Life in Japanese Film - Donald Richie

I received Donald Richie's 100 Years of Japanese Film for Christmas and thought I should seek out more information about the author and his thoughts on film in Japan.

I found this talk was interesting and wanted to share it here.
Life in Japanese Film Donald Richie

Sisters of Gion - 祇園の姉妹, Gion no kyōdai - Mizoguchi 1936

In Sisters of the Gion the unconventional shots by director Kenji Mizoguchi can feel somewhat jarring, almost uncomfortable. Compared to popular methods used by Hollywood directors which appear to narrate their stories by seamlessly drifting back and forth between characters, sceneries, and adopting multiple points of view, Mizoguchi's methods come off as voyeuristic and haunting. 

In Sisters of the Gion the camera acts as the uninvited guest, lurking slightly out of view when the tension builds. During scenes where communication is interrupted, or obscured, the camera hides in the room, interested but afraid of the disharmony. For instance, when Kudo returns home to his wife after having spent the day with Omocha, the view is slightly obscured by the doorway as the action continues on inside of the room. This unwilling participant (the camera) is guilty, it knows that Kudo has taken on a courtesan and it hides, afraid to reveal itself and the truths that are still unspoken. Mizoguchi’s lens is highly emotional; during conflict it retreats to show that information is being obscured or that communication is not taking place. A more obvious example of this takes place toward the end of the film when Umekichi returns home to get her belongings after she decides to stay with Furusawa. She explains that she knows what Omocha has done, but exclaims that she does not want to talk about it; she is avoiding the confrontation by shutting down the conversation. The action here is seen from behind a support beam in the room. Once again this quite actually is showing the viewer that information is being obscured, and the camera is the knowledgable party. Once Umekichi leaves, the threat of confrontation is gone and the camera can comfortably move out into the open where Omocha is seen sitting alone. This same technique is used when Omocha is being carried into the hospital as she raves about how her actions toward men are justified, exclaiming that she will not change her ways. Umekichi rushes to her side, but still cannot understand her sister’s point of view; she chastises her for being so self-centered and explains that she must let go of her expectations of men. Throughout this scene the camera remains far from the action, going so far as to hide behind a screen that obscures any view of the pair whatsoever. Umekichi, though obligated to her sibling, cannot understand where she is coming from as she has been taken in by a poor but kind customer who she believes has devoted himself to her; she cannot feel Omocha’s anger, never mind understand her rationale. As the unwilling participant in all of this, the camera knows that the situation cannot be resolved here, and positions itself far away from the heat. 

At the very beginning and the very end of the film, there are key points where the sisters are on the same page and the camera is able to sit with them comfortably in a medium shot view. Early on, the pair sit at the table drinking tea and speaking openly about their differences. It is obvious that they have opposing opinions about their professional obligations to men, but at this point it is not problematic because communication has not yet been obstructed. The camera is able to attend the conversation, unafraid, and the two can discuss the matter without complication. This same medium shot is also used at the very end of the film where we find the sisters in a room with the camera in the very same position, after both have been abandoned/hurt by their patrons. They are once again able to converse in an honest manner despite their different opinions on the subject. The lines of communication are open once again and the camera is at ease in the room in spite of the seriousness of the subject. 

The role of the camera in Sisters of the Gion reveals not only the concealment of sincerity within this particular situation, but also that sincerity within the Gion, the pleasure quarters at large, is impossible. The plight of these women is that they are courtesans, and that because their services are purchased the idea of finding true love or an honest devoted relationship within these circumstances is highly unlikely, if not impossible. When patrons enter the pleasure quarters they leave behind their true obligations (family, wife, work, etc.) and adopt the role of the patron (sometimes even the role of the dandy). This is similar to the way that the geisha mask their own true desires (quite literally under makeup and elegant dress), in order to be of service to their patrons. In a way, the pleasure quarters are a fictionalized reality; these people are role playing. The geisha acts to boost the esteem of the patron who pays to be treated in a way that he may not be treated in reality. On this stage emotional sincerity is not welcome as it obfuscates the roles that are being portrayed. Omocha understands this; she realizes that she cannot get caught up in her emotions because they are insincere. Instead, she attempts to play the men in order to get something real, something concrete that she can hold on to; in this case, it is financial gain. Umekichi, on the other hand, does get caught in the emotional game, and falls for a patron. She decides that even though his devotion may be half-hearted, at least hers is sincere. That Umekichi attempts to be sincere in spite of the charade that she is caught up in is a testament to her humanity. She cannot help but feel love even in spite of the fact that she is not allowed to reveal her true-self to her patrons. Regardless of their differences, both women end up losing what they sought to gain in the first place. They are relegated to their roles as courtesans in spite of their humanity. I feel that Mizoguchi sympathizes with these women, and that he portrays the complexity of their emotional and socio-economic trappings honestly and with sincerity. 

Ugetsu - Kenji Mizoguchi - 1953

The film Ugetsu, directed by Kenji Mizoguchi, follows two couples during wartime in Edo-era Japan. Genjuro and Tobei have dreams of wealth and admiration: Genjuro wants to earn wealth through his pottery trade and Tobei dreams of becoming a samurai. Genjuro and Tobei seek to fulfill these dreams, though it is their partners who are sacrificed for their selfish determination. Ugetsu is a film about passion during wartime and the danger of selfish desire.
    Genjuro seeks success and admiration selling his pottery. He dries dozens of uniform bowls in assembly lines, revealing a lack of passion in his creations; his home is a factory for success. Genjuro's wife and son, are in the shadow of his pottery. When the village is invaded by soldiers, Genjuro keeps running back to his kiln while his wife, Miyagi, tries to pull him to safety as the soldiers close in. During the chaos he obsesses over keeping the kiln fire going before they venture off to safety; the concern for his pottery taking precedent over the safety of his family. The point is driven home when upon returning Genjuro is relieved to find his undisturbed pottery among the ransacked houses and the family leave their war torn village by boat, taking the pottery with them. They are stopped on the way by an omen, the ghost of the water, a wounded man who warns the group of danger ahead. Genjuro takes the advice and brings his wife and son home, leaving them alone on the shore. He continues to the village to sell his pottery.
         The desire for wealth and admiration take hold of Tobei when samurai soldiers walk through the village. He runs to them and invests his money in Samurai armor, abandoning his wife, Ohama. Tobei elevates his samurai status, earning respect of the other samurai's by stealing the head of a high-ranking army general and presenting it as his own kill. Though the work is doubted as his own, he is nonetheless celebrated as a hero and is rewarded with a parade in his honor. A fellow samurai comments that Tobei “has the air of a great samurai.” This comment is symbolic of the empty respect Tobei has earned through empty means. Soon after Tobei disappears, Ohama is shown walking alone in a field, cursing her husband for foolishly abandoning her to fulfill childish dreams. She is approached by a group of soldiers who attack her and pull her into a nearby house. They rape her, furthering her shame by throwing money at her feet as they leave. The shaming of Ohama is performed directly in view of a Buddha statue, symbolizing the sacrifice of her pride for the sins of her husband. Ohama cries, cursing Tobei, once again, for leaving her alone and for forcing her to turn to prostitution to support herself. When Tobei and Ohama are reunited, both wear fancy clothing: he wears the suit of a high ranking samurai as she wears the dress of a high class woman.  Ohama is ashamed and furious at what Tobei had allowed her to become, she explains that she only remained alive to see him one last time. He defends his actions, claiming that he did it all for her. Ohama retorts, “No, you did it to become a samurai... look at all the money your exploits earned you.” The passion that Tobei hopes to find as a samurai is due to a passionless life, driven by war. He sought fortune through shameful and dishonest means; it is Ohama who pays the price with her dignity.

            Admiration comes to Genjuro from a mysterious woman who asks for several of his pottery wares and requests that he personally deliver the pieces to her Manor. The woman, Lady Wakasa, is a collector of Genjuro's art, and refers to his wares as such. She flatters him, seducing him with compliments and asking him to marry her; he fulfills her request without hesitation. Lady Wakasa elevates Genjuro's status from poor to rich, peasant to lord and artisan to artist; instantly rescuing him from a life of poverty and war. The love shared between Lady Wakasa and Genjuro is forbidden not only because it is extramarital, but because it is between the dead and the living. Just as the strength of unfulfilled desire causes the ghost of Lady Wakasa to search for love after death, Genjuro seeks wealth and admiration, even if it comes to him without meaning -these soulless creations have attracted the wealth and admiration of an apparition. When it is revealed that Lady Wakasa is a ghost, he leaves her and returns to what looks like an empty home. He circles the house and re-enters to find Miyagi there, at the hearth, cooking a meal for her husband. The scene is tense, we had last seen Miyagi being stabbed by rival soldiers and collapse in a field. Genjuro attempts to apologize to her, but she stops him and will not hear it; she is happy to see him. He eats quickly and falls asleep beside his son, Genichi. Miyagi remains awake stiching her husband's kimono; her movements are slow and contemplative. He is finally able to appreciate what he has, though it is not as it seems. When Genjuro awakes, he is informed that Miyagi actually had been killed by soldiers. Once again, he was greeted by a ghost.

                In the final scene, Tobei is working hard at his garden. Ohama asks him to stop for dinner, but Tobei continues to labor. Genjuro concentrates at his pottery wheel with Miyagi's voice coaching him from the heavens; he has finally become the man she had wanted him to be, though it is a shame she cannot enjoy it. He has learned to create his art for self-growth and makes time for his son. At the beginning of the film, war was to blame for the lack of passion in day to day living. During wartime they could not realize the potential they felt they deserved. Genjuro and Tobei start out as boys who dream of admiration and wealth until the atrocities of war take what is actually most valuable to them, forcing them to grow up and face the reality that they must be men during dangerous times. Not for themselves, but for the people they love. The realization comes at a significant cost: during wartime, the stakes are high. 

Sansho the Baliff - Kenji Mizoguchi -1954

In Kenji Mizoguchi's film, Sansho the Bailiff, brother and sister Zushio and Anju (respectively) are kidnaped by slave traders and sold to Sansho's compound. Forced into hard labor, they toil throughout their adolescence for over 10 years, maturing as slaves. Mizoguchi's portrayal of Anju as an altruistic savior exposes his faith in, and his compassion for women, making Sansho the Bailiff a feminist film.
       Zushio embraces his role under Sansho by working hard. He rationalizes, if Sansho looks favorably upon him he will have an easier time living there. To gain Sansho's favor, Zushio does some morally questionable tasks. His devotion puts a rift between him and Anju as he avoids conversations about their parents and becomes enraged at her for holding onto the past.

      Anju is altruistic, she remains true to her roots and holds onto the values taught by her family. She follows the words of her father, who believed that all people are equal and should not be denied happiness. Despite having witnessed Zushio's weakness under the pressure of Sansho, she stands by him and decides to give her life in exchange for his escape. Anju's role could be viewed as mothering; she guides Zushio, making the plan for his escape, providing the exit and paving the way for his redemption. She convinces him to go without her, and he does, unaware that she will die after his departure. Without this sacrifice, Zushio's drive to end slavery within the state, and within Sansho's compound, would not have occurred; for he had to believe that Anju was still there to want to save her so desperately.

          Sansho's son Taro joins a monastery to redeem himself of the sins he has committed as an assistant to his father. The film portrays Taro as an autonomous thinker, who is reluctant to accept the role he has been handed. This is first evident in the way he observes Anju and Zushio's situation. It is obvious to Taro that they are not the children of slaves; this reveals that he takes interest in the slaves, he empathizes with them. Taro's kind nature is most obvious when he tucks Anju and Zushio into bed before departing Sansho's compound.

       Zushio discovers that Taro has joined a monastery when he seeks refuge there after having escaped with the sick Namiji. Both Zushio and Taro have left the compound in order to escape slavery and to seek redemption for their sins. Taro is born of a wealthy slave owner, and is forced into slave trading. He had profited from slavery, as he was provided for by it. Despite his having grown up with slavery as a norm, he turns away from it, seeking redemption through religion, a silent protest. Zushio was also raised as a wealthy heir, though of a virtuous governor. Zushio did not immediately learn from the teachings of his father; it is he who becomes the surrogate son of Sansho, even branding a fellow slave. Since Zushio fills the role of Taro in his absence, it is ironic that he is able to protest slavery through action. Perhaps it was that Taro could not appeal to the Emperor's Councillor as the son of Sansho, thus forcing him into a silent protest. Zushio is able to shout his family name, and be heard. By leaving the compound, Taro manages to break from the brutal rule of his father, and any direct association with the enslavement of people. However, this does not erase the slavery that is taking place in feudal Japan. Taro solves his personal conflict, but not the dilemma of society at large.

Zushio's reunion with his mother is sorrowful. One could view the reunion as a happy outcome, but it could not be called a happy ending. The mood of the scene could be described as exhausted. His mother is now elderly and blind, she has spent most of her life longing for her children. Zushio returns to her almost a stranger, he is grown and Tomiko cannot even see his face as he approaches her; she pushes him away from her, fearing it may be a trick. Zushio's accomplishments as governor that carry on the legacy of his father cannot be celebrated with Tomiko, the event is eclipsed by the death of Anju and his father. Tomiko replies to Zushio's pleas for forgiveness by explaining that she knows that because he followed the words of his father, they are able to be together again. Had Zushio never redeemed himself of the sins he committed as Sansho's "son," he would not have been reconciled as the son of his father, or mother, once again. Tomiko, of course, does not know this. She is only aware that the bonds shared within the family that kept her singing the names of her children, are the same bonds that sustained Zushio's faith in the teachings of his family, returning him to her. Their reunion marks the completion of Zushio's growth from adolescence to adulthood, for he has taken responsibility for his actions and reclaimed his place within his family.

Sansho the Bailiff portrays political actions that occur even still today. Sansho's funding of various leaders helps to maintain his business, just as the practice of bribery has always been conducted by people in power. Sansho the Bailiff depicts feudal Japan as a familiar society to an unfamiliar viewer.

Vibrator - 2003 -Ryuichi Hiroki

I first watched this movie almost a year ago, and I have to say that it left a pretty big mark on me. I had probably picked it up off the shelf of the video store two dozen times over the course of a year before I finally took it home. I typically choose a director and then plow through their entire catalog before moving on. So, when I noticed that Ryuichi Hiroki had a few to select from, specifically Tokyo Trash Baby (Tokyo Gomi Onna) and I am an S & M Writer (Futei no kisetsu), I have to admit that I found myself somewhat intimidated by the overt sexual connotations that were smack dab in the titles of his films. Not that I would be embarrassed to rent or watch pornographic films. No. It was just that I wasn't quite sure what I was jumping into with this director. Japanese portrayals of sexuality in film have quite a range, and I have found that the more prevalent depictions border on the fetishistic and/or the immature. When given the titles I am an S & M Writer, and Vibrator I assumed that I was in for films that were over sexed and lacking in plot/character development. I was completely (and gratefully) wrong. I could immediately empathize with Rei and Takotoshi -with their longing for something real and true in a world that offers them little beyond the work that they have cut out for themselves- with how desperation leads them to attach themselves to falsities, and to find and attach themselves to each other.

Before I get into the plot, I should mention that I

watched this film last night in Japanese, without subtitles. I have only been studying Japanese for a little over a year, so my memory of the actual conversations, and my translations, may fail me.
We are first introduced to Rei as she stands alone in a convenient store looking through the alcohol selection, her inner monologue guides her over to the magazines and back again. We are immediately aware of insecurities from her ongoing conversation with herself: her dependence on alcohol and and unhealthy relationship with her body. It is obvious that Rei is lost in the convenient store, lost as to what to buy, lost as to why she is there, and lost in herself. When a man with blond hair walks in she immediately notices him, her phone starts to vibrate in her coat pocket, over of her heart. He catches her watching him and we see him pass her in the aisle and brush his hand over her butt. Her phone vibrates again. This could be accidental or creepy- some guy in a convenient store catches you spying on him and grabs your ass -yes, the situation is a bit awkward. But after hearing Rei's monologue, I understood why she would follow this guy into the parking lot, climb into his truck, and have some Shochu with him. She is looking for something to invigorate her, perhaps even redefine her.

Ryuichi Hiroki began his career in 'pinky' films (Japanese sex-ploitation movies of the 1970's), which explains how he competently captures sexual encounters that border on pornography, without the excessive nudity or sex. The first encounter between Rei and Takotoshi occurs in the back of a truck and Hiroki manages to capture sexual intimacy in close quarters without invading or disturbing. The removal of each piece of clothing and the bits of foreplay -all which could easily make us forget that these people are complete strangers- provide revealing intimate details that reveal each characters yearning to latch onto another. The element of mystery is still visible in how they fumble around and react with surprise to each change in position (I mean, Rei tells Takotoshi her name while he is between her thighs). A powerful desire to give in and let go is the nature of the encounter.

It is the next morning when we see that Rei is bulimic, she throws up her shochu and corn chips, swishes her mouth out with water, and asks Takotoshi to join him on his journey. We find them in the truck together traveling though the countryside. Both are freelance workers -Rei is a writer and Takotoshi is an independent truck driver- the nature of this work probably testifies to a deeper fear of failure and commitment. During the ride, Takotoshi tells Rei that he is married and has a daughter, and explains that she isn't the first girl that he has had an affair with. He paints a callous picture of himself for Rei, telling her stories of mistreating women and drug deals. He immediately sets his relationship with Rei up for failure to protect himself from getting in too deep and potentially having to continue it after the road trip. Despite the fact that Rei does not reveal too much about herself to Takotoshi, she hides herself from him by pretending to be cool when she is anything but. As the ride goes on and Rei begins to feel vulnerable, we see her problems -both physical and emotional- surface. She is surprised that Takotoshi doesn't judge her while she breaks down in front of him; he stays by her, and her inner monologue expresses surprise at how he is able to know just how to care for her without being told.

Hiroki does an excellent job of taking Rei and putting her in the foreground, while keeping her problems below the surface; her psychological problems, bulimia, and taste for alcohol are a part of a deeper problem that is not entirely revealed. Women with dependency problems on film often annoy me, as I usually find they are one-dimensional caricatures of the real thing. Rei offered a good balance despite the fact that she is slowly breaking down throughout the film. Takotoshi provides the support that she needs throughout the ordeal and in the end brings her back to emotional and physical reality -here she confronts the validity of his stories, is able to tell him that she likes him, and is returned to the convenient store where they found each other. She picks up her basket and returns to life as she knew it. Now, I unfortunately don't think that they meet again after this. But, rather, I think that this journey taught Rei and Takotoshi that they need other people, complications and all.
 

Tokyo Zombie 2005 Sakichi Sato

I have to admit, I am not a big fan of horror films. This might stem from the fact that I wasn't really allowed to watch them while growing up and usually found myself disappointed when I would sneak peaks at them at friends houses. Despite the fact that I have enjoyed quite a few zombie films, I think my horror disillusionment must have leaked into the zombie genre, because even though I have liked a few, I could really care less about most of them. Insert Tadanobu Asano and I pick it up off the shelf without even reading the synopsis, or blinking, for that matter. So, when the film started, as pretty as he is, I thought it was on a downhill slope. The cheap sexual jokes were a bit crude and I couldn't really get past some of the cheese. And then something changed; it got funny.

東京ゾンビ is based on the manga by Yusaku Hanakuma, and it isn't your typical gory zombie movie. In fact, the zombie's are kind of background for Fujio- an afro-ed Tadanobu Asano, and Mitsuo- a bald Sho Aikawa, slackers who live in a fire extinguisher factory where Mitsuo mentors Fujio in jujitsu. In one of the first scenes we find them on the floor of the fire extinguisher factory, locked together in a jujitsu embrace. They take turns humorously switching up their positions until Mitsuo's boss comes in to yell at him. He pushes Mitsuo onto a carpet, rolls him up in it and starts slapping him on his bald head, degrading him. Fujio quietly picks up a fire extinguisher and smashes the man on the head with it, killing him. The pair react with surprise -not horror- and Fujio exclaims that he didn't mean to kill him. Oh well, they decide to bury him on Black Fuji -a mountain of toxic waste and trash where many an accidental death are laid to rest, though they actually turn into zombies. Fujio and Mitsuo are unaware that they are actually dealing with zombie's at first, and we watch them come to realize what is happening to them and then decide to head north, to Russia, and become real men. Except, they actually end up driving in circles and encountering more zombie's.

The pair are hilarious together; their relationship touches on love, companionship, teacher student, father son. I thought that the part where Mitsuo sings a poem about his health problems to Fujio was absolutely adorable- when he finishes, he explains that he wrote a poem because it would be too embarrassing to just talk about -it reveals just how close they are, even though this is already kind of obvious because they are often found locked together on the floor; they do bicker like an old married couple. As the story progresses Fujio and Mitsuo are separated; we watch Fujio 'become a man,' worship a Mitsuo shrine, and continue dreaming about going Russia where his jujitsu will truly be appreciated -all while fighting zombie's for a living. I thought this movie was funny, adorable, heartwarming, disturbing, and totally worth staring at Tadanobu Asano for. I anticipate a sequel might tie up what is left open at the end.

   

Stacy - 2001 - Naoyuki Tomomatsu

  A friend lent me this goretastic film about young girls who die and come back as zombie's called 'Stacy's.' The girls first succumb to this annoying disorder called NDH, Near Death Happiness, where they walk around on their tippy toes, giggle after everything that they say, talk excitedly about the death that they await, and talk endlessly and boringly about love. I think that we are supposed to find this NDH behavior adorable, as the men in the film are broken to tears watching these beautiful girls succumb to NDH knowing that they will be forced to repeat-kill them. If I watched someone experience NDH, I wouldn't wait until they died to kill them -I cannot describe how annoying it is to watch someone dance around ranting and raving about love, and how beautiful love is, and how special love is, and how love is what all of the Stacy's want while they tear people apart and eat their flesh.

On the subject of flesh eating, this is pretty gory. Of course the movie has its bloody young girls tearing people apart and the token mad scientist who dissects twitching pieces of Stacy flesh -all of which has a Troma-esq feel to it. A government agency called "Romero Repeat-Kill Troops" take care of the Stacy's by cutting them up into pieces and destroying them. Buckets full of twitching body parts prep you for the scene with the scientist (see left), whose experiments involve moving innards. Not that any of this is all that realistic, or original, or too hard to look at gross. It is just gory.

There is also this team of Drew Barrymore fan girls that have taken it upon themselves to repeat-kill the Stacy's because
they realize that the Stacy's only want to be repeat-killed by the person that they love most, and want the same for themselves when they die. I have a surprise, I also hated the Drew fan girls! They were just as annoying as the Stacy's. In fact, this whole movie was full of female caricatures that I think were supposed to be hot, or cute, or cool, and were simply annoying. I know that this is a zombie movie, and that I shouldn't expect much more from it, but it was pretty rough. I got through it and would probably have given it a better review if it wasn't for Eiko -the girl that the film centers on. We watch Eiko fall in love and go through NDH, die, come back as a Stacy and get killed by her lover. And then we find that her lover goes on to write the book of love and makes a statue for Eiko where she died. He tells us about the Stacy revolution where people learn how to love Stacy's and they actually stop eating flesh. I could not get past Eiko's terrible rant about love. Her lecture at the end of the film actually felt like a lecture, it was painful and unconvincing. My friends were all squirming and yelling about how they couldn't believe the movie wasn't over while she was rattling on about fluffy love love shit shit. It was killing me. I almost Stacy'd myself to escape it. So, even though I could appreciate the gore and the Troma quality to the movie, I absolutely was bored to hell with it. Oh, and annoyed.