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.

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.

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