Japanese Postwar Period Drama As a  Modern Metaphor

Japanese Postwar Period Drama As a  Modern Metaphor

Japanese Postwar Period Drama As a Modern Metaphor By Thomas Martel

With globalization cinema as a whole is becoming an art form without country, without borders and even without a definitive national language. An idea that buds in one country’s cinema may blossom in another. Cinema and the ideas that go along with it travel back and forth across oceans and continents. Japan imported it’s first Edison Kinetoscopes in 1896, and Japanese filmmakers immediately utilized cinema to engage the masses at home and abroad. My inquiry is to examine how post-war Japanese cinema took on the role of fictional historical narratives to interact with the psyche of the postwar Japanese nation. In many ways, all films made in Japan since the end of World War II can be considered post-war cinema, because of the way in which that war affected the country, and because of the way of cinema always reflects society. Japanese directors chose to represent the war, its aftermath, and apprehension about the future of the nation as a whole through the medium of chinema, and more specifically, through fictional historical narrative, or jidaigeki.

Jidaigeki, meaning “period drama”, is a term applies to fictional narrative films set before the industrialization and modernization of Japan; typically before or during the Meiji Restoration of 1868 when the Emperor Meiji reclaimed political power from the Tokugawa Shogunate. The Japanese are a very historically conscious people, and often draw on history for examples relevant to current events. Japanese film is no exception, and jidaigeki are full of metaphors for the present day. As American coauthors George Lakoff and Mark Johnson state, “We draw references, set goals, make commitments, and execute plans all on the basis of how we in part structure our experience, consciously and unconsciously, by means of metaphor”.

Indeed, it is through the use of metaphor that Japanese cinema uses characters, dialogue, and imagery to depict modern international relations and concerns, as well as specific fundamental elements of Japanese society, such as ie, or “household;”which was put under significant stress during and after the war. Due to the popularity of the genre, there were, of course, many jidaigeki produced during the Second World War. Take, for example, Kenji Mizoguchi’s 1941 film Genroku Chushingura, an oft- told story of forty-seven loyal samurai who avenge their innocent master’s execution and then proceed to dutifully follow him into death through disembowelment. There have been hundreds of film adaptations of the story, but this is perhaps the only one financed by The Ministry of Information while under military rule to boost morale. Even stylistically it is clear; the soundtrack consists of bugles, trumpets, and deep, plodding drum beats. Unlike many other adaptations, this one doesn’t show any blood, despite the gory nature of the story. The forty seven ronin are heroic, yes, but equally as

heroically depicted are their wives, who, with great strength and resilience remain true to their doomed husbands, not unlike the wives and families of soldier sent to war to die.

Akira Kurosawa’s 1945 film The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail is also a retelling of a classic history-based story. The viewer follows a young war hero, Yoshitsune, in disguise and on the run with a small band of loyal followers after being betrayed by his own brother- the military dictator of Japan. Because the story was so well known and respected, perhaps it was not viewed as the protest film that it actually was, further, the film was banned by the American Occupation supposedly for promoting feudal values, although the ban may have been in response to the film’s persuasive power. After WWII, jidaigeki re-emerged to perform new metaphorical functions.

Because the real and fictionalized events of jidaigeki are supposedly removed from the events of modern-day they serve as ideal, safe metaphors for a people in need of a means of discussing their present concerns- the disastrous results of imperialism and militarism, both Japanese and Western. Popular cinema was the ideal tool for these demilitarizing metaphors, and that is exactly where they were reinvested. As Japanese- American scholar Marie Thorsten Morimoto has suggested,“a nation’s metaphors converse with its politics. Hence, with the dismantling of the Japanese Empire at the close of the Second World War, the images which shaped the... state also, in a sense, became ‘demilitarized.’ Like the guns and missiles they supported, war metaphors were ‘left over,’ waiting to be reinvested into peacetime Japan.” (Morimoto, 11).

Typically in jidaigeki, samurai cast as the main role in Japanese cinema had represented the Japanese masculine ideal: strong, courageous, courteous and polite, and chaste. However, after the war this masculine machismo was seen as somewhat fascist, and the heroes onscreen changed into imperfect, often lost or wandering swords in a tumultuous, war savaged country. Alternatively, they are disenfranchised warriors in time of peace that has no need for bushido and the real lords are mob bosses and gamblers who dominate the fictional-historical and post-war Japanese and international society.

The 1966 film Dai-bosatsu toge, or “The Pass of the Boddhisattva” by director Kihachi Okamoto is a good example of cinema filled with metaphors. The story follows a young and sword-skilled samurai named Ryunosuke, who, while initially abiding by the samurai code, bushido, more or less embodies opposite. He is quite, contemplative, but also cold and merciless. His peers respect his finesse with the sword, but he is at times seen him as brutal and without remorse. He is constantly challenged by “good-hearted” samurai, and is left with no option but to cut them down one by one. Ryunosuke seems unbeatable. He is an intriguing model for postwar Japan; a nation grasping to traditional ideals all the while reevaluating them as brutal and cold, particularly after the atrocities committed during the Pacific expansion and conquest of China, of which to this day there remains a strong denial. Controversially, events such as the “Nanjing

Massacre” are not even included in Japanese textbooks. Therefore, the only way to speak about these events is through metaphor and cinema.

Ryunoske’s world is thrown upside-down when for the first time in his life, he meets as a sword of comparable ability. Ryunosuke and Shimada play opposites, with an ever growing tension between the two. Despite this, they always remain civil, bound by societal form. These characters represent conflicted and confused views of Japan’s supposedly noble warrior class. Could they be cold, brutal, sociopathic murderers or indeed, honest and humble protectors?

In the end, all of Ryunoske’s brutal acts, such as mercy-killing an old man he heard begging for death, killing an opponent out of self- defense in a tournament, cutting down his wife after she threatens to kill their baby, and other seemingly justifiable acts (just as the atrocities of WWII may have seemed justifiable) drive the anti hero mad with guilt at realization of the impossibility of his circumstances. The film concludes with Ryunosuke drunkenly and madly cutting his way through a burning mansion- an apt metaphor for the state that Japan was left in at the end of the war. He is injured, bleeding, and surrounded by enemies, but he refuses to lay down his sword. It is never revealed if he escapes or is killed, and this represented the uncertainty of Japan’s future that was prevalent in post-war Japan.

Japan had long considered itself the most virile, strongest and superior race in Asia, but defeat by a western power certainly posed a new threat to this nationalistic ideal. In this way Japan’s metaphors became increasingly trans- sexual; submissive to western “barbarians”, yet clinging to the position of an aggressive power in Asia. This persistent attitude became even more apparent during post-war cinema. Feminine characters (who represent Japan as a nation victimized by western powers) are starkly contrasted with brutish, old- fashioned, almost comical masculine characters, as is aptly illustrated in Masaki Kobayashi’s 1962 film Seppuku.

Seppuku tells the story of a young samurai named Chijiiwa who is fonder of the brush than the sword. When Chijiiwa’s father is forced by the Shoguante to commit seppuku, or ritual disembowelment, he goes to live with a family friend in poverty. He is forced to sell his sword, then, when his infant son becomes sick, Chijiiwa goes to a neighboring powerful household to beg for alms by means of threatening suicide, and he is then forced to slowly and painfully kill himself with a bamboo sword. The young and un-warrior like samurai’s body is then dumped off at the house unceremoniously . The rest of the film tells the story of how the family friend, a dangerous and impoverished ronin named Hanshiro, exacts and bring calamity to the household at fault for the destruction of the young and innocent family. Hanshiro arrives at the clan’s gate, threatening, like, Chijiiwa, to commit seppuku. He is admitted, but each of the clan’s assistants that he calls upon to act as a second happen to be home sick that day. Then, when he is about to be killed, he throws on the ground the topknots of each of the

supposedly honorable warriors responsible for Chijiiwa’s death, revealing their hypocrisy and sadistic nature. In the end, Hanshiro is unable to be killed by any of the clan’s warriors, so instead his is gunned down while carrying on his shoulders the clan’s ancestral armor. The empty suit of armor represents the vapidity and non-existence of the so-called bushido that was essentially reanimated for political use during the Second World War. Meanwhile, the dying Hanshiro represents a more realistic view of the nation’s recent past; that of a bleeding population struggling to maintain a dead ideal in the face of vain leaders. Moreover, Hanshiro’s death by a superior technology shows the viewer that modernity leaves little room for tradition.

A film that skillfully represents post-war Japan on an international stage through period drama is Akira Kurosawa’s 1961 film Yojimbo. A “yojimbo” is the old Japanese term for a “sword for hire,” essentially, a masterless samurai willing to sell his skills as a swordsman for assassination, dispute settlement, or protection. The main character of the film is just that, a lone swordsman walking down a dusty path without a name or direction. Like Japan, all he has left is his wit, and a remnant of whatever life he once led- his sword. Unlike the heroes of old Japanese cinema, he is carefree, blown about by the the winds of chance. He is lax, even comical at times. Not only this, but his name is never even revealed to the audience. He is not a famous or noteworthy hero; he represents any man, or every man.

Yojimbo is set in the 1860’s; a time when the warrior caste had essentially collapsed in favor of capitalism. Warlords no longer sought to hire famous or skilled swordsmen, they were too concerned with their own political preservation to even arm themselves to any great extant with modern weaponry. The protagonist wanders into a provincial town that is caught in a war between two rival factions. The yojimbo finds his skills as a swordsman lucrative, but his wit perhaps even more lucrative, as he plays to both factions of the town. He is a gruff, masculine samurai more than proficient with his sword, but he is also very cunning, and uses his wits to dupe the whole town, all the while making himself all the richer. This representation is relevant to post-war Japan primarily as a way of representing the disarmament of military super-power Japan and the transition into the scientific- economic superpower that it has become. “The transition was also one from a society threatened by the scarcity of food, where physical resources translated into physical strength, to a society hungry for knowledge, where young people began competing with their wits in a new game of “human capitalism” (Morimoto 21). Morimoto’s point is true, and can be seen in the rigorous preparation and competition between high school students applying for University. As such, this transition may be seen as beneficial but it also conveys the widespread feelings of nostalgia that the Japanese people felt during the difficult times immediately following the end of the war. Japan, and all of it history and traditions would be sold on the global market.

Besides serving as a metaphor for Japan’s transition from a militaristic

nation to an economically driven nation, Yojimbo illustrates Japan’s position in the Cold War as tension between the United States and the Soviet Union escalated. The village in which the entire film takes place can be seen as a miniaturized version of the world- in a transition phase, shrinking with huge gains being made in communication and transportation, but also dominated by two opposing forces. In the context of the film, these forces are rivaling factions, but in actuality the were the America/ NATO and the U.S.S.R./ Warsaw Pact. Much like Japan during the cold war, the unnamed yojimbo is often both detached and heavily involved in the “mutual assured destruction” of the town. He is ambivalent, an outsider, and the combined forces of the town are far more numerous and powerful than him and yet they both seeks his aid. Fitting with previous descriptions on how Japan views itself, “dominant themes in Japanese cultural self-representations have long been those of uniqueness, isolation, and victimization- hence, of a lone nation struggling against all odds” (Morimoto 22). In the end, the protagonist has prospered even more than either of the two factions, whose battle for dominance has ended in a clash leaving the town a quieter place than before. The “hero” of the film has saved a family, perhaps representative of the Japanese family as a whole, while dogs wander the streets feasting upon the remains of those less fortunate.

There are many more jidaigeki films with equally potent metaphors. Because of the context of film and viewership, we must be careful not to confuse metaphors or imagine them where they do not exist. However, metaphors are a powerful tool in the hands of Japanese filmmakers, and their many uses and examples should not go unnoticed.

Dissanayake, Wimal.1994. Colonialism and Nationalism in Asian Cinema. Indiana: Idianana University Press. Morimoto, Marie Thorsten. 1994. The ‘Peace Dividend’ in Japanese Cinema, Metaphors of a Demilitarized Nation. Indiana: Indiana University Press. Mellen, Joan. 1976. The Waves at Genji’s Door: Japan Through it’s Cinema. New York: Pantheon Books.

Said, Edward W. 1985. Orientalism Reconsidered. New York: Vintage Books. Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. Metaphors We Live by. Chicago: University of Chicago, 1980. Print.