Month: October 2010

Categories
action chambara/chanbara jidai-geki

“It All Started with a Girl named Ohama”: Violence and the Sword of Doom

Okamoto Kihachi’s The Sword of Doom (1965) has been highlighted for its brutal portrayal of the way of the samurai. David West in his book Chasing Dragons states, “Whilst Kurosawa was a humanist who rejected bushido, the great director never saw combat first hand. As a war veteran, Okamoto displays in his work an abiding disgust with the path of the warrior that possesses an intensity Kurosawa could not match” (46). This attitude towards violence is portrayed through the metaphor of the sword as the soul and the imagery that seems to confirm this. The film follows Ryūnosuke, who after killing Ohama’s husband in a sword competition is forced to leave his town. After assuming a new identity and joining the Shinsengumi, Hyoma seeks to avenge his brother’s death. The film consists of Ryūnosuke’s attempts to thwart authorities and Hyoma.

In one battle scene Ryūnosuke hears an honourable samurai state, “The sword is the soul. Study the soul to study the sword. An evil mind, an evil sword”, his reaction to this statement exemplifies the effects of murder have on even immoral men. Out of all the horrendous things that Ryūnosuke does in the film which includes raping and killing women, the slaughter of hundreds of men, and beating Ohama’s husband with a wooden sword to death, he is most affected by this statement. Rather than the close-up of his maniacal smile after witnessing death, after hearing this, he looks worried almost defeated. Okamoto seems to suggest that at this moment his sins are catching up on him.

The imagery in the film also conveys a sense of dishonour associated with unnecessary killing. Hyoma serves as the counterpoint to Ryūnosuke’s merciless murder. Unlike Ryūnosuke, Hyoma is never shown murdering anyone and thus the film seems to reinforce this sense of morality in this character. In one particular sequence, Ryūnosuke is depicted killing numerous people for the Shinsengumi. Directly after that scene Hyoma is depicted alone in a room practicing his “tsuki thrust”. This sense of isolation is analogous to calm meditation, a clear contrast to the constant screaming and chaos associated with Ryūnosuke’s murders. Clearly Okamoto is vehemently opposing murder for murder’s sake.

Furthermore, this contrast is represented through repeated visual cues, in particular: light versus dark. From the very beginning of the film, when Ryūnosuke murders an old man while he is praying, he is depicted wearing an extremely dark robe and a large straw hat that covers his face. Hyoma, on the other hand, always wears a lighter shade than Ryūnosuke and never wears anything to cover his face. Ryūnosuke’s dark wardrobe and covered visage gives him shadow-like qualities that reinforce the ambiguous and haunting nature of evil. It is Hyoma’s approachability and appearance that makes him accessible as a protagonist; he is unambiguous, thus allowing him to be easily identified with.

As mentioned previously a major theme in the film is the fact that the sword represents the soul, Okamoto takes pains to associate Ryūnosuke with evil through the imagery of the sword. Previously it was mentioned that Hyoma practices alone in a room with a single light coming through the window. The light reflects off his sword and emits an almost ethereal glow, perhaps signifying a sense of justice. Ryūnosuke’s sword is never without bloodstains on it, and this is made most evident by the fact that he is constantly depicted cleaning it. His insistence on cleaning the sword every spare moment is perhaps indicative of his sense of guilt. Just like Lady Macbeth who can’t seem to wash the blood off her hands, Ryūnosuke cannot get the blood off his sword and consequentially his soul.

The sword as the soul is a powerful metaphor that permeates throughout Okamoto’s The Sword of Doom. As the title of the film suggests Ryūnosuke is doomed to live with the guilt of killing hundreds, maybe even thousands of men. The film is didactic in its efforts to denounce pointless murder and it does so through the use contrasting imagery: peaceful isolation versus chaos and light versus dark. Okamoto speaks against murder with a chilling tale that subverts the mythos of the samurai. The film is certainly not a traditional chambara, but it does offer a deep exploration of the nature of evil. Its fight scenes are well crafted and show a sense of tension that is not as prevalent in other samurai films. Its one pitfall is the fact that there should have been more emphasis on Hyoma’s character, he seems shoved aside near the end of the film. I would definitely recommend this film to fans of the chambara genre, because it truly questions some of the values that the samurai have while providing entertaining sword fights.

Categories
experimental yakuza

Branded to Thrill: Seijun Suzuki’s Branded to Kill

Branded to Kill (Koroshi no rakuin), directed by Suzuki Seijun in 1967 under the Nikkatsu Corporation, is not your typical yakuza film. Meshing the extreme violence of action cinema, the drama of crime cinema, and the creativity of experimental art cinema, Suzuki creates a truly unique film experience worthy of any filmgoer’s respect.

 

The film follows Hanada Goro, a likeable but ruthless rice-sniffing hitman played by Joe Shishido, as he carries out several assassination jobs under his boss Yabuhara Michihiko (Tamagawa Isao). As the film progresses, we see the toll the cutthroat assassin lifestyle takes on Hanada’s mental stability and his relationship with his wife Mami (Mariko Ogawa). The importance of status in Hanada’s world results in his increasingly obsessive desire to move up the ranks as a hitman, becoming the source of his downfall and that of the people close to him.

 

The film begins with Hanada as the “No. 3 killer” who is given a prestigious job by Yabuhara to escort a high-profile client to Nagano. Despite his drunken partner and two ambushes by the fourth- and second-ranked hitmen, Hanada completes his task and kills No. 2 in the process, taking the rank for himself. On his way home, his car breaks down, and he meets a troubled, beautiful young girl named Misako (Mari Anne) who drives him home. Hanada later accepts Misako’s request to kill someone for her but fails in the process. Now on the run from Yabuhara, for whom failure is punishable by death, Hanada becomes entrenched in a confused and hectic state as he falls in love with Misako, kills his wife for cheating on him with Yabuhara himself, and becomes thoroughly obsessed with increasing his hitman status rather than losing it.

 

By the end of the film Hanada has caused harm to everyone around him due to his mental instability, and we are left with one major event: a final test from No. 1 (Koji Nanbara) where he and Hanada fight to determine who is the best hit man in an epic battle, an ending that stands tall beside cinema’s most decorated action-film showdowns.

 

One aspect that greatly enhances this film’s attractive narrative is Suzuki’s artistic use of extreme lighting; or rather, his masterful use of shadows. On numerous occasions Suzuki keeps the entire shot in darkness, artistically revealing small pockets of light in strange shapes, just enough for the viewer to understand what occurs in the scene. For instance, in the final sequence during Hanada’s battle with No. 1, we can barely see Hanada as he stumbles across a beautifully-dark boxing ring, where our only visual reference points are the shimmering reflections on his skin and the ring ropes. In another shot, we see a confused and drunk Hanada sliding across a large wall after killing his wife, on which strategic lighting illuminates a strange triangular shape. Hanada passes through this shape, moving back into the jet-black shadows that envelope the frame. One other striking example is when we see Mami after she is caught red-handed by Hanada at Yabuhara’s house. After Mami comes face to face with Hanada we see her terrified eyes placed beautifully within a rectangle of light, while the rest of her head and body is immersed in subtle shadows. Suzuki gives the impression of watching Mami through a window shade, where her full emotional state is brought to the surface by directing our attention explicitly towards her all-telling eyes.

 

Here a second truly unique aspect of Branded to Kill is revealed. Not only do these striking lighting techniques give the film a very artistic and experimental feel, they have deep thematic significance as well. The extreme contrast between overwhelming darkness and sharp pockets of light in his shots visually symbolizes Hanada’s downfall into the darkness of the hit man lifestyle, as the light in his life is being slowly extinguished by his excessive greed for higher status.

 

Indeed, numerous dark themes run deep in this film. Suzuki delves into the harsh effects of money, power and status, corruption, obsession, and even touches on a mysterious fascination with death. By doing so, Suzuki attempts to examine some of mankind’s worst vices, and more specifically, the Japanese culture itself. His focus on status is certainly a very “Japanese” issue, one that runs deep in much of Japanese cinema and culture, exemplified by the class struggles between characters in films such as Sisters of the Gion (Mizoguchi Kenji, 1936) or I Was Born But…(Ozu Yasujiro, 1932). Will Hanada, representing the Japanese culture itself, be able to “see the light” and escape the social and personal effects of obsessing over status? Will love prevail over personal success? These are the types of intriguing cultural questions that Suzuki brings up in Branded to Kill, resulting in its impressively relevant thematic depth.

 

As a warning, this film contains explicit nudity and gun violence. However, these elements are used tastefully and are necessary for Suzuki to convey Hanada’s fast-paced and dangerous hit man lifestyle. A masterful combination of self-reflexive themes, influential artistic expression, and a unique and appealing storyline gives us reason to classify Branded to Kill as a highcaliber work of cinema. Certainly, once Suzuki’s marvelous use of lighting and Hanada’s intriguingly dark narrative downfall ensues, the film’s glory cannot be denied. Thus, I feel that this film is a turning point for yakuza cinema, and gangster films in general, where artistic creativity and deep themes are not squandered by the need to entertain the audience. Rather, these elements work together in harmony. I highly recommend Branded to Kill, for its ability to thoroughly entertain, while also making us think about the disastrous societal and personal effects of money, greed, and power, long after we have popped the DVD out of the television.

Categories
drama, melodrama shomin-geki

Sex, Violence and Disillusionment: A review of Oshima Nagisa’s Cruel Story of Youth

Oshima Nagisa’s Cruel Story of Youth (Seishun zankoku monogatari, 1960) could just as easily be called Plenty of Regrets for our Youth. The opposition in sentiment from Kurosawa Akira’s postwar film, No Regrets for our Youth, is extreme: while Kurosawa’s film embraces the occupational-American values of freedom and democracy, Cruel Story of Youth calls these values into question at a time when Japan was no longer under occupation, but forced to strike out on its own. The VHS cover classifies Cruel Story of Youth as a re-imagining of the then- popular teenage-sex-and-violence genre, which Oshima masterfully transforms into “daring statement about the disillusionment that took place in Japan following WWII”. The cover also points out how Oshima’s treatment of difficult social issues raises Cruel Story of Youth above the cheap thrills of the sex-and-violence genre and into the same category as masterpieces of the French New Wave. Oshima’s film is a gripping look into the anxieties of post-occupation Japan, where traditional values are replaced by savage individualism, moral degradation and violence.

Cruel Story of Youth focuses on naïve and reckless Makoto (Miyuki Kuwano), who seeks thrills by taking rides home from middle-aged men with her friends. When her innocent thrillseeking goes awry and one of the men attempts to rape her, she is rescued by brooding and rebellious Kiyoshi (Yûsuke Kawazu), who punches out her assailant. Their date the following day, where they use the money they took from Makoto’s assailant to go boating, reveals Kiyoshi’s alternately cruel and tender nature: when Makoto slaps him for kissing her, he slaps her twice back, and pushes her into the water despite her protests that she cannot swim. He eventually pulls her back onto the dock and intercourse is implied, although Makoto’s degree of consent is left unclear. Once their relationship is consummated, Kiyoshi’s demeanor changes: he kisses her tenderly, asking her if she feels better. Makoto is smitten: despite the fact that Kiyoshi never calls her after their date, she tracks him down, and soon afterwards they move in together. They begin to extort men for money, following the pattern of their initial encounter: Makoto hitches a ride and lures the men into “getting fresh” with Kiyoshi following behind on his motorcycle. The resulting descent into crime and mayhem results in the gradual disintegration of Makoto’s personal relationships with her father, friends, and sister. The farther Makoto and Kiyoshi fall, the more stubbornly they cling to their self- destructive lifestyle, with increasingly more disastrous results.

Cruel Story of Youth is an uncomfortable and claustrophobic expression of the myopic worldview of disillusioned youth in post-war Japan. The film is mainly shot in close-up, with an abundance of close-ups on the emotions expressed in the eyes of the characters. This closeness visually expresses the lack of concern Kiyoshi and Makoto have for anything outside themselves. We seldom get any establishing shots, giving a lack of context that is central to Oshima’s meaning. While we are constantly being pulled visually towards Kiyoshi and Makoto, we get the increasing sense that their attitude is founded on their broader social circumstances. The visual disconnect from Makoto and Kiyoshi’s social reality results in a sense of profound alienation: our access to a social consciousness is cut off, creating the feeling that Makoto and Kiyoshi are left to fend for themselves.

The reason Cruel Story of Youth works as a social commentary despite being nearsightedly focused on two individuals is precisely this sense of alienation: although we are given hints about the reality within which the characters reside, we are increasingly aware of their unawareness. The older characters within the film provide us with a connection to Japan’s former social consciousness, which Makoto and Kiyoshi are denied access to. When Makoto’s sister Yuki (Yoshiko Kuga) urges their father to punish Makoto for staying out at night, he replies: Times have changed… Times were tough after the war, but we had a way of life. I could’ve lectured you that we were reborn a democratic nation, that responsibility went hand in hand with freedom. But today what can we say to this child? Nothing. This sentiment reveals the disappointment in American ideology felt in postwar Japan: they were forced to adopt an idealized democratic ideal during the American occupation that Oshima wants to say ultimately crumbled. With the absence of the occupying power, and without the possibility of returning to their pre-war ideologies, Cruel Story of Youth expresses the difficulties that arise when a nation attempts to forge a new identity. The lack of stabilizing ideology leads to the disillusionment of the new generation, and the older generation is unable to relate due to the shift.

Overall, I found Cruel Story of Youth to be an interesting expression of the disillusionment of youth in post-war Japan. Admittedly, there are several faults with the film, although I do not think that these faults detract from interest or enjoyment. One such fault is a certain lack of maturity: Oshima’s young age (he was 28 when he wrote and directed the film) is apparent in the style and narrative development. Close-ups are somewhat over-used, I think, expressing a naïve over-exuberance to express his point, and the ending is too clichéd to be as powerful as Oshima seems to want it to be. However, as he’s dealing specifically with youth and their inability to connect with an older generation, I think a certain amount of imperfection or immaturity adds something to his message. The film exhibits deplorable violence towards women which I found difficult to digest, but I think it fits as symptomatic of the self-destructive nature of youth Oshima is presenting: Makoto actively seeks Kiyoshi’s love, not in spite of but seemingly because of the violence he commits against her. The film is especially interesting as a counterpoint to No Regrets for our Youth, as an example of film free of American censorship but still struggling with issues of liberty and identity.

Categories
jidai-geki kaidan literary adaptations

Tales of Ugetsu

Tales of Ugetsu (Ugetsu monogatari), which was released in 1953, is based on two chapters of Ueda Akinari’s homonymous novel. This film was directed by Mizoguchi Kenji and the screenplay was written by Kawaguchi  Matsutarô and Yoda Yoshikata. This film is a fairytale but realistically portrayed by the director. This film not only describes ghosts, it also truly represents how people live in wartime. Through showing two couples, it presents two different stories and two opposite kinds of personalities: masculine characteristics in this film such as cruelty, arrogance, and aimlessness; feminine characteristics such as humility, passion, and sobriety. The relationship between these two kinds of personalities is wrapped in mystery. The director also used many long shots to represent the relationship between humans and the world. Humans are part of the world, but are dominated by the world. In the face of the world, humans are small. This film is well known for its eastern mystery. In 1953, this film got a Silver Lion Award in Venice International Film Festival (there was no Golden Lion Award in this year). Thus this film is an important work that lets the world learn about and treasure Japanese culture.

The background of this film is the war between Shibate Katsuie and Hideyoshi in the end of the Sengoku (Warring States) period. The story revolves primarily around two peasant couples: Genjurô and his wife Miyagi as well as Tobei and his wife Ohama. They originally support themselves by making pottery. Because of the war, they all go in different directions in life. Genjurô aspires to become a rich man, and Tobei always dreams of becoming a samurai, but he does not have money to buy the necessary outfit. These two avid men work together to make pottery. They expect to sell the pottery and become rich men. However, their wives are worried about the war. They warn their husbands to stay at home, but Genjurô and Tobei do not care about their wives’ advice. When the army comes to their village, Genjurô risks his life to save his pottery. When their village is looted, Genjurô and Tobei decide to travel by boat with their families to sell their products in a bigger town. They meet a boat, which was attacked by pirates on the way to the big town; Genjurô leaves his wife and son on the bank of the river, and tells them to go home to wait for him to come back. When Genjurô, Tobei and Tobei’s wife arrive at the big town, their pottery is a hot seller. At this time, Tobei leaves his wife to buy the samurai outfit to pursue his dream of becoming a samurai. Genjurô also meets a beautiful aristocratic lady Wakasa while selling his products. Genjurô and Tobei achieve their dream finally, Genjurô becomes a rich man because of Wakasa and Tobei uses contemptible measures to become Shogun. Soon they discover the price they have to pay for their ambition. Genjurô discovers Wakasa is not a real woman, and when he comes back home, everything surprises him. Tobei’s wife also pays a heavy price for her husband’s ambition.

Mizoguchi Kenji has been called the first major feminist director because he always reflected women’s life in his film. In this film, he creates three different marginalized women. These women represent different kinds of women in Japanese society in the 16th century. The tragedy of their lives is caused by men.

The first woman is Miyagi, who is Genjurô’s wife. She is a very traditional Japanese woman, who just wants to live simply and peacefully with her family. She never wishes to have lots of money; she prefers to value the affection with her husband. For example, when Genjurô buys the first Kimono for her, she looks so happy. However, she says that “it is not the Kimono, but your kindness that makes me happy”. Even when she becomes a ghost, she still takes the responsibility of a virtuous wife for her husband. This kind of image is influenced by Confucianism; Miyagi is a typical Confucian woman. Her perseverance and tenderness extremely contrast with the impatience and greediness of her husband. The second woman is Ohama who is the Tobei’s wife. She is a blunt and brave woman, but she is raped by the soldiers and reduced to a prostitute because of her husband’s ambition. She is not a representation of a typical Japanese wife in this period, but she reflects the situation of prostitutes in this period, which is a helpless and sad environment. The last woman is Lady Wakasa, who is a very beautiful and special woman. She dies, when she was young. Although she is a ghost, she never wants to hurt other people; she just wants to look for a man to love her. The director gives her all the features of a real woman. She represents a typical woman who longs for love but is betrayed by love. Finally she loses her love, Genjurô, not because Genjurô has a wife, but because of her identity. When Genjurô discovers that Wakasa is a ghost, he is scared of her more than he loves her. Genjurô’s cowardice makes Wakasa’s bravery stand out. These three women all give everything for their men, but they never receive the equal payback. This film reflects the Japanese women’s social situation in this period, through these three typical women.

This film also represents the director’s unique filming style, which is influenced by the traditional Japanese scroll painting. The “one scene, one shot” is the main feature of his film, which is most admired. He uses long takes to represent all the developments of the event in one scene. Moreover, the camera is almost always moving in his shots, and the movement is usually horizontal. Because of this, when audiences watch this film, they feel that they are watching a scroll painting. For example, there is a scene where Genjurô and Tobei are in the boat on the lake. Their little boat slowly appears on the misty lake which gives this film a mysterious atmosphere. Another feature of this film is the juxtaposition of reality and dreamscape in mise-en-scene. For example, in the end of this film, when Genjurô comes back home, his house is destroyed and he does not find his wife and son. He tries to go outside to find his wife and son, and the camera follows him and continues to do a tracking shot. When he comes back into the house again, he discovers everything is fine, his wife and son are in the house. Of cause this is Genjurô’s dream. In this whole process, there are no cuts and the scene also is not changed, but it already turns real life to the dreamscape. Moreover, when Genjurô get up in the second day, he turns back to his real life. Villagers tell him that his wife has died and his son is lost. However, he discovers his son appears in the same place just like what had happened in his dream. I think this is a classical scene that creates the juxtaposition and re-duplication of real live and dreamscape.

Mizoguchi Kenji, a classicist in Japanese film, sharply attacked the Man and society which sacrifices and oppresses women in his films. Usually he uses realistic shots to represent his film. In the film Tales of Ugetsu, he successfully and accurately represents details about this period, such as the city marketplace and the samurai. Through those descriptions of the details of the times, as if we live with the characters in that period. We have a better sense of the characters’ lives and fates.

Categories
drama, melodrama gendai-geki shomin-geki

If You Have the Will, and You Put Your Mind to It: Ikiru

“What is the Meaning of Existence?” That, and nothing less, is the theme of Kurosawa Akira’s Ikiru (To Live), originally released in 1952. Though this film’s title does not have the immediate face value of some of the director’s other works (most notably Rashomon and Seven Samurai), Ikiru is generally considered to be one of Kurosawa’s most powerful films. Those who think the great director’s name is solely synonymous with samurai action will be surprised-this is a gendai-geki drama that explores the very nature of human existence itself. While the protagonist of the story does not carry a sword or ride a horse into combat, the crisis that he has to face puts him on equal ground with any typical Kurosawa hero: a person having to realize his full potential and reaching self-actualization. The story is, on surface level, a scathing critique of post-war Japanese bureaucracy; however, it would be unwise to read the film with only this topic in mind. The story, by Kurosawa, Hashimoto Shinobu, and Oguni Hideo concerns an elderly man named Watanabe Kanji. He finds out that he has only six months to live. He, who has felt that he has never really been alive, must now find a way to define his existence.

The first image we see in the film is a ghostly one: it is an x-ray of the stomach belonging to “the protagonist of our story”, claims a narrator. We’re told that Watanabe has stomach cancer, but that he does not yet know it. Watanabe is the Section Chief of a Public Affairs Department, a bureaucracy where passing the buck is de rigueur. All of the clerks are surrounded by stacks of paperwork and untouched case files. Watanabe has worked at the office for thirty years without a day off, yet he has produced nothing. The narrator informs us that he is “not really even alive”. A group of women come into the office to complain that the standing water in a cesspool in their neighbourhood is bringing sickness to themselves and to their children. When they suggest that the city fill it in and turn it into a park for their children, they are passed (through a sequence of wipe edits) from clerk-to-clerk, each of them brushing the women off. Their complaint will not be acknowledged. The women leave thoroughly unsatisfied. Soon after, Watanabe goes to the doctor where he finds out that he has six months to live. But what can a man do to reconcile with this news when he is “not really even alive”?

Watanabe has nothing-his co-workers tease him (to his face and behind his back) and he is estranged from his family. He is unable to communicate with his son, and can’t tell him that he’s dying. He no longer shows up at work, but attempts to find some meaning for his life. He meets a writer in an izakaya and with his guidance drinks, dances, enjoys the company of women. None of this gives him solace. The next day while walking in the street he meet a young woman (Odagiri Miki) who works in his office. She needs him to stamp her resignation papers as she finds the office too boring. “I don’t belong there,” she says. They strike up a friendship and spend time at the movies, skating, dining, and playing pachinko. His interest in her is platonic: it is her life force and joy that so appeals to him. Later, at a restaurant, he confesses to her that he is dying. “I would do anything to live for one day like you”, he says. She claims that all she does is make wind-up children’s toys (her new job) and eat. “Why don’t you make something?” she says. Watanabe is transformed at the table and leaves. The next day he returns to the office with a purpose. The events that follow show a man who now knows that he has the will to realize his full potential and, for the rest of his life, actually be.

Kurosawa doesn’t use the cinematic technique of his contemporaries to tell us this story. He does not use Ozu’s stationary “tatami” shots, nor Mizoguchi’s extended takes and flowing camera. Rather, Kurosawa, the most Western-influenced of the great Japanese directors, will use editing, montage, flashback, and even a noir-ish narration (at times) for Watanabe’s final days. It should be noted that this was the last time that Kurosawa shot a film in this manner. His next film (Seven Samurai) and every film hence was shot with a long lens and his famous “three-camera” set-up. Kurosawa’s mise-en-scene in the opening is excellent: he shoot clerks in a series of one-shots as they reject the women while using deep-focus to fill the frame with stacks of files and spinning fans to give us the impression of a place where a lot of activity is going on but nothing is getting done. While at home, gazing at a picture of his deceased wife, an extraordinary sequence begins. Kurosawa uses flashback as a direct line to Watanabe’s memory. We see his wife’s funeral and then events demonstrating his love, sacrifice, and ultimate failure regarding his now-grown son. As the flashback shots end, Watanabe, overcome with emotion, feels an immediate need to connect with his son. As he begins to climb the staircase to go to the top floor of the house in which his son and his wife live, the son turns out the lights. Watanabe, left in darkness now, will never tell his son that he is sick. Later, after Watanabe leaves his office after putting into action his raison d’être, flashback becomes essential again in the telling of his story. In fact, flashback in this film as used by Kurosawa is as essential to the film as Orson Welles’ use of it in Citizen Kane (1941), though Donald Richie claims that Kurosawa had not yet seen that film by the time Ikiru was made.* It is through these final flashback scenes that we see Watanabe for who he really is: a man of meaningful action, of purpose. Also, there are a least two scenes showing Kurosawa’s mastery of cinematic sound. Immediately after leaving the doctor’s office, Watanabe walks the street in a daze. Kurosawa underscores Watanabe’s emotional isolation by cutting all the sound on the film’s soundtrack. We experience his distorted state of mind as he walks through the street. Suddenly, the sound of the city blasts through the soundtrack, jarring him-and us. In the scene where he leaves the girl in the restaurant after his sense of discovery, he is played out by the tune “Happy Birthday” being sung for a girl’s birthday party across the restaurant. Of course, the real “birthday” is Watanabe’s. Kurosawa earns this device by keeping the girl’s party in focus through the entire sequence in the restaurant.

This is an incredibly beautiful film and Watanabe is as worthy as any of Kurosawa’s protagonists. He is a man who has to come to define himself by his own terms in life. He shares this with Yukie in No Regrets for Our Youth, Gondo in High and Low, and Yasumoto in Red Beard. This powerful, moving film suggests that if we have the will, and put our mind to it, we can realize our full potential and understand what it means to be alive. During the course of the movie, you may find yourself reaching for the Kleenex box more than once-and if you’re lucky, asking yourself, “What is my purpose in life?”

Categories
drama, melodrama jidai-geki literary adaptations

The Story of the Late Chrysanthemums

Mizoguchi Kenji’s The Story of the Late Chrysanthemums (残菊物語Zangiku monogatari) was originally a story by Muramatsu Shofu. This film was released in 1939, and was considered one of Mizoguchi’s great works pre-World War II. The main cast consisted of Mori Kakuko as Otoku, Kawagasaki Gonjuro as Kikugoro, and Hanayagi Shotaro as Kikunosuke. The strong performances by the cast really made this film well worth two hundred and forty minutes of my day.

The film is set in Tokyo 1888, where a popular kabuki actor Kikugoro is acting on stage with his adopted son Kikunosuke. The father is really disappointed with Kikunosuke’s lack of stage quality (acting and presence) and is worried that he may not be able to carry on the family name well as an actor. Everyone around Kikunosuke only praises him and no one can tell him the truth to his face, but behind his back everyone talks about how bad his acting is. He overheard people putting down his acting one day and gets very angry. Heading home, he finds Otoku walking about on the street trying to get his baby brother (his father’s blood-related son) to fall asleep in her arms. They head towards home together and Otoku tells Kikunosuke that she thinks his acting skills are lacking. He appreciates that someone was able to tell him the truth, and this is the beginning of their love story.

Even from the scene where we first see Otoku and Kikunosuke interact, Mizoguchi has strategically made an impression of Otoku’s strong personality by taking a long shot. This long shot allows us to see Otoku lead the way home and Kikunosuke follow behind her while she assures him that everything will be alright. Not long after they began to like each other, others who worked in the same house start gossiping about their relationship. Hearing all this gossip, Kikunosuke’s mother feels that firing Otoku is the best thing to do because the reputation of a new actor is really important. This is the turning point for Kikunosuke. He wants to be with Otoku, but in order to get her accepted by the family he has to prove himself worthy as a good kabuki actor. He moves from Tokyo to Osaka to learn acting, hoping to become successful on his own without his father’s help. From this point on, both Kikunosuke and Otoku experience many obstacles until Kikunosuke finally succeeds at acting.

Kikunosuke’s character goes through many stages in this film. First he is a man who just did what his father told him to do, and does not give much thought to how he can improve because he is still young. Otoko makes him realize that he has a long way to go as an actor. He moves to Osaka to learn acting from his uncle but after his uncle passes away, there is no one to back him up. The production crew take his parts and basically tell him he should go do something else. He is forced to be a travelling actor (sort of like a tour) because there is nothing else he ca  do. Although his acting is slowly improving, he starts to feel like he should give up trying to go back to Tokyo. His struggles cause him to be moody and he even yells at Otoku at one point for not giving him spending money. They spend a total of five years in Osaka not knowing when they will go back home to Tokyo. Coincidentally, during the biggest slump of Otoku and Kikunosuke’s life, Fuku-chan (Kikunosuke’s friend) has a play in Nagoya and Otoku goes to beg for help. She asks for a part for Kikunosuke so that he can prove how much he has improved so his father will accept him. From this event we can feel how loving Otoku is.

This film does not only talk about the struggles within a relationship but also the struggles within the individuals themselves. Otoku knows that Kikunosuke’s family will not accept her because she is of a different class status and also because she was working as the nurse/maid for Kikunosuke’s baby brother. Yet she still works hard to support whatever Kikunosuke is set to do because she knows that she is the only mental support that he has. Kikunosuke struggles with not only the troubles at home, but also the slow improvement in his acting, and not even being able to live properly in a house because of the touring. As a man he feels especially bad for having Otoku work (sewing) to earn money.

This movie is not just a sad love story, it also clearly displays some traditional Japanese views of marriage and status. Otoko is a character that touches upon the status of women and how they are treated if they were of lower class. Kikunosuke’s character also displays the results of a hardworking man who puts in the effort to succeed. There are many touching moments in this film so it is a slight tear-jerker. A great story with a great cast. I think this is a movie that everyone should watch.

Categories
jidai-geki kaidan

Ugetsu Monogatari: Tales of Greed and Temptation

Mizoguchi Kenji’s Ugetsu Monogatari, known more simply as Ugetsu in North America, is a film based on Ueda Akinari’s Tales of Moonlight and Rain. This 1953 movie belongs in both the jidai-geki and kaidan film genres, and features brilliant performances from such prominent actors as Mori Masayuki, Kyo Machiko, and Tanaka Kinuyo.

The film opens with a scene in front of Genjuro (Mori Masayuki) and Miyagi’s (Tanaka Kinuyo) small home near Lake Biwa. Through dialogue between the husband, wife, and their neighbours, the audience is given insight into the looming threat of war due to Shibata’s advancing army, as well as Genjuro and his neighbour Tobei’s greedy motives for wanting to travel to the city of Nagahama. Genjuro leaves in order to sell his pottery and capitalize on the excellent profit that wartime often provides, while Tobei abandons his wife in order to fulfill his desire of becoming a great samurai. However, the two men return back to their town with two very different experiences. Genjuro, making good on his promise to Miyagi, returns with money and gifts for his family and allows Tobei, who was ultimately rejected during various attempts at becoming a samurai, to help him make the next batch of pottery for a share in the next trip’s profits. The unexpected arrival of Shibata’s army forces the two families to escape, with pottery in tow, by boat across Lake Biwa to the city of Omizu. Though, due to a bad omen, Genjuro decides to return his wife and son back to shore and continue on with only his neighbours. From here, the relations between Genjuro, Miyagi, and Genichi, and Tobei and Ohama are shattered. Genjuro, through his encounters with Lady Wakasa, and Tobei, through his insatiable urge to become a samurai, give in to their temptations, and as a result leave their loved ones abandoned and vulnerable to their surroundings and outside forces. As the story progresses, various themes such as greed, abandonment, temptation, and regret are brought forth to the viewers in varying levels. It is by the movie’s different events that the audience becomes aware of what kind of effects these negative mind sets and actions can have on loved ones.

Mizoguchi has an inherent ability to create various moods and effectively communicate his complex themes and messages in the most artistically subtle, yet effective manners. This is achieved by using a combination of techniques including thoughtful camera angles, character positioning in relation to his camera shots, and the various actions and emotions performed by his actors in his scenes. One sequence which encapsulates all of these elements occurs while the two families are escaping from Shibata’s army, in a boat on Lake Biwa. The scene opens with the boat emerging from the fog. As it moves closer and closer to the camera it becomes apparent to the viewer that, contrary to what may normally be expected, Ohama is in fact rowing the boat. Mizoguchi then cuts to a panning shot of the boat which depicts Genjuro and Tobei enjoying a bottle of sake. As the shot moves slowly along the boat it arrives at a concerned Miyagi who sports a look of uneasiness. While she sits in silent disapproval, she faces the camera with her back turned to the men. From this short and simple sequence, a lot of information is relayed to the audience. Firstly, the dynamics between men and women are illustrated through Ohama and Miyagi’s submissiveness to Genjuro and Tobei. Ohama rows the boat so that Tobei may accomplish a goal she has disapproved of from the very beginning of the movie, while Miyagi keeps quiet as if she is afraid to voice her opinions. Secondly, Genjuro and Tobei’s greed, surrender to temptation, and blatant disregard for their loved ones also becomes extremely evident. They discuss their business prospects and relax, without picking up on Miyagi’s negative body language, and while Ohama propels the boat further through the fog.

It is through Lady Wakasa, but more specifically her wardrobe and residence, that the audience gains understanding in the use of costumes and architecture in order to advance the movie’s storyline and illuminate themes of temptation and greed. The first appearance of Lady Wakasa occurs while Genjuro is selling his pottery in the city of Omizu. By dressing Lady Wakasa in a brilliantly white kimono and an extravagant hat and veil, Mizoguchi gives her an almost deity-like aura. Her gentle nature and beauty challenges both Genjuro and the viewer’s ability to resist her temptations. However, it is when Genjuro enters her living quarters that the magnitude of her importance and attraction is fully reinforced. Her home is meticulously built with the finest décor, and is a far cry from Genjuro’s previous living conditions. Genjuro succumbs to his greed and disregards any feelings for his wife when he agrees to Lady Wakasa’s marriage proposal. Mizoguchi creates such a contrast between Genjuro’s life at his village home and life at the Wakasa residence that Genjuro loses sight of what is important: his family. For Genjuro, the idea of making his pottery not out of necessity, but for simply the love of the art, and living in a luxurious lifestyle with a wife that essentially worships him is too much to resist.

Ugetsu Monogatari, when compared to its modern cinematic counterparts, may seem extremely slow in relaying the storyline to its viewers, and seem to possess a somewhat rough characteristic. Regardless of these so-called flaws, the end result is an extremely powerful movie which elicits strong and genuine emotion from its audience. It is uncommon that a movie nearly 60 years old can still resonate with a contemporary audience so intensely. This is why Ugetsu Monogatari is widely considered one of Japan’s best movies, and why I would recommend it so highly to anyone interested in Japanese cinema.

Categories
jidai-geki

A film whose world is so dark and merciless that it is even titled after the antagonist

Based on a short story of the same title, Sansho the Bailiff (Sanshō Dayū) is a 1954 jidai-geki film directed by Mizoguchi Kenji, and is considered by many as one of his finest cinematic creations. Set in the Heian period of Japan, the film centers around the themes of freedom, rights and social power which are a few among his trademark interests. The film tells the tale of Zushio (Hanayagi  Yoshiaki) and Anju (Kagawa  Kyoko), children of a compassionate governor who is deposed and forced into exile, and the hardship they have to endure while growing up. With Mizoguchi’s masterful use of camera techniques such as long takes, plus beautiful and elaborate settings, we are presented with a true gem from one of the peak periods of Japanese cinema.

As the exiled governor’s wife, children and their faithful maid try to make their way to reunite with him, fate, however, chooses a different course for them. Tricked by an old lady who pretends to offer them shelter, they find themselves abducted by bandits who sell the children as slaves to a rich man named Sansho and trade their mother elsewhere as a courtesan. Upon arriving at the slave camp, the children discover that it is truly a living hell. Sansho’s unrelenting cruelty is displayed through various events such as branding slaves who attempt to escape with hot irons. With no way out, the kids grow up and become accustomed to their daily chores and their slave status over the years. In the process, Zushio appears to be moving closer to the inhumane ways of Sansho rather than his father’s principles of kindness. The only hope for his redemption lies in his own memory of the past as well as his sister’s faithful pleas for a change in him. After hearing news about their mother for the first time in years through a fellow slave, Zushio and Anju become anxious to escape and look for her (even though Zushio does not appear to care initially). They eventually come across a great opportunity to do so when Zushio is given the order of going into the mountains to dump the body of a dying worker and the two of them quickly devise a plan.

Overall, Sansho depicts a merciless world of coldness and grief. There are many instances where Mizoguchi uses background objects and elements of nature to portray evil or hopelessness to the audience. For example, in an early scene on the beach where the traveling family first meets the bandits, ugly trees with crooked branches seem to dominate the screen by appearing in the foreground and “looming over” the characters in the background, suggesting evilness and hinting at the unpleasant events to come. In another example, as Namiji (the dying slave) is laid down on the ground to be left to die, the environment presented to the audience consists of half-buried human remains, a dark forest and also a number of tiny stone statues of the Buddha. Anju even tells Namiji that she will be fine because she has already been tied to a statue of the Buddha, meaning that the Buddha (or the goddess) will “look after” her. This seems ironic as the audience now notices better than ever that the statue and everything else in the environment remain absolutely still, and the guard in the background is just minding his own business, creating a message that nothing nor anyone in the world cares about Namiji’s cries of pain.

Another noticeable aspect of the film is its exploration of the theme of power and its use throughout the film. The story is dark and thought-provoking in the sense that it seems to be trying to convey, with the main characters (particularly the men), that one often needs to abuse his or her authority in a selfish manner in order to thrive or accomplish success. (Yes, this seems cynical) With a simple yet direct comparison between Sansho, Zushio and his father, this becomes rather evidents: Zushio’s compassionate and merciful father is exiled while Sansho’s tyrannical and selfish ways of abusing the slaves put him in a comfortable position. As for Zushio, when power is given to him, he challenges the limits of his authority by putting aside the usual duties that come with his position and targeting Sansho right away for personal revenge (it is arguable whether it is entirely for personal revenge or for other reasons as well), eventually succeeding at taking him down. Even so, such character portrayals should not be seen as an encouragement for viewers to break rules of the society for personal gains – it could simply be implying that sometimes in the real world one needs to be assertive and fight for his or her own benefits in order to survive.

In short, Sansho the Bailiff is a dark tale of oppression and grief for the most part. It not only gives us a look at the ugly and sinister side of human beings, but also reveals some of the flaws of political and social systems where individuals are trapped in the shells of their fixed social status and thus unable to change their fate. The film tears the viewers’ emotions apart and barely provides any solace. It effectively elicits disgust and hate for the villains of the story and leaves one in great sympathy for characters such as Anju and Tamaki. These are all made possible with Mizoguchi’s masterful use of settings as well as the magical touch of Miyagawa Kazuo, the director of photography. It is a heavily emotional and touching film which could possibly wreck the emotional state of some viewers. Otherwise, it is definitely well worth seeing.

Categories
drama, melodrama war

Portrayal of Women in the War

The Most Beautiful (Ichiban utsukushiku, 1944) was written and directed by Kurosawa Akira. The main female actress is Tsuru Watanabe. The director shot many of The Most Beautiful scenes at the Nippon Kogaku factory in Hiratsuka. After Kurosawa’s success in Sanshiro Sugata, he directed this wartime propaganda film which was set in an optics factory during the Second World War. However, this propaganda film was made from a different perspective, which is unusual. Instead of depicting wartime efforts of male, the film focuses on the women’s contribution as factory workers.

The film starts with the factory director demanding his workers generate outstanding production in order to beat the enemy’s widespread counteroffensive. The story depicts a group of girls working in the optical factory making lens, binoculars and targeting scopes. The life of these factory girls is not easy and they often encounter hardship such as sickness and homesickness. The strength of spirit is evident in this film. One girl becomes ill and she is forced to go home, but she finally comes back, strong again. Another falls from the roof and breaks her leg, but she insists on going back to work. At this point, their productivity begins to decline. The girls try to lift up their spirits by playing a volleyball game. Their sense of cooperation is so strong that they encourage each other for doing well in the game. Yet another has “a persistent fever which she attempts to hide and enlists the sympathies of their girl-leader who is then accused of partiality to the sick girl” (Donald Richie 26). Towards the end of the film, the girls are extremely tired as their productivity declines sharply. The girl-leader Tsuru Watanabe who consolidates the band of women in factory “mislays a lens and must hunt for it though all the thousands of boxes of finished lenses, but who eventually emerges as a kind of production-line heroine” (26).

The most conspicuous feature is the movie’s semi-documentary style. Regarding his directing, the director states that, “When I received this project to direct, I decided I wanted to try doing it in semi-documentary style. I began with the task of ridding the young actresses of everything they had physically and emotionally acquired that smacked of theatricality. The odor of makeup, the snobbery, the affectations of the stage, that special self-consciousness that only actors have — all of this had to go. I wanted to return them to their original status of ordinary young girls” (Akira Kurosawa 132). He wanted to depict the sense of realism by shooting the film in a real factory with real workers. Camerawork is an important part of his realistic portrayal in terms of his directing technique. According to Donald Richie, this real documentary fashion was a combination of Russian and German techniques. For example, while Shimura, the head of the factory, is making a speech in the opening, one shot of his talking into the microphone is followed by a series of five or six shots showing the standing listeners and then return again back to Shimura again. Each cut of employees, all back-lit in the German manner, is slightly shorter, making a noticeable acceleration (Richie 26). In order to create Japan’s best documentary, he sought to invent more subtle ways to express emotions. Specifically, he wanted “a kind of empathy which the documentary technique cannot usually afford” (26). One of his invented techniques is short-cut which is different from the use of camerawork in Mizoguchi Kenji’s Sisters of the Gion series of long shots, and long takes. The girl with fever, for example, uses thermometer under her arm and there is a long wait for it to register. The first cut shows Watanabe waiting, cut again showing the same girl in different position and a third cut showing same girl, same background, but the position and expression is different—going on for several cuts (27). The purpose is not to wait for the result of the thermometer but for another lady to come. His camerawork approach does fairly well directing a realistic documentary performance.

Themes in this film are also one aspect of the movie that is noteworthy. The title gives the audience a message regarding the beauty of girl spirits or inner beauty. In other words, this film does not refer to “the most beautiful of girls but to the girl who has the most beautiful spirit” (27). The main female character Watanabe is obviously the one with the spirit. It is she who reminds other girls the importance of wartime tasks, helps the rise in the production graph and encourages girls by repeating “do your best.” Her challenge comes when she mislays the lens and has to find it by examining hundreds of finished lens. The director shows the audiences how exhausting this work is by showing shots “dissolve to the clock, dissolve to her, dissolve to numbed fingers reaching for another lens” (27). She never gives up even though the other girls encounter much uncertainty and fatigue. The film is to convey a message that the world needs us to get together in order makes a better one.

The Most Beautiful not only examines a moving portrait of the Japanese values of community but also illustrates the idea of self-sacrifice. It is surprising how a standard propaganda film is free of reference to politics of war and how it uses a group of Japanese women as a source in a wartime film instead of making a violent war picture with a group of men. Kurosawa showed that he was able “to extract performances that few other Japanese directors could, to make real tears flow and real screams sound” (27). The actresses manage to interconnect their spirits with one another through working in a factory while working in stress with higher quotas. The perspective of this film is rarely seen compared with other wartime film, thus this film is one worth watching as a brilliant and powerful portrait of the time period of Japan.

Categories
Kaijû

Gojira: The Ultimate Unifier

The kaijû (monster) film, Gojira (English title: Godzilla), released in 1954, was written and directed by Honda Ishirô. The main characters are Ogata Hideto (Takarada Akira), Yamane Emiko (Kôchi Momoko), Serizawa Daisuke (Hirata Akihiko), and Yamane Kyôhei (Shimura Takashi). Gojira was remade into a Western film in 1998, written and directed by Roland Emmerich, starring Matthew Broderick and Jean Reno to name a few. Since then, “Gojira” is most well known worldwide as “Godzilla.”

After a number of shipwrecks and sudden explosions at sea near Odo Island, Japan is faced with the question of what is causing the series of unfortunate events that is bringing misery to the nation and its people. Authorities immediately call for an expedition to the island to investigate this peculiar mystery that they are certain cannot have been caused by natural disasters. In the investigation led by paleontologist Professor (hakase in Japanese) Yamane Kyôhei, his daughter Emiko, and her lover Ogata Hideto who is also a navy frogman, they discover a large footprint attracting a vast amount of radioactivity. With the following appearance of a 50-metre tall monster, Yamane-hakase reports to the authorities the finding of “Gojira,” a living creature ancestral to dinosaurs. Thus begins the provisions against Gojira, which only Yamane-hakase objects to, as he wishes to use this rare creature for his paleontological studies. As the anti-Gojira procedures are pushed through, all of Japan deliberates about ways to fight the monster. When Emiko pays a visit to Serizawa Daisuke-hakase, whom she is betrothed to, to see if he can provide any sort of aid with his inventions, he shares nothing to the news reporter who had tagged along but later reveals his secret experiment to Emiko and makes her seal her lips. Gojira proceeds to destroy the nation and not even the self-defense forces can stop the devastation. As many people continue to get injured or lose their lives, and children scream and cry out for their lost parents, Gojira grows to become a threat not only to the troubled nation but also to the whole world. Whether Gojira can be stopped depends on how much longer Emiko can keep her secret and the mysterious role of Serizawa-hakase.

From the start of the film, Gojira’s traits are emphasized through the growling and thumping sound effects and the tension-building music that sets the consistent mood of suspense. The camera placement is low every time the monster appears on the screen, highlighting its enormous size. The close-ups of Gojira’s face are always filmed from the bottom-up, and the camera recurrently shoots its lower body (i.e. feet and/or tail) destroying buildings and other structures. The fact that the people and Gojira do not fit in the frame also suggests the largeness and overpowering features of the rare creature. The reactions and facial expressions of the actors when they encounter the giant monster only add to the anticipation that it precipitates. This is evident in scenes such as the initial appearance of Gojira in Odo Island where people start running and screaming for their lives; and when Gojira emerges into the city causing adversity, the camera centers on a mother who struggles to protect her two frightened children. The frequent change of camera focus on the one burning city scene depicts how there are multiple destructions happening simultaneously, raising the panic level of the occupants. These transitions are done using frames quickly sliding horizontally. Conversely, the pace is slower when one scene fades into the next happening, and this is present when there is no Gojira in the frame.

Films oftentimes reflect the time period of when it has been produced, and this is definitely the case for Gojira, as it portrays postwar Japan with considerable Western influence. People especially in the more advanced urban setting are wearing modern clothing, but the Japanese essence is still apparent as seen in the dance party on the ship where one lady is wearing a kimono. Villagers in Odo Island, on the other hand, are wearing straw hats and the commoners’ attire that mirror farmers working in rice fields. The contrast between the urban and rural settings reinforces the idea that Japan at this time was going through an adapting phase in which it was juggling many Western and traditional traits. While the first setting indicates modernity, the latter displays more traditional features also exemplified through the building or house structures in Tokyo versus on Odo Island. The whole idea of suspense and the oppressive monster seem so foreign as well, since Gojira, who transmits radioactivity, was thought to have emerged through nuclear explosions.

Gojira is a film worth watching considering the universal status that Gojira itself has gained in popular culture. The film is well-directed as it portrays how no matter what, when people are faced with a situation where the nation or even the whole world can collapse at any time, unity and mutual consent are what can bring peace and security. Gojira is a classic film especially for the Japanese monster movie industry and is perhaps most enjoyable for male viewers of all ages.

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