No Regrets For Our Youth: A Review

 

NO REGRETS FOR OUR YOUTH

This review is part of the Summer Under the Stars Blogathon. Today's star is Setsuko Hara.

Japan's defeat in World War II was the nation's greatest and most traumatic turning point, one that nearly eighty years on it still grapples with. Released a year after the war's end No Regrets for Our Youth is a sharp, albeit not subtle condemnation of how the imperialists destroyed its young people.

Young, idealistic Yukie (Setsuko Hara) is the privileged daughter of a local high-ranking professor (Denjiro Okochi). Professor Yagihara is expelled for opposing the growing militarism in Japan, outraging his students. However, out of them only two pique Yukie's interest: moderate Itokawa (Akitake Kono) and more radical Ruykichi Noge (Susumu Fujima). Both vie for her attention, but Noge's radicalism gets him in prison, with Itokawa now serving as a prosecutor.

Yukie opts to go to Tokyo as the nation enters war in China, upsetting her parents. Here, she reencounters Itokawa and later Noge, who has clearly won her heart. She and Noge begin a relationship which leads to marriage, but Noge insists on keeping his real work secret.

It isn't until his secret plans are discovered that their lives are thrown in upheaval. Noge and Yukie are arrested as spies, but as Yukie knew nothing she is eventually released though shattered by not just her overall experience but Noge's death. Shamed as the wife of a "spy", she shares this burden with Noge's poor parents, rural folk who felt isolated from Noge long before he died. However, Yukie takes up her burden and after Japan's defeat, both Noge and Professor Yagihara are vindicated. Yukie opts to return to the land rather than the comfort of her past life.

No Regrets for Our Youth at times is a bit too blatant about its antiwar stance. Made in 1946 one can see how at least in this film there is a deliberate effort to show how those opposing the war were right. It's almost as if the population was not enthusiastic about Asian domination. Granted, they were led into it to some degree, but somehow it seems strange to imagine that everyone either agreed with Noge/Professor Yagihara prior to the war or recognized they were right shortly after.

This is early Akira Kurosawa, and here we see him developing his craft as a director. Some of his montages are exceptional and brilliant. There's when Yukie pauses at her door to see if she will go downstairs to say goodbye to Noge. Rather than show her on film, Kurosawa opts to have Hara strike a set of poses that show her conflicted state. It's a fascinating sequence.

Kurosawa uses many montages to great effect. The sequence of Yukie going to Noge's work has nothing but music, but we see her approaching the business in all sorts of weather, with her forever hesitating to go in until Noge himself catches her and greets her outside. Same for when as she struggles with her bundle while being taunted by her rural neighbors, she stumbles. Whenever attempting to get up, we see trees and hear laughter, as if to say even nature mocks her. 

At the heart of No Regrets for Our Youth is Setsuko Hara's performance. Hara is a beautiful woman, and Kurosawa is smart enough to make her first appearance a thing to admire. Hara, however, showcases her ability to transform from a posh, sophisticated girl to gritty, beaten down but not beaten woman. The tragedy of her experiences are etched in her face as she is shell-shocked at her arrest and imprisonment.  

At times to be fair Hara can slip into an almost theatrical or silent film performance where she appears overdramatic, but one can cut her some slack given how much misery and trauma Yukie endured.

Again, about my one great issue with No Regrets for Our Youth is its lack of subtlety. Hindsight is 20/20, and No Regrets for Our Youth makes clear that those opposing the war were right. There's no absolution for the imperialists and warmongers who brought Japan to a disgrace and shame greater than that the Noge family suffered. 

However, with a strong central performance from Setsuko Hara and equally strong direction from Akira Kurosawa, No Regrets for Our Youth is a fine film that speaks to how individual lives can be shattered by the plans of those far above and removed from them. 

DECISION: B+

Throne of Blood: A Review

THRONE OF BLOOD

Shakespeare works in all languages and all settings.  That is part of his genius.  Akira Kurosawa took the plot of Macbeth, transporting it to feudal Japan in Throne of Blood (original title Spider's Web Castle).  With a powerful performance by its lead, Throne of Blood may be the best cinematic Macbeth of all time.

General Washizu (Toshiro Mifune) and his compatriot Miki (Minoru Chiaki) are returning from having put down an uprising against the Great Lord.  As they go through the Spider Web Forest, they come upon a spirit who makes predictions to them: that Washizu shall become the new Great Lord and ruler of the Spider's Web Castle, and that Miki's son shall inherit the throne after Washizu.

Both men, loyal to the Great Lord, laugh this off as hallucinations.  However, when the Great Lord grants them the titles and honors the spirit predicted they would receive, both men now begin to wonder.

Washizu's ambitious wife Asaji (Isuzu Yamada) pushes her husband to kill the Great Lord and usurp the throne, but he wavers, especially given he has no heir.  He has already agreed to make Miki's son his heir until Asaji tells her she is pregnant.  Now Washizu finds himself in a quandary.

He kills the Great Lord and takes Spider's Web Castle, then has Miki killed, feigning to invite him and his son to a feast to celebrate their successions.  Miki's son, however, escaped the assassination attempt, and now the Great Lord's son and others have joined in a rebellion.

Lady Asaji has a stillborn child, and is now insane, attempting to wash the imaginary blood off her hands.   Washizu is not afraid, however, since Spider's Web Castle has never been taken.  Moreover, in his hysteria he has returned to the Spider Web Forest, seeking out the spirit.  The spirit tells him that he will not be defeated until the trees rise up against him.  Deciding no such thing will ever occur, he is confident of victory.

He shares this prophesy with his troops, who cheer on their leader.  The next day, however, they begin to flee in terror, for they see the forest move against the castle.  Washizu himself is stunned to see the forest appear to advance towards the castle.  Chastising his troops, they at first are silent until an arrow flies at him from within the ranks.  In turns enraged and terrified, Washizu attempts to avoid a barrage of arrows, with some managing to hit him.

Finally felled, he falls, and Throne of Blood ends as it began: a mournful male choir singing of the folly of man.

There are several elements that make Throne of Blood a rich, vibrant piece of art.  One of them is the performances, particularly by Mifune.  His Macbeth-Washizu is like an almost unhinged wild animal, fierce and dangerous.  Whether he is raging or responding to his monstrous downfall, Mifune is a force of nature.  The intensity of his performance makes Washizu into a compelling figure, frightening in its ferocity.

You see in Mifune's face so much: tension, fear, shock, regret, devastation, arrogance, sometimes in the same scene.  This is not a surprise given that Kurosawa crafted Throne of Blood to be close to the Japanese Noh theater style of acting, one where the face or masks in Noh are meant to express much.

I can see why some people might find some of the acting perhaps exaggerated, but Kurosawa meant it to be a bit theatrical.  To his credit, Mifune never came across as over-the-top and kept a strong balance between the traditions of Noh and a film acting manner.

Kurosawa also brought a strong performance from Yamada as the Lady Macbeth-like Asaji. She is closer to Noh in that she is mostly very still and slow, but in her calm demeanor she displays the cold and calculating nature of this wicked lady.

Another aspect that makes Throne of Blood a masterwork is in Asakazu Nakai's breathtaking cinematography.  The Spider's Web Forest is extremely eerie, and the perpetual sense of gloom and foreboding is enhanced with the scenes set in fog and mist.  In a curious way, they echo the Scottish Highlands that Macbeth is set in.

If one studies Kurosawa's camera movements, you see an economic way to build suspense and surprise.  For example, in the dinner scene the camera moves towards Washizu as he looks upon the empty mats where the doomed Miki and his son were to be at, then the camera moves back and we are all astonished to find the ghost of Miki sitting there.

If there is a highlight of Throne of Blood, it is in the final scene of Washizu's execution by his troops.  The barrage of arrows coming at him intensifies, with Mifune as a wild animal clawing desperately to escape his fate.  The madness and fury of this, down to the final arrow that fells him, so shocks that it becomes a brutal but fascinating thing to see.

Now, at this point, I think I may be reading too much into Throne of Blood or any symbolism it might have, but I think the film might be a critique of the rise and fall of dictators, perhaps with subtle commentary on Japan's wartime actions.  I thought this when I saw Washizu's speech rallying his troops before the final battle.

We see the great leader, drunk with power and arrogance, standing alone on his balcony, looking down over the faceless troops.  He makes bold predictions, but when his predictions backfire on him, he faces his troops as an emperor without clothes, and is forced out in violence.

I could not help think of people like Mussolini or Hitler or even Tojo, men who led their people into needless wars and in the end were brought down.  In Mussolini's case, strung up by those who a few years earlier shouted 'Duce! Duce!', and in all their cases, came to violent ends.

Again, this might be just me reading too much into things, but that too is part of Kurosawa's genius: to allow for such interpretations.

With breathtaking cinematography, a fast-moving story, and powerful performances particularly by Toshiro Mifune, Throne of Blood is a triumph.  It is my favorite Macbeth interpretation so far, and I doubt it will be equaled, let alone surpassed.

DECISION: A+ 

Kagemusha: A Review (Review #1037)

KAGEMUSHA

Akira Kurosawa is held as one of the Great Directors, a master craftsman of cinema.  This is a well-earned reputation, especially in his early films.  His latter films still had sparks of brilliance, though Kagemusha, at the end of his career, may be more for the Kurosawa lover than for an average film-goer. This is not the film I would use to introduce him/her to Kurosawa, mainly due to length and subject, but it still has enough of his brilliance to make it a worthwhile visit.

Japanese warlord Shingen along with his brother Nobukado (Tsutomu Yamazaki) find a petty thief about to be crucified who bears a striking resemblance to Shingen. This thief will now become Shingen's double, essentially a 'kagemusha' (shadow warrior).  The thief (Tatsuya Nakadi in a dual role) is a little bit bonkers, but hardly in a position to argue. 

The plan is to use the double on special occasions as needed, but as Shingen is laying siege to a castle, a sniper gets the warlord.  Shingen extracts a promise to keep his death secret for three years, lest his enemies take advantage.  Now, the kagemusha is forced to go through this charade full-time.  At first, he refuses, especially after discovering Shingen's preserved body inside a massive jar.

However, while spying Shingen's courtiers sailing to a lake with his body, the double discovers that enemy spies have seen this too.  He then offers his services, and a cover story is created that the massive jar was really sake and that the jar was an offering to the gods for victory.  This rouse seems to work, but Shingen's enemies are still suspicious about the goings-on around Shingen.

For his part, the kagemusha is bonding with his somewhat dubious grandson, while Shingen's own son Katsuyori (Ken'ichi Hagiwara) is highly irritated by the shenanigans, as it will mean he has to wait three years to take full command.  Shingen's heir attempts to trick the kagemusha into revealing his true identity despite the careful training and coaching the courtiers have given him, but for once the kagemusha manages to outwit his opponents.

The other warlords still have doubts and decide to strike anyway.  The courtiers want a more measured approach, but Katsuyori won't be denied.  Soon, the kagemusha becomes a pawn in everyone's plans, with him powerless to do anything on his own.  He soon starts being haunted by the real Shingen, dreaming he has come to stomp him out. 

Eventually, the kagemusha soon takes on too much of Shingen's manner and is thrown from Shingen's horse, who is not fooled.  The deception unmasked, the thief is sent away and the courtiers, against their better judgment but cajoled by Katsuyori, decide to engage the enemy in battle.  It's a slaughter, and the thief, attempting to gain some kind of redemption, is himself struck down, his body carried off by the waters, unable to save the clan's banner.

I don't know if anyone else has commented on this, but Kagemusha may be a subtle critique of Japan's continuing struggle to deal with its World War II past.  I thought of this during the scene where the kagemusha is instructed to sit there in silence while the generals discuss strategy, only speaking when he is signaled to end the meeting.  When he gets an unexpected surprise when Katsuyori asks 'Shingen' (whom he knows is a fake) what to do, everyone is stunned.  The kagemusha manages to say something that sounds reasonable, then manages to dismiss the meeting.

I was reminded of how then-Emperor Hirohito was always presented in post-war Japan as a mere figurehead with no powers while his generals and ministers did the dirty work ranging from the Rape of Nanking to the Bataan Death March and all points in between.  The actual involvement Hirohito had in Japan's war direction is still a subject of fierce debate, but one that in Japan is all but verboten.  Is Kagemusha, with its story of war and the involvement of the courtiers with no input from its false head, a hidden allegory on the idea that maybe the head really didn't have any involvement whatsoever?  Could the head of government and head of state be both passive and active simultaneously?

Granted, this might be my own interpretation, but it did leave me wondering.

In other matters, Kagemusha still holds some truly beautiful visual moments that Kurosawa could create.  Some battle sequences appear to be precursors to Ran, and the dream sequence between Shingen and the double are both hypnotic and slightly deranged. The double's discovery of Shingen's body is shocking and so well-rendered.

Kurosawa also got strong performances out of his cast, though it is interesting that women do not feature much in Kagemusha apart from Shingen's mistresses, who are fooled thanks in part to the double not lying with them, only to them. 
 
Nakadai does double duty as the proud Shingen and the slightly crazed and meek double, and he has some exquisite moments.  One such powerful moment is when he is instructed to wait and watch as his troops defend him as they go out to die.  He is impassive and weak, yet so many are dying for him, even those who know the whole thing is a sham.

Again, I go back to whether Kagemusha, with its tale of futile battle for something others knew was futile, was Kurosawa's opaque commentary on how, even after the Japanese leadership knew they could not win the Second World War, they kept fighting on for a lie.  And again, I may be the only one reading that interpretation, but I am happy that such a thought could be drawn from the film.

Again, at three hours Kagemusha may be too much for a casual film-viewer.  It may also put people off thanks to some of the more theatrical acting, even if it would stay within more traditional Japanese acting.  Apart from that, Kagemusha still has enough within it to make it a strong film, though I favor Ran as the late-Kurosawa masterwork.  I can see how films like Kagemusha might have influenced others like Kurosawa fanboy Martin Scorsese with Silence. 

Kagemusha says much about the futility of maintaining myth, especially in war.  It also, oddly, made me think of all things, Moon Over Parador (unimportant person is forced to masquerade dead leader), so there's that.  Who knew Kurosawa's Kagemusha could potentially influence a comedy?

DECISION: B+ 

Rashomon: A Review (Review #505)

RASHOMON

What Is Truth?

Rashomon has now become a byword for when a group of people provide different testimony to the same event/situation without them being totally dishonest or completely accurate, depending on the person's perspective.  Rashomon the film not only brought director Akira Kurasawa to the world stage, but also introduced Toshiro Mifune, one of the legends of Japanese cinema to the world as well.   The film itself leaves one wondering whether we can trust what we are told, or perhaps even what we see, but we do have the chance for redemption from our wicked, wicked ways.

The story is told mostly in various flashbacks with this as the framing device: at the Rashomon Gate, two men are waiting for the rains to stop.  One is a woodcutter (Takashi Timura), the other a priest (Minoru Chiaki).  They are joined by a third man, a commoner (Kichijiro Ueda).  The woodcutter and priest have been witnesses in a criminal case, one which has shaken them tremendously, and they tell what they saw at the trial.

The woodcutter had come across a murdered samurai in the forest, the priest had been the last person to see the samurai (Masayuki Mori) and his wife (Machiko Kyo) alive.  Now we get to the center of Rashomon: a search for the truth from three witnesses.

The first witness is Tajomaru (Mifune), a notorious bandit.  His story is that he at first took little notice of the samurai and his wife, but then a glimpse of her set his heart aflame.  Overpowering them, he violated the wife.  Shamed by her inability to defend herself with a dagger, she begs Tajomaru to kill her husband so as to spare her the shame of living as a violated woman.  Tajomaru untied the samurai, and their epic battle killed him.  The wife ran away.

The second witness is the wife herself.  Sobbing, she says that after she was violated, she turned to her husband for forgiveness but none was given.  She released him and begged him to kill her, but when he continues his icy stare the shock of it all causes her to faint.  When she wakes, the samurai is dead and she fails in her suicide attempt.

Our third witness is the dead samurai himself, contacted via a medium (Noriko Honma).  His story is that after the forced encounter, Tajomaru asks her to come with him.  She not only accepts but goes further, asking Tajomaru to kill the samurai so as to be free from him.  Tajomaru is so shocked by her request that instead he goes to the samurai, telling him it would be up to him to forgive or kill her.  The bandit releases the samurai, and after she runs off and Tajomaru fails to recapture her, the samurai kills himself.

The woodcutter and priest are shocked by the varying stories, and the commoner is convinced each lied for their own purposes.  However, the woodcutter himself has been less than forthcoming, for it is now revealed that he KNOWS they all lied since HE had seen it all.  We then get The Secret Witness' story.

Tajumaru wants to marry the wife, but she frees her husband instead.  She shames them into fighting for her (one for her honor, one for her body).  The samurai won't fight for her but she pushes them into it.  After they begin their duel, Tajumaru kills the samurai while he begs for his life.  The wife runs off in fear and Tajumaru, wounded in the duel, also leaves the scene of the crime.

A baby's cry alerts them to its presence.  The commoner is about to steal from the baby, but the woodcutter objects.  The commoner correctly figures that the woodcutter was the one who stole the dagger from the dead man's body, and ridicules his sudden morality.  The priest's faith is nearly shattered, until the woodcutter begs to take the baby and raise him with his own children.  The theft of the dagger is now seen by the priest as more a desperate than evil act, and with his faith in humanity restored, the woodcutter takes the baby, now that the rains have stopped.

Rashomon asks us to question what we are seeing. In this mystery, we get various stories that all appear to have some truth to them (all agree that the woman was raped and the samurai tied up), but each of them puts 'the truth' in various shades to justify the actions of the various witnesses or to show them in a more favorable light. 

The question I had in Rashomon is whether the woodcutter's own story was the truth.  Film standard would tell us that the final story told would be the "truth", but what guarantee is there that his story would be what actually occurred if he himself had a reason for not telling the absolute truth.  The samurai's story (which shows that dead men DO tell tales) could easily be the truth.  What about the woman?  Was she a brave warrior fighting for her honor (like Tajumaru states)?  Was she a frightened and shamed victim (as she portrays herself)?  Was she a shameless harlot (as the samurai's ghost reports), or someone lashing out at both men (as the woodcutter testifies)?  If the woodcutter's story was the absolute truth, why did Tajumaru go to such lengths to portray her positively (unless he was still in love with her)?

Rashomon does not give us an easy, pat answer as to what exactly happened In the Grove (Kurosawa and Shinobu Hashimoto adapting Ryunosuke Akutagawa's short stories Rashomon and In the Grove).  Instead, Rashomon has us asking if we can trust what we have seen and heard.  "It's human to lie.  Most of the time we can't be honest with even ourselves," the commoner says.  He is the most cynical, but also the most honest of the characters because he is the most impartial.  The struggle between keeping faith in humanity and in being able to know the truth (as the priest would) and the failure of honesty to rule (which the commoner would believe) is one of the themes of Rashomon.            
Rashomon, instead, asks us to not figure out what the actual truth is but whether we ourselves would believe the truth if presented to us.  None of the stories we're given can completely be trusted, but there is never any commentary as to which one is The Truth.  Like the priest and woodcutter, we the audience are the ones who are presented these various versions of one event and asked to find which one is true.  Perhaps none of them are, or completely are.  Kurosawa will not let us off so easily.

Cinematically, Rashomon has some haunting images, and I say that deliberately.  The entire sequence with the medium is frightening but magnetic: the altered voice and the actual imagery of his summoning and being possessed by the spirit is amazing.  Same for the wife's testimony: her tears and agony appear so real, so how can we fail to believe her version, or are they crocodile tears.

In terms of performances, it is Toshiro Mifune that runs away with the film.  He is lusty and egocentric, almost mad with self-assured glee when he tells the bandit's story, but then he shows that perhaps the bandit is really more a product of self-promotion than a dashing and daring individual.  While each performer is excellent in Rashomon, it is Mifune whom you can't take your eyes off.  He commands the screen and his range is extraordinary.  Of all the performances, it is Toshiro Mifune that we remember from Rashomon.

Rashomon is an essential film in cinema.  Its variations on its central story keeps one guessing, and the philosophical questions it asks of us (can we trust what we see?  what motives the altering of truth?) elevates it to a higher level.  However, let that not frighten you: Rashomon is also highly entertaining, filled with beautiful imagery and most important, a note of optimism at the end.  We may never know exactly what happened in the forest that fateful day, but we leave trusting that in the end we can maintain a hope for the future.    

DECISION: A+