Review - Black River

November 19, 2021
 
Black River – Japan, 1956
 

The lively fast-paced sounds of jazz that greet the audience during the opening credits of Masaki Kobayashi’s 1956 film Black River are in sharp contrast to the oddly-shaped snippets of newspaper articles that accompany it. Jazz is, after all, improvisational, an expression of the here and now, while censorship is the result of a concerted effort by the powerful to prevent the awareness of events occurring in real time. And that may have been the point. Jazz had been introduced to Japan in the early twentieth century during overseas trips to the United States and the Philippines, then a U.S. territory, and in the 1920’s, jazz clubs could be found in several of Japan’s biggest cities, a development that was not viewed positively by the Japanese government. Nevertheless, it was really the arrival of U.S. troops, with their appetite for entertainment and night life, that caused jazz to flourish in Japan. Thus, jazz represented a double-edged sword, both freedom of expression and a loss of sovereignty.
 
Black River is set in a neglected section of a Japan seemingly still reeling from the effects of World War II. Its roads remain unpaved, and economic opportunities are sparse for anyone not a gangster, pimp, or prostitute. We don’t see much of the U.S. forces, yet they hang over every aspect of the film, not because they are furtively pulling the strings, but because the motivation of so many people is the direct result of their presence.
 
Into this demoralized world steps a young university student named Nishida (Fumio Watanabe). Early in the film, he rents a room in a run-down apartment operated by a landlady who quite obviously has not spent a cent on repairs. (There is even a hole in one of the walls of Nishida’s apartment, through which his neighbor’s curious children occasionally peek through.) We meet the residents and watch as they scatter to avoid paying rent, and even when confronted, each of them finds a reason for not having the funds. It should be humorous, yet it isn’t. Something about it seems ominous, as if portending an even darker truth.
 
We also meet a young waitress named Shizuko (Inuko Arikma). She notices Nishida one day when he is hauling a rather large cart of books, and the two strike up a friendship that seems absolutely destined to become much more than that. I say this because of two items: Nishida’s hat and Shizuko’s parasol. Such items are usually innocuous, yet a close observation of the characters in the film reveals just how rare these items are. The gangsters in the area have donned western clothes, and judging from the appearance of the residents, many of them have spent long grueling hours without any form of protection from the sun. If that celestial body is meant to represent life, it has certainly taken its toll on those it beats down on, the most noticeable casualty being their humanity.
 
Yet there is Nishida donning a white bucket hat, symbolically dragging books into post-World War II Japan even as few, if any, of his neighbors will ever read them. And there’s Shizuko, the lone young woman walking under a parasol, metaphorically shielding herself from the filth of corruption and the threat of violence. It is telling that by the end of the film the hat is gone and the parasol abandoned. Perhaps it is more significant that both items are casualties of the same person, the head of a local gang known as “Joe the Killer” (Tatsuya Nakadai).
 
The film does an excellent job of building Joe up as the embodiment of evil and destructive impulses, yet it also makes clear the hypnotic hold he has on those he encounters, in particular, Shizuko. What the film does not spend enough time developing is the relationship between Nishida and Shizuko. They have just a few scenes together before Joe comes between them, and while it is refreshing to see the honesty with which these characters speak to each other and Arima and Watanabe are skilled enough to make us believe these two characters are so strongly connected, the power of these moments still feels somewhat unearned.
 
Prior to making Black River, Kobayashi had tackled the fate of B and C-level criminals post-WW II in The Thick-Walled Room and corruption in baseball in I Will Buy You. Like Black River, both of these film depict characters trying to maintain their morality in an increasingly compromised world, and tellingly, none of them ends with characters walking triumphantly into the sunset. In fact, of these three films, Black River is the bleakest. In the end, no one escapes either financial or personal ruin. Perhaps they never stood a chance.
 
Movies like this can be challenging because they require a knowledge of both culture and history. They are easy to appreciate, but rather hard to like. I can imagine the ending credits producing a sigh of relief, rather than applause or a feeling of good will, and recommending the film feels a bit like advising people to have a root canal just for the experience. However, films like these, as challenging as they are, are the kind more people should watch. They resonate. They are both protests and calls to arms. They are laments of a time that for too many remains a distant memory. And, yes, they are prayers, meant for a public that may not have the time or inclination to respond. Let’s change that. (on DVD as part of Eclipse’s box set Masaki Kobayashi Against the System)
 
3 and a half stars
 
*Red River is in Japanese and English with English subtitles.