It is accurate to describe this as a fantasy-drama, for that is the genre space that this plays in. It's also helpful to describe it as an experimental art film, for this very much rings true and surely helps one to gain a sense of what to expect of it. Indeed, while some of Shinoda Masahiro's countrymen come to mind as points of comparison, including Oshima Nagisa, the wild visual style and storytelling ethos also remind to varying degrees of Indian director Tarsem; contemporary fare out of Europe like 'The other side of the underneath,' 'Glissements progressifs du plaisir,' 'Out 1,' and various horror erotica; or, in a more recent semblance, Joel Coen's 'The tragedy of Macbeth.' Only a very small number of actors are ever on-screen at the same time; their movements and speech are typically measured and deliberate, and the dialogue fairly forthright but poetic. Beyond vast, empty outdoor spaces, the sets are beautiful but spartan, with only a select few colors and set pieces, and heavy contrast between shadow and particularly arranged lighting. With no room in between costume design is either similarly austere, or elaborate and garish. Takemitsu Toru's score is sparing and atmospheric in its dispensation, but also unconventional and jolting (recalling Ito Teiji's 'Watermill,' to my pleasure); minimal audio is heard beyond what is absolutely necessary; shot composition is foremost; the tone is deeply understated amidst an imaginative, somewhat far-out narrative. All of this paints 'Himiko' as the type of picture that a certain kind of stereotypical U. S. viewer may summarily dismiss as a "weird foreign movie." We know that is a sad mistake, though, and for those who are open to all the wide possibilities of the medium, what this is instead is beautiful, haunting, wonderfully creative, dramatic, fascinating, and altogether exquisite. From the outset I didn't know what to anticipate, but this is far, far better than I could have ever hoped.
The pacing is patient as every shot and scene is carefully, tightly calculated, bent toward transfixing otherworldly aesthetics but also painstaking, captivating plot development and ambience. Even as the gorgeous outdoor filming locations are of this Earth they are made to seem far more distant and fanciful through Shinoda's incredible eye and delicate hand as a director, and Suzuki Tatsuo's stark yet vibrant cinematography, let alone the production design, art direction, and other contributions from behind the scenes. By the nature of the presentation, being so fastidiously arranged and overall low-key, strictly speaking the cast are arguably restricted to some extent in terms of what they are able to do with their characters. By the same token, however, as the narrative advances with discrete, emphatic scene writing, the actors take the opportunity to inject each sequence with stunning yet nuanced vitality that evokes not just dark fantasy but even outright horror as events escalate with harrowing, unsettling energy; where a beat allows the players to fully let loose and embrace the feral spirit of the proceedings, the result is unfailingly invigorating. Dazzling complexity characterizes every choreographed scene, the design and placement of every prop, set piece, light, and detail, and the fundamental look and feel of the feature, further amplifying the intoxicating fantastical splendor. There isn't one frame in these one hundred minutes that would look out of place hung on a wall, or immortalized in a coffee table art book, for the brilliant artistry herein is that much of a priority - and through that ingenuity, the story becomes all the more rich and spellbinding.
Teased apart bit by bit the writing is relatively simple, albeit outwardly abstruse and whimsical. The tale is one of a diverse kingdom ruled by the jealous hubris of those who zealously believe in the infallible exceptionalism of their country and their sun-god, and the empty pretense of symbols; the false superficiality of peace and order is shattered as natural human passions and inevitable clashes disrupt the status quo and predominant superstitions. That narrative of the fragility of empire and human endeavors - with subtle yet evident themes that are all too relevant fifty years on - is phenomenally flavorful as it is fleshed out, above all with strong, exemplary, grandiose scenes that provide the fuel for all the adornments. Shinoda and screenwriter Tomioka Taeko have conjured a stupendously absorbing saga at once transporting us far from the world we know, and keeping us firmly and humbly planted on it. What seems curious and strange at first increasingly entrances with the bounty of wondrous sights and sounds, all shaped with utmost skill, intelligence, and care, and as those aesthetics dovetail into the developing plot we are kept fully locked in for the rest of the ride. I sat to watch with no foreknowledge and I'm blown away by just how superb it is. It calls other titles to mind in one fashion or another, yet it is indisputably a creation all its own, and in that it is a marvelously enthralling viewing experience. I can definitely understand how this won't appeal to all comers, yet for anyone who is receptive to all that cinema has to offer, 'Himiko' is an outstanding treasure that deserves more recognition. Enter with an open mind and get ready to go on a terrific journey.
