Rising Sun
(1993)
I probably give Rising
Sun an easier ride than it deserves. It isn’t really much cop even as a
murder mystery (it certainly fails to deliver a satisfying resolution) and the attempts
to dilute Michael Crichton’s paranoid, xenophobic message about the encroaching
Japanese are only partially successful. It also lacks a sufficiently intriguing
plot to justify its excessive length. But, as iffy and unlikely as much of the
movie is, and riddled with plotholes, I do find it vaguely entertaining.
Much of that is down to Sean Connery, whose wigmaker was trying
out ever more daring variations on a theme by this point. It’s quite clear why
he executive produced (aside from Crichton apparently writing the character
with him in mind); he is burdened by the terrible sacrifice of having to play
golf on camera at every opportunity.
Here, he once again adopts the wise mentor role (or Sempai
to Snipes’ Kohai; apparently Crichton misinterpreted these terms but that
should probably come as little surprise). It’s fun to see him one step ahead,
leading an investigation. Although the last time he did so was in the vastly
superior The Name of the Rose. And
it’s enormous fun to see him fell his
opponents with merely a thumb. He can even run much more convincingly than
Harrison Ford when he reached the age
Sean is here. I’m doubtful that his attempts at speaking Japanese would pass muster,
although he hardly has a strong track record at dialects. You don’t buy for a
moment that he’d command maximum respect, but he solves that problem by just
being Sean Connery. This was also his chance to atone for being turned Japanese
in You Only Live Twice. He doesn’t
quite do so but at least nominally, as the American/European who has become
enamoured by the culture, he’s there to present a respectful insight into an “alien”
world.
Which is essentially the problem. For all Phillip Kaufman’s
attempts to wrestle the novel/screenplay into a more respectable shape, this
comes from a place where the Japanese are an intimidating force, set to gain
dominion over the US; not through war but rather superior technology and a
ready supply of readies. They can buy anything, and for that they should be met
with suspicion and mistrust. They have different customs and different
sensibilities. They’re not like us, dammit! I haven’t read Crichton’s novel, so
perhaps I’m speaking out of turn (really, though, the source material should be
neither here nor there in terms of whether a film is successful), but, even
with the greater emphasis on the murder that takes place in the screenplay,
it’s clear Crichton’s premise is based on difference. He’s not here as
peacemaker, drawing attention to commonalities. Kaufman tries to parry the
pointed criticisms of Japanese attitudes and culture (we spend a scene hearing
about Tia Carrere’s “shameful”
deformity) by foregrounding the very discussion of accusations of racism that
met the picture; Snipes repeatedly rejects any suggestion that he is
subordinate to Connery (“Mas’r wants me
to get the car”) and an attempt is made to undermine the investigation by
accusing him of being racist.
Given the adaptation came from Fox, it should perhaps be surprising
that attempts were made to make this less controversial. But Murdoch’s empire
is nothing if not canny (or, it was anyway). If you’re getting too much bad
press about borderline racism, the only response is practical cynicism. Out
goes the white Caucasian of the book and in comes Wesley Snipes. That way, even
if it looks like there’s intolerance in the mix you can put an African American
face to it. Presto, diffused tensions. Screenwriters Crichton and Michael
Backes were said to have disagreed vehemently with Kaufman over this, and
departed the production post haste.
Snipes isn’t quite at ease playing second fiddle to Connery,
and they make a highly unlikely pair of cops, although they’re less of an odd
couple than many of the Scot’s teamings during that period. Snipes possibly has
too much energy, and only really looks happy when he’s launching into a dust-up.
Then there’s the choice to have Sean hide out in the ‘hood with him; it’s the
kind of blatant stereotyping Wesley ought to have been shame-faced over (and
purely logically, are we supposed to believe a cop would be so readily
protected by his one-time homies?) Later, when the movie drops any aspirations
towards the fineries of detective work and settles on pugilism, Wesley pulls moves
that wouldn’t be out of place in Demolition
Man, released a few months later.
Talk of the action leads me back to Kaufman, and the
question of what he was doing coming on board in the first place. I can only
think, given his surrounding career, it amounted to the old necessity:
bankability. Crichton had experienced a significant resurgence at the time
(although Spielberg had the real hit
that off one of his novels that summer) and hitching your ride to a sure thing
probably looked like good sense on paper. To your agent. Maybe Kaufman thought
it would be a challenge to turn something so reactionary into a more balanced
rumination on cultural exchange? I’d be interested to hear who came up with the
anecdote about a Japanese buy-out that was rejected by the US on national
interest grounds, only for it to be subsequently sold to different (but this
time white European) foreigners. Culture clash can be fascinating, but only if
its intentions are balanced. Kaufman can’t hope to right his ship, so he hopes
skewering the emphasis in favour of twists and techno turns, and lashings of sex
(his recent, and subsequent, preoccupation) will soften things. At least,
that’s my assumption. Nothing he’s done, except for 2004’s Twisted, leads me to think he’s less than an astute director. It’s
just that this time he finds himself having to scoop the water from a sinking
ship with a ladle.
The plot concerns a murder at Japanese corporation during a
soiree for a big potential deal (the purchase of Micro Con). A high-class
hooker is the victim, and when the police are called in it becomes clear that
vital evidence has been removed. Snipes’ Webster “Webb” Smith receives a snappy
education in Japanese mores by Connery’s John Connor (no, not that one). Along
the way we meet the possibly violent boss’s son Eddie (Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa,
trying a bit too hard), the local head of the corp Yoshida-san (Mako), a
dubious US senator set to shout “Laura!!!”
at the drop of a hat (Ray Wise), a Japanese tech whizz whose father was African
American (Tia Carrere, who is of Filipino, Spanish and Chinese descent), a weasely
reporter known as the Weasel (Steve Buscemi, in little more than a cameo, looking
like he’s barely out of nappies), and Harvey Keitel as another cop; he’s the
obligatory one who doesn’t like the Japanese. You know, they come over and steal
our everything, etc. Harvey’s strictly cashing cheques, but he’s still good value;
the film’s worth watching just for a scene between him and Connery.
I do like the way
Kaufman paces his picture. He won’t be hurried, and the movie is frequently
pleasurable enough just in terms of the sound (Toru Takemitsu’s score) and
images (Michael Chapman’s cinematography). Indeed, you can all but feel the
director’s dismay when he’s forced to succumb to the demands of final act thriller
tropes. The last half hour (which changes the murderer from the novel) is by
far the weakest section, as the motivations are, if not muddled, insufficiently
defined (there is even a pointed suggestion that the murder has not been solved, such is the
inscrutability of the suspects). And by this point we’ve already moved far from
the procedural aspects of investigating the new technologies that are just
around the corner (a laser disc smaller than a DVD! Which can record 12 hours
of footage! Cutting off heads and rearranging them!)
The down side of Kaufman nursing his material is the
expectancy that, given time, he will unveil some substance to make it all
worthwhile. But Rising Sun is
essentially shallow, and this isn’t something he’s used to. At times it feels
like he’s shining a torch into an empty crate. The murder mystery falters
because, like a bad take on Agatha Christie, the red herrings are over-stated
(Eddie, right there in the first scene) and the suspects lack even the
two-dimensional definition of a Poirot
mystery. And there are also pointless attempts to play clever with the
structure; the flashbacks/forwards involving Webb are particular offenders.
So yes, this is a bit of a botch. Despite Kaufman’s honourable
attempts it’s riddled with Crichton’s assumption of God-given judgmentalism towards
other nations. One might sympathise that he was merely reflecting his nation’s
basic aggressive posture, so he can’t be blamed completely for casting the
first stone. But I don’t feel inclined to cut him any slack. And, since his
fevered premonitions of dominion came to nothing, he’s the one who ends up
looking silly over his demented prognosis. But I quite like Rising Sun for all that. It’s a messy curiosity,
struggling between unseemly source material and its maker’s efforts to be reasonable.
**1/2
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