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Plot: inflatable doll is given sentience and is in awe of the world around her.

Air Doll (空気人形) is a Japanese fairytale with a pronounced South Korean magic realist bend. As an elegant mix of drama, romance, and comedy that blends the joie de vivre of Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amélie (2001) it tells a timeless coming of age and has that intangible intense oneiric quality of either the best French or Spanish fantastiques or Valerie and Her Week Of Wonders (1970). Complete with allusions to Carlo Collodi’s classic children’s tale Pinnochio and L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz it was hailed by critics in the specialized press and critics in the blogosphere as a true fairytale for grown-ups. Air Doll is a musing on what it means to be human and a sobering reflection of some of the mounting problems that Japanese society was (and still is) facing. it’s what the Japanese call fuwa fuwa (light and airy) but the problems it identifies couldn’t be more real. In other words, Air Doll is both timely and a modern classic. If Love Object (2003) had been a romantic drama it probably would have looked something like this. It was screened at the Un Certain Regard section of the 62nd Cannes Film Festival, was selected for the 2009 Toronto International Film Festival and won the Association Québécoise des Critiques de Cinéma (AQCC) award at the 2010 (14th) Fantasia Film Festival in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. This is something that couldn’t have come from any other place than Japan. If anything it cements Hirokazu Kore’eda’s reputation as the prime purveyor of humanist cinema.

The basis for Air Doll was the 20-page Gōda Tetsugaku-dō: Kūki Ningyō (or Gōda’s Philosophical Discourse: The Pneumatic Figure of a Girl) by Yoshiie Gōda. As the seinen manga upon which it was based Air Doll examines the unescapable loneliness of and what it means to be human in an impersonal, consumerist and performance-oriented late-capitalist society or how everyday life is for the median metropolitan Tokyoite. What it is to be fallible in a society that places impossible expectations – social, personal, economic, and otherwise – on its citizenry, does not tolerate failure, and puts honor in all of its various forms above the wellbeing of the individual. It also adresses the then-growing problem of the hikikomori (ひきこもり), something which has only exacerbated in the decade-plus since. The Pneumatic Figure of a Girl used Pinnochio as an allusion to examine the rigidity of gender roles, dysfunctional masculinity, and the management of emotions in a society that fails to engage with them. Instead of a wooden puppet coming to life Air Doll is the story of an inflatable sex doll gaining sentience. Like the Tin Woodman in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz the Air Doll too is looking for nothing but some tenderness and compassion. And just like Bruce Springsteen they are looking for “a little of that human touch.” Like so many ur-characters one question drives the Air Doll: “what does it mean to be human?” It explores that universal need for companionship and belonging, and the clawing, aching desperation that those suffering from anxiety and depression often experience. Air Doll takes a fantastical, near-magical approach to examine some very real problems.

One day inflatable Lovely Girl Candy sex doll Nozumi (Bae Doo-Na) is given kokoro (heart/soul) by some providence, divine or otherwise, and blinks an eye. Her middle-aged owner Hideo (Itsuji Itao) works an emotionally – and financially unrewarding job as a waiter in a restaurant. Disenfranchised and suffering from anxiety and depression Hideo seeks consolation and warmth in Nozumi’s arms and bosom every night. As she gains sentience she observes the raindrops on her window. Wide-eyed and innocent as a newborn the only thing she’s able to utter is, "Utsu-ku-shii" (or "beautiful") mesmerized by the pearls of light. After trying a variety of clothes (mermaid, nurse, schoolgirl) she eventually settles on a French chambermaid uniform. Woodingly she hobbles around the room before scrounging up enough courage to venture outside. As she wobbles down the busy streets of Tokyo Nozumi picks up patterns of speech and enough of a facsimile of humanity to hide her artificial origins. Dutifully Nozumi returns to the apartment every night to cradle Hideo in her arms. Increasingly aware that she has become a prisoner of her own desire she wants nothing but to be free.

On one of her daily excursions into the city Nozumi is able to parlay her newfound humanity into a job at the Cinema Circus video rental store. There she enlivens the uneventful life of despondent clerk Junichi (Arata Iura, as Arata) and soon the two become inseperatable. Hanging decorations one day Nozumi punctures herself, falls down and starts to deflate. Junichi (who is not in the slightest moved by the fact that his co-worker is an inflatable doll) nonchalantly repairs her injuries and sees to it that she’s reinflated and fully functioning again. All of this, of course, greatly arouses Nozumi. During one of their dates Nozumi meets little Moe (Miu Naraki) (Moe, of course, being an opaque otaku term meaning, amongst other things, "cute", "huggable", or "endearing") who’s celebrating her birthday in a restaurant with her father (Tomomi Maruyama). One day a greatly distracted Hideo visits the store but fails to recognize his Air Doll. Store owner Samezu (Ryô Iwamatsu) accuses Nozumi of having an affair behind poor Junichi’s back. Back at the apartment Nozumi confronts Hideo with her blossoming humanity but he coldly rejects her. Not only has Hideo rejected her, she also finds out that she was callously replaced with a younger model.

All this heartbreak is enough to send Nozumi on a quest to find her maker (Joe Odagiri). On her trails to find her maker Nozumi interacts with people from all walks of life. Sitting on a bench in a park she encounters wise old man Keiichi (Masaya Takahashi) who dispenses bumpersticker wisdoms and milquetoast platitudes free of charge, delighted to have an attractive young woman interested in his life’s story. Then there’s middle-aged receptionist Yoshiko (Kimiko Yo) who wishes nothing more than to be young and desirable again. At one point Nozumi even hears the Yoshino Hiroshi poem “Life Is”. In a bit of near-magical serendipity Nozumi (in)directly touches the lovelorn life of depressed young hermit Miki (Mari Hoshino) who’s estranged from her mother and whose life is as much of a mess as her studio apartment. Finally, she runs into Shinji (Ryosuke Takei), a strange and sexually frustrated young man who’s terminally afraid of women. All of them are longing for something, anything, to fill that gaping black hole and soul-eating void they harness inside. It’s here that our Air Doll learns that the human experience entails far more than just “having a heart.

The Air Doll in question is South Korean actress Bae Doo-Na (배두나) who in the past several years has acted as something of a muse for Lana and Lily Wachowski. In that capacity she could be seen in Cloud Atlas (2012) and Jupiter Ascending (2014). Doo-na rose to prominence thanks to her role as Sadako Yamamura in Koji Suzuki’s Ring Virus (1999) and her appearance in Park Chan-wook’s Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2002). Before Air Doll Doo-na was in the fuwa fuwa musical comedy Linda Linda Linda (2005) with Aki Maeda (前田亜季), or little Noriko from Battle Royale (2000). It’s a perfect little bit of casting as it gleefully plays up Doo-Na’s porcelain doll-like features and milky white complexion to maximum effect.

How we would have loved to see Ko Sung-Hee (고성희), Chae Soo-Bin (채수빈), and Shin Min-A (신민아) here, or alternatively Japanese starlets as Nicole Ishida (石田ニコル), Megumi Sato (佐藤めぐみ), Anna Nagata (永田 杏奈), Chiaki Kuriyama (栗山千明), Eriko Sato (佐藤江梨子), Yuriko Yoshitaka (吉高由里子), Mirei Kiritani (桐谷美玲), or even Eihi Shiina (しいなえいひ) in such part. The remainder of the cast is primarily known for their work in their native Japan, but a few will stand out to the average cinephile. Tomomi Maruyama (丸山智己) was in Audition (1999), Joe Odagiri (オダギリジョー) could be seen in Azumi (2003), and Itsuji Itao (板尾創路) was in Tokyo Gore Police (2008).

Central to Air Doll is the divide between hon'ne (本音) and tatemae (建前) as well as the growing problem of hikikomori. Of paramount importance in Japanese culture is the delicate balancing act between honne and tatemae. Hon'ne (“true sound”) is a person’s true feelings and desires. Tatemae ("built in front", "façade") are the imposed societal expectations coming with one’s position and background. Honne and tatemae might frequently stand in direct opposition to each other and frequently are the direct cause of inner turmoil. The pressure of balancing the complexities between one’s own needs and what society expects of said person has led to a generation of hikikomori ("acute social withdrawal") who share a feeling of alienation and mistrust. They are a demographic of reclusive adolescents that have withdrawn from social life due to their inability to deal with honne–tatemae. The problem is not unique to Japan, but the earliest reported cases and clinical studies surrounding the phenomenon happened there.

Mainland China especially in the decade-plus since has taken to imitating Air Doll and Jae-young Kwak’s My Girlfriend Is A Cyborg (2008) with an almost religious zeal. If you were to be cynical, it seems that the entire "robot girlfriend" subgenre (and its adjacent permutations) seems to built to learn 'the lost generation' the required social etiquette and how to interact with non-digital members of the opposite sex in a contemporary setting. Air Doll has a few stylistic overlaps with My Girlfriend Is A Cyborg (2008) although the two couldn’t be any different otherwise. While that one told a heartwarming South Korean romance within a Japanese setting (helmed by a South Korean director/screenwriter no less) Air Doll has the benefit of a South Korean lead actress but is oh so very, very Japanese otherwise.

Air Doll is beautifully photographed and wonderfully minimalistic companion piece to My Girlfriend Is A Cyborg (2008). Never does the comedy or the occasional gander at Bae Doo-na’s exposed form diminish from the more serious subjects that it touches upon. It might be a tad too much style over substance for those familiar with the Hirokazu Kore’eda oeuvre, but it largely deals with his typical themes. While the later imitations took the Pinnochio and The Wonderful Wizard of Oz influences farther and made the allusions more obvious Air Doll got there first. Its quirkier moments are typically Japanese yet never are they strong enough to actively make this inaccessible to Western eyes and sensibilities. The kind of magic realism that Air Doll indulges in is universal, after all. It probably won’t appeal to fans of the more grounded and serious romances from, say, Kar-Wai Wong but there’s enough relevant subtext and social commentary in Air Doll to not be written off as just another weird Japanese movie. It might not be a Japanese Amélie (2001), but it certainly comes close.

Plot: exchange student pulls prank on class playboy. Hilarity ensues!

The careers of commedia sexy all'Italiana starlets Gloria Guida and Lilli Carati were irrevocably intertwined but didn’t exactly run parallel. Whereas la Guida made her ass a thing of national pride through a series of breezy comedies, Carati wasn’t so fortunate. Lovely, luscious Lilli… She who shone so fiercely, so brightly, and who crashed so spectacularly, so miserably, so undeservedly. Forever the bad girl. There’s no disputing that To Be Twenty (1978) was a career peak for both la Guida and la Carati. Moreso for Carati as Guida was already was an established star by that point and even had a few genuine box office hits to her name prior to La Liceale (1975). Fernando Di Leo had not only upstaged the commedia sexy all'Italiana formula by turning the conventions on its head, and even more importantly, he used them as a vehicle some of the most scathing socio-political commentary aimed at church and state alike. Before Carati got there there was La compagna di banco (or The Seatmate, for those in the English-speaking world) from Mariano Laurenti, which hardly was the worst, or the most odious, thing that Lilli ever lend her name (and figure) to.

Mariano Laurenti was one of many specialized directors that ushered the commedia sexy all’Italiana into its various forms and through multiple decades. He’s mostly remembered around these parts for the indispensible Edwige Fenech-Malisa Longo decamerotico Beautiful Antonia, First a Nun Then a Demon (1972). Laurenti was instrumental in helping Edwige Fenech reinvent herself after her tenure as giallo queen. He worked with miss Fenech on many an occassion, but their association was by no means exclusive. He helped sire the comedic careers of just about every comedic Eurocult leading lady including, but not limited to, Nieves Navarro, Femi Benussi, and Orchidea De Santis to Nadia Cassini, Dagmar Lassander, Maria Rosaria Omaggio, and Anita Strindberg. He was the creative force behind My Father's Private Secretary (1976) plus La Guida’s post-La Liceale (1975) romp The Landlord (1976), as well as her post-To Be Twenty (1978) efforts The Highschool Girl Repeating Class (1978), The Night Nurse (1979), and How to Seduce Your Teacher (1979). Once Gloria divested of her famous schoolgirl character in search of greener pastures he directed The Repeater Winks at the Headmaster (1980), or that illicit sequel wherein Anna Maria Rizzoli superseded Sabrina Siani as the horny and mischievous schoolgirl. In his twilight years he assistant directed the breastacular Saint Tropez, Saint Tropez (1992) (with the delectable duo of former Tinto Brass goddesses Debora Caprioglio and Serena Grandi).

Simona Girardi (Lilli Carati) is a beautiful 18-year-old student who has newly moved from Milan to Trani in the region of Apulia. As a transfer student and newcomer at Mamiani Lyceum she immediately attracks the attention of philandering lothario of class 3B Mario D'Olivo (Antonio Melidoni). After hearing from her new friends the blonde Mirella (Brigitte Petronio) and fashionably crewcut Vera (Susanna Schemmari) that Mario has broken many hearts and that he will break hers if she’ll let him. With that in mind the girls decide that a suitable bit of revenge is in order. Simona will seduce him and give him a bit of his own medicine in retaliation. Mario’s best friends (and professional practical jokers) are ginger class clown Nicola Martocchia (Stefano Amato) and certified virgin-for-life Gennarino (Nando Paone, as Ferdinando Paone). The boys love nothing more than to come to Mario’s apartment and spy on nubile women undressing in the tailor shop of Mario’s father below.

Hijinks ensue when Mario’s father, Teo (Lino Banfi) hits on upperclass socialite Elena Mancuso (Nikki Gentile, as Niki Gentile) and he has to pretend to be gay to escape the wrath of her Mafia don husband signor Carmine Mancuso (Rosario Borelli). All of which amuses shop assistant Giuditta (Ermelinda De Felice) to no end. Back at home Mario barely has time to study as he has to ward off the unwanted advances of perennially horny maid Dominica (Paola Maiolini). At the faculty the teaching – and supporting staff are having their own problems. Professor of physics and gym Ilario Cacioppo (Gianfranco D'Angelo) and substitute Salvatore (Alvaro Vitali) are working on such a meager paycheck that they have to rely on fruit and vegetables the students bring to survive. Of course, all of them are booby-trapped.

Cacioppo is introduced to giant new teacher Professor Marimonti (Francesca Romana Coluzzi) who’s built like a linebacker and has the strength to match. Meanwhile the boys convince Salvatore that Elena Mancuso is a nymphomaniac lusting for him. Along the way Simona picks up an older suitor in Federico (Vittorio Stagni). Amidst all this chaos the principal (Marcello Martana) does everything within his power to avert crises at all costs. When Simona wants to introduce Mario to her parents (Gigi Ballista and Linda Sini) he gifts her a family heirloom which leads the D'Olivo clan accusing her of theft. When Commissioner Acavallo (Giacomo Furia) interrogates all the various parties involved, it’s Mario’s attorney mother (Cristina Grado, as Christina Grado) who comes to Simona’s rescue. Naturally, with all of this going on romance starts to grow between Simona and Mario.

Miss Cinema Campania Loredana Piazza (left), Miss Italia Mary Montefusco (middle), and Miss Eleganza Lilli Carati (right)

In 1974 Mary Montefusco was Miss Italia, Gloria Guida became Miss Teen Italia, Lilli Carati was crowned Miss Eleganza, and Loredana Piazza was Miss Cinema Campania. In the jury sat producer Franco Cristaldi who saw Lilli’s star potential and ensured she got her start in commedia sexy all’Italiana. Guida’s career was off to a flying start and she would, despite a few minor hiccups here and there, remain steadily in the mainstream.

Lilli had the good fortune to work with the greatest in domestic comedy including, but not limited to, Sergio and Bruno Corbucci, Michele Massimo Tarantini, Mariano Laurenti, and Pasquale Festa Campanile (with whom she allegedly had an affair) and shared the screen with Adriano Celentano, Enzo Cannavale, Renzo Montagnani, and Vittorio Caprioli. One thing was clear from the onset: lovely Lilli was never going to eclipse la Guida. Carati had co-starred alongside Tomas Milian in the second Nico Giraldi poliziottesco-comedy caper Hit Squad (1976) from Bruno Corbucci and played an l’insegnante in Michele Massimo Tarantini’s The Professor Of Natural Sciences (1976). It was only natural and logical that Lilli would play la liceale next. It was a rite of passage for every starlet. That happened with The Seatmate. While hardly mandatory Carati’s career was about to peak with A Night Full of Rain (1978) and To Be Twenty (1978) after which things went from bad to worse for her quite rapidly and dramatically.

Appearances in Escape from Women's Prison (1978) (with an ensemble cast including Zora Kerova, Dirce Funari, Ines Pellegrini, and Marina Daunia) and the sleazy Eurocrime actioner Vultures over The City (1981) signaled that Lilli’s days in the A-list were now very well behind her. By the the late 1970s Carati had developed addictions to alchohol, heroin and cocaine that would sideline her career. She kept in the limelight with covers on and nude spreads in Playboy (December, 1976 and September, 1978), Playmen (October, 1976), Penthouse (December, 1982) and Blitz (July and September, 1984; June, 1985 and 1986). Now blacklisted Carati was forced to look in the exploitation circuit to stay employed. It was Joe D’Amato who offered her a chance to rebuild her career. As fate would have it it was their mutual friend Jenny Tamburi who made the introductions in 1984. The rest, as they say, is history. D’Amato - a professional pornographer who frequently dabbled in exploitation and was in the habit of rescuing disgraced A-listers and employing wayward adult performers – had Lilli starring in 4 films, the first of which was The Alcove (1985). Convent Of Sinners (1986) was supposed to be a Carati vehicle too until D’Amato for reasons never made public bombarded Eva Grimaldi to lead. That it co-starred D’Amato’s other big star of the eighties Luciana Ottaviani from Eleven Days, Eleven Nights (1987) and Top Model (1988) probably didn’t hurt either. By 1987 and 1988 Carati did hardcore porn for Giorgio Grand with a young Rocco Siffredi.

The inevitable criminal charges followed as in May 1988 she was arrested for heroin possession landing her in jail for a few days. Having finally hit rockbottom Lilli attempted suicide on May 10, 1988 shortly after her arrest. A year later on May 1989 a severely depressed Lilli tried a second time by throwing herself from the bedroom window in her parents' house after unsuccessfully trying to get sober. Carati survived the attempt sustaining only three broken vertebrae and three months of immobility. Lilli underwent therapy for three years in the Saman community of anti-authoritarian sociologist, journalist, political activist, and sometime guru Mauro Rostagno – famously murdered by the Costa Nostra - where she was the subject of the documentary Lilli, una vita da eroina (or Lilli, A Life of Heroin) by Rony Daopoulos. It aired as part of the Storie vere program on Rai 3 on February 25, 1994. Carati recalled her suicide attempts and subsequent recovery on Ricominciare on Rai 2 on 9 July, 2008. 2011 was supposed to be the year of Lilli’s big comeback as she was slated to appear in Luigi Pastore’s La fiaba di Dorian, a project that was shelved after Lilli was diagnosed with a brain tumour. In 2014, at age 58, disgraced and neglected, she passed away in Besano and was interred at Induno Olona cemetery in Varese, Lombardia. Pastore used the Lilli footage in what was to become Violent Shit: The Movie (2015), an ill-conceived remake that tried turning the 1989 Andreas Schnaas gore micro-epic into a giallo, of all things.

Being produced by veteran Luciano Martino (the former husband of Wandisa Guida, Edwige Fenech, and Olga Bisera) ensured that The Seatmate came bursting out of the gates with some big or semi-famous people working behind the cameras. Martino was a versatile producer who did anything from The Demon (1963) to Hands Of Steel (1986), and everything in between. Composer Gianni Ferrio was a frequent Mariano Laurenti collaborator and especially prolific in commedia sexy all'Italiana around this time. His score, while adequate and freewheeling, is nothing special. Director of photography Pasquale Rachini was something of a newcomer in 1977 still but on average he’s more hit than miss. Writing are Francesco Milizia, and Franco Mercuri who both were experienced in comedy at this point. Their screenplay is hardly the worst but it leaves a lot of plot threads unresolved: what’s the purpose of Federico and how does he enhance Simona as a character in any way? Why don’t any of Mario’s friends end up romantically entangled with Simona’s? Why introduce the Mafia don subplot when it serves no function to the mainplot? Do Mario and Simona even like each other? To its everlasting credit, The Seatmate never diverges too much from the established La Liceale (1975) formula, the comic relief from Lino Banfi and Alvaro Vitali isn’t as odious as it usually tends to be, and it even contains that classic Gloria Guida scene but here it’s Lilli Carati running about in the nude in a meadow causing all sorts of trouble. The supporting cast might not contain any name-stars but Francesca Romana Coluzzi, Ermelinda De Felice, Brigitte Petronio, and Linda Sini all were reliable second-stringers who cut their teeth in exploitation on both ends of the budget spectrum.

Ultimately The Seatmate is to the Lilli Carati repertoire what The Doctor… The Student (1976) was to the infinitely superior Gloria Guida canon: an efficient but hardly remarkable iteration of a well-trodden comedy formula. Thankfully there’s enough naked Lilli shenanigans for everyone, and she doesn’t disappoint in the slightest. What’s curious is that only after Lilli had tested the waters a spate of official La Liceale (1975) sequels were suddenly produced within a record time of just two years. As for Lilli herself – while hardly a terrible actress she was no Gloria Guida (who herself was no Edwige Fenech, Agostina Belli, Laura Antonelli, Ornella Muti, or Orchidea De Santis) but it’s not like she was ever given scripts that played up to her limited strengths. In many ways The Seatmate was a prototype for the La Liceale (1975) sequels (official and otherwise) in that it works like a well-oiled machine but never has any higher aspirations. And that’s the problem with The Seatmate. It never tries hard enough. It has all the right ingredients but it never quite knows what to do with them. A few genuine chuckles notwithstanding the humour is puerile and too often reduced to slapstick. At least Lino Banfi and Alvaro Vitali aren’t as odious as they usually are – and Lilli Carati was always one of the more exotic looking comedy vixens. It’s truly unfortunate that To Be Twenty (1978) would always remain an anomaly of sorts in her repertoire.