cool coming out of the grot and the grime. It looks the part, sounds the part, with the right lighting to get you through an early hours viewing.

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For two decades, the directorial career of Takeshi Kitano has been in gradual decline - most notable for the greater-than-its-parts "Outrage" trilogy and some self-effacing comedies that failed to leave much lasting impression. "Broken Rage", his latest, sits somewhere between the two, mixing cops v yakuza power struggles with an innate desire to poke fun at himself, in a film with the self-aware randomness of "Getting Any?" (1994).

'Mouse' ('Beat' Takeshi, as ever) is an ageing man who frequents a coffee shop to collect orders and payments from the faceless 'M' for yakuza hits. Efficient and unassuming, he is successful, but is caught by the police, who agree to strike a deal with him to bring in the yakuza head.

The scenario then plays out again, only this time, where Mouse was good at his work, he is now a bumbling idiot, prone to slapstick errors and miscalculations. From here on in, the cool of the first half becomes a stream of quick-fire visual gags and blunder, as Kitano once again plays with the dualities of his inner mind.

"Broken Rage" feels like a better execution of Kitano's ambitious, but flawed, "Takeshis'" (2005), where the violent director and actor is contrasted by an everyday failure. Though this never gets too serious. It is very much latter-day Kitano, with the aesthetic of "Outrage", in a quite dull and colourless world. Shinya Kiyozuka's soundtrack is playful, however, and dances across the scenes, though again reflects that Kitano hasn't been the same since moving away from working with Joe Hisaishi.

But first and foremost, this is fun, and the cast of Kitano's old friends all join in with glee. Takeshi's face is perfect for deadpan humour, meeting absurdity with a stoney face. Tadanobu Asano and Nao Omori play the detective duo putting Mouse up to undercover work, and play it with an air of fun that both are easily capable of. There are also some trademark Kitano cut-aways, but largely its visual gags and silliness.

Short and sweet, there's a feel that Kitano made this purely because he felt like it, and everyone was up for joining in. But where previously, the likes of "Getting Any?" and "Glory to the Filmmaker" (2007) were self-indulgent, with jokes purely for Kitano's own ends, here we feel a bit more in on the gag, with better execution.

Kitano certainly isn't the arthouse director of the Nineties anymore, and that doesn't hang over "Broken Rage" as much as previous efforts. For two decades, he'd been on the decline, but that feels to be accepted now, and so he is free of the shackles of his early career. Not for art, not for violence, not for self-indulgence, just for a bit of entertainment.

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"Hard Truths" is a film of two halves, with a jarring contrast to emphasise the many points it is trying to make, showing that even though now in his eighties, Mike Leigh can make cinema that is both effective and relevant in the modern world.

Pansy (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) is a woman seemingly angry at the world without justification. She is quick to speak her mind to anyone in her orbit, leaving her husband Curtley (David Webber) and son Moses (Tuwaine Barrett) seemingly impotent with words for fear of speaking out of turn. Conversely, her younger sister, Chantal (Michele Austin) is a warm hairdresser, open to others, like her lively and ambitious daughters Aleysha (Sophia Brown) and Kayla (Ani Nelson).

But underneath Pansy's vitriol, is a vulnerability that gradually emerges. Life has passed her by, and she finds herself in a bland house, living a bland life with two men who have little to say beyond a heavy sigh. After years of putting on a brave face, that face is now angry at the world and all who inhabit it.

To start, "Hard Truths" is an out-and-out comedy. Pansy's husband and son react to her demands with audible eye rolls, much like any family where people have become comfortable with what they can get away with. She then goes about her daily errands, ending up in arguments at the supermarket checkout, car park, furniture shop, doctors and dentist, and anyone in between. This ends in rounds of colourful London insults, that we can all recognise from day-to-day life, though even the audience can start to feel exhausted by this level of societal stress.

It is on her return home where the reality of her situation becomes clear. She falls asleep alone in a house, empty of objects and lacking in colour and vibrancy. Outside she interacts negatively with all she meets. At home, there is nothing waiting for her. Her husband and son have become weak modern men offering no opinions or voice, whether through fear of uselessness. Home, therefore, offers her no comforts from what she sees as a world against her.

Solace comes only from sister Chantal, though their relationship has as much anger as any other. By contrast, Chantal's home is one full of life. Her two daughters speak easily and freely with their mother, in a small flat full of plants and colour, a far cry from the large, empty house of Pansy.

Mother's Day brings it all to a head. Visting their mother's grave, Pansy voices her frustrations at Chantal, built up over the decades. And Mother's Day is appropriate. Pansy is bought some token flowers, but no love. Aleysha and Kayla, however, put on a full spread for all; the two men the only ones eating at the table, using their mouths for nothing else. Pansy has her problems - and while Curtley and Moses may blame theirs on Pansy - they have done nothing for their wife and mother.

This ends up as a breakdown of a breakdown of mental health. Left to raise her sister, Pansy supported Chantal, but no one has ever supported her. She no longer knows how to accept the kindness of strangers, feeling it an invasion of privacy, to the point where she just can't cope.

The hard truths come out between the two sisters, as they discuss their upbringing, but really, the hard truths are for the men of the film. Much like Chantal before, Pansy has done a lot to make Curtley and Moses' lives comfortable, so comfortable they no longer feel the need to think. At the end, Curtley needs Pansy to come to his aid again, but can her rely on it anymore?

Leigh makes our six central leads have their own battles to face. Chantal is a single mum having to hold everything together. Aleysha and Kayla's upwardly mobile jobs are a frustration of admin and satisfying a senior colleague's unspecified demands. Hard work creates more hard work, with nothing achieved by the end of it all. Curtley seems a man craving silence after the non-stop voices of Pansy and his work colleague Virgil (Jonathan Livingstone); while gentle giant Moses' size seems to bely his timid soul - a modern young man who has never been pushed, but also never heard.

There is an awful lot of truth on display here, and a credit to Leigh that he can make a film still so full of relevance, life and a modern ear. A lot feels close to home, which is what Leigh does best.

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