•
Rating:
There is a small horizontal line that separates the two kanji that form the title of the seventh chapter of Takeshi Kitano's filmography (year 1997). A thin line like a silk thread stretched between a flower that blooms where you least expect it, like the face of an animal in a painting, and the fire of a gunshot that kills. It is a shaky and unpredictable line, escaping our control, like the waves of the sea, while a still and imperturbable horizon stands in the background watching as we sink into the sand, trapped by a fate that seems to have wanted to take everything from us, but perhaps wanted to give us more than we could have ever hoped for.
Precisely on that line, stretched between life and death, the characters of "Hana-Bi" seem to want to balance. Nishi, an ex "violent cop" consumed by guilt, and Miyuki, his wife, condemned by an incurable illness. Horibe, imprisoned in a wheelchair and abandoned by his wife and daughter, but also poor Tanako who found herself widowed and forced to settle for a miserable job to support herself and her little son. Losers. From the first to the last. But strong with that dignity that only despair can give, and determined to obtain that crumb of happiness that is rightfully theirs.
And it is beautiful to see them struggle, slip, but not fall, stubbornly maintaining their balance with their heads held high, despite life trying to throw them into the abyss. It doesn't matter if staying on their feet means leaving everything behind, renouncing their life as a policeman and committing a crime or riding, for fun and despair, on a merry-go-round of canvases and brushes. Because that thread is happiness, and the happiness of losers always has a bit of sadness and a bit of madness inside, deep down. Like a photo ruined by a car passing at the moment of the shot. Or like a journey that, one knows, will be the last and that sooner or later will have to end, but that is still worth starting. A silent happiness because it has already said everything, like Kitano's split face. And for this reason, even more beautiful. More pure.
And then one forgets the noses broken by punches, the blood that stains the snow. One almost doesn't notice the violence, the chopsticks used to blind an annoyance. What remains in the eyes are simple moments (a game... a walk on an empty beach in the morning... a slice of cake to share in two...) of an unfortunate life spent standing, leaning on each other.
Happiness is a flower that explodes in a firework that seemed would never burst. It is a broken kite on the shore of the sea, but still beautiful to play with. It is three gunshots to go far away from everything that is not happiness. To stay together. Forever. Happy.
Loading comments slowly
