On one hand you have the sort of films from abroad that get nominated for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar: stories of tots and the usually grumpy middle-aged adults who impact their lives in touching ways. Then there are the films of Japanese actor, director, editor, newspaper columnist, stand-up comic, and artist Takeshi Kitano (Fireworks, Sonatine), which tell lyrical, beautiful, violent tales of tough characters with unexpected depths. Conceptually and stylistically, if not always philosophically, they're worlds apart, so it's surprising that Kitano's new Kikujiro is an only sporadically successful but ultimately winning amalgam of the two approaches. First-timer Yusuke Sekiguchi stars as a sullen schoolboy who lives with a hard-working, frequently absent grandmother and finds during a summer vacation from school that his life has no direction. All this changes when, somewhat bafflingly, he's placed in the care of Kitano (acting, as usual, under the name "Beat" Takeshi), a shiftless, determinedly offensive boor (and probable ex-gangster) who, when charged with taking Sekiguchi to the beach, opts instead for the track. Somehow winning the boy's trust, they eventually hit the road in search of his long-lost mother, running into danger, boredom, and compassionate eccentrics along the way. One of Kitano's hallmarks is his deft ability to radically shift tones without upsetting the course of a film: Sonatine, for example, establishes early on a world of danger and excitement that it discards for much of its playful second half. With the episodic Kikujiro, Kitano seems to have misplaced this ability, his love of redemptive playtime manifesting itself in long stretches that can politely be called indulgent (if occasionally brilliant) and some uncomfortable, unexpected doses of sentiment. But even in its uneven patches, the core relationship between Kitano and Sekiguchi, a fresh rethinking of familiar material, carries the film along nicely. Falling back on his comic skills, Kitano hilariously borders on the unlikable for much of Kikujiro, while Sekiguchi matches his deadpan mannerisms frown for frown. Just as importantly, Kitano's emphasis isn't on finding his character's lost innocence—in his own way, he never let go of it—but on showing the perils of a rudderless childhood. His character may be any thinking person's last choice for a role model, but he gets the job done. And so, in its own way, does Kikujiro, a rough piece of work by Kitano's standards but a memorable, oddly charming one.