So much has been said about this film that it's as if there's very little more to say. Modernization's impact on Japanese society, it's true, is a dominant theme here. The younger generation, here the one that grows up instantly with the end of World War II and the atom bomb, is far different from the generation that reached maturity in the pre-war era. The nuclear family has been split apart, as it were, and you know, kids these days treat their parents, the generation that failed them, the generation that got them into the war and sent off the youngest, best, and brightest to die, the generation that planned and then lost the war, with little respect -- more as a nuisance to be tolerated or packed off out of mind.

All this is true, but the most important aspect of this film from my perspective is that the cliché of modernism does not affect everyone. As patriarch Chisu Ryu points out to daughter-in-law Setsuko Hara, she is not even a blood relative, yet she cares more about him and his wife than his own children. This is only partly true, however, as evidenced by his youngest daughter, Kyôko Kagawa's anger at her older siblings for their rudeness, their heartlessness, and their crass materialism. She is blood, and she does care.

So what does this mean? Is it merely that modernization has changed people, made children, for the most part, less caring and less respectful of their parents? Well, yes, on the whole, this is true, but it is the famous exchange between Hara and Kagawa, where Kagawa asks, "Isn't life disappointing?" and Hara, with a smile, confirms, "Yes it is" that hints at the real significance at the foundation of the story.

It's not in what era you were born, whether you are a blood relative, or whether you may or may not have been a good parent or a loving child. What signifies is that there are always people out there who will disappoint our expectations. And thankfully, there are sometimes those who confirm for us that good, kind, caring human beings do exist as well. This is the story of post-war Tokyo and of every generation in any time or place.

Absolutely spine-chilling, I tell you. I've had some of those report cards myself. You wish you could lose them, believe you me.

Ahhh! Is there somebody under this desk? Whoa. No. What's this? A report card! OMG! Hold on. Breathe . . . breathe. Let me recover my composure . . .

Okay. I'm back. It was just a bill for back taxes from the IRS.

Sooooo: Five stars, baby . . . well, you know, it's Jessica Alba.

Minus one, however, for the least convincing fake violin playing in screen history. Okay, so I'll give you that she's no De Niro learning to play the sax, or Ralph Macchio or Michael J. Fox learning to play the guitar, but hey, she could have at least tried to look comfortable with the thing. In some of the scenes, it actually looks like she's being attacked by the violin and is trying to fend it off.

So that's four stars --

What's that, Elmo? Oh, okay.

Elmo says minus one star because the story is stupid. Pretty harsh, my little friend, but I have to agree.

Boy, so that's only three stars left. But it's Jessica Alba, one of my future wives. Let me dig a little deeper . . .

Okay, plus one star because, early on, some of the stuff is actually pretty scary, for like the first thirty minutes or so. After that, stupid really kicks in. Sorry, Jessica, we can only muster 4 stars.

Oh, but minus one star, Jessica, because some of my movie fan friends tell me that you're turning into someone who's difficult to work with. We'll definitely have to work on that.

Yikes, I forgot about the supporting cast -- not a difficult thing to do. Minus one star for some really cruddy acting all the way around.

Forgive me, Jessica, two stars is the best I can do. I won't forget you, though. You have stolen one-fifth of my heart forever -- unless you make a few more poor script choices -- let's say, three more. Okay? And put back on a little of the weight, will you, my darling? You're starting to resemble a pencil.

Hmmmm, is this film relevant to today's audience? A very good question. I would, seriously, take the time to draw a parallel between the black plague and the Bush administration, but let me spare you a dissertation on the existential angst into which Voldemo -- I mean the US President and his Death Eat -- I mean his minions have thrown us. I would prefer just to say this:

I used to play chess all the time. I had many chess sets, chess books, even an electronic chess game. In high school, I was on the chess team. Then, in my freshman year in college, I saw this film at a foreign film society revival. I have never played chess again since that time.

In The Order of the Phoenix, Harry and Luna, unlike many of their youthful peers, share the ability to see the thestrals which draw the carriages from the Hogwarts train station to the school. They have this ability because they, young though they may be, have both witnessed death. Trust me, this "gift" is no blessing, in HP, or in real life. I think if I were a young person who had not personally experienced the death of a family member or of a friend, and if I were seeing The Seventh Seal for the first time right now, today, I might be a bit perplexed by the mystique surrounding this film. I would further guess that the time-honored critical acclaim for this film might leave me completely nonplussed. At the time of its release, I do accept that this film made a huge impression on a late 1950's audience. Think post-nuclear (Hiroshima and Nagasaki) anxiety, the Cold War, bomb shelters, and itchy fingers on red buttons. For people like me who have been jaded by many more decades of film-making, this now, if it were a new experience, today, might definitely seem dated.

Still, there is no denying such things as the fact that death has been a character in many more films, even playing Twister in a classic referential tribute to Bergman. Until this day, ever since I first saw The Seventh Seal, I cannot see a movie where death plays a character and not think of this film. I have seen close relatives and friends die, and the more years that pass, the more I see that game of chess as a kind of ultimate statement about holding off death. I will not play chess again, choosing not to dwell on death, with which, I cannot help but associate the game. The more people I know who die, the less the idea of chess appeals to me. And when death comes for me, then I want to go quickly, although I hope he/she has a sense of humor in my final scene. A brief knock-knock joke or an elephant riddle I've not heard would be most appreciated, but I want no time extensions and no games.

All this being said, the most memorable performance for me here is not von Sydow, or even Bengt Ekerot as Death. For me, Gunnar Björnstrand's performance is the standout. As the Squire, he lives life to the fullest while he is able to do so. (08/12/07)

This is well worth watching. Very entertaining, although not so good on the treatment of women. The technology is so close to real, and the science and math gobbledygook actually passed for plausible. Definitely, this is Robert Downey Jr. doing excellent work.

Outstanding movie! Ssabee's comments convinced me to put this in my queue a while ago. Glad it finally came through.

You know, I'm going to remember that line for a long, long time. I can use that line, down the line, I'm sure. Seriously, friends, I can think of at least ten situations I've been in where throwing love ON the track -- not OFF the track -- could have been promoted with a snake-in-the-kitchen line like that. Not to mention that someone's love life has been in a kind of a coma for way too long.

Ssabee uses the term "strange love." Ah, Europeans. I love them. It's actual real love -- actually -- in America : )

So is Sweden a popular place for Spanish ex-pats? I couldn't tell if that was, maybe, an inside joke -- or totally serious.

This is a beautiful, beautiful TRUE and REAL love story Hey. I say, think Woody Allen. Think even While You Were Sleeping. Or not . . .

I recommend this to anyone who has an impulse to romance that is at least equal to -- if not beyond -- the run of the mill pale : )

Well, it is good. I enjoyed it much more than L'Eclisse, though not quite as much as La Notte. The characters in La Notte are more engaging -- ironic in a trilogy about, among other things, alienation. The plot of L'Avventura is the most interesting piece of the puzzle for me. It is clever the way Antonioni draws the viewer into a mystery that falls by the wayside. The classic mystery disappears, like Massari, and the true mystery becomes not Masari's soon forgotten vanishing, but the troubling mystery of how far human beings have come from being human. The interconnectedness of people, that communal sharing and caring that allowed civilization to evolve and thrive, is fast slipping away under the pressures of modern life. Still, I think this idea was better rendered in La Notte.

I rarely listen to those Criterion Collection commentaries. They really can get in the way of enjoying a film. But for my third viewing, I played it. Brother. This is like the worst kind of literature teacher you could ever not want to have teach you. Instead of opening up the possibilities for interpretation, you get:

These images are not metaphors. They are not suggestive of the old vs. the new. They are concrete images of the old and the new. They are what we call metonymic, not metaphoric.

That's a rough quote. Mama mia, you would not want to spend a whole semester in a literature class where you are lectured in absolutes like that, believe me. Professor says this is this. You'd better agree. Do not argue. On exams and in papers, please parrot back what I say, if you know what's good for you. Sheesh.

If I were teaching the class, I might say something like: It has been argued that Antonioni plays with the ideas both of metaphor and of metonym in this film. I can see that the ancient cathedral and the modern condominium in this scene can represent the past and present -- metonyms for "the past" and "the present." But I could also argue that, in the context of this scene, ancient and modern architecture, side by side, are a metaphor for the clash between past history and present circumstance which Antonioni's characters constantly find themselves sandwiched between.

Begin digression . . .

"Excuse me, sir, can you please tell me who I can talk to?"

"Ahem, young man, you know you should never end a sentence with a preposition."

"Okay, can you please tell me who I can talk to, a--hole!"

. . . End digression

Here we see how the two characters, father and unmarried daughter, view her upcoming vacation with her boyfriend -- a clash between the moral codes of the older and the younger generation -- the two are framed by the cathedral and the condominium -- wedged between the old and the new. Much like a pretentious elder who lives by the rules of a grammar which is actually evolving.

After all, discussion of art should foster a multiplicity of expressed viewpoints. The possibilities should open up, if it's art worth talking about, not be shut down. But what do I know.

There are projects -- many -- where Smith is able to inject his charisma into the mix, and that is one of Smith's great qualities and strong draws. There is no opportunity to do that here. His character is flat. We don't really care much about him or the fate of the human race, and that's kind of a very very big problem. We should care deeply about what may be the last person alive on earth and about the fate of the human race. Shouldn't we?

THE best part of the movie is the dog. The dog, I really do care about. So, of course,

* * * Spoiler Alert * * *

the dog has to be killed . . .