Big Man Japan, Hatsuhiro Matsumo’s stone-faced documentary about the lonely, tedious life of one of Japan’s last monster-fighters, is among the most cussedly determined comedic visions I’ve seen in some while. It’s not always terribly funny, it’s pacing is more long-range Tati than zippy & slapsticky, and the locus of its concerns (avoiding the larger cultural context except as implied by conversations with hero Masaru Daisato) remains frustratingly parochial. Yet–whether as antidote to Hollywood or just deadpan pop-culture remix–it is a dizzy, idiosyncratic vision.
Daisato seems to be at the tail-end of way too many bong hits, slowly and dazedly talking to his interviewers about his expanding umbrella, his daughter. He doesn’t really give answers about, and the film doesn’t really investigate, what his isolation might mean, or how to interpret his alienation. And yet he’s mostly the only talking head, his interviews stitched together around his encounters with a series of lovely huge grotesques. The movie avoids the typical mockumentary conventions, where the film’s thesis comes through its deployment of “experts” (or just a range of voices) to underline the satirical vision. I’m not even sure this is satire. It’s more like a perfect alternate/cover version of a familiar set of cultural tropes. I particularly liked the protagonist’s constant brushing of his long hair off his face, and his impotent screaming at the equally-bellicose and -deadpan Stinking Monster.