Review – Talking Silents 10: Chushingura: The Truth/Raiden

April 21, 2011

Chushingura: The Truth – Japan, 1928
Raiden – Japan, 1928

Legend has it that for his fiftieth birthday, Shozo Mikino set out to create a masterpiece – no small feat. I suppose everyone who makes films or writes stories has a similar ambition, yet I doubt he talks about it out loud. I can’t imagine Mark Twain sitting with a group of his friends and announcing to them that he going to create the great American novel or George Lucas saying he was going to create a film that would change the way films are made forever (I was going to say Orson Welles but on second thought…), so for Mikino to have been vocal about his wish is something quite unusual. For his endeavor, he chose a tale that has fascinated people in Japan for decades, the events of 1701 that have come to be known as “Chushingura” or “The Treasury of Loyal Retainers.” The event had previously been made into a short film in 1907. In fact, IMDB lists seven films with the title Chushingura from 1907 to 1926. I suppose it could be said that there was no need for a new adaptation of the event in 1928.

I suspect though that Mikino believed there was something about the story that had yet to be told, hence the title of his film – Chushingura: The Truth. It implies that something about this event had been hidden from the public, that there were secrets that still needed to be told. Granted, he could have just liked how the title sounded or looked on the marquee, but in this, I have to give Mikino the benefit of the doubt. After all, he is the father of Japanese cinema, and if he indeed had his sights set on creating a film that would stand the test of time, I’d say he accomplished his goal.

What follows are the generally accepted facts about the events depicted in the film: Lord Asano Takumi-no-Kami Naganori was charged with receiving a group of envoys from the Imperial Court in Kyoto. He was young and slightly inexperienced, so Lord Kira Kozuke-no suke Yoshinako was given the task of instructing Lord Asano in the customs of the ceremony. On the day of the reception, something went terrible wrong, and Lord Asano attempted to kill Lord Kira. For this, Lord Asano was order to commit seppuku. However, in violation of existing law, Lord Kira was not punished. The ruling Shogun Tokugawa Tsunayoshi eventually confiscated Lord Asano’s land and dismissed the samurai that had served him so faithfully, effectively making them all ronin. Two years later, Oishi Kuranosuke Yoshi led a group of samurai loyal to Lord Asano in an attack on Kira’s compound. Their aim was to capture and kill him.

What is less clear is what actually happened between Lord Asano and Lord Kira. Moreover, why did it take two years for Lord Asano’s samurai to exact their revenge? In Chushingura: The Truth, the answers are revealed, and they are fascinating. Writers Itaro Yahagami and Shotaro Saijo have created a version of these events that is not only believable but also compelling. We witness Lord Asano trying to control his rage and finding it increasingly difficult to do so with each of Lord Kira’s successive insults. We also see the reason for Lord Kira’s animosity towards Lord Asano. Later in the film, we watch as Oishi has to bide his time, and we marvel at the strategy he devises to help him allay the Shogunate’s suspicions. At the same time, the film allows us to see the personal toll that getting revenge takes on Oishi, and I suspect that viewers will both admire and empathize with him as a result.

Unfortunately, the film is incomplete, for some of the film’s final act was lost in a fire. Some of the scenes towards the end of the film are actually from Masahiro Mikino’s film Kanja, which had many of the same actors in it as Chushingura: The Truth. The effect of this is that the film’s climatic battle seems rushed. In addition, the film’s final scene doesn’t end the story. It simply moves its characters to a new location. It could be that there was an alternative ending at one point that is now lost. However, the awkwardness of the film’s closing moments does nothing to take away from the sheer brilliance of all that has preceded it. Chushingura: The Truth seems very much the masterpiece its director intended it to be

The second film on the tenth volume of the Talking Silents series is Shozo Mikino’s final short comedy, Raiden. The film is about a sumo wrestler named Raiden who is one victory away from achieving the status of yokozuna. The only problem is that his family, in particular, his aging mother, doesn’t want him to receive that title, arguing that if he does, he will only accrue the resentment of society. She pleads with him to throw the match, and he reluctantly agrees. It turns out to be much easier said than done, for his opponent is Dr. Yabui Chikuan, who has never wrestled a match in his life and is practically all skin and bones.

Raiden is played by Toichiro Negishi, who looks like he could actually be a sumo wrestler. Dr. Chikuan is played by Shozo Mikino’s son, Masahiro Makino, and he is very funny in the role. Having no experience as a sumo wrestler, Dr. Chikuan tries to copy all of Raiden’s actions. He even tries to prevent Raiden from stepping out of bounds, not realizing that it’s too his advantage not to. The younger Makino had been an actor in his father’s films before he became a director, and from what we see here, he was quite skilled at it. Raiden is a rather funny film with no really serious themes. It simply does what good films should do. It leaves you wanting more. I would expect nothing less from the father of Japanese cinema. (on DVD)

Chushingura: The Truth – 4 and a half stars
Raiden – 3 and a half stars

Review – Talking Silents 9: Samurai Town, Story 1 and 2/Sozenji Baba

April 14, 2011

Samurai Town, Story 1 – Japan, 1928
Samurai Town, Story 2 – Japan, 1929
Shozenji Baba – Japan, 1929

The climax of Masahiro Makino’s film Samurai Town, Story 1 features a woman in danger, a single samurai battling a horde of other samurai, two of his friends rushing to join him on the battlefield, and a fourth samurai struggling with his conscience. It’s quite a series of events, one made all the more eerie by a character reciting a poem while he continues fighting despite having sustained an injury that will ultimately end his life. The action comes fast and furious, and from what we see of him, the evil master of the samurai clan is both dangerous with a sword and morally rotten to the core. The eight minutes of this film that are included on the ninth volume of Digital Meme’s Talking Silents series made me hungry for the rest of the film, which alas does not exist anymore. Our loss. The snippet that does survive is proof of the prowess of second-generation filmmaker Masahiro Makino, who was just twenty when he made the film. According to film critic Tadao Sato, Makino made approximately two hundred and forty films. IMDB credits him with directing one hundred and thirty two, one of which is 1938’s Kurama Tengu, which was included on volume five of the series. Makino’s accomplishments are impressive regardless of which number you take into consideration.

A year later, Makino released Samurai Town, Story 2, which in spite of its title is not a sequel. Rather, it is story with a similar theme, the life of the samurai. The film survives today, although I suspect that a few scenes have been lost. There are occasional references to events that we haven’t seen. In one such scene, we learn that a rather important character has died, and it seems odd that this would happen off scene and then be referenced in the fashion that it is.

The film is a snapshot of the lives of a group of loosely-connected characters, and as such, the film’s offers little in the way of real resolution. The first group we met consists of a married couple, Jinnai Miyauchi and his wife Omaki (Kimie Kawakami). Jinnai is a samurai, yet has a rather weak personality. His wife is from a very wealthy family, and it’s clear that she’s in charge of the household. In fact, one of the conditions that Jinnai had to agree to when he married her was that she would never do housework. The two of them have a rather unwelcome houseguest, a rude wandering samurai named Heihatchi Senba. Heihatchi’s chauvinistic aggressive actions toward the two of them result in Omaki’s father deciding to remove his daughter from the home she shares with Jinnai.

Next door to Jinnai live a young woman named Omon (Tsukie Matsura) and her ailing father. Towards the beginning of the film Omon is visited by her estranged brother Jubei. Jubei has to sneak around because the local yakuza boss Miura wants him dead. Unfortunately for Jubei, his presence has not gone undetected. A samurai named Dengozaemon Fuwa (Komei Minami) has seen him and is lurking somewhere in the distance. At the same time, a masterless samurai named Sanjuro Shirakawa (Hiroshi Tsumura) arrives at Jinnai’s home requesting a loan of fifty ryo.

The film gives viewers an understanding of the different paths that ronin took. Some like Heihatchi engaged in illegal activity and had to continuously flee or hide out. Some like Shirakawa and Dengozaemon struggled to uphold the moral principles they believed in while also making enough money to survive. Others rented themselves out to local lords and essentially became hired men with no real individual value. Often this role meant that they had to go against long-standing notions of honor and integrity. The film also has an interesting subplot involving Omon having to choose between her brother and her father. One caused great harm to come to her, but abandoning him may just bring about his murder.

Samurai Town, Story 2 is an engaging film that falls apart a bit at the end, as the reason Shirakawa needs a loan muddy the waters instead of making them clear. It makes his initial act of requesting the loan from Jinnai rather stupefying and simply doesn’t gel well with the narrative presented to viewers. It also makes the film less about the precarious world these characters inhabit and more about the slightly less interesting theme of unrequited love. There are also a few scenes that lack continuity. In one of these scenes, a character is brutally beaten by two of Miura’s men. However, in the very next scene, the character appears completely unharmed, as if the attack never occurred. There’s also a rather long scene in which one character tells another that he will never speak to him again, and moments later, they’re sitting down drinking sake together as if nothing happened. Perhaps there’s a scene missing, but in this case, I doubt it.

What I like most about the film is the way Makino uses long close-ups to show a character’s change of emotions. We see characters slowly go from desperation to anger, from calm to rage, from hopeful to hopeless. Makino seems to be doubling the amount of time that directors usually give for these moments, and the effect is quite powerful. I also liked the way the film shows samurai being as troubled as the rest of us. Like the rest of us, they too can struggle with confidence and fall prey to bullies. Moreover like some of us, they may have to settle for loving someone from a distance, as moral integrity does not always lead to happiness.

The final film on this volume of Talking Silents is 1929’s Sozenji Baba, also directed by Makino. In his introduction to the film, Takao Sato hails the film as a masterpiece. We’ll have to take his word for it, for only a little more than a half hour of the film exists today. What does exist is rather encouraging, though. The film is about a samurai named Denpachiro Ikuta (Komei Minami) who in a bout of rage murders a fellow samurai after he loses a mock duel to him. After fleeing the scene, he saves a young woman named Okatsu (Tsukie Matsuura) and the two fall in love. However, he’s never able to shake the memory of his actions, and he knows that some time soon people will arrive to avenge the man he killed.

The film looks to be well directed. The action sequences that have survived are impressive, in particular, a long sequence in which Okatsu fends on police officers and samurai trying to kill the man she loves. This is the earliest action scene I can recall in which a woman showed such bravery, determination, and skill, and Matsuura is simply incredible in the scene. I also like the way Makino presents the dialogue on the film’s intertitles from all angles. This helps viewers to fully understand the chaos and urgency of the events unfolding in front of them. Perhaps most impressive of all is the powerful way the film tackles two competing motivations: love and honor. For Okatsu, protecting the one she loves comes first; for Denpachiro, the samurai code, which recognizes the right to avenge someone unjustly killed and to face an adversary one on one, takes precedence. Perhaps this was a masterpiece. What I can say with absolute certainty is that this is one of those rare moment when I am all for a remake. (on DVD)

Samurai Town, Story 2 – 3 and a half stars

Review – Talking Silents 8: Kid Commotion/The Dawning Sky

April 8, 2011

Kid Commotion – Japan, 1935
The Dawning Sky – Japan, 1929

According to Tadao Sato, during the silent era, every country had its own “Chaplin,” and in Japan, that moniker belonged to Shigeru Ogura. One need only look at him for a moment in his 1935 short film Kid Commotion to see the resemblance. That film is directed by Torajiro Sodo, and it is said that his slapstick comedies were so popular that were shown over and over again all over Japan, so many times in fact that all but two of them no longer survive. Kid Commotion has an interesting back story. According to Mr. Sato, the film was a parody of the ideas of birth control activist Margaret Sanger, who brought her message of poor people not having children to Japan in the 1930’s. This can be seen clearly in the film’s original title: Birth Dyscontrol, pun intended, no doubt. The film is a testament to Mr. Sodo’s willingness to use contemporary ideas as fodder for comedy and to push the boundaries of slapstick quite far.

In the film, which is the first of two films on the eighth volume of Digital Meme’s Talking Silents series, Mr. Ogura plays Shigura Fukuda, an unemployed man with six children and a very pregnant wife. In the film, he makes a series of attempts to get money to hire a mid-wife after his wife goes into labor. With each successive failure, his attempts become increasingly desperate, and eventually he contemplates breaking the law. There is a humorous bit in which a pig is used as a football during a rugby practice, and the scene in which Mr. Fukuda’s kids prepare all of the things their mother needs when she goes into labor is rather cute. Plus the image of all of the children’s diapers hanging on clothes lines and blowing in the wind outside was hilarious. There are also a few surprising moments when the slapstick employed involves the children rough-housing a bit too much around and on their mother’s stomach while she’s in labor, and there’s even a scene in which Fukuda tries to sell his very young daughter to a geisha house that is intended to be funny. For me, these were a little hard to laugh at, and the film’s running storyline involving the wife’s gradually declining health didn’t cause me to snicker much either. I suspect that for many in the West, the film’s mixture of comedy and melodrama will be extremely difficult to overcome. As for me, I laughed at times and cringed at others. Then I watched it again. Same reaction.

The second film on the DVD is The Dawning Sky, also directed by Torajiro Sato. The Dawning Sky is a full-length maternal melodrama, a genre that was quite popular in the 1930’s. The film touches on such themes as honor, religion, and starting over. The film stars Yoshiko Kawata as Kyoko, a young woman who becomes a mother and a widow at a very early age. Soon after the death of Kyoko’s husband, her in-law’s bank goes under, and Kyoko’s father becomes concerned about his daughter’s future. In an effort to both ease his concern and improve his daughter’s fortune, he makes what he thinks is a sensible proposal – that his daughter return home so that she can have another chance at happiness. From a Western perspective, his request sounds rather reasonable. However, to Kyoko’s father-in-law Junzo (Reikichi Kawamura), the proposal is an insult, an indication not only that he is being looked down upon, but also that his family was only acceptable when they were well off. Therefore, Junzo decides to severe ties with Kyoko’s family and send her home. In what some may see as a rather cruel move, he also decides that Kyoko’s daughter Reiko (Mitsuko Takao) will remain with him. He later tells his granddaughter that her mother is dead. He does not mean “dead to him,” although he would have been wise to phrase it that way.

In spite of the importance of religion in the film, which I did not expect, The Dawning Sky is rather formulaic, which is not to say that it is bad or boring. We expect mother and daughter to eventually be reunited, and this is indeed what happens. What is interesting is the circumstances under which they meet again, for much has changed for both of them, and the role Kyoko now has may prevent her from revealing her identity to Reiko. There’s also the little matter of the grudge that Junzo still bears Kyoko’s family.

The film contains strong performance from its three leading actors. In particular, the performances of Ms. Kawata and Miss Takao stand out. There are moments towards the beginning of the film when Ms. Kawata faces the camera that are heartbreaking. In one, she asks the spirit of her deceased husband to watch over their child. Later in the film, the camera focuses exclusively on her as she struggles between doing what she wants to do and fulfilling the vows she took when she entered her new life. She makes every aspect of her inner struggle apparent to viewers. Mitsuko Takao, one of the most popular child actors of her time, plays her part perfectly. She successfully captures the innocence of youth, the feeling of loss, and the agony that comes when you know that what you most want is just out of reach.

The film is a bit repetitive towards the end, and the film’s intertitles sometimes reveal things that were already fairly clear. With Ms. Kawata on the screen, it’s simply not necessary for the audience to read the sentence It was breaking her heart. They can see it in her face already. Sometimes less is more, and in this case, less would have been better. However, these are minor quibbles. The film works for the most part, and the end of the film is rather moving. While this edition of Talking Silents will not rank as one of my favorites, it’s still a fascinating look at two Japanese genres that I suspect many people haven’t been exposed to before, and for that, I’m very grateful. (on DVD)

Kid Commotion – 3 stars
The Dawning Sky – 3 stars

Review – Talking Silents 7: Jirokichi the Rat

March 31, 2011

Jirokichi the Rat – Japan, 1931

There is a line from Daisuke Ito’s 1931 film Jirokichi the Rat that I absolutely love. Just before it is said, our hero Jirokichi (Denjiro Okachi) meets Osen (Naoe Fushimi), a beautiful young woman very much in distress. The two of them experience an immediate attraction, and soon find themselves standing on a riverboat under the starry sky. Then, according to the benshi, “Only the new moon saw what happened.” It’s such an interesting image – the moonless sky looking down at two people in love and allowing them the privacy necessary to properly explore their blossoming feelings. I wish I’d thought of it. One expects, given such a set-up, that this is the beginning of a remarkable love story, and true to form, it is – it’s just not the one you might expect it to be.

Jirokichi the Rat is the story of a man who could easily be called “the Japanese Robin Hood,” for both Jirokichi and Robin Hood are thieves who rob the wealthy and give what they plundered to the underprivileged. However, that’s really where the comparisons end, for Jirokichi travels without a band of merry men to keep him company, and his crimes can have rather grave unintended consequences. However, what strikes me as the biggest difference between the two characters is the lack of a Maid Marian character in Jirokichi’s life, of that constant female character that enables him to always be seen as both heroic and romantic.

The film opens with Jirokichi on the run, having robbed ninety-nine rich lords in Edo of quite a lot of money. On the boat, he stops a thief from stealing Osen’s purse, and the two of them fall head over heels in love. Later, Osen tells Jirokichi that her unscrupulous brother Nikichi (Minoru Takase) has recently made a deal to sell her to a brothel. Jirokichi, being the hero and romantic as he is, heads off to speak to Osen’s brother about the matter. However, upon arriving at Nikichi’s barbershop, he happens to glimpse an equally beautiful young woman in peril named Okino (Nobuko Fushimi). And just like that, all of his sweet reassuring words become dedicated to her. As for Osen, he dismisses her rather coldly by telling her, “You can go” and throwing some money her way. When asked if he’ll think of her from time to time, he simply responds, “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll forget about you completely.” I got the sense that he meant it, too. Osen, however, is determined not to be forgotten.

One of the interesting aspects of Jirokichi the Rat is its exploration of the unintended consequences of Jirokichi’s actions. For every rich lord who is robbed, there are likely to be less-wealthy people who are held responsible for the thefts that are committed. In Jirokichi the Rat, one such person turns out to be Okino’s invalid father, who is a former guard for a Shogun lord. Ashamed that the robbery took place under his watch, he promised to repay the money that was stolen, only to fall on hard times, both financially and physically. Upon hearing this, what choice does Jirokichi really have but to try to help Okino and her family?

Jirokichi the Rat touches on a variety of interesting and important issues, perhaps the most pressing being the vulnerable position that poor women can find themselves in. As a result of her father’s physical condition, Okino is forced to consider becoming a geisha. Nikichi has another solution. He proposes she become the mistress of a wealthy samurai, arguing that it is better to have only one lover. She doesn’t appear to have any other options. Another interesting issue that the film addresses is corruption. Nikichi may be a rather despicable person, but that doesn’t stop him from being given a powerful position in law enforcement. In fact, it appears to help him, for the samurai pursuing Okino doesn’t care how she is brought to him, just as long as she is his in the end. With Nikichi in such a distinguished position, the future doesn’t bode well for women such as Osen and Okino.

Jirokichi the Rat is a remarkably mature film. It treats its subject matter seriously and for the most part dispenses with the usual comic characters that so many films from this time us to entertain the audience. It places a flawed but likeable character in a rather realistic scenario and follows him as he struggles with what he wants and what he knows is true about himself. Nikichi is a thoroughly realistic villain, and Okino and Osen are compelling heroines. The cast is superb, and it is easy to see why Denjiro Okochi, who actually plays two roles in the film, had the following that he had. In addition, the film contains a few very impressive action sequences. They were shot by Hiromitsu Karasawa. He was famous for strapping a camera to his body and then moving among the actors during the filming of action sequences. The cameras constant shaking and its persistent shifting of focus create an incredibly realistic sense of pandemonium. The film is worth seeing just for these scenes. However, it’s a pleasure to report that the rest of the film is equally as interesting. (on DVD)

3 and a half stars

*Jirokichi the Rat is in Japanese with English subtitles. The DVD contains two narrations: one by Shunsui Matsuda, the other by Midori Sawato.
*The DVD also includes two humorous Yaji and Kita shorts and a fascinating history lesson by film critic Tadao Sato.

Review – Talking Silents 6: The Color Print of Edo: Hatamoto to Machiyakko/Skull

March 20, 2011

The Color Print of Edo: Hatamoto to Machiyakko – Japan, 1939
Skull – Japan, 1927

I have never seen anything quite like Kazuo Mori’s film The Color Print of Edo: Hatamoto to Machiyakko. The film is a samurai film that is part slapstick comedy and part action. It contains both realistic storylines and characteristics that seem completely out of place in a samurai film. Its central character is a low-level samurai who in one scene can defeat entire groups without any assistance, yet is practically incompetent in a fight whenever his opponent is his brother Kojiro. Whereas most brothers develop a more mature way of expressing their anger as they get older, these two are more apt to resort to name-calling and to wildly flail their legs at each other than they are to volley unpleasant verbal jabs. In addition, the film is a silent film only because the sound track was lost.

The film stars Utaemon Ichikawa as Saburoshi Asahina, a samurai in Edo in the mid-1600s. Asahina runs the Office for Quarrels with Samurai, and from the looks of things, he doesn’t have many customers. It probably wasn’t wise to register an official complaint against a samurai, especially for someone living in Edo, where 40% of the population was samurai. The customers he does have are more of an annoyance to him. As the film explains, Asahina is one of the most handsome men in Edo, and he has “countless female fans.” When Asahina’s underling Gonpei tells one such woman that Asahina will be angry if he returns to find her waiting for him, she replies that she doesn’t mind. “I’d love to have him spank me.” It is easy to see why this kind of woman would not appeal to a noble man such as Asahina. However, the truth is that no woman appeals to him. In his own words, he hates “women and seaweed.”

Much of The Color Print of Edo: Hatamoto to Michiyakko has to do with Asahina trying to help a young woman named Onami (Yaeko Kumoi). Onami is his brother’s maid, and the two of them have fallen deeply in love. His family has other plans, however. After consulting with the town’s local matchmaker, Master Otubo (Taisuke Matsumoto), it is decided that Kojiro (Shinpachiro Asaka) will marry a woman named Chihaya (Wakako Kunitomo). The problem is that Chihaya is already engaged to her brother’s friend. The situation is further complicated by the fact that Chihaya wants to marry Asahina, who protects her from fiancé’s drunken unwanted advances towards the beginning of the film. All of this sets up a series of incredible events that include dueling marriage processions, a flabbergasted matchmaker, a kidnapping in which the victim appears surprisingly willing to be held captive, two brothers who bring out the absolute worst in each other, and an ancestral tablet that seems to be the only things that can separate the two of them when tempers flare.

Perhaps most impressive is the fact that none of the film’s comic elements diminish its dramatic moments. This is a film about two competing clans, a samurai who becomes a champion for the underprivileged, a woman whose life is dictated to her by men, and the notion of honor. I was amazed at how well the film addressed each of these elements, while simultaneously retaining its humor.

Completing the sixth volume of Digital Meme’s Talking Silents is Sentaro Shirai’s 1927 film Skull, a film that could not be more different than The Color Print of Edo: Hatamoto to Michiyakko. The film takes place during the seventeenth century, just after the Tokugawa Shogunate issue anti-Christian edicts in an attempt to eradicate Christianity from Japan. The actions of the Shogunate result in a war between its forces and local Christian lords. One of the men defending Christianity is Reinosuke Ushio (Utaemon Ichikawa). The film follows two tracks. First, we see the battle between the Christians and the Shogunate, a battle that history tells us Ushio and his men are destined to lose. The film also shows viewers the woman and child that Ushio leaves behind. It cannot be easy to watch the one you love go off to fight a war; it must be twice as difficult to hear people say that when he returns, he’s going to marry someone else. And even though there is no evidence that this is true, the rumor is enough to nudge Osetsu (Ritsuko Niizuma) towards irrationality. The film is both fascinating and tragic, showing the power of rumor and the harshness of shogunate law. Both films are certainly worth watching. (on DVD)

The Color Print of Edo: Hatamoto to Michiyakko – 4 stars
Skull – 3 and a half stars

*Both films are narrated by Midori Sawato. The DVD also includes benshi Shunsui Matsuda narrating The Color Print of Edo: Hatamoto to Michiyakko.
*The meaning of the phrase Hatamoto to Michiyakko is explained by film critic Tadao Sato on the DVD’s special features. It is important to the film.

Review – Talking Silents 5: Kurama Tengu/The Frightful Era of Kurama Tengu

March 13, 2011

Kurama Tengu – Japan, 1928

Shunsui Matsuda has quite a sense of humor. During a rather serious scene in which a young boy named Sugisaku is pleading with a hired assassin not to kill his hero, Tengu Kurama, Mr. Matsuda narrates the boy’s plea as follows: “If you kill him, the movie will be over.” Not sure that a film from 1928 would break the fourth wall, I watched the scene again later, this time with Midori Sawato’s narration. She does not include the line in question, opting instead to let the scene stay as dramatic as possible. Now, usually I would fall into the camp that argues that a dramatic moment should be treated as one. If someone is pleading for someone’s life, there’s shouldn’t be a reason for the audience to break into laughter, and I have used this argument in my criticism of such films as Saving Private Ryan. However, I must admit to seeing an odd logic in Mr. Matsuda’s decision to play the moment for laughs. Perhaps that’s because Kurama Tengu is essentially a children’s film that just happens to have a few rather action-packed scenes of samurai warfare in it, and if the technique works in Herbert Brenon’s 1924 adaptation of Peter Pan, perhaps it will also work in a film about a samurai who has great empathy for child acrobats.

According to IMDB, Kurama Tengu is one of eight films made about the legendary hero Kurama Tengu. The film takes place in the summer of 1862, and it helps to know a bit about what was happening in Japan at that time. Fortunately, the DVD contains a special feature on it of historian Tadao Sato explaining all that viewers need to know about that time period. The film takes place nine years after the shocking arrival of Commodore Perry, who demanded that Japan end its seclusion from the rest of the world. According to Mr. Sato, when the events depicted in the film occur, Japan is divided between the Tokugawa Shogunate, who want Japan to remain isolated and for the Shogunate to remain in power, and rebel groups like the Emperor’s Lions, who feel the Shogunate is too weak to rule Japan and advocate a unified Japan under the primary control of the Emperor. The Tokugawa Shogunate decide to hire the best samurai they can find to wage war against the Emperor’s Lions and organize them into police squads, one of which is called Shinsenguni. This squad is led by Isami Konda, who makes appearance in many of the Kurama Tengu films. In reality, the hero of the rebel group was Tenzen Kurata. In his novels, writer Jiro Osaragi altered the name slightly, making it Kurama Tengu, which means “The Devil of Kurama.” Mr. Sato explains that for Japanese audiences in the late 1920’s both Konda and Tengu were heroes, two men fighting for different, but nonetheless noble visions of Japan’s future.

In the beginning of Kurama Tengu, the feature film in volume five of Digital Meme’s Talking Silents series, we learn that Tengu (Kanjuro Arashi) has been sentenced to death after being captured while trying to smuggle out a list of the Shogunate’s potential targets. Word gets out that he is being held in Kyoto, and both assassins and supporters set off to either achieve fame by being the one to kill Tengu or to save him. Tengu’s enemies are an odd bunch, ranging from the beautiful Okane (Kuni Gomi), who carries with her a pistol; an exceptionally clumsy samurai named Choshichi (Shoroku Onoe); and Konda (Reisaburo Yamamoto). Along with these three, there are perhaps hundreds of lower henchmen, who are either buffoons or vastly inferior swordsmen to Tengu. Tengu’s supporters consist of Sugisaku (Kaiichi Arashi), a young, rather resourceful child acrobat, Otsuyu (Eiko Ikoma), a beautiful woman in love with Tengu, and Kichibei (Kitsuemon Arashi), a fellow samurai. The first half of the film is devoted to the attempt to rescue Tengu before his assassination. The second half involves an additional attempt on Tengu’s life. The two parts are loosely connected, and it seems odd that Tengu would be lured into a trap so soon after escaping death, but it does set up a rather impressive action sequence.

The film’s action scenes drew me in much more than I had expected them to. Credit for this should goes to Kanjuro Arashi. Arashi was trained in classical dance and Kabuki, and his movements show it. During action sequences, his footwork is every bit as impressive as Fred Astaire’s during a dance number. Arashi also uses his face rather well. During moments when Tengu is getting prepared to fight or simply getting angry, Arashi lifts the right side of his lips while leaving the left side unchanged. It has a rather powerful effect. He also has an interesting way of standing, his head leaning forward slightly, his eyebrows raised, his chest out as if daring someone to challenge him. It’s easy to see why audiences responded to Arashi in this role and why they were disappointed when another actor took it over. In addition, during the film, one witnesses some equally interesting sights. Characters such as Konda move in ways clearly inspired by Kabuki techniques. They walk in carefully organized steps, first the right foot, then the left, even when they are trying to sneak up on someone. In addition, many of the characters wear make-up that shades their eyebrows dark brown and makes them appear as if they are pointing towards the sky.

For all of its well choreographed action scenes, much of the first half of Kurama Tengu appears to have been intended as pure comedy. The film uses slapstick techniques during a long scene in which Sugisaku is pursued by samurai, and the scene will likely remind you of the Keystone Cops. The pursuing samurai look foolish chasing Sugisaku, innocent people get pushed down during the chase and comically break into tears, and Sugisaku smiles excessively as he’s being chased, as if he were not in any danger whatsoever. In another scene, two characters escape capture using techniques reminiscent of animated characters trying to sneak up on people. There’s also a scene in which Sugisaku teases Otsuyu for being in love with Tengu that exists for no particular reason. Perhaps that revelation is important in later films. However, as silly as it looked, I must admit to be a bit impressed by Tengu’s ability to carry Sugisaku with one hand and fight enemy samurai with the other.

All in all, Kurama Tengu is a good film that tries a bit too hard to be both serious and fun. I’m not sure what an audience is supposed to think when they are made to laugh one moment and then suddenly in front of their eyes are samurais being picked off one after another. To me, the jump is just too big. In addition, the film’s ending is likely to disappoint contemporary audiences, as it ends without any resolution and before the key battle even takes place. The film is memorable for the performances of Arashi and Yamamoto, yet its constant overreliance on comedy ultimately prevents it from packing the punch that its dramatic elements deserve. (on DVD)

3 stars

*Included on the DVD is a short film called The Frightful Era of Kurama Tengu. The film has elements of both classic horror and action. Many of the same supporting characters appear in the film that appear in Kurama Tengu, in particular Okane and Choshichi. The plot revolves around Tengu trying to find the bandits that are terrorizing local residents. He discovers that someone has been masquerading as him and committing crimes in an effort to ruin his reputation. The film includes the same mix of action and comedy that is found in Kurama Tengu. One interesting difference is that in The Frightful Era of Kurama Tengu, Tengu wears a mask. Mr. Soto explains that this is the result of the popularity of films like 1920’s The Mark of Zorro. However, as he points out, samurai only wore masks when they frequented red-light districts, something that a man like Kurama Tengu would probably never do.

3 stars

Review – Koina no Ginpei, Migratory Snowbird/The Kosuzume Pass

February 7, 2011

Koina no Ginpei, Migratory Snowbird – Japan, 1931
The Kosuzume Pass – Japan, 1923

“The custom that upheld the superiority of the samurai class led to this hideous bloodshed.” “Unjust customs consume us like cancer.” - Samurai in The Kosuzume Pass

Perhaps no aspect of Japanese cinema has fascinated Western audiences more than the culture of the samurai. Although many samurai were part of clans formed in an effort to protect themselves from other, perhaps more powerful clans, they have achieved a rather respectable status in the minds of many contemporary filmgoers, partly as a result of the films of Akira Kurosawa. This picture of the noble samurai risking his life for the weak and defenseless is somewhat surprising seeing as how in their heyday samurai were generally seen as being of a higher class than those they are portrayed as helping in Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai. Honor, duty to one’s master, and unchallenged loyalty – these were what the samurai valued, not protecting the powerless. It was often only after a samurai became masterless that he would resort to either crime or benevolence in order to survive.

In addition, love was a complicated matter for the samurai. A samurai marriage was often arranged, and a samurai married someone from a higher or equal social rank. A lower-ranking samurai was allowed to marry a “common” woman, but her family had to provide a dowry, perhaps signaling that marriage to a samurai – even one not ranked very highly - was viewed as a step up the social ladder. These traditions were likely based partly on necessity, for samurai had little time to interact with or meet women. Often the only women they had a chance to get to know were the daughters or wives of fellow samurai. For the fourth volume of the Talking Silents series, the good folks at Digital Meme have included two samurai films about samurai and love. In Koina no Ginpei, Migratory Snowbird, a samurai experiences unrequited love and must deal with the resulting rage he feels. The Kosuzume Pass shows viewers the results of a samurai falling in love with a woman that he knows he cannot marry. Both films depict samurai as flawed individuals whose uncontrolled emotions can have devastating results on the women they fall for.

Koinq no Ginpei, Migratory Snowbird, directed by Tomikazu Miyata, takes place in the midst of a power struggle between two rival gangs competing for control of a small town called Shimado. On one side are the samurai who fight for a rather ruthless man named Usimatsu; on the other side is the vastly outnumbered gang of the slightly more peaceful Onahi. Towards the beginning of the film, we learn that a fight has broken out between rival gang members and that an all-out war will soon commence. This is bad timing for the film’s central character, Koina no Ginpei (the legendary Tsumasaburo Bando), for he was just about to confess his true feelings to Oichi (Reiko Mochizuki) the daughter of a retired samurai named Gohei (Saburo Kojima). It’s probably a good thing he didn’t though seeing as how she’s engaged to another of Onahi’s samurai, Tsumeki no Unokichi (Kikuya Okada).

Much of the drama in the film begins after Unokichi, unaware of Ginpei’s explosive feelings for his fiancée, makes the mistake of leading Ginpei to believe that Oichi has feeling for him, which causes him in turn to confess his feelings to Unokichi. Upon hearing this, Unokichi’s fun smile turns to a look of scorn faster than you can say “love triangle.” Unokichi quickly reveals the truth, and Ginpei, utterly humiliated and embarrassed, delivers a not-so cryptic message concerning the possibility of death on the battlefield. It is then that the film delivers what will later be a recurring theme: “Love can make a person a demon or a viper.” What is left unsaid is that love can also make someone act heroically.

Koroku Numata’s The Kosuzume Pass begins to tackle the code of the samurai in its first few minutes, during which we learn that a young samurai is in a relationship that he knows has no future. Perhaps it would if he had a bit more backbone. The relationship begins during a brief return home and ends when he returns to his clan in another city. The benshi informs us that he is now resigned to living a loveless life. The woman he leaves behind soon gives birth to a child and as a result of the shame her family feels, she is banished from her home. The bulk of the film takes place ten years after these events, as the child of this couple, now an orphan, makes a living selling candy along the pass he has called home for ten years. One day, he protects a group of wayward ronin and tries his utmost to convince them to change their way of life. He even offers them what little money he has as a gift if only they will promise to give up crime. Eventually his earnest pleas move them and they give up their criminal ways. Things change for everyone after the boy is reunited with his father.

Both films are worth watching. They are well acted, have plenty of intriguing characters, and are filled with well choreographed sword duels. The films are also interesting for what they show about the samurai. In these films, they are men much more prone to jealousy, rage, and betrayal over perceived slights than men driven by honor to do the right thing. When they fight, it is often for their own honor or the honor of loved ones, and their conflicts do not seem to serve a greater good. In fact, in defending their own honor, they actually go against the samurai code, which carries with it great penalty. One of the films, in fact, reminded me a lot of Charles Dickens' masterpiece A Tale of Two Cities. Koina no Ginpei, Migratory Snowbird is a bit stronger, partly as a result of its slightly more accessible structure. There’s a leap in time towards the beginning of The Kosuzume Pass that is a bit too jarring. In addition, Koina no Ginpei is in much better condition. However, as usual, I’m just happy to be able to see them at all. (on DVD)

Koina no Ginpei, Migratory Snowbird (3 and a half stars)
The Kosuzume Pass (3 stars)

Review – Orochi (Serpent)

January 13, 2011

Orochi – Japan, 1925

I have no idea just how you turn down a samurai’s request to drink with him without making him angry, but apparently, telling him that you’re too drunk to make it to the other side of the room doesn’t always work. I learned this from the opening scene of Buntaro Futagawa’s interesting 1925 film Orochi. The samurai who commits this rather grievous faux pas is Heizaburo Kuritomi (Tsumasaburo Bando), a lower-ranking samurai, and the man who feels slighted by him is Shinpachiro Namioka (Momotaro Yamamura), the son of Heizaburo’s chief retainer, a status that gains someone both respect and fear. Under the amplifying affects of the alcohol, small slights become extremely enlarged, and quickly the two are engaged in what looks to be a wrestling match with a few punches thrown in for good measure. Soon the master of the clan, Hyozan Matsusumi (Misao Seki), arrives to break it up. He wastes no time in placing the blame on Heizaburo, a judgment that none of the other twenty or so samurai present contradicts, and just like that Heizaburo is branded a bully and a troublemaker. The label stings, not just because his master believes it, but more importantly because the master’s beautiful daughter Namie (Utako Tamaki), whom our hero is madly in love with, seems willing to believe it as well.

It is this quick judgment that the film cautions its audience against. In the film’s preamble, audience members are warned to be wary of first impressions and hasty judgments, for sometimes a villain can be a hero and vice versa. It’s an unnecessary introduction, but it sets the stage nicely for what follows it. It also lets us know that despite what we might think, young Heizaburo is not to blame for the aforementioned melee. I say despite what you think because I too found myself branding this romantic young samurai a bit, not as a troublemaker but as someone who has learned neither the little adage about sticks and stones nor the one about nobody liking a tattle tail. In no time at all, we see Heizaburo picking a fight with three armed samurai when he hears them spread some rather salacious gossip about Namie and her father. The fight that ensues gets him expelled from his master’s group and his ill-advised subsequent attempt to explain himself to Namie gets him banned from the town. All of this happens after people rush to judgment, although to be fair, when you walk in on a man holding a woman against her will, it’s hard not to make up your mind about what his intentions are instantaneously.

One of the fascinating things about Orochi is the very realistic way Heizaburo reacts to these frustrating experiences. He naively thinks his master will see the truth. When that doesn’t pan out, he pins his hopes on the woman he adores because in his inexperience, he still believes that if anything can see through injustice, it’s love. Of course, it helps when the person you love loves you back, which Namie doesn’t appear to do. Perhaps the last refuge of the wrongfully accused is the law, and even that fails him. His frustration is therefore reasonable, yet it’s also dangerous. When Heizaburo finally explodes over what to many of us would be a rather trivial matter, the resulting violence can only make his life harder. Eventually, it makes him contemplate things that frankly no man should ever contemplate.

Orochi has several problems. The first is pacing. Some scenes go on too long, and characters end up saying the same thing over and over again. Another problem involves some of the film’s action scenes. At times, they appear to have been sped up, perhaps to give them more energy. However, it does the opposite. It actually makes some of them look clumsy and incoherent. I have no idea how Heizaburo is as victorious in battle as he is or why police who have the element of surprise waste it so readily. It’s as if their purpose is not to capture him but to wait until he sees them so that they can engage him in a sword fight that their not skilled enough to be successful in. Third, the film has a few moments that may give the mistaken impression that the film was poorly edited. One of these moments cuts from Heizaburo being completely surrounded to him having already escaped. This is likely the result of a scene having been lost or damaged beyond repair.

What makes Orochi compelling is its dramatic storyline, its story of a man that society at large has judged erroneously and the effects that judgment has on him. Eventually the film becomes a battle for Heizaburo’s very soul, between the side of him that has come to believe that there is no more justice in the world and the side of him that still adheres to the noblest parts of the samurai code. At one point, he says, “A samurai never forgets a debt. But he does not commit evil to repay it.” It’s quite a nice moment. I won’t give anything else away, but let’s just say that it doesn’t bode well for someone morally when the people he calls friends are nicknamed “the Cat” and “the Rat.” Orochi lacks the choreography and editing of later samurai films, but it makes up for this deficit nicely with its adult subject matter and its heart. It’s well worth taking a look at. (on DVD)

3 and a half stars

*The DVD for Orochi also includes the somewhat interesting short 1924 film Backward Flow, also directed by Buntaro Futagawa. Like Orochi, the film is about a lowly samurai named Mikiaburo Nanjo (also played by Tsumasaburo Bando), whose love for the master’s daughter is not returned. What distinguishes the film from Orochi is its inclusion of a character named Genzabura Hayamizu, who is apparently quite the ladies man. His habit of “loving them and leaving them” put him and Mikiabura on a collision course, and as we all know, slighted samurai rarely settle disputes with simple heart-to-heart conversations.

3 stars

Review – The Downfall of Osen

November 24, 2010

The Downfall of Osen – Japan, 1935

A power outage, a rainstorm, the sight of a Shinto shrine in the distance - some situations just naturally evoke reminiscences of troubled times. Think about it. When was the last time a character remembered something positive while standing in the rain? Sunny skies cause memories of romance to flood a person’s mind; storms, on the contrary, are more likely to make someone recall lost love, misery, or betrayal. Kenji Mizoguchi’s 1935 film The Downfall of Oden begins by focusing viewers’ attention of two characters, a well-dressed young man who we hear called professor and a beautiful woman sitting inside a waiting area where it’s warm and dry. Neither of them is aware of the other, and yet each of their gazes is fixed on the Kanda Shrine just off in the distance. They seem to both be thinking, “It was on a night such as this one…” The professor is spoken of in respectful terms; the woman, on the other hand, is mocked by a group of masked actors on their way either to or from a performance, spoken of as if she were not good enough to be accorded even the slightest bit of decency. And then the flashbacks begin. Some appear to be hers; others reflect events from the man’s life. Together, the memories of these two characters, Professor Sokichi Hata (Daijiro Natsukawa)and Miss Osen (Isuzu Yamada), unfold, giving viewers a complete picture of a relationship that started with a chance encounter at the very shrine that each of them is so fixated on in the opening scene. And it all did indeed begin on a night such as this one.

In the flashback that follows, we learn that the professor was once a poor, down-on-his-luck seventeen-year-old who yearned to get an education. When the dream seemed unachievable, he made his way to the shrine intending to end his suffering there. There, he happened to meet Miss Osen, who talks him out of his desperate act and into coming back with her. She means well, but from what we see, life is no easier for him with her than it was on the streets on Tokyo. And yet, his presence begins to affect her in a rather interesting way.

Those familiar with Mizoguchi’s earlier film The Water Magician will recognize certain elements of The Downfall of Osen, such as the protagonist who dreams of going to school, the woman who is transformed by him and ultimately becomes his benefactor, and the unscrupulous people surrounding the woman and thwarting her dreams. While it’s true that the two films follow similar paths, there are a few interesting differences between them. The most interesting one has to do with Sokichi’s quiet, passive nature. Unlike Western romantic heroes, Sokichi does nothing that seems outwardly brave or inspiring. When mistreated, he often cowers, just barely getting an arm up to protect his face. At another time, when a man named Matusuda (Genichi Fuji) decides to use Sokichi’s face to practice his shaving skills on, Sokichi puts up a bit of a struggle but never really begins to truly fight back in the way one would expect a “hero” to. And yet, he is an inspiration to Miss Osen simply because he perseveres. Miss Osen, far from being the conceited woman that Toki no Shiraito is in The Water Magician, is a decent woman trapped in an indecent world, a woman forced to work for a band of violent criminals under threat of death, repeatedly matched with good men as part of numerous cons and sold to brothels when they are low on cash. Sokichi makes her determined to change all of that.

On the one hand, The Downfall of Osen is about the con. The con is nothing like the one featured in The Sting. It merely involves convincing a well-known, yet slightly unconventional monk to allow an “art dealer” named Kumazawa to sell some of his monastery’s valuable statues. The plan then calls for Kumazawa and his goons to catch the monk in a compromising position with Miss Osen. The plan terrifies Osen, for as she explains it, if you cheat a monk, you will pay for it for seven generations. At the same time, the film is a story about love and dedication. While Osen and Sokichi do love each other, it’s unlikely they ever act on this. He’s shy and focused on his education, and she takes on the role of sister and mother to him. However, we sense that if Sokichi can just accomplish his goals, their time may finally come. There is another reason that Sokichi dedicates himself so strongly to his studies – he promised his grandmother that he would do so.

Mizoguchi’s film is a visual delight, from the opening scene’s collection of rain, eclectic characters, and the Kanda Shrine in the distance to the steam-filled streets and open-door stalls of Tokyo. This film is also well-paced and well-acted. Isuzu Yamada, perhaps better known for her role as Lady Asaji Washizu in Akira Kurosawa’s Thrown of Blood, is especially. According to IMDB, from 1930 to 1985, she made one hundred and fifteen films, and it’s easy to see why she was in such demand. The Downfall of Osen is a powerful film that I’m grateful for the opportunity to have seen. (on DVD in Regions 1 and 3)

3 and a half stars

Review – The Water Magician

October 31, 2010

The Water Magician – Japan, 1933

I would like to have seen a silent movie during the silent period, before Al Jolson proclaimed that we hadn’t heard anything yet, before many films from that era were sped up to make them seem unnaturally clunky, before they were allowed to sit in dusty warehouses where time would eventually eroded most of them beyond repair. To have sat in front of a live orchestra, seen some of the great actors of the day on the screen in front of me, and been part of an audience that could fully understand what was transpiring in front of them without the assistance of line after line of dialogue – it must have been quite an experience. Sure, there are still silent film festivals, but I imagine the experience is completely different. Then these films were the norm, not the exception, and everyone saw them. The aspects of silent films that many modern day viewers have trouble with – the theatrical acting techniques, the silence, the lack of color – were simply commonplace.

Often when I watch silent films, I’m reminded just how influential and daring many of these films were. Sure, there were slapstick comedies, but in those comedies, we can see the beginnings of the kind of comedy we see so often in pictures today. And silent dramas often tackled such controversial topics as prostitution, revolution, crime, religion, and the nature of good and evil itself, topics that were later restricted or heavily censored as a result of the Hayes Code. Many people nowadays may feel uncomfortable with D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation or The Jazz Singer (which is essentially a silent film with a few musical numbers), but it is impossible to overstate just how awed audiences were by these films, just how much of a leap forward each of them were from the films that preceded them.

Some time ago, in the hopes of inspiring someone to give them a chance, I wrote about some of my favorite silent films. I have a new addition to the list: Kenji Miziguchi’s 1933 film The Water Magician. The Water Magician is the story of a famous young carnival performer known to her audience as Taki no Shiraito (Takako Irie), and when the film begins, it’s impossible to miss just how spoiled and conceited she is. She barks orders that she expects to be followed immediately and is fully confident in her ability to use to both her fame and her beauty to get whatever she wants. Early in the film, one of her fellow performers sees her sitting to the side of the stage smiling and remarks, “It’s a sin to smirk like that.” Well, perhaps the thought behind the smirk is. This confident facial expression betrays her belief that a young carriage driver she happened to met three days earlier will soon pay her a visit. It doesn’t enter into her mind that she hadn’t been particularly polite to the gentleman or that he might not want to see her.

The man is Kinya Murakoshi (Tokihiko Okada), a young man of honorable birth with big “dreams and plans.” We see their first meeting in a flashback, yet it is their second meeting that really stands out. When it begins, Shiraito is the pursuer, acting as if her conquest of Kinya is an nothing short of an eventuality. She flirts, struts, smokes his pipe without asking his permission, and when she does get the desired response right away, merely assumes that his resistance is merely part of an elaborate cat-and-mouse-game. It isn’t - Kinya simply doesn’t remember her, and once reminded of the circumstances under which they met, he would just as soon keep on forgetting, for Shiraito caused Kinya to lose his job as a carriage driver. At first, she’s unwilling to accept this fact, yet later, she is forced to admit, “It really was my fault.” She’s never the same again.

Love between the two of them develops quickly. For all practical purposes, it has to, yet unlike other films in which love forms at a rather unnatural pace, what develops between Shiraito and Kinya seems perfectly reasonable. Much of the credit for this goes to Irie and Okada, who simply command the screen. In the scene, all of the stages of their emotions are on full display: from playfulness and indifference to guilt, forgiveness, and finally love. By the end of the scene, the two of them have come to an understanding that each of them hopes will enable them to achieve their dreams: Shiraito has generously offered to pay Kinya’s tuition, and Kinya has promised to work hard to both honor Shiraito’s belief in him and pay her back. Shiraito won’t hear of being paid back, however. Instead, she has a simple request: she wants him to want her. The sentence has a completely different meaning that it would have had earlier in the movie.

There have been other films about traveling performers, yet none that I can remember that was both as positive and as dark as The Water Magician. For every patron who adores Shiraito for her art, there’s at least one – probably more - that stares at her with rather lecherous eyes. This wouldn’t as much of a problem if the leader of the troupe were not in the habit of entertaining offers from such clients and didn’t have a gang of thugs to make sure that such arrangements were honored. It’s no wonder that some of the female members of the carnival run off. Shiraito seems to be spared this treatment only because she has a loyal following and is deeply in love. However, an uncommonly cruel winter, ever shrinking audiences, and her own inevitable fall from superstar status seem to be conspiring against her.

Unlike their American counterparts, Japanese silent films were seldom completely soundless. Dressed in a suit and bow tie and standing either in front of or to the side of the screen was a benshi, and among other things, it was the benshi’s job to narrate the film and explain parts of the film that were missing. Modern day benshi also explain the historical context in which a film takes place. On the DVD of The Water Magician, the benshi is Midori Sawato, who according to Wikipedia is one of the only benshi still working today. Sawato’s narration is utterly fascinating. For male parts, she speaks in a lower voice; when female characters speak, her voice is higher; and when she is speaker as the narrator, she speaks in a middle register. She does her job so well that I was never confused as to which character was talking.

The Water Magician is a strong film for the most part. It becomes a bit repetitive towards the end, as events from earlier in the film are repeated over and over so that each new character has a chance to hear them. It’s not the most affective technique, but it’s easy to understand why it is used. Also, the film devotes a significant amount of time to an obscure legal proceeding that made very little sense to me due to my limited knowledge about the Japanese legal system in the late 1800’s. I could have used an explanation from the benshi, but unfortunately one was not forthcoming. Viewers should also know beforehand that the film is not in the best condition, and lines and scratches appear at various times throughout the film. In addition, the film’s final scene appears to be missing a few shots, one of which was likely very powerful, if it was indeed shot at all. None of this took away from my appreciation of the film, though, for it is a blessing to still be able to watch the film at all. It’s a plus that The Water Magician just happens to be very well made as well. (on DVD in Region 1 and 3)

4 stars

*The Water Magician is in Japanese with English subtitles.

*Also included on the DVD of The Water Magician is Mizoguchi’s 1929 short film Tokyo March. It is about a young woman forced to become a geisha as a result of poverty and the man who falls in love with her and tries to free her. It’s not as predicable as that description makes it sound, and viewers should be prepared to be surprised. (3 stars)