Film Review: R100         (           )

                 by David Unterberger

 

 

 

 

 

        Opening as a striking film noir and ending as freewheeling self-conscious grindhouse, Hitoshi Matsumoto’s unexpected commentary on Japanese censorship R100 defies logic and preconceived expectations. The premise of the film initially promises equally mysterious and gratuitous exploitation: When a depressive father with a taste for sadomasochism signs a concrete year-long contract with a bondage club, he finds himself constantly pursued by a group sadistic dominatrixes. Although Matsumoto’s (along with six other writers) screenplay later embraces the possible trashy thrills of this setup, he resolves to explore his protagonist’s search for sadomasochistic ecstasy from multiple different interpretations over 99 minutes. R100 is a family melodrama, a dreary character study, a gonzo comedy, an analysis of modern Japanese cinema, a harsh criticism of censorship, a takedown of those who shun the taboo, a silly action flick, a tense film noir, a government conspiracy thriller, a sly political commentary on Japanese-United States relations, and an investigation of what it means to be happy. Most importantly, it has a dominatrix named the “Gobble Queen” who swallows men whole like a snake.

 

        As tempting as it is to consider R100 the clinical term “crazy-town-banana-pants,” the central issue with the film is its inconsistency. Like the “Impression Queen” who tortures the protagonist in the hospital room of his comatose wife, Matsumoto commented in an interview that he wanted to direct a film that would constantly switch tone and purpose to transcend the false concept of genre. This may be a noble intention, but it causes such whiplash that it is difficult to invest in characters or plot. In one moment, the protagonist is a sympathetic man caught in a mildly realistic situation beyond his grasp, but in the next he is a bumbling James Bond hurling grenades at an endless army of passive dominatrixes.

 

        It would be possible to consider R100 a trashy blend of ideas and tones if not for a subplot that consistently interrupts the main narrative in the second half. In these short tangents, a parallel reality (Matsumoto is portrayed as 100-year old man) version of R100 is screened for a Japanese ratings board. Members of the ratings board are confounded why such an old man would want to direct such a film, but they are far more content to savage the film apart for its overwhelmingly risqué scenes, general plot inconsistencies, and constant tone swings. This running commentary raises an important question: Were the tonal and structural flaws truly intentional decisions by Matsumoto, or is this subplot a cop-out to excuse these central problems under artistic pretext?

 

        Even with the incredible inconsistencies that define the film, R100 is worth recommending for its non-judgmental exploration of happiness. It is admittedly unsettling when the protagonist’s cheeks inflate with CGI-addled orgasmic pleasure whenever he is abused, but Matsumoto never punishes him for his sexual inclinations. This is a liberal film that recognizes that everyone deserves the right to be happy, even if that is through sadomasochism. In spite of its wildly disgusting moments and general ballistic strangeness, R100 deserves to be recognized as one of the most oddly gleeful movies of the year.