Uma

Haru Urara, the mare who won over horse racing enthusiasts in Japan and abroad with her perpetual losing streak, has died. She was 29.

Yuko Miyahara, a representative for Urara’s longtime care facility Matha Farm in the southeast Chiba prefecture of Japan, confirmed to Japanese outlet Friday Digital that the animal athlete died early Tuesday of colic. She was surrounded by staff.

“Urara was 29. In human years that’s almost 90, but really, until yesterday she was doing really well,” Miyahara said in the article, which was translated to English. “It was so sudden … lately Uhara was getting visitors even from outside Japan. It’s really unfortunate.”

The horse, whose name translates to Glorious Spring, debuted in 1998 at the Kochi Racecourse. The track advertised its resilient star’s losing streak as part of its efforts to stay in business. Urara’s reputation — bolstered by her signature pink racing accessories and fan merchandise — breached the perimeters of the Kochi racetrack and made her a global phenomenon. In 2004 former Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi even expressed his support for the mare.

“I’d like to see Haru Urara win, even just once,” Koizumi said. “The horse is a good example of not giving up in the face of defeat.”

Trained by her longtime trainer Dai Muneishi, Urara kept racing — she lost a total of 113 races and finished second in only four of those — until her retirement in August 2004. Her owner at the time parted ways with the Kochi racetrack and Urara disappeared for several years after her retirement. Since 2014 she had been receiving care at Matha Farms.

Her career and unexpected global fame were the subject of the 2016 ESPN documentary “The Shining Star for Losers Everywhere.”

“At the time, Haru Urara must have been a star of hope for the losers,” trainer Muneishi said in the documentary.

Interest in Urara’s legacy of losing and resilience reignited earlier this year with the global release of the mobile game “Uma Musume: Pretty Derby” in June. “Uma Musume,” initially released in Japan in 2021, is a racing simulator that re-imagines real-life racehorses as anime horsegirls. Players are “trainers” who support racers, leveling them up to climb the ranks. In the video game, Haru Urara is a horsegirl whose features are various shades of pink. Her character is also featured in the “Uma Musume: Pretty Derby” anime series.

The game’s official X (formerly Twitter) account shared the news of the racehorse’s death “with heavy hearts” and mourned the “legendary” athlete.

“We share our condolences to all the staff involved in Haru Urara’s care,” the post said.

Times staff writer Tracy Brown contributed to this report.

A gritty, rock-inflected comedy using the nocturnal peculiarities of Mumbai slum life as a fertile (if at times fetid) palette, British-raised Karan Kandhari’s “Sister Midnight,” about a restless young housewife’s urban malaise, easily holds your attention for long stretches when seemingly little happens, but everything feels charged.

Don’t mistake this stylish feature debut for a misery wallow, however, or some poetic character study. It’s tantalizingly oddball and indelicate: a combined daymare and night odyssey that scratches until a feral hidden strength is revealed in the misfit main character, captivatingly played by Indian star Radhika Apte.

Though the movie ultimately can’t square its episodic unpredictability with the bubbling feminist-outlaw energy at its core — not to mention the comic-book twist that shakes it all up halfway through — that’s less a bug than a feature. Like a movie DJ, Kandhari is flexing a pulpy mood of big-city dislocation, building a trippy, jarring and blackly funny experience out of a city’s stray colors, sounds and personalities.

Arriving at their one-room hovel in the dead of night, arranged-marriage newlyweds and rural transplants Uma (Apte) and Gopal (Ashok Pathak) look more like thrown-together prison cellmates adjusting to a warden’s rules than a romantic couple embracing a future together. We glean that this was a match of undesirables: the timid, sexless guy no girl wanted and the girl too outspoken to be paired.

But here they are, having to make do. Gopal at least has a job to go to, from which he often comes home hammered after drinks with colleagues. Uma, left behind in the solitude of a shack that only allows one shaft of window light, is quick to profanely protest the joyless, intimacy-challenged rut they’ve entered. Alternating between angry and exhausted, she bristles at acclimating to the domesticity that her prickly neighbor wives treat like a club handshake.

Before long, Uma’s taste for cigarettes under the moonlight turns into regular solo walks at all hours. An impulsive journey to a coastal part of town hours away leads to her taking a cleaning job in an office building (and a friendship with a glumly simpatico elevator operator). Suddenly, she’s brandishing a mop and pail everywhere like a rootless knight without a quest or a horse. Then there’s a cryptic street encounter with a goat and things get even weirder. But also, somehow, more validating.

Kandhari, with his hypnotic Wes Anderson-by-way-of-David Lynch widescreen framing and deliberate tracking shots, seems more concerned with capturing something liminal in Uma’s alternative existence, as if the city were just weird and oppressive enough to tease out any transformation that was already lying dormant. (By the time the movie introduces stop-motion creatures roaming the streets, you’ve been primed to think, “Sure, why not?”)

A mischievously off-the-wall exercise like “Sister Midnight” (which eventually embraces some gnarlier elements) needs a certain steam to keep up its deadpan wildness. Kandhari is blessed in that regard with an active visual curiosity about his cracked fable’s punk potential, helped by Sverre Sørdal’s humid cinematography and a game lead in Apte, whose middle-finger energy is sometimes hilariously offset by a wonderful silent-film-star haplessness.

One wishes it all held together a little more, instead of laying seeds that tend to sprout vibes and distractions instead of an illuminating cohesiveness. Kandhari will too often keep Uma in cartoon rebel-goddess mode, needle-dropping another classic rock cut as if daring us to accept Motorhead or Buddy Holly as the only viable soundtrack for what’s going on. But those elements are a kick, too.

Of course, the title “Sister Midnight” is an Iggy Pop staple. “What can I do about my dreams?” it growls, an apt lyric for the singularly inventive and unmanageable fever of a movie that shares its name.