Kikuchi

THE INTROVERTED KIKUCHI HAS A monotonous job at a laundromat. Silently and mechanically he loads washing machine after washing machine, and appears to be incapable of communicating with the surrounding world. His life circles around a supermarket cashier whom he secretly loves, but never manages to make contact with. Instead, he falls into the role of a voyeur and spies on her through the nights. It's a minimalistic film drama with an incredibly interesting and experimental sound track. It was awarded at the film festival in Berlin this year.
COMMENT:
THE PICTURE IS COMPLETELY DARK. Then there is light. It's a greenish white and makes the room look green. We're in a laundromat. A man enters: Kikuchi. He starts the washing machines, one after the other. A monotonous noise fills the room. A newcomer is introduced to Kikuchi. He is instructed about the routines. It all happens with brevity. Not a word is wasted. Kikuchi then returns to his silent waiting for the machines to finish, while sitting on a bench in the middle of the room. The camera is as still, fixed, observing. After work he goes to the supermarket. The light is redish or pink there, but not warm. Kikuchi stands on line but switches to another register. He rather buys from the pretty girl. He sneaks out in the evening to look at her and he follows her when she bikes home.
Kenchi Iwamoto's debut is a remarkable film. It is an independent production, you know it from the tone, right away. The film tells a quite simple story in its own, very special way. The colors - green and red, but also the yellow base, the greyish home - reminds you of Percy Adlons Sugarbaby. The trivial surroundings are suddenly transformed, they become beautiful and different.
It's not for nothing this film has been compared with Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman. There is a sense of having been thrown into a world without language. Only small everyday acts count. But Akerman narrates in endlessly long scenes, where Jeanne's strictly scheduled life begins to slightly move, degree by degree, then eventually collapses. Iwamoto's film on the other hand, is short - the scenes, as well. The action starts on a Tuesday and ends, presumably on the following Monday. We are given fragments of Kikuchis life, from different days and we realize there is some change of routine during the week. He is subjected to several dramatic events, but the film peacefully goes on to the next scene, the next day. The film ends like it started - with the scene of the empty laundromat.
Kikuchi's monotonous weekly routines are brought into a particular light which gives them unique quality. The most simple of actions, like for example looking in the mirror or eating potato chips in front of the TV, get a shimmer of obscenity. The sound track, which has been manipulated so that each separate sound is amplified and singled out from the background noise, contributes to that obscenity. A purring cat sounds like a strong engine, Kikuchis chewing, like a meat grinder. It's like a subjective sound - but nobody is listening but we. We become witnesses to a remarkable transformation. Reality has been estranged. Everyday life contains a mystery.
ASTRID SÖDERBERGH WIDDING

Medverkande
Jiro Yoshimura, Yasuhiro Oka, Misa Fukuma: Producent
Shuichi Ohi: Manus
Kenchi Iwamoto: Foto
Hideyo Fukuda: Musik
Hidetoshi Nonaka: Talat språk
Japanese