Midnight Sun

Remakes are hard.  You know you’re intellectually lacking enough that you wanna redo someone else’s work (what can I say, I’m a cynic) or you think you can do better than someone else, but you know there’s always gonna be that contingent that compares your effort to the original, almost always with a bias in favor of the latter.  You know you need to do some of your own thing, but, somewhat paradoxically, straying too far from the original’s template will net you added flak.  It’s rarely a winning situation.  Almost makes you wonder why you bother, right?

Well, flicks gotta get made, and the machine’s gotta perpetually turn, so we’re gonna need some pitches that don’t require too much extra work.  So when Hollywood needed a teen romance picture, they found a source of inspir– no, that’s not that right word, let’s go with plunder (again, I’m a massive cynic, sorry), in the 2006 Japanese film Taiyô no uta, translated as A Song to the Sun but released in the US as Midnight Sun.

The story centers on young Amane Kaoru in Kamakura in southeastern Japan.  She seems like your typical girl, pining for a boy from her window, but there’s a reason said window separates them: she’s got xeroderma pigmentosum, a genetic disorder characterized by an inability to repair damage caused by UV radiation, basically rendering them highly sensitive to sunlight.  (Despite what the remake may say, the incidence of this disorder in the US is 1:250,000, not 1:1,000,000; and it’s six times as common in Japan.)  It’s rare for sufferers to live past the age of twenty, as various cancers tend to form as a result of the disorder.

Because of her XP, Kaoru has spent most of her life indoors, behind windows with special UV-blocking shades, and hasn’t interacted much with people her own age, aside from her cousin.  Still, she lives a relatively normal forced-nocturnal life, complete with loving parents, and she dreams of becoming a singer, often heading downtown to sing.  One day, she runs into the boy she’s watched for years, Koji, while out, and the two hit it off, following, of course, a pretty awkward introduction.  The two agree to date, even head of to Yokohama to sing for a larger audience, but her condition hasn’t really been brought up yet (seemingly organically, no less).  But when she nearly misses the sunrise, the cat’s out of the bag.  But Koji’s fallen for her, and the two continue their romance, even as her health deteriorates.  (The nervous degeneration she (and her remake’s counterpart) suffers does occur in about a quarter of XP cases, but it’s not normally linked directly to the condition, nor does it happen as quickly as shown on-screen.)

It’s a pretty solid and surprisingly artsy film, focusing heavily on the youngsters’ relationship and Kaoru’s refusal to fully give in to her condition.  Rookie director Koizumi Norihiro does well in his debut, letting the visuals speak for themselves to tell us how the characters are feeling; there’s no dialogue for nearly eight minutes.  Cinematographer Nakayama Kôichi photographs the events in a soft, almost pastel-feeling feel, almost like classic Fujifilm in inherent warmth.  Shiina Kunihito’s score comes off as jazzy, almost Impressionist in nature, favoring woodwinds and guitars throughout.  There’s also a funny bit of product placement for Western audiences, as a vending machine across from Kaoru’s home is pushing Pocari Sweat, a clear sports drink that actually kinda looks like bottled sweat.

What struck me about this film the most, though, was the lack of traditional cliches in such stories.  Usually the protagonist, for whatever reason, purposefully hides his/her condition, only to have it blow up in everyone’s face; the parents are usually overbearingly controlling; and the protagonist usually needs to be plucked from his/her malaise by his/her love interest.  Here, Kaoru is mostly active, going after Koji herself and continually keeping herself going (helped along by friends and family, of course) toward her dream, all under the pleasant eyes of her laissez faire parents.  We’re here to see a girl fall in love while dealing with the impending worsening of her condition, and it gets pretty emotional.

Oh, and we’re also here to hear some music.  Y’see, star Yui, who plays Kaoru, is a famous singer in Japan, and her debut album came out right around the same time as this film, giving her some nice exposure through several songs performed therein.  She’s pretty good, honestly, coming from someone not that versed in J-Pop, and the songs buoy the plot thread of her wanting to become a singer.  Sure, it seems like blatant advertising at points, but it still works in the context of the plot.

The film was pretty successful in Japan, spawning a TV series, a manga series, a second TV series, and, of course, a remake Stateside.

Stepping into the shoes of the now-Americanized Kate is perpetual next-big-thing-I-promise-we’re-gonna-keep-trying-no-matter-how-bad-the-material girl Bella Thorne (I think she’s a solid actress, but she’s being massively mishandled), opposite Patrick Schwarzenegger’s Charlie in Purdue, Washington (as far as I can tell, a fictional town).  The plot hits the same beats, basically, but in a slightly different order and with a that distinctive teen rom-dram smell.

As similar as these films are, though, plenty of differences are apparent.  Most striking is the addition of a handful of subplots, ’cause our characters all need to have baggage, yo.  In the original, Koji is just your average kid: he likes to surf, he goofs around with his friends, he’s a bit of a dim bulb, and he’s a hard worker when he puts his mind to it.  The same can mostly be said for Charlie, but now we get to also contend with his arm injury, which derailed his swimming career and, consequently, his free-ride to Berkeley.  So he’s initially pretty down in the dumps until Kate comes along and wrenches him from his doldrums.  As one might expect in modern teen-centric flicks, Kate is initially (and unnecessarily) the subject of ridicule by her peers, in that vague manner that cinematic bullying takes.  Nothing comes of this change, save possibly explaining her social awkwardness.  Meanwhile, Kate’s mom is, well, dead.  Yup, we’ve got the stereotypical single-parent household, which, naturally, means that Kate’s father is a bit overprotective.  Hell, she barely ever leaves the house in this version, making me wonder how she was ever gonna hope to be a famous singer.  This revamped father character grates against the more laid-back Japanese version, even if the same core emotional notes are struck in both cases.  Finally, Kate’s without a cousin, but she’s still got an understanding best friend, who takes a slightly larger role in the story (and is, in my opinion, a welcome change, given the way Quinn Shephard portrays her, easily my favorite character in the film).

Director Scott Speer, mostly known for Ashley Tisdale music videos (I honestly didn’t know she had that many…) and Step Up Revolution (that would be the fourth in that series), takes a very standard approach here, even going so far as to include some initial voiceover narration for those of us who are either blind or unable to understand how people are feeling via their faces and actions.  Rookie writer Eric Kirsten takes a similarly flat and standard approach to the script, keeping the checklist of plot points from the original while draining out much of the emotional depth.  (He also annoyingly keeps having the characters refer to Kate’s condition as “XP”, as though it’s a common-enough disorder that everyone instantly knows what they’re talking about.)  The cinematography is flat and glossy, what you’d expect from a run-of-the-mill teen drama, and the score comprises that same vague indie-style alt-rock you hear in the background of commercials and trite films.  There’s some singing here, too, ostensibly from Bella Thorne (I couldn’t really tell if it was actually someone else doing the singing, but the lip-synching (or, at the very least, the audio editing for the singing) wasn’t very good), but she’s not as strong as Yui; she’s not bad, really, but nothing worth noting, as good as any girl who’s been in chorus in school.  The school-aged characters are glaringly played by actors nearly a decade too old for their roles, leading to some quality Steve Buscemi “Hello, fellow students” moments.

What really ground my gears, though, was the treatment of Thorne’s character.  Kaoru was active, strong, and bright, whereas Kate is made to be reflexive, the object of others’ actions, getting dragged everywhere, and highly susceptible to surrender.  Why bother remaking a film if you’re just gonna gut it and kill the primary source of inner strength and emotionality?  I think it struck me most when her secret is finally out (this happens much later here, following quite a few dates) and she wants to break it off with Charlie because she doesn’t want to hurt him.  Ahem.  I had a similar conversation with an ex, who warned me that getting involved with her would be a bad idea, as it might lead to my getting hurt.  I told her the same thing I yelled at the screen here (I was alone for this screening, don’t worry): maybe, instead of being entirely selfish and condescending, you let me/Charlie decide who I/he choose/s to get hurt by, hm?

And it’s this lack of communication, so widespread in these sorts of movies, that really undercuts everything.  It’s become so painfully played-out by now: two characters fall in love, one has a secret, said secret is kept hidden for no reason, and everything goes sideways.  Hell, it almost always winds up with everyone being worse off for this radio silence.  God forbid you actually talk to each other about actually serious things, right?  Totally crazy.  And the film’s inclusion of this cliche is all the more galling considering that original almost completely eschews it.

Bottom line, Midnight Sun isn’t bad, it’s just as normal and bland as you can get, even with a rare genetic disorder playing a central role.  It brings nothing new to the table, either for the genre, film in general, or even in relation to the original, and it winds up landing extremely flat.  It’s in no way offensive, but its twee triteness might be grating for some.  It’s worth a go if you’re a fan of the genre, but you won’t be missing much if you skip it.  As per usual, the original wins out.