Month: October 2010

Categories
anti-war literary adaptations post-war shomin-geki

Miss Pebble & Her Twenty-Four Eyes: A look at Twenty-Four Eyes by Kinoshita Keisuke

Based on the 1952 novel by Tsuboi Sakae of the same name, Twenty-Four Eyes (Nijūshi no hitomi) is a 1954 black-and-white film directed by Kinoshita Keisuke. It stars Takamine Hideko as a schoolteacher named Ōishi Hisoka. Her students are played by various actors as the children grow throughout the years to become adults with sons and daughters of their own. Twenty-Four Eyes would later be remade in colour in 1987 by director Asama Yoshitaka.

The story is set on an island called Shodoshima, or Shodo Island. It spans over a period of twenty years (“two eras,” the film calls it) from 1928 to 1946, following the lives of Miss Ōishi and her twelve students, to whom the twenty-four eyes of the movie’s title belong to. The students, who begin the film as first-graders, quickly nickname her “Miss Pebble” (her real name, Ōishi, means “big stone”) for her diminutive size. Miss Ōishi is introduced to the audience as a modern woman: she rides a brand new bike to work, is a trained and licensed teacher from the city, and wears Western clothing. She chooses to use her students’ nicknames as opposed to their given names; she teaches them country songs. As a result, she fast becomes the talk of the village for her sophisticated appearance and unorthodox teaching methods. However, as the students grow attached to her, so too do the children’s parents. She remains close to her students as they are swept up in the ever-changing landscape of life—through the Red Scare, the oncoming war, and beyond until everything comes full circle at the end, twenty years later, when Miss Ōishi finds herself teaching the children of her former students. The last image we get is of Miss Ōishi riding her bike to the school the same way she did when we first met her at the beginning of the film.

Although he is less of an international household name as his counterparts, Kinoshita is an equally skilled director who, here, has made lovely use of extreme long shots and towering crane shots to capture the brilliant landscape of Shodoshima. The camera frequently pulls away during moments in which the audience might expect a close-up, such as when Miss Ōishi is waving goodbye to her students rowing away: we see her only as a tiny silhouette against the massive backdrop of the rolling sea and the wide sandy shores of the beach. Throughout the film, we continue to get similarly wide shots of the grassy flatlands and the gently sloping hills as the camera tracks the children. These extreme long shots seem to emphasize the film’s mood, suggesting that the characters are but small figures within a world that will sweep them along in its devastating wars and economic hardships. And though there are certain undeniable anti-war sentiments, often expressed through Miss Ōishi who remains steadfast in her belief that nothing good can come of war—she is glad when Japan is defeated because it means the war is over—it is the personal tragedies of the characters which strike the strongest note. Whether it is poverty, illness, or war that swallows their lives, these losses are made keenly personal because of Miss Ōishi’s connection with her students.

Along with its deft handling of the cinematography, the film also makes beautiful use of music—most notably the children singing. Their songs underscore the images on screen and evolve along with the characters and the time period. At the beginning, the songs are generally uplifting and melodic; when the war descends upon Japan, however, their songs take on a patriotic and militaristic edge. It isn’t until the war is over and the movie draws to a close that we return to the same childhood songs of old. Like the visual of Miss Ōishi riding her bike down the same road twenty years later, the music comes full circle as well.

Twenty-Four Eyes is a moving film that is quite clearly a product of the post-war period, but at the same time, it transcends the simple label of anti-war or post-war to become a story about the way our lives are touched by the world around us. It’s a bittersweet look at the way life will always carry on no matter what hardships come along: after a full two decades and years of war, children are still going to school and Miss Ōishi, despite all of her losses, continues to teach. The film is poignant, often sorrowful, but ultimately quietly triumphant.

Categories
drama, melodrama literary adaptations shomin-geki

Destined to Wander: A glimpse of society through the eyes of Hayashi Fumiko

Hōrōki or Lonely Lane (Naruse Mikio 1952) is an adaptation of Hayashi Fumiko’s autobiographic novel of the same title, based on her vagabond life before she gained nation-wide fame. The film contains a string of notable actors with the protagonist Hayashi Fumiko played by Takamine Hideko. In addition, Tanaka Kinuyo is featured as Kishi, Fumiko’s mother, Nakaya Noboru as Date and Takarada Akira as Fukuchi, two romantic interests of Fumiko, and Kato Daisuke as Yasuoka, a widowed neighbour. Shot through a realistic view on the working class society of Japan in the early 1900s, Hōrōki may be categorized as a shomin-geki film, a prevalent genre in many of Naruse’s later works.

Hōrōki centres on the shomin or working-class life of Fumiko, who grows up in a nomadic, impoverished environment in Kyushu. Despite graduating from high school, Fumiko still lives with her mother in Tokyo, continuing to provide financial support to her step father. Through her chance encounters with contemporary writers, including Date and Fukuchi, Fumiko slowly and with great hardship, begins to establish her writing career. Moreover, her relationships with Date, Fukuchi and Yasuoka, the three prominent male characters in Hōrōki, reveal Fumiko’s true characteristics and development beneath her detached, skeptical composure.

Although Fumiko is completely enamoured by the handsome Date who at first seemingly sweeps her off her feet and introduces her to a network of contemporary writers, she acknowledges that her happiness is only temporary. Naruse’s long shot of Fumiko walking around a cemetery at nighttime, after being betrayed by Date, reflects her loneliness and vulnerability. This bitter experience enables Fumiko to shed her youthful innocence and further develop her strength and independence, as well as her ambition to establish herself in society as a distinguished writer.

Fumiko’s relationship with Fukuchi is the most dramatic and revealing, honestly capturing the confessional I-novel tone of Hōrōki. Repeated shots of Fumiko and Fukuchi vigorously writing at separate desks in their sparsely furnished house with empty stomachs indicate the growing distance of their relationship. Moreover, Fukuchi is devastated every time his work is rejected by a publisher, in contrast to Fumiko who continues to pursue her career as a writer, unwearied by constant criticism. Fukuchi directs his frustration towards Fumiko through his increasingly abusive behaviour, yet Fumiko refuses to leave him as she is tired of her wandering, nomadic life. Her decision to stay with Fukuchi indicates that, despite the strength and perseverance she exhibits throughout the film, Fumiko is far from perfect with a complex personality, like any other human being.

Yet it is through these tragic experiences in which Fumiko develops her distinct writing style which, according to Shirasaka, one of her friends from the literary circle, represents the “garbage” of society. Although Shirasaka’s claim has a disturbed, condescending overtone, Fukuchi later indicates how Fumiko’s writing reveals the beauty within the ugliness because of its true portrayal of life. The scene in which Fukuchi makes this claim is particularly striking, as he shows up at Fumiko’s celebration party for Hōrōki, and delivers his line while looking straight at Fumiko. Despite his personal hatred towards her for candidly revealing their relationship in her book, Fukuchi admits that from the perspective of a professional writer, he was moved by her work’s sincerity.

Yasuoka, Fumiko’s former neighbour, is perhaps the only person in the Hōrōki that is portrayed as kind-hearted, lending money to Fumiko in times of crisis and expressing concern for her impoverished lifestyle. Although Fumiko shrugs off the attention Yasuoka gives her, they retain their friendship over their lifespan and he becomes her confidant. As Fumiko consoles Yasuoka if he sees her as a heartless person, while facing each other in Fumiko’s elaborate home, she shows her inner turmoil, caught between success and sacrifice.

The novelist Hayashi Fumiko often referred to the phrase, “[the] life of a flower is short and full of suffering”, which directly mirrors the story of Fumiko, one of repeated rejection, betrayal, and sacrifice. Despite her accomplished position as one of the best selling female authors of the 20th century with a loving husband and family, Fumiko is not completely happy with her life. She now faces new problems of meeting one deadline after another and dealing with people who expect her to aid them because of her working class background. Fumiko’s pessimistic yet realistic outlook on life emphasizes the underlying theme of Hōrōki – in order to achieve success, sacrifice and isolation is inevitable. Kurosawa Akira has noted that Naruse Mikio’s films to resemble a “river with a calm surface and raging current in its depths.”  Hōrōki is no exception to Kurosawa’s claim; it is a film well beyond its time that can be enjoyed by a wide range of audiences. Takamine’s superb portrayal of the story of a woman and her conflicting emotions developed through her poverty, writing career, and relationships with people including Date, Fukuchi, and Yasuoka, accurately depicts the imperfection, transience, and beauty of life.

Categories
drama, melodrama shomin-geki

To Live Or To Die: That Is The Question

The 1952 shomin-geki drama directed by Kurosawa Akira, Ikiru (To Live), is often included in lists of the greatest films of all time, and by some is cited as the director’s single greatest achievement. Whether that is true or not is insignificant, as ultimately, the impact of Ikiru lies outside of any kind of distant critical analysis, and is found in the very personal way it approaches the viewer. Quite different from the samurai films that Kurosawa is better known for in the West, Ikiru is a reflective piece on life and death, and the choices one lonely old man makes in his final months of living.

The film tells the story of Watanabe Kanji (Shimura Takashi), an ordinary old man who has worked as a bureaucrat for the past thirty years. He is so static and lifeless that his subordinate privately nicknames him “The Mummy,” the walking dead. In fact, the voiceover explicitly informs us that he has not been truly alive for the past twenty years. All of this changes when he goes to the hospital and is told he has a minor ulcer – but he knows, thanks to his conversation with another patient, that the doctor has chosen not to inform him that he has stomach cancer. He has only six months to live. With this realization comes the further realization that he has not lived a life satisfactory to him, that he has too many regrets, and furthermore, doesn’t even know how to live his life properly from now on. With this in mind, he sets out to learn how to find meaning and happiness in life, and teams up with a novelist who introduces him to the wild nightlife of Tokyo, complete with gambling, dancing, women, and booze. Yet even as Watanabe whirls through one entertainment after another, he still feels incomplete. Next he seeks meaning out of spending time with a young subordinate who has recently quit. Entranced by her joie de vivre, he attempts to catch some of that joy by sticking to her like a leech, but eventually realizes that this is not the answer either. Finally, he makes the decision to do something meaningful with the remainder of his time by overturning the bureaucratic system at work and fighting for the building of a playground. Thus, by helping others and creating a place of joy, he finally feels at peace.

Ikiru is almost two films in one, with the first two thirds of the film going deep into Watanabe’s mind and emotions and dissecting his unhappiness and urgent quest for fulfillment. The last third of the film deals with what happens at his wake, and tells the story of his final five months of life through flashbacks and the eyes of the co-workers who saw it all happen. Thus, the film moves from a deeply personal and internal view to a far more detached one, dealing not only with impending death, but also the aftermath of it, and the effects said death has on those who are left behind. This is done through a curious intermingling of sound and silence, as well as voice and song. The final scenes swell with clashing voices one moment, and then fall into dead silence the next as the magnitude of death descends over the mourners. Alternatively, Kurosawa experiments with close-ups and zooms, focusing over and over again on Watanabe’s face, consumed by his incredibly expressive eyes. The film revolves around this lone character, and the techniques used all work to make that point really strike home for the viewers. All of this, of course, would never have worked without Shimura’s intense and heart-filled performance. He forces the viewer to empathize with him, and to want to understand him. And when the film finally reaches its emotional climax, with the now-iconic swing set scene, it is impossible not to be swept away by Ikiru’s sheer emotional power. If ever there was a scene that showcased a director’s brilliance, or a film’s ability to survive the relentless march of time, this is it. Based on that alone, Ikiru is a masterpiece.

Categories
drama, melodrama shomin-geki

Mizoguchi’s Fallen Women

Osaka Elegy or in Japanese Naniwa Erejii was released in 1936 and directed by Mizoguchi Kenji. His melodrama genre is often the prominent theme in many of his films. Like many of his films including Sisters of the Gion he uses the actress Yamada Isuzu as his struggling heroine caught in a male-dominated, money-oriented society. The world his heroine Ayako is trapped in is a hierarchical world prioritizing men and the rich; women are powerless and have a limited number of choices to survive in a world defined by money and power. Like Umekichi and Omocha in Sisters of the Gion, Ayako is another woman pushed around helplessly in the money oriented and patriarchical society.

In the film Ayako tries to obtain 300 yen to prevent her father from going to jail for embezzlement. She first turns to her poor suitor Nishimura. When he refuses to help she has no choice but to become her boss’ mistress. She has a respectable filial cause, saving her father and later procuring money to pay for her elder brother’s university tuition, for turning into a “delinquent” woman. She even chooses to serve the rich men in the movie for money instead of pursuing her true love. Despite all the sacrifices she’s made Ayako still ends up misunderstood, condemned by society, and even by the family she chose to selflessly help. Her efforts end up being in vain, unappreciated, and criticized.

Although the Japanese city is glamorous as it is with the bright colourful neon lights we get in the first scene Ayako and her family’s house is shabby. Whenever we get a shot of her house the lighting is always terribly dark, conveying their unfortunate fate on the brim of tragedy. The dark lighting contrasted with the bright city light reflects the importance of money in the hierarchical society. Just like her dark shabby house, Ayako’s situation is also grim. Although she is smart, talented, and pretty she is trapped in the social system in which she cannot succeed either way. There is a need for women to be subservient to men or else they will be seen as delinquent and will even get kicked out of their own houses despite serving their family loyally. Ayako is stuck between fulfilling her duty as a filial daughter which requires inactivity with her boss, or fulfilling those filial duties by straying from society’s expectations of women. There are many different demands in the film that causes Ayako to fall deeper and deeper into an unsolvable mess in which whichever she acts it is the wrong move. For example if she chooses to save her father and procure money for her brother like a filial daughter would do she will become a delinquent woman condemned by society.

Ayako is trapped in the society just as she is in her small dark home with her family, her confined cubicle in the pharmaceuticals, and finally the apartment her boss buys for her. The film captures a lot of claustrophobic space representing the confined cages women during this time are trapped in. Mizoguchi often focuses on Ayako and downplays the other characters, having their backs facing the audience with only Ayako’s face visible. We focus on Ayako’s expression and get a full-blown sense of her tiny changes of emotion. Whenever there is a man in the picture they always just sit comfortably and waited to be served. The focus is always on the men when Ayako is not there with their maids or ladies staying low on the ground and being subservient.

The only close up we get in the movie is in the final scene; the close up of Ayako’s impression conveying her loneliness. She stands by the riverside with glamorous city lights and numerous pedestrians around her, however she is pondering about her unfortunate life in tears. She then runs into her former boss’ doctor who walks the separate direction without giving her any good advice, intensifying her isolation. She walks away from the glamorous city lights blending into the darkness in the background and eventually the camera is in front of her. She walks towards the camera and as she gets closer and closer we get a detailed concentrated view of her expression; determined yet defeated in a world where she is trapped like being confined in a small view of the camera. Even when she’s walking the shot makes her look stationary; just like how she has tried so hard yet still ended up nowhere.

Osaka Elegy is a film reflecting the unsuccessful life of the struggling heroine trying to survive the unfair social system in her own way. We get a strong sense of women’s agony in a social system that leaves no place for success for women in Mizoguchi’s film. Mizoguchi’s talented techniques of focusing our attention on the social issues his heroine experiences in the movie while constantly intensifying tension and drama by his long shots, his sudden transition from one scene to another makes the movie meaningful yet entertaining at the same time. All that Ayako’s done for her family and her pursuit for true love ends in vain; like all Mizoguchi’s fallen women she is left with nothing except sorrow and loneliness. The movie has the power to capture the viewer’s undivided attention during the movie and entrap them with his message after.

Categories
action yakuza

Branded to Kill

Branded to Kill, also known as Koroshi no rakuin is truly a masterpiece which propelled the Japanese film society into a new modern era. Branded to Kill was released in 1967 by the Nikkatsu Company. Suzuki Seijun, one of Japan’s most prominent and respected directors, took the newly inspired American style film techniques and turned it into something of his own. The fresh new dynamic camera angles and integrated action shots gave Branded to Kill an edgy new perspective in the yakuza genre of films. The cast is composed of a few main characters including Shishido Joe, Nanbara Koji, Mari Anne and Ogawa Mariko.

Our main character, Hanada Goro, also referred as the number three assassin in Japan gave a comical and animated performance in being a stonecold killer, yet with a unique comical twist. His awkward pleasure in smelling boiled rice gave an original perspective into the twisted life of a contracted killer. We follow our kinky assassin in several missions, of which one consisted of being a transporter. Romance also appeared in the film where Hanada falls in love with an even more mysterious female assassin by the name of Misako. A perfect balance between violence and love gave the film an intricate comparison between full-out violence and the personal life of such dramatic characters.

Some of the most interesting scenes that caught my attention were built around the action. The semi-fantasy feel of an invincible sharp shooter was portrayed with surreal accuracy and the over-exaggeration of the bullet impact. In various scenes, we have Hanada shooting away at foes far away, usually on top of some sort of building. Upon being shot, the character somehow gets entangled on a piece of rope, thus hanging lifeless. There was also usage of the “film within a film” technique where Hanada’s newfound love Misako is held hostage and tortured until her evident death.

Suzuki enjoyed original ideas as Hanada uses unusual ways of killings his targets. In one particular scene, Hanada assassinates his victim by firing his pistol up a water pipe, resulting in planting the bullet into his head. There are also several other clever assassinations that are definitely out of the ordinary.

Suzuki Seijun created such wide variety of visual stunts as well as unrealistic portrayals of death which was interesting to watch. His brilliance was credited to his use of camera angles and a sort of freestyle shooting. He practically used all the types of shots available for this film, and they all came together in brilliant sequences. Although Branded to Kill was a small-budget film, the expertise on such original camerawork made the movie flawless and certainly not cheap. If I was to compare this film to a modern day style, Quentin Tarantino’s twisted and over-exaggerated style suits Suzuki’s animated action scenes. The fluidity of action and the flashbacks and hallucinations are indeed familiar in some of Tarantino’s films. In essence, Suzuki’s genre is most likely directly influencing some of Tarantino’s work such as Kill Bill and Sin City. Branded to Kill is definitely recommended to those who appreciate the genre of gangster films without significant amount of blood and gore. As a fan of violence-based movies, it still satisfies the craving for action, but the unorthodox music and comical aspects soften the realism of the brutal killings. The cleverly composed characters and the general mood of the film achieve comical relief and the occasional suspense from time to time. The film does include various scenes of intense sexual content, as it is part of the Nikkatsu Company films.

Categories
drama, melodrama gendai-geki

Sunrise and Sunset: Director Yasujirō Ozu’s Late Autumn

The film, Late Autumn (Akibiyori, 1960), is one of Ozu Yasujirō’s latest works of his film career. Due to the modernized settings and contemporary conversation this film is considered to be a gendai-geki. The two prominent cast members are Hara Setsuko, who stars as the mother Miwa Akiko, and Tsukasa Yoko stars as the daughter Miwa Ayako. This film focuses on the issue of marriage between the small family of Akiko and Ayako Miwa and three meddlesome men. As well, it follows a series of interesting dates suggests by the three men who act as matchmakers for Ayako.

This film focuses on the issues of marriage. Instead of having a complicated plot, the story consists of mainly friends’ concerns about the Miwa family’s issue, which is related to a twenty-four-year-old woman’s marriage. The film begins with a traditional Japanese-style temple in the background and then the camera moves into the temple where people are gathering inside of the temple. The people are gathering for the anniversary of Mr. Miwa’s death. When a monk indicates the time of the ritual is about to start by chanting, the characters enter the room gradually. Three middle-aged friends, Mamiya (Saburi Shin), Taguchi (Nakamura Nobuo) and Hirayama (Kita Ryūji), who have known each other since their college life, attend the memorial ceremony of their deceased friend, Mr. Miwa. Miwa’s widowed wife Akiko and daughter Ayako later have lunch with the men after the ceremony ends. In former days, these three men used to compete with Miwa for the affection of beautiful Akiko and even now, they think Akiko is still a beauty despite her age. As they move their attention to Ayako, a twenty-four-year-old woman, who inherits her mother’s beauty, they suggest that it is time for Ayako to get married. Therefore, they decide to find a suitable prospect for her despite Ayako’s indifferent attitude toward marriage. The confident Taguchi suggests his wife’s acquaintance, named Shige. However, when he talks to his wife after arriving home from restaurant, he learns that Shige is already engaged. Knowing Taguchi’s failure, Mamiya recommends a substitute prospect, who is also his subordinate, named Goto. Although Ayako is not opposing to this man, she still refuses politely. Besides her marriage, she is concerned about leaving her mother alone once she gets married. Acknowledging her worry, the intelligent Taguchi gives an astonishing idea, which is to suggest Akiko remarry. The groom would be their widowed friend, Hirayama. The story reaches its climax when the three men’s idea leads to a conflict between the mother and the daughter. Ayako thinks it is not loyal of her mother to marry Mr. Hirayama. Whereas Akiko has never heard a word of the plan for her to remarry and she feels confused about Ayako’s anger.

Similar to other work of Ozu’s, the use of humour and comical facial expressions in this film highlight many interesting scenes. For instance, at the beginning of the scene, these men start talking about “beautiful women” like Akiko and Ayako and Miwa’s early death. Thus, they form a conclusion, “husbands who has beautiful wives die young “. Meanwhile, a chubby and unattractive female restaurant owner brings more alcohol into their room. Taguchi teases her by saying, “I bet her husband will have a long life”. With his sarcastic attitude, he hints at and emphasizes Akiko’s beauty by contrasting the two different women. Humorous and sarcastic language appear widely in many scenes. For example, Mamiya’s wife says, “Now I know why you never catch cold, all that medicine still has an effect”. Interestingly, the wives of both Mamiya and Taguchi know about their husbands’ former “drug store” story as well as their affections for Akiko. The three men used to go to Akiko’s family’s drug store to buy medicines or bandages even if they were not sick or injured. In order to have more chances to see Akiko, the three men tended to visit the drug store and purchase things that they don’t need.

The interior settings such as the restaurant, apartment room, hotel rooms, and temple are related to Japanese traditional culture and customs. A room with tatami is a common characteristic that these interior settings all share. For instance, inside of the apartment, where both Akiko and Ayako live, the floor is covered with tatami, and there are traditional wooden lattice doors. Among all of these interior spaces, there are objects such as low tables, pillows, and tableware which reflect the daily lives of the Japanese as well as their customs. In addition to the interior settings, exterior settings consist of cars and trains, which create a modernistic effect. Natural exterior settings are also included, abundant and verdant trees in the mountains and the streams symbolize the continuous lives among the generations.

Camerawork portrays the characters in the film and highlights each scene. Long takes occur frequently in this film. From my observation, the camera tends to focus on a particular door or corridor for a few seconds, without any actions or any conversations; it then proceeds to the next scene. The corridor symbolizes the passageway which connects to the door which in turn represents an entrance to the next scene. For instance, when both Akiko and Mamiya are about to finish their lunch in the restaurant, a long shot occurs when the camera focuses on the corridor that connects to the restaurant door. After a few seconds, the next scene follows, this takes place inside of Mamiya’s house. Another camera technique is the close-up, which also occurs widely in the film. The use of close- up brings a larger image; this helps the audiences to observe the facial expressions of the character as well as their emotions. Moreover, the close-up provides an opportunity for the audiences to examine close interpersonal relations, and actions such as pouring beer or playing mah-jong.

Based on a very general idea, marriage, the film consists of two themes, namely close family connection and different point of views between the distinct generations. It is a very realistic film because if reflects our daily lives. Without any serious conversations, Ozu Yasujirō adds humorous and sarcastic dialogue to create an entertaining film. Overall, this film is a pleasant work and is suitable for everyone.

Categories
comedy drama, melodrama shomin-geki

The Autumn or the Fall: A slice of life with a simple twist

Ozu Yasujirō’s 1961 film Kohayagawake no Aki (or literally The Autumn of the Kohayagawa Family) later translated to English as The End of Summer is a considerate piece of work shot in colour, like his other films, The Equinox Flower (Higanbana, 1958) and Good Morning (Ohayo, 1959). The prominent cast members of this penultimate film are Nakamura Ganjiro who stars the father Kohayagawa Banpei, Koyahagawa Fumiko (Aratama Michiyo)as the eldest daughter of the family, Kohayagawa Akiko (Hara Setsuko)as a widowed wife of the eldest son in the family, and Yoko Tsukasa as Kohayagawa Noriko, the second daughter of Kohayagawa family. The classic Ozu style’s camera work of this shomin-geki film focuses on the daily life of a small Japanese family in the 1950s.

The film wheels around the new and the old generation of the Kohayagawa family. The story starts off with Kitagawa (by Kato Daisuki), uncle of the Kohayagawa family, introducing Isomura (by Morishige Hisaya) to Akiko as a future husband candidate. The early part of the film centers on the suspicion of the whereabouts of the father Banpei, which is later discovered that he has once again started seeing his former mistress. Fumiko accuses Banpei of giving more care towards his old flame than their financially troubled brewery. This event might be the trigger for Banpei’s sudden illness. On the other hand, Noriko and Akiko’s relationship with men has them troubled about whether they should do as they desire, or fulfill the needs of the family. Akiko feels unsettled at the fact that her family members are worried about her widowed life and are trying hard to get her remarried. Meanwhile Noriko has just sent off Teramoto, a co-worker whom she is fond of, to work out of town for a long period of time. Afterwards, the family goes to Ayashiyama in Tokyo for a memorial service for their deceased mother. During that time, Noriko talks to Akiko about her interaction with a man arranged the other day. It is also at this time that Banpei has his first major sign of illness. Afterwards, the family feels relieved that Banpei is healthy once again, and Fumiko feels sorry for her furious action towards her father regarding the Sasaki Tsune (his mistress) incident. The plot climaxes to a point where every one of the Kohayagawa family’s problem are solved by themselves due to a crisis that occurred in the family.

This story is mainly filmed by Ozu’s characteristic trademark, the sequenced “tatami shot”, which is a focus on seated people with close-up shots. The majority of the camera position is fixed and at a relatively low placement just under the eyes of the casts. Ozu tries his best to fit the whole bodies of the cast on screen when it is not a close-up shot but with similar angles. In between conversational scenes, scenes of the surroundings, like the street, the hallway, the garden are filmed. It is interesting to note how all these scenery scenes are always shot from an interior space out, to let the natural sunlight be at the background of the set. Camera work and lighting plays a huge role in emphasizing the mood of the film. For example, when Banpei has his first dangerous health incident, the interior scenes, which are usually bright and lively looking, are filmed as though the sunlight at the back has penetrating into the house. The mise-en-scene with the cast is not lit by natural sunlight, but instead with lamps. The moment Banpei recovers from the traumatizing condition, the interior setting is lit by the sunbeam again. Near the end of the film, when the light from the light bulb brightens the outside, one can suggest something horrible has happened to the family. Ozu’s choice of filming the surroundings and landscapes allows the reader to take short breaks from the storyline which in return is beneficial for the viewer’s attention.

Ozu is known for his shomin-geki themed films, and Kohayagawake no Aki is not an exception from this genre. The inevitable shifts of time and generation have the family members of the Kohayagawa family troubled to stay together as a big family. The conflict between traditional and westernized ideas is highlighted by the yōfuku (western-styled clothes) worn by the family members. The close-up tatami shots and the long shots pull the viewer’s attention not only to the scenery behind, but also to the clothing the cast wears. The more traditional-thinking members, Banpei and Akiko, are shown only in kimono. Banpei refuses to merge his brewery with the other company in the hope of keeping the family business going. Akiko is indecisive about getting a new marriage, which is less usual in the traditional custom. The ones that wear both traditional Japanese clothes and yōfuku are stuck between the changing gaps. Banpei’s son Hisao has thoughts of merging the company, but delays his action due to the traditional-orientated father. The younger generation wears t-shirts and short pants only. Noriko only wears yōfuku (with the exception of traditional situations) and allows herself to go for what she believes will not be a regret, with no concern about her family’s wellbeing. The characters dressed in yōfuku are filmed with more dramatic movements such as running, sudden turning and waving, hinting that the physical alterations of the family members slowly influence their mental changes of the customs.

Through the lighting of the camera work, Ozu captures the essence of the interaction of the Kohayagawa family’s everyday life with a blend of comedy and tragedy. The End of Summer by Ozu Yasujirō is a great film to watch for those who are new to the Japanese cinema. This film is filmed with straightforward camera techniques, which only requires the viewer’s full attention in order to appreciate and enjoy the plot of the movie.

Categories
action jidai-geki

Yojimbo: A Story of a Heroic Samurai

Yojimbo (Yōjinbō), directed by Kurosawa Akira, is an action jidai-geki film released in 1961. The main character in the film is Kuwabatake Sanjūro, played by Mifune Toshiro. Mifune worked with Kurosawa in several other films such as Rashomon and Seven Samurai. The film takes place in 1860, eight years before the Meiji Restoration, where many samurai, having lost their master to serve, are wandering across the country with no particular purpose. In this disorderly period, one samurai arrives in a small town where two gangs, the Seibei family and the Ushitora family, are having a furious conflict. The corruption of this town is serious since the officer and mayor do not take any action and they even support the gangs in order to secure their own safety. Rather than running away from the town, the samurai, Kuwabatake Sanjūro, decides to stay and wipe out the gangs all by himself.

The main plots of the film revolve around Sanjūro’s attempts to bring peace to the town by fooling the gangs and making them annihilate each other. In order to accomplish this, he first kills three of Ushitora’s men to gain Seibei’s trust and become his yōjinbō (bodyguard). He then gets hired, and Seibei requests him to lead the battle against Ushitora; however, he severs his ties with Seibei right before the fight begins which gets interrupted by the officials’ inspection. Having observed Sanjūro’s talent, two gangs are now desperate to hire him as a yōjinbō, but Sanjūro does not accept their offers in order to keep their hopes up. While waiting impatiently for the gangs to visit and name him a price, Sanjūro finds out that two gangs have formed an alliance. Although the news gives him a shock, he soon stirs this situation with his wit and makes Seibei break the alliance. Once again, the town is back to its chaotic state, and Sanjūro heats up the conflict even more by rescuing a woman who is the property of Tokuemon, a sake brewer who is on Ushitora’s side, and making it look as if Seibei was involved. This incident triggers a ferocious fight between the gangs, and the whole town turns into a battlefield. Although it was all going well as Sanjūro planned, Unosuke, one of Ushitora’s men, finds out that it was actually Sanjūro who let the woman escape and this marks a turning point in the story.

One prominent feature of this film is the main character Kuwabatake Sanjūro’s uniqueness. He is not bound by any rules or customs like other characters and he always acts on his free will. Accordingly, Sanjūro carries out many unexpected actions. At the beginning of the film where Sanjūro is at a branch road, he throws a piece of branch and lets it decide which way to go. Furthermore, when Seibei asks his name, Sanjūro looks outside the window and there is a mulberry field. Then he just uses mulberry field (Kuwabatake) as his last name, and his first name Sanjūro refers to his age as sanjū means 30. In addition to his free way of life, Sanjūro also exhibits humorous behavior. For example, when Sanjūro eavesdrops on Seibei, Seibei’s wife Orin, and Seibei’s son Yoichiro’s conversation, he learns about their plot to kill him after he completes his job. Smirking as if he is enjoying hearing this conversation, he looks at Seibei’s women who are also eavesdropping and sticks his tongue out of his mouth. Although this action is subtle, it shows Sanjūro’s unique sense of humor which we seldom see in other jidai-geki films.

Another notable feature of Yojimbo is the distinctive music played in different scenes. In this film, music plays an important role as it sets the mood and atmosphere. At the beginning of the film when Sanjūro arrives in the town and walks down an empty street, people suddenly open up their windows and start staring at Sanjūro. Then a dog passes by holding a human hand in its mouth. Although this scene seems very tense, joyful and somewhat comical music is played in between very serious music when the dog appears. This comical music moderates the serious atmosphere of the scene and makes it humorous. In another scene where Sanjūro is at Ushitora’s house and brings shocking news to him, music is played as Ushitora takes each step down the stairs. Although the shot only shows Ushitora’s lower body movement, the sound effects are obvious enough to show how shocked he is.

Although this film is an action jidai-geki film and the title of the movie, Yōjinbō, means bodyguard, it contains only a few minor fighting scenes. Instead of fighting scenes, Kurosawa puts an emphasis on the unique character of Sanjūro who fights against two families of gang all by himself. This reckless and heroic character is distinctive and resembles those characters that appear in Western films. In fact, in some of the fighting scenes where two gangs are lined up and facing each other on the street, it is very similar to combat scenes in Western movies where two gunmen are facing each other on a wasteland.

Categories
drama, melodrama jidai-geki

Harakiri: Honourable or Disgraceful?

Harakiri is a film directed by Kobayashi Masaki in the year 1962 which won him an award at the Cannes Film Festival in 1963. The whole story takes place during the Edo period in Japan and focuses on the identities of ronin, samurai with no masters due to the collapsing feudal system, during that time period. This movie revolves around the original story of how a masterless samurai lives an intolerable life and would much rather die an honourable death. He then goes to the house of a feudal lord and begs to give him a place to commit harakiri (seppuku). The lord is deeply moved and impressed by his actions and thus makes him a vassal of his house rather than letting him perform harakiri. This story becomes famous among the ronin and many of them try the same thing.

The beginning of the film shows a ronin called Hanshiro Tsugumo going to the gates of a feudal lord’s house to commit harakiri. At that time, many people are already aware of the famous story mentioned above and Kageyu Saito, the feudal lord, warns Tsugumo by recounting the story of Motome Chijiiwa who did the exact same thing earlier that year in January. The film continues by showing the audience what happened to Chijiiwa in January. The lord claims he admires the people who come with the guts to commit seppuku. However, they think Chijiiwa only wants material aid which disgraces his honour as a samurai. Furthermore, if they give him money, the news will spread and will cause them trouble if outsiders hear about it. The retainers tell Chijiiwa the “lord is deeply moved and if a samurai wishes to perform harakiri, must be one of unwavering will.” The lord decides to give him his house and have everyone there to witness this brave and proud example. When the ronin finds out about the true intention of Saito, he immediately requests a few days’ time. However it is not allowed since “a samurai’s word is sacred.” Chijiiwa is then to commit harakiri with his own sword, which the audience later finds out is a fake and is made out of bamboo. Chijiiwa is so poor that he had to sell his sword, the spirit of a samurai. The retainers think of this as great dishonour and thus insist Chijiiwa to disembowel himself with the dull bamboo blade. Chijiiwa eventually gives up on leaving and kills himself with the bamboo sword. However, due to its dullness, which cannot “even slash through radish,” the ronin bites his tongue in order to die. The movie then resumes back to Tsugumo and Saito having the conversation and Tsugumo still maintains his request to perform harakiri, stating his blades are real and he will not bite off his tongue. He is told to change to death clothing but he reasons that the clothes he is already wearing are more appropriate for his state to die. When the ritual is being set up, Tsugumo requests for Hikakuro to be his second, the person prepared to behead the person with a sword if he does not perform harakiri successfully. Saito then sends one of his attendants to fetch Hikakuro because he is on sick leave. During the wait, Tsugumo recounts his life story, saying that he is acquainted with Motome Chijiiwa, leaving everyone present shocked. He promised his best friend to look after his son after he commits seppuku, and it turns out that his son is Motome Chijiiwa…

The two ronin the audience encounter in this movie are Hanshiro Tsugumo and Motome Chijiiwa but the two of them have different motives when they beg Kageyu Saito to let them commit harakiri at his house. Though the two ronin are acquainted, what the audience sees in them are the opposite. Motome Chijiiwa wants to commit seppuku in order to get money for his dying wife and son, whereas Tsugumo wants to perform harakiri in order to put Kageyu Saito and his house to shame. However, is dying in honour really that important? From the way Kageyu Saito acted, it seems like he does not know the real meaning behind being honourable. He ordered the retainers who Tsugumo has humiliated to perform harakiri and those who had their topknots cut off to pretend to be “sick” in order to keep the house’s status from other’s eyes.

The visuals and sound effects are combined flawlessly to create a smooth and understandable story. Long lateral shots at eye level are used numerous times especially while scanning across the rooms of Saito’s house. These long lateral movements are also used when Tsugumo is fighting the retainers while powerful music is building up the atmosphere of the scene, accompanied by sounds of the swords swinging in the air. Closeup shots are also seen many times, especially when showing the frightening expression on one’s face. These zoome- in shots are sometimes tilted as well to show the intensity of the scene. The use of these shots really captures the audience’s attention.

The film is mainly focused on Tsugumo’s revenge against Kageyu Saito and his retainers. The most enjoyable scenes of the film is when Tsugumo cuts off the topknots of the 3 retainers, and the sword- fight with other retainers. Harakiri is not simply a movie about seppuku and how graceful an act it is, but also showing the difficulty of a ronin’s life when the feudal system collapsed. One of the best samurai movies ever made, this film deserves its praise by receiving the 1963 Cannes Film Festival award.



Categories
drama, melodrama literary adaptations

Love Suicides at Amijima

Based on the Japanese play, The Love Suicides at Amijima (Shinjū Ten no Amijima), Shinoda Masahiro’s Double Suicide (Shinjû: Ten no amijima, 1969) presents a an experimental blend of traditional Japanese bunraku puppet theatre with modern cinema. The overall effect produces a film that deliberately showcases the characters as mere puppets, often literally directed on stage by the ever-present stagehands dressed all in black (kuroko puppeteers). The film stars Kichiemon Nakamura as Jihei, and Shima Iwashita in the dual role of both his wife Osan and his beloved courtesan Koharu.

Set in the Edo Period of Japan, the film is a period piece (jidai–geki) exploring the constraints on love in Confucian society. The characters are bound by their obligations to each other, to their families, and to their community. The lead character Jihei, a struggling paper merchant, is torn between his love for Koharu, a courtesan, and his duty to his family. Jihei wishes to buy Koharu’s freedom so that they can be together, but, due to lack of money he is unable to do so. His intense love for Koharu is reciprocated, but because she is a courtesan, she is unable to freely choose whom she will be with. She fears she will be bought by another customer, and the introduction of a wealthy man named Tahei leads to exactly that. Jihei and Koharu realize that their love can never be fulfilled in this world, and plan to escape its confines by committing a ‘double suicide’.

From the onset of the film, director Shinoda Masahiro declares his intention to make bunraku traditions an integral part of the story. The opening scene itself is a backstage glimpse into the production of a Double Suicide play. Here, the audience is introduced to the kuroko puppeteers, the minimalist and abstract sets, and the puppets that will be brought to life during the remainder of the film. This set-up informs the audience that the characters inhibiting this world are simply puppets without strings, unable to pursue their own desires. After a quick fade to white concludes this prelude, the ‘play’ begins.

Although during the movie the puppets come to be embodied by human actors, they do not lose their puppeteers. The kuroko remain throughout the movie in a vitally important role, guiding characters, manipulating props, and interacting with the sets (often transforming one set into the next). The omnipresence of the kuroko reinforces the lack of free-will Shinoda wishes to portray. In one particular scene, Jihei, while in confrontation with a samurai, is literally restrained by a kuroko puppeteer so that the samurai can bind his hands. The kuroko is not acting as an accomplice to the samurai, but as an accomplice to fate, ensuring that Jihei does not stray too far from its rigid parameters. In one scene, Shinoda uses the absence of the kuroko to underscore chaos. As an angry mob chases Tahei (Jihei’s rival) down an alleyway, a group of kuroko puppeteers are seen fleeing in the opposite direction, in essence leaving the mob to its own devices. It would seem the kuroko have the upper hand over the inhabitants of this world by directing them toward their destiny; however, they are simultaneously resigned to their sole obligation of maintaining this environment. Because they are required to work in silence, and minimize their presence, they too have limits to their free-will.

Set design is another venue in which Shinoda explores bunraku tradition. Many of the interior scenes of the film consist of a flat wall, occasionally splattered with abstract painting or writing, and a scarcely decorated stage in front on which the actors perform. The simplicity and lack of props is reminiscent of an early staged production of such a play, and also allows Shinoda to transform his environment as one would expect to see in live theatre. Frequently kuroko will be enlisted to change the scene simply by modifying the existing set. They do this by means of exchanging props and rotating walls to reveal a new setting. One notable example of this is when Jihei, frustrated by his impotence in society, destroys his own house. After pushing down a wall he reveals sets utilized in previous scenes and a group of kuroko hiding in a corner. Because it is Jihei manipulating the set in this fashion (as opposed to the kuroko), he is effectively rebelling against his passive role as a puppet.

Double Suicide’s imaginative fusion of bunraku theatre with contemporary film styles of its period make it an exceptionally interesting and entertaining film. Although some audiences may find its experimental nature confusing and the pacing slow at times, most should at least be engaged by its uniqueness. Potential viewers should also be forewarned of brief sexuality and violence.

Spam prevention powered by Akismet