The Film

For the duration of this review I shall be referring to the film by its original name of Topaz: the intended title as seen during the film’s opening credits, and it’s one of considerable importance when placed into the context of the lead character’s situation. Certainly Tokyo Decadence would signify the deterioration of an individual or society based around them, in this case under the excessive exploration of sex, while Topaz simply reflects that little bit of hope that one can cling on to so dearly, under the stress of a seemingly inescapable environment in which they don’t feel a sense of belonging toward (see synopsis). It’s because of the sheer amount of attention placed on the central character that Topaz bares far more relevance to the overall narrative. Upon seeing the film this much is apparent, so without further ado…

Founding itself on author Ryu Murakami’s 1988 short story collection entitled Topaz, which focuses on the observations of young prostitutes working in the S&M trade, Topaz (also directed by Murakami) explores a cruel and jaded society, in which a young woman named Ai (Miho Nikaido) hopes to one day escape from her job at a popular S&M establishment and become a social worker. One day she visits a fortune teller, who advises her to purchase a pink diamond and turn it into a ring, so that she may enjoy a happy future. Persuaded, Ai is recommended a topaz gem by a jeweller and upon placing the new ring on her finger she wishes for a good life. But good things never seem to come for Ai; she’s still sad over her break-up with her boyfriend, who has since gone on to become a television celeb, while she drifts daily from customer to customer, never quite sure what her next job offer will entail. Along the way she meets people who, in their own way, teach her about the world around her. But Ai needs to follow her own path in life, no matter where it might lead her. As long as she has that little piece of topaz on her finger perhaps everything will be alright in the end.


Topaz might appear to have the allure of a soft-core porn movie, but underneath it’s one of the most poignant and perplexing films ever made on the subject of personal detachment. Ryu Murakami’s film is a slow and burning deconstruction of one individual working in a thriving sex industry during an economic struggle. But there’s never a sense that Murakami feels the desire to truly exploit his characters for the sake of an obvious and cheap goal; this is evidently not meant to titillate the viewer in a manner that the posters might suggest. Of course it’s all very cynical; you couldn’t accuse Ryu Murakami of being anything less than such, although he’s not devoid of any wry humour as he demonstrates a couple of times throughout his scathing commentary.

Ai: “You must be very wealthy.”
Saki: “Not necessarily. It’s this country that’s wealthy, but it’s not proud of its riches. It drives its men into masochism out of anxiety. As a result, I earn my money exploiting their anxieties…and I’m proud of that.”

Primarily Topaz focuses on the central disillusionment of a woman lost within a system filled with its own sense of perfect ideals, be that related to the entertainment and education industries or otherwise, which can chew up and spit out its inhabitants as easily as one clicks their own finger. The sad thing is that in the case of Ai she is looked upon almost as some sort of dredge of society, and yet she has more to offer the world despite insisting that she has no other talent to get by in life, relying on the only thing that she knows will safeguard her an income. But she is a well-spirited human being, studying sign language and teaching young children as a part-time social worker. Although we don’t really get to see this side of her much - only in passing conversation and brief interludes of her studies - these are the times when she’s truly happy and alive. If there’s a moral encompass to all of this, then, it’s in reaching out to help others move forward and live out their lives to the best of their abilities, thus making your own all the better for it, or more simply to hang onto and believe in hope.

Topaz is an intelligent and well thought out piece of work which naturally bares the sting of a frustrated mind. Ryu Murakami often writes about characters who seek to find some kind of catharsis from their routine lives, while also addressing unhealthy social obsessions and the lack of individuality amongst the masses. In the past he’s pessimistically explored youth culture, entailing drug abuse (ecstasy manifesting itself again here), in addition to stories of teen prostitution (later adapted into Love & Pop by director Hideaki Anno). Topaz is an amalgam of several previous investigations of his: the vicious and sad cycle of self abuse; sexual perversions; media consumption; Murakami chooses his subjects and depicts them with almost utter contempt. He achieves this by never wearing down as he draws out scenes to considerable length in order to get his point across, so much so that Topaz’s sexual content and so forth all too quickly become disalarming. There is no glorification here, and rightfully so. He uses the likes of S&M and self abuse in a repetitive fashion to illustrate humiliation, loneliness, depression and a sense of loss in a rapidly growing culture filled with plenty of moral ambiguities. Each point serves to underline the reasons why the central character of Ai wishes to escape her mundane life. At the same time he reaches out and shows us that these people who turn to drugs or perform lurid acts for others do so by way of trying to sooth their own pain - a sorry state of affairs which allows for some truly effective moments. The director couldn’t be any more laid back if he tried in using his camera to linger on people carrying out daily duties; nonetheless it’s strangely mesmerising to watch Ai wander throughout her little world, with a narrative that doesn’t strictly hinge itself on dialogue to tell her tale. Not only is this because of Murakami’s self awareness in not conforming to normality, whereby the camera serves as a truly voyeuristic eye for the audience, battering our senses to the point that we truly begin to understand Ai, but also largely thanks to Miho Nikaido’s stunning portrayal as the film’s centrepiece, along with ace composer Ryuichi Sakamoto’s understated piano score doing well to match the emotional tone, even if it remains far from being amongst his most memorable work.

And Nikaido might just be the key for most to enjoy Topaz’s lengthy run time, which will certainly test the patience of some. She imbues Ai with a charming sense of innocence, despite her obviously demanding and very adult job. Importantly we feel for her plight and Nikaido lulls us with seemingly little effort on her part. The search for an ex-lover; the attempts at salvation through a little Topaz ring she holds so dearly; and the humility of doing the dirty deeds that wealthy gangsters, talkative dullards and drug-addicted crazies pay her for are each beautifully handled by the young actress. In fact, so impressive is Miho Nikaido that it would be easy to assume that Topaz might have otherwise dramatically failed in what it set out to achieve had anyone else been chosen. It needs a character of such an important balance, who can be portrayed 100% indicatively toward such an overbearing climate, and Nikaido proves to be a well-timed performer, hitting all the right notes and eliciting the perfect melancholic sadness.

The DVD

Topaz has been passed with no cuts by the BBFC and runs for 112m 37s, compared to M.I.H.K./Blue Light’s 2002 UK video release of 84m 56s. It was released in selected cinemas in 2001 with a run time of 89m 30s. Reportedly there is a much longer 135 minute cut, which has never seen the light of day over here. To be honest I don’t know if such a cut truly does exist, or if it did it was likely a workprint which never saw a home video release. Even the Japanese release has a run time of 113 minutes, but if anyone wishes to prove otherwise then feel free.

A/V

Urgh! Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong with Arrow Film’s presentation of Topaz. The film appears to be taken from an analogue source, complete with JVD Co Ltd (Japan Video Distribution) logo, in addition to the hard-matted Tokyo Decadence title, which precedes the official one. Topaz is given an NTSC-PAL non-anamorphic 1.85:1 transfer, which is plagued by digital artefacts such as cross-colouring, dot crawl and aliasing, in addition to low level noise and considerably poor black levels and contrast. Night scenes, of which there are a fair few, lack any detail whatsoever, with unnatural blending taking place between foreground and background, thus rendering the frames practically unwatchable. The rest of the image is noticeably soft throughout, clearly brought on by excessive amounts of badness. The colour palette is also a tad washed out, with skin tones appearing inconsistent. The surrounding environment is very grey and mostly depressing, but that’s one area which serves the entire point of Murakami’s film. Edge Enhancement also turns up. Booo.

The Dolby Digital 2.0 Japanese track is about at basic as you can expect. It has its problems, most of which appear to be inherent to the original source, but certainly aren’t helped by a rubbishy video conversion. Outdoor scenes can be a little too noisy on occasion, with ambience overriding some of the central performances, while dialogue in general could certainly offer a bit more clarity as it sounds somewhat hollow from time to time. It’s fine if you adjust the volume levels, but a little cleanliness would have been appreciated.

The optional English subtitles are a bit on the large size, but they read well and there are no errors to report.

Overall

“Erotic sex or dangerous fantasy?”, so say Arrow on the DVD cover. Actually it’s neither. Topaz is far more than a bawdy little S&M movie, though sadly advertising such as that will do it no favours. Undoutedly the worst offender is the Hong Kong title of Sex Dreams of Topaz, which really does take things to an unnecessary extreme. Those hoping to find some wealthy titillation by picking it up will be sorely disappointed. Regardless of whatever title it goes by, Topaz is a great example of taking an established genre and turning it on its head in order to pinpoint the extremities of personal dilemma. More than just a sex film, it’s a worthwhile documentation on an individual state of mind, with an astute philosophy and a defiant nature in successfully depicting areas that have long been overshadowed by their very taboo nature.

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