The Prodigal Cinephile

We planted red shiso in our herb garden a couple of years ago as a novelty. It unexpectedly came back the following spring and basically took over, which we soon discovered poses a bit of a challenge because it has such a distinctive color and flavor that most recipes you find it in use only a small quantity, so it’s hard to dispatch in bulk. Luckily, although it still pops up all over our yard, the amount competing for space with other edible plants is now more or less under control and it has returned to being a valued occasional guest on our summer meal plans in dishes like Marc Matsumoto’s twist on capellini pomodoro and as one of the “fresh tender herbs” in our house salad dressing, Food & Wine magazine’s whole lemon vinaigrette.

Like the mint we also grow, though, the place it really shines is a drink component and garnish. Our favorite such beverage is the Shady Lane from Brad Thomas Parsons’ Bitters book, which has long been part of our home mixology library but somehow hasn’t yet made an appearance on this blog. Here’s how to make it:

1 1/2 ozs. Gin (Roku)
3/4 oz. Lillet Rouge
1/2 oz. Blackberry-lime syrup
1/2 oz. Lime juice
2 dashes Scrappy’s Lime bitters
3 Blackberries, plus more for a garnish
3 Shiso leaves, plus more for a garnish
Club soda

Make the blackberry-lime syrup by combining one cup of blackberries with one cup each of sugar and water and the zest of two limes and bring to a simmer, stirring occasionally and mashing the berries with a wooden spoon. Remove from heat, cool completely, and strain, reserving the solids. To make the cocktail, muddle the blackberries and shiso leaves in the bottom of a shaker with the syrup. Add ice and all of the other ingredients except the club soda and shake, then strain into a chilled rocks glass. Top with club soda and garnish with additional blackberries and a shiso leaf.

First off, despite what Parsons says, DO NOT DISCARD THE SOLIDS AFTER MAKING THE SYRUP: hey are absolutely delicious with yogurt and granola! Shiso is a difficult flavor to describe to people not already familiar with it. Writing for the New York Times in 1995, Mark Bittman went with “it has a mysterious, bright taste that reminds people of mint, basil, tarragon, cilantro, cinnamon, anise or the smell of a mountain meadow after a rainstorm,” which, sure, I guess, but the quote by Jean-Georges Vongerichten four paragraphs later also gets the job done: “I like it a lot.” Whichever way you want it, that’s what dominates the first sip of a Shady Lane, but this immediately slides gracefully into dark fruit, lime zest, and juniper. The drink’s balance is absolutely perfect–it doesn’t register as particularly sweet or tart–and the effervescence from the club soda and spiciness of the Japanese gin make it a great summer sipper. Parsons explains that he named this concoction after the classic Pavement song, so it would be a great choice to pair with the film about them that recently debuted on Mubi, but its brilliant purple hue reminded me of the garish colors of Tokyo Drifter, so that’s what we’re going with. Here’s a picture of my Criterion Collection DVD copy:

It’s also currently streaming on the Criterion Channel with a subscription and available via a number of other platforms for a rental fee.

As Tom Vick writes in his book Time and Place are Nonsense: The Films of Seijun Suzuki, “Tokyo Drifter begins with a gesture more at home in experimental than commercial cinema: grainy, high-contrast, black-and-white opening scenes that were shot on expired film stock.” A man wearing a light-colored suit with white shoes and gloves walks toward the camera along a railroad track:

He is “Phoenix” Tetsu (Tetsuya Watari) and until recently none dared mess with him or his yakuza boss Kurata (Ryûji Kita). They’ve gone straight, though, and Kurata’s rival Otsuka (Eimei Esumi) has decided to test Tetsu’s resolve by ambushing him:

Otsuka watches from a nearby car:

And predicts that Tetsu will “get knocked down three times, then rise up like a hurricane” in a voiceover that accompanies the brief color fantasy sequence that Criterion chose as the basis for their cover art:

But when Tetsu stubbornly refuses to fight back he says, “I see. So we can do anything we want.” The sequence ends with another splash of color when Tetsu, having staggered to his feet after his beating, looks down and spies a broken gun which is obviously a prop and glows red against a monochrome background:

Which Peter Yacavone contends “promotes a consciousness of cliché” in his book Negative, Nonsensical, and Non-Conformist: The Films of Suzuki Seijun. Whatever Otsuka wants turns out to be stealing a building from Kurata by forcing his business partner Yoshii (Michio Hino) to sign a sizeable debt over to him at gunpoint:

Then shooting him:

Tetsu arrives moments too late to help:

And is knocked out in the skirmish that follows:

He revives in time to save Kurata from signing over the building to Otsuka:

But not before Kurata accidentally kills Yoshii’s secretary Mutsuko (Tomoko Hamakawa) while trying to shoot Otsuka:

Tetsu confronts Otsuka’s henchman Tatsu “the Viper” (Tamio Kawachi) in a junkyard sequence that includes a largely gratuitous depiction of a car being demolished:

As well as Tetsu singing the movie’s insanely catchy titular theme song:

Tetsu informs Tatsu that he intends to take the rap for Mutsuko’s murder should Otsuka attempt to finger his boss, and that if he is arrested he’ll let the police know who killed Yoshii. Otsuka responds by sending an emissary to Kurata to propose a trade: if he hands over Tetsu, they’ll return the deed to his building. He refuses:

And moved by his gesture, Tetsu, who overheard the conversation, decides to leave town:

Tony Rayns, writing in the book Branded to Thrill: The Delirious Cinema of Suzuki Seijun, argues that “the ultimate fascination of Tokyo Drifter is that despite the apparently wilful ‘deconstruction’ of the genre, it none the less works as a thriller.” One great example of both parts of this proposition is a duel fought in front of a train speeding down on the combatants shortly after Tetsu arrives in Shonai, home of one of Kurata’s allies, with Otsuka’s men hot on his heels. When they attack he signals his presence by again singing the film’s theme song as he walks through the snow:

Then joins the fray. As he takes cover behind some bales of hay, voiceover narration signals his thoughts: “my range is under ten yards.”

Suddenly, he spots a pair of geta in a shaky cam POV shot:

The idea, of course, is that they are ten yards away from Tetsu’s enemies, which explains why he leaps toward them moments later:

Fast forward to the next scene. It begins with Tetsu trudging through a field covered in snow, which cinematographer Shigeyoshi Mine and production designer Takeo Kimura identify as the movie’s true protagonist in a delightful anecdote about an alcohol-fueled creative session by director Seijun Suzuki that I’m grateful to Vick for including in Time and Place are Nonsense:

Kimura has confidence in Mine’s talent, with whom he is able to create an image like a sumi-e [a traditional ink-wash painting]. But the characters of the two men do not harmonize well. Mine is impulsive, Kimura is complex. One trait they have in common is that they are both egotists. … When they are drinking sake, their ego emerges with greater force. …They discuss the photography of [Tokyo Drifter], in which the snow is the protagonist of the story. I’m being canny. I wait until they stop arguing. Sometimes they turn to me, but I don’t respond, because for me it is enough to decide at the time when the camera has to be set up. The snow already has provoked something in these men, whichever image of the snow will eventually transpire.

Anyway, as Tetsu walks he realizes he’s being followed:

No explanation is offered for either the way he vanishes from his pursuer Tatsu’s sight in between shots or the apparently nondiegetic triangular shadow that appears at the same time:

But the next thing we know Tetsu has gone from prey to predator and awaits Tatsu under a bridge:

There’s a close-up of Tatsu standing in front of a railway signal:

Followed by one of a train:

And suddenly the Viper is aiming his gun at the Phoenix:

In quick succession there’s a close-up of Tatsu, followed by one of Tetsu, followed by a shot of a steam engine’s boiler:

Still Tatsu waits:

As the train continues to draw closer to Tetsu, Suzuki switches to wonderfully artificial-looking back projection:

Cut to a POV shot from Tetsu’s perspective as he counts railway ties: “15 yards, 14, 13, 12 . . . 10.” The end of the list is marked by a red line in the snow defining what we learned earlier is the limit of his range:

As Tetsu makes his move, Tatsu finally starts to fire:

Tetsu runs toward him and dives to the ground, shooting back:

Cut first to close-up of the train, then to a long shot of Tetsu walking away, apparently having won:

Yacavone writes that this all “plays like deliberately orchestrated nonsense,” but also concedes that it’s “exciting on its own terms,” which I think is basically the same thing Rayns is saying and goes double for Tokyo Drifter‘s highly-stylized climactic shootout. It follows Kurata betraying Tetsu in the scene that most directly inspired this month’s drink photo:

And features the latter first taking cover behind a slim column:

Then throwing his gun into the air, catching it, and shooting the man who sold him out in one smooth motion:

I appreciate Yacavone’s writing on this film because he draws attention to details I suspect I might have missed otherwise, such as the absence of any “visual trace of prewar central Tokyo” from the title sequence featuring a montage of tourist attractions built in preparation for the 1964 Summer Olympics:

The way it “exploits the recessed paneling of Tokugawa architecture to suggest an infinite depth that is equated with tradition” and “suggest that in its own way Yamagata, reminiscent of an age of duty, aristocracy, and self-sacrifice, is just as deathly and alienating as Tokyo”:

Or even just the simple fact that Hideaki Nitani’s character Shooting Star has the same initials as Suzuki.

But the overall contours of Tetsu’s journey are easily discernible even to the uninitiated through universal devices like a low-angle shot of a tree in front of a darkening sky that charts his withering loyalty to Kurata:

And when the final showdown ends with Tetsu rejecting the woman who loves him (Chieko Matsubara) on the grounds that he “can’t walk with a woman at [his] side” and exiting through a vaginal hallway, we understand that he has been reborn into the world as a truly independent Tokyo drifter:

Which strikes me as representing a level of meta complexity worthy of Pavement’s immortal lyrics “you’ve been chosen as an extra in the movie adaptation of the sequel to your life.”

Cheers!

All original photographs in this post are by Marion Penning, aka My Loving Wife. Links to all of the entries in this series can be found here.

After writing about the Tour de France, blackcap bush in my backyard, and 2024 Paris Olympics in my first three July Drink & a Movie posts, I had two obvious places to look for inspiration for my last one. Rather than choose between the birthday celebrations of the two countries members of our household have citizenship in, though, I decided to leverage my penultimate “bonus” post (my goal is 54 in four years, so just one per month won’t quite cut it) to do both. It’s arriving a bit later than intended, but my follow-up to my Canada Day commemoration featuring Crimes of the Future therefore highlights what I think surely must be the greatest “3rd of July” film ever made, Lonesome. Here’s a picture of my Criterion Collection DVD copy:

As a film in the public domain, you can also easily find it streaming for free on platforms like Tubi. The beverage I’m pairing with it is the Sherry Tale Ending that Toronto-based bartender Colie Ehrenworth created for the fourth Canadian season of the Speed Rack bartending competition, which is included in the book A Quick Drink by its founders Lynnette Marrero and Ivy Mix. Here’s how to make it:

1 1/2 ozs. Reposado tequila (Espolòn)
3/4 oz. Amontillado sherry (Lustau)
1/2 oz. Lillet Blanc
1/4 oz. Maple-sugar syrup
3 dashes Angostura bitters

Make the maple-sugar syrup by combining equal parts by volume of maple syrup, turbinado sugar, and water in a small saucepan and stir over low heat until the sugar has fully dissolved. Remove from heat and cool completely. To make the cocktail, stir all ingredients with ice and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Normally I try to avoid repeating base spirits in consecutive months, but that actually doesn’t seem so inappropriate in an extra post arriving hot on the heels of its predecessor–think of it as a sort of “two for one” deal! I like the Canada connection for the same reason, which: Ehrenworth advises using maple syrup from Ontario and that definitely is the way to go, especially if like us you’re lucky enough to have family who make their own and are willing to share. This drink was specifically engineered to be a lower ABV nightcap by combining elements of the Adonis, a sherry-based classic cocktail, and a 50/50 Manhattan and yet another affinity between this month’s concoction and its predecessor is that the tequila is once again a supporting player. The dominant flavors here are instead dried fruit notes from the amontillado on the sip which gracefully give way to the candied citrus from the Lillet on the swallow. So it’s a sweet drink, yes, but an agave and dark molasses finish prevents it from ever coming across as cloying, making the Sherry Tale Ending a light but satisfyingly complex way to finish your night.

At just 69 minutes, Lonesome would also be a great way to unwind after an evening out. The plot is simple: lonely hearts Jim (Glenn Tryon) and Mary (Barbara Kent) arrive home to their respective empty apartments after a half-day at work feeling listless:

Suddenly, each hears this bandwagon as it passes by on the street below:

Lured by its siren song, both decide to head to Coney Island beach. Jim spies her on the bus ride there fending off a would-be Romeo with the implicit threat of brooch pin violence

Impressed, he pursues her through the crowd upon arrival:

Undeterred by either a young hooligan who trips him:

Or her apparent disinterest in watching him perform feats of strength:

And with a bit of extra prompting from an auspicious fortune that reads “you’re about to meet your heart’s desire”:

He finally succeeds in catching her eye in a very nice rack-focus shot:

And before long they’re talking to each other on the beach:

Literally: while its first 29 minutes are silent (although they do feature a sophisticated sound mix timed to the action), Lonesome contains three dialogue sequences which most critics revile, but that Aaron Cutler argued in a blog post for Moving Image Source “add to the rest of the film largely because they are inconsistent with it.” Referring also to the final one, he continues:

For the first time in their lives onscreen, Jim and Mary speak, and they do it because of each other. When Jim promises Mary that “We’ll never be lonesome anymore,” he says it in his own voice, out loud; when he later argues with a judge and police, he does so with the voice that Mary helped him find. Even after the lovers fall back into silence, we retain the sounds of their voices in our heads, distinguishing them as individuals.

To Cutler the “brightly smeared” colors that suddenly make an appearance in the film’s 37th minute perform a similar function.

“Within a long-shot world,” he says, “Jim and Mary see each other in medium and close-up; within a black-and-white, silent world, they can see and hear each other in color and in sound.” Anyway, Jim and Mary have lots of fun together on the boardwalk after the sun goes down:

And he wins her a doll:

But the party ends during a ride on the dual-track Jackrabbit Racer roller coaster when a wheel on Mary’s car catches fire:

She faints:

And when Jim tries to come to her aid, he is arrested by a bizarrely aggressive cop, leading to the scene described by Cutler above in which his obvious passion earns him a reprieve:

Alas, he and Mary are unable to locate each other again in the throng:

A squall suddenly blows up while they’re searching and, not having exchanged contact information, they return home despondent and alone. But wait! Jim puts on a record of the song he and Mary danced to earlier; in the next shot, she hears it coming through the walls and pounds on them, yelling for her neighbor to turn it off:

Jim recognizes Mary’s voice and rushes down the hall:

They’ve been living next to each other all along! As they embrace, the lovers contemplate Mary’s doll, which as Glenn Erickson noted in a Blu-ray review has had “its face half washed away in ‘tears'” by the storm, thus becoming a “physical ‘locator'” for the heartbreak they have just triumphed over:

The end. Lonesome is brilliantly, restless inventive from start to finish and probably contains twice its running time’s worth of visual information if you count the many superimpositions, such as the clock face which accompanies shots of Jim and Mary at work and portraits of the people she is connecting to one another in her job as a switchboard operator:

As Richard Koszarski observes in his excellent DVD commentary track, even director Pál Fejös’s most ostentatious images are far more innovative than they appear:

When a shot of Mary at work seems to elbow a shot of Jim right out of the frame, we are seeing this new optical printing technology at work. The effect is not, as some historians have said, a panning shot in which the camera moves to the left or right, but a much more complicated technical exercise introduced to Hollywood only a few months before Fejös shot this film in which the optical printer and a new Kodak duplicating film stock could allow filmmakers the sort of flexibility in shaping the image that prefigures the development of digital cinema decades later.

Meanwhile, for the ostensibly more straightforward scenes that begin the film, cinematographer Gilbert Warrenton “developed a small mobile camera system that allowed him to follow the actors very closely as they moved within the cramped confines of their cold water flats”:

Fejös and company also make great use of a technique which was falling out of style with the advent of sound in the applied color sequences, which as Joshua Yumibe explains in his chapter for the book Color and the Moving Image were “proving difficult to apply in ways that did not interfere with soundtracks on prints.” Universal nonetheless approved their use here both to facilitate marketing the film in the company’s publicity journal Universal Weekly as “the first talking picture with color sequences” and because they “greatly enhance an already beautiful story.” Specifically, per Yumibe, color formally reinforces the narrative ambivalence he (riffing on Siegfried Kracauer) reads into Lonesome‘s insistence on tearing Jim and Mary apart before it allows them to be together by using “the same hues that previously colored their romance” for the flames that result in their separation.

A sequence in which Jim and Mary search for a lost ring on the beach serves a similar function. Sure, they are ultimately successful:

But what were the chances? As Jonathan Rosenbaum said about my February, 2024 Drink & a Movie selection The Young Girls of Rochefort, despite the fact that all eventually ends well, “the missed connections preceding this resolution are relentless, and one may still wind up with a feeling of hopeless despair despite the overdetermined happy ending.” No wonder, then, that he numbers both that film and Lonesome among his hundred favorite films!

One of the best things about Koszarski’s commentary are when he points out places where, with his assistance, things obviously seem to be missing like a “gag title” to explain Jim’s exchange with the man who serves him coffee and doughnuts on his way to work:

Flaws like this are on of the reasons that David Cairns, another champion of Lonesome‘s dialogue scenes, provides for calling it “a magnificent one-off” in a 2016 blog post: “I wish the part-soundie era had lasted another five years. When the two leads abruptly start speaking to each other in live sound on the beach at Coney Island, the jarring transition from one medium to another is beautiful. You can’t get that in a perfect film, only in a makeshift masterpiece like this one, a superproduction assembled on shifting sands.” Talking about this moment:

He concludes by saying, “When the film reaches its tearful conclusion, sudden nitrate decomposition afflicts the footage, with PERFECT artistic timing — it drives home the fragility of what we’ve been watching.” It may be a bit of a stretch, but this strikes me as a possible callback to the delicate balance of the Sherry Tale Ending and even the holiday that occasioned this post. It’s great that the United States has made it to 249, but if we’re not careful it won’t still be around next year to mark its Semiquincentennial, let alone make it all the way to the year 2074.

Cheers!

All original photographs in this post are by Marion Penning, aka My Loving Wife. Links to all of the entries in this series can be found here.