Age has been kind to filmmaker Yasuzo Masumora's broad 1958 satire of crass post-war Japanese corporate values, based on a book by Ken Kaiko (it helps to know that the "business novel" is a peculiarly Japanese genre). Its bright colors, larger-than-life performances, and snappy rhythms keep the kettle boiling, even if some of the sword-sharp points being made are now rather familiar: greedy ambition will overrule honor, fame is corrupting, and TV is a weapon of mass materialism.
Candy-movie completists might be enlightened that Willy Wonka was not the last word on the subject. Fierce competition exists between three candy companies, World Confectioners, Giant, and Apollo, to control the Nippon caramel market. At World, the ambitious Goda (Hideo Takamatsu) married his supervisor's daughter to rise in the boardroom. Now, he hatches a plan with his somewhat reluctant young protege Nishi (Hiroshi Kawaguchi) to take Kyoko (Hitome Nozoe), a vivacious 18-year-old (with rotten teeth) from the lower classes, and remake her as a celebrity spokesmodel, in an ad blitz somehow connecting caramels to space travel.
In a whirlwind of publicity stunts, media recognition, and unaccustomed paychecks, the spunky Kyoko falls for her chaperone Nishi, but he spurns her in favor of his own longstanding love affair with a woman from Apollo, who occasionally rewards him with some juicy trade secrets. For all that, Nishi still remains the protagonist with most ethics and conscience. Kyoko, meanwhile, evolves from a baseball-loving tomboy to a bombshell entertainment diva and singer-dancer, performing what passes for a Giants and Toys theme song, about tropical cannibalism (a chorus line of stereotyped tribal savages is both wildly politically incorrect but appropriate to the milieu). Giants and Toys made a star out of actress Nozoe, and no wonder.
Arrow Releasing, who have also brought out Masumora's equally cynical 1962 automotive industry thriller The Black Test Car, are behind this Blu-ray re-issue of Giants and Toys. The disc comes with an introduction by UK critic/screenwriter Tony Rayns (who points out the film's similarities with the bright Hollywood comedies of auteur Frank Tashlin, even though it's doubtful Masumora ever saw them) and a second visual essay by scholar Earl Jackson. A commentary track, heavy on the semiotics, comes courtesy of Japanese cinema expert Irene González-López. A delicious recommendation for Asian and foreign-film shelves. (Aud: P)