Ikuta no Kita

An illusion of time's passage, latent apprehension firmly planted in the furthest crevices of minds. The North exists here and there, everywhere but alas, nowhere. It is simply a state of immobility and disorientation experienced by anyone with a dream of something more. Yamamura's otherworldly imagery is dense in detail, while the fractured memories are effectively unmoving in a repeated cycle or headed somewhere, seemingly north. The cardinal direction is of little importance in and of itself, but it refers to the universal knowledge that one should head towards a straight path in times of need. A consensus that without direction in one's aspirations, they'rebound to be stuck in a limbo of nothingness. The film feels like a daydream, not in the sense that it's unmemorable, however, it's always happening as I'm consuming the atmosphere, genuinely alive right in front of my eyes. It encompasses the human condition in all its inglorious despondency, in which we retain sanity by performing menial tasks. The fictional location depicted in Dozens of Norths is nightmarishly dreary yet expansive, where humans and grotesque creatures coexist. Yamamura will often establish an elaborately composed shot similar to pictures in wimmelbooks, although less populated. The camera then focuses on different sections of the frame, allowing a closer look at the subliminal movements of residents who are stationarily drooped as to indicate depressive fatigue, isolation denoted by existence itself. Other times, we're taken on a tour through the stuff of fantasies, like a dream factory, and Yamamura laterally tracks each individual continually occupied in a pattern of meaningless effort. In search of an escape from fear and suffering, only a purpose can keep our resolve intact, a duty that won't abandon us since we've already abandoned ourselves. The invisible lingering anxiety drowns the film in strong nihilism, albeit it never insists that being unable to relax in thought is a futile dilemma. Yamamura opts for a relatively unorthodox style of silent narration, where short lines of text periodically appear on-screen to communicate the abstract intentions of each separate scene, sometimes shot-by-shot. The aphorisms that are used are meant to provoke a more profound perspective on what would otherwise be highly ambiguous animation. In retrospect, the absence of dialogue is a major factor in successfully experimenting with the poetic mix of art and music. Willem Breuke's jazzy touch is accompanied by haunting shrieks following every beat of motion, and when we are immersed in the quietude, Koji Kasamatsu's sound design of winds and waves is cold to the ears. Alongside its thematic force, Dozens of Norths is an audiovisual delight, boasting unusual designs, messy line art, and freefall control over its characters. Alienation persists whether or not we believe we overcame such mental hurdles, as it's a part of comprehensive perception. Occasionally, we see two small men carrying a quill, traversing the landscape at the corners of different frames. The feather is nearly weightless, yet a subconscious burden that they're designated to carry beyond their North. This recurring scene parallels the existential absurdity at play, a ubiquitous and frequently illogical emotional challenge. Even in its darker implications, the worldbuilding is presented with great beauty, a majestic sensation of mystery. Characters are rooted into the ground where junk and rubble protrude, a parable for monotonous work ethic. Yamamura's first feature chooses visual storytelling above concrete narratives, thoroughly avant-garde. He phenomenally arranges a fusion of dystopian fantasy and adventure, transmitting sharply raw symbolism to the viewer. There is safety in solitude, a phantasmagoria.