Thematic Wanderings: Shozo Hirono & The Yakuza Politiq

Been spending so many months considering how film is often a forum for not only the requisite escapes and flights of fancy so many viewers come to expect from a night at the cinema, but also of challenging, and often regressive forms of political musing. Much in the way that classic art and literature, at their core presented interesting ways to serve the public without being harshly transparent. And while many works attempt to avoid this, it is undeniable that many of filmdom's most iconic works are in fact collage-like representations of social constructs, questions, and occasional rally cries based on daily life of the time in which it was filmed. Even as markets lean more and more toward remakes and adaptations, it is not without an often pointed concern that even more spectacle-centric features are capable of carrying with them very real questions about the role of citizens versus that of those running the show. And the further we look back, the more this is evidently obvious in societies young in this manner of film discourse.


Specifically in realms of more rough and ready forms of media of the late 1960s-early 1970s anime and Japanese film, there was so much happening outside local movie houses and homes, that it was hard to watch anything of impact without it alluding to some form of strife taking place throughout multiple sectors of the post-war era. Where in anime, much of this frustration and angst could be seen manifested in works such as Devilman & others, few filmmakers captured the full-frontal conflict of hidden societies, scraping desperately for ever-shrinking dividends than Kinji Fukasaku. A man who's Battles Without Honor and Humanity (aka - The Yakuza Papers) series furiously carved out a stifling vision of systems forged and unforged in real time, without what so many once imagined to be firmly established codes. In this series, centering on the twenty-plus year war over Hiroshima's gangland titans and small fries, each installment paints a bloody tapestry, loosely based on real events that rocked an already unstable nation weary from conflicts abroad, aching for some manner of new identity.


With the young and often idealistic Shozo Hirono (in an icon-making performance by Bunta Sagawara) struggling to maintain a sense of honor to an increasingly chaotic underworld, we are host to a full-tilt typhoon of violence, treachery, and tattered pride that was up until that time, unseen in Japanese crime dramas outside of some of Fukasaku's earlier excursions into post-war criminality. Where Street Mobster, and others flirted with the dregs of an economic rollercoaster, the Battles saga dives headlong into the beast's belly, often surrounded by antiheroes with varying degrees of trustworthiness. Most of which is displayed by Sugawara's Hirono, a weathered man who's struggles from the very bottom of the pecking order, take him to the highest levels in Hiroshima gangland. His central struggle being that a man of old fashioned codes and morals, almost constantly finding himself in danger of irrevocably being stained by the erosion, not to mention treachery coming at him from nearly all sides.


Perhaps this is best encapsulated by his almost bleakly humorous relationship with would-be kingpin, Yamamori (Nobuo Kaneko), perhaps the new face of Japanese leadership. Sniveling, petty, and cowardly to a tee, Yamamori's almost whiny money-man approach seems primed to infect generations of more "jingi"-based members of the local families. This almost absurd invasion of big business into the affairs of those who would rather see themselves as local "Robin hood" types soon reveals hidden motivations, and newfound lusts for power that find Hirono almost inescapably trapped in Yamamori's orbit. Even as he begins making a name for himself amongst the Kure City gumi, the old man is never terribly far away. Almost becoming the father he never wanted, Yamamori (and even his equally cartoonish wife) ingratiates himself into poor Hirono's life, often leading to some truly terrible conflicts and bloodshed. The absurdity simply being in that our hero's often hard wood stubbornness to be the more honorable man keep him from destroying this longtime rival once and for all. But alas, nothing is ever so simple, therefore the two often require each other despite such animosity.

       
 By the time we get to Proxy War, this is made into greater manifest once Hiroshima's gangs are met with a most unlikely leader in Uchimoto, "successor" to the Muraoka clan. Whiny, petulant and cowardly, he is in many ways a far more irresponsible rendition of Yamamori, only with that much more reckless pride. Even as Fukasaku front-loads the "messages" behind this third film, the story is no less potent in its satire as a multitude of the town's most brawny gangsters find themselves at the whims of a pair of niggling manchildren, ready to spill blood over the most shallow of justifications. In many ways a mirror to the tumult happening in the streets of Tokyo(Not to mention the world abroad) , with those in power squabbling over scraps as the young and powerful are meant to fight amongst each other (and often die) for what Fukasaku likely considered to be patently absurd reasons.


What makes the Battles series so singularly political, is evident from Fukasaku's unflinching rage that is painted with grand strokes and striking sound, often making no bones about the horrors that lie under the veils of propriety and tradition that are bandied over others in the name of order. Rituals of bonding and unification suddenly take on a mechanical, often transparently disingenuous nature, and are little more than showcases for which new schism is soon to appear, ready to unravel virtually seconds later. The worms of pride, and greed underlie virtually every "diplomatic" move that is made, often a false formality, and far from interested in anything as noble as peace. In the world of Fukasaku's yakuza, power is fleeting, honor is questionable, and even the strongest find themselves at odds with comrades, even to the point that they must grovel at the feet of their greatest rival for some infinitesimal piece of rotted meat on petrified bones.

Onimasa (1982) Movie Review

When young Matsue and her small brother are given away as payment by their poor business running parents, local Shikoku gang boss, Onimasa Kiryuin (Tatsuya Nakadai) sees potential heirs to his powerful Shikoku  gumi. But when the younger of the two runs away, leaving his elder sister alone to become a conflicted servant, it is an odyssey for this entire family of criminality as the modern world threatens to swallow them up. Dark samurai film master, Hideo Gosha's first major film of the 1980s, Onimasa (Kiryuin Hanako no Shogai) is at one instant an attempt to send off the classical gangster drama with a manner of grace, but on another, an admission of an auteur's inability to let go within a changing landscape. Based upon Tomiko Miyao's novel, "The Life of Hanako Kiryuin", for a film made in 1982, it is an unapologetically old-fashioned work that flirts with the pre-Fukasaku mindset in regards to the yakuza, but also reinforces the less-than-flattering-elements that are best seen through the eyes of Matsue (Nobuko Sendo- then later Masako Natsume) who recalls much of this story in flashback after the discovery Hanako's body by locals in 1940. - A choice that immediately makes for an unusual, almost sudsy opera with a feminine edge.

Starting her life under the wing of the charismatic, and old-world Onimasa, her greatest wishes to become more worldly comes at great odds with her new father's vision. So when he and his gang abduct Otsuru (Akiko Kana), a rival gang leader's servant who later gives birth to his only biological heir, it is this disconnect that bears the brunt of the film's thematic heft. While the headstrong Matsue grows into a well-rounded schoolteacher, it is his daughter, Hanako, who has become an insufferable brat of an adult. Gosha's delivery of this smoldering ball of hubris feels a less like a Coppola-esque epic, and something closer to a stage play rendition-- which is made all the more bombastic through Nakadai's larger-than-life performance. His pride & belief in a romanticized Japan of noble men, and sidelined women becomes more and more undermined by history, with new angles slowly caving in throughout the two-hour plus running time.

From her younger days, Matsue is seen able and more than willing to make her new family happy, without sacrificing her dreams in the process. Sendo's scenes carry with them a notable amount of bravery, especially in a sequence where Matsue not only is tasked with facing up to a potential lie with an elder boarder, but becoming a young lady in the process. Scenes such as these are hints of a much more contemporary nature for Gosha, and imply what will only become a deeply complex relationship between father and adopted daughter. As externally tough as his wife, Uta (Shima Iwashita) seems to be, it is the heart of Matsue that offers up a world beyond anything he is equipped to deal with. It's the kind of relationship that renders him completely out of his element, resulting in some truly challenging stumbles along the path. So when she grows up, and eventually falls in love with a local labor (Eitaro Ozawa) leader during a railroad strike, Onimasa is torn between his enduring love of Matsue's defiant nature, and her ultimate act of departure from him. What culminates here could so easily disturb some, but offers up such a payoff that says more implicitly than any hackneyed speech ever could.

And despite the original source material which was centered largely on Hanako, Onimasa's biological daughter, it is the weighty counter of Matsue that provides much of the film's drive. With her as the more cinematic odd-one-out, the film's use of objects (ex. her wish for money to buy a pencil VS. Hanako's wishes for a hair bow) makes for some non-subtle leaning. In fact, when she falls for a man, Onimasa bullies early on, and eventually acquiesces to, it is made clear by way of a German language book that she brings with her during her visit to him in jail. An educated, essentially cut-off man of society, he is of a quantity almost completely alien to the world of gambling, dog fights, and gang violence. Hanako herself (Kaori Tagasugi) becomes less a central character, and more a shadow of the world Matsue is attempting to carve. Even when the spoiled daughter becomes the lynchpin to the piece's finale, one wonders if the poor thing ever had a chance at all with such an upbringing.

Not unlike the title character, Gosha defiantly creates a film that fits firmly within the gangster and costume dramas of the past as if to openly admit that the 1980s is simply lost on him. The cinematography is at times classical, and often retro in heavy lighting. For as straightforward as the narrative plays out, events skip forward not unlike taking a peek at an aged novella with rotted pages beginning to fall out. What isn't seen is not always missed however, and the almost TV movie aura lends itself to the script's often soapy nature. Which is again largely buoyed by Nakadai's strangely appropriate turn as a remnant of the past on a single-minded quest to become a chivalrous businessman, to often tragic results. But the director also harbors a glimmer of hope, embodied especially in the radiance of Natsume who only a few short years later, passed away to leukemia in her late twenties. Somehow, their work here shines beyond what is ostensibly a heavy-duty melodrama in the old tradition.

Blind Woman's Curse (1970) Movie Review

After spending three years in prison, former gang boss, Akemi Tachibana has returned to regain and protect what is hers, but in lieu of a terrible inkling. Plagued by dreams featuring a blood-hungered black cat, Akemi, while a confident and tough Yakuza leader, worries that her luck is to take some manner of a fall. And so matters come in waves as the rival Donbashi-gumi begin taking terrible shots at her clan. Only further adding to the melee of violence and tragedy, are the lives of many whom Tachibana touches from a tough do-gooder (Makoto Sato), a retired elder gangster and his sunny daughter (Yoko Takagi) who also work as proprietors of a local eating establishment. More ominous yet, is the arrival of a blind swordswoman with a terrible tale and a score to settle. Could a premonition truly be at work?

Not so easily summed up as even a simple narrative, Blind Woman’s Curse, not unlike so many films bearing the name of often controversial film icon, Teruo Ishii, is more about experience than plot. As much like an improvisational piece as it is often symbology-riddled, it is both refreshing, and at times disorienting. And even as Tachibana’s tale remains one of the classic yakuza revenge variety, there is an often freewheeling, borderline surrealist mind at work within the heart of it as it often wildly vacillates between standard storytelling, and even dreamlike excursions into old fashioned horror. Visions of hell haunt much of the story, as it delves closer and closer toward what seems to be Tachibana’s fate. It is as much a loopy haunted funhouse trip, as it is a simple tale of karmic retribution. Hell seems just a flirt away with some truly creepy elements from a nightmarish traveling fair, to some effectively eerie backgrounds toward the finale. Chock full of color, and theatrical tricks, it is an out-of-control piece that is more likely for the psychotronic set than perhaps even yakuza eiga nuts.

To even try to make sense of the film is akin to an exercise in futility, even as it attempts to weave a web of past and recent deeds, leading to a twist-packed finale. As Tachibana’s return to gang leader life is complicated by members on the inside plotting to betray her, outside forces are hard at work to make sure her return is but a brief one. It’s not long before betraying parties are revealed to be working for the local top contender in violent drug peddler, woman trafficking Donbashi. A man who seems unfazed at doing more than smearing names to get the job done. Almost immediately, bodies begin to pile up, and reputations are tarnished. And it’s bad enough being dogged by the fundoshi-sporting weirdo in Aozora and his lot, but the sleazy and conniving ways of Donbashi eventually push Akemi and cohorts into breaking vows, and diving headlong into a bloody confrontation with destiny that must be seen to be comprehended.  

Also noteworthy aside from the near assault-like psychedelia on display, is the initial starring role of one Masako Ota, who later became known as Meiko Kaji. More a preview of her own specific brand of stoic beauty, the film’s take on her character is that of one sure of her comeuppance. She is aware that something is indeed coming her way. And as a strong leader, is doing her best to lessen the storm damage that seems to be unavoidable. So when her ultimate rival comes in the form of blind swordmaster, Hoki Tokuda, who is in her own right an imposing presence, the film is at times at least attempting to make some manner of moralistic stance as both are primed to clash, and yet have so much in common. (Personally speaking, a whole movie featuring this character would have been more than enough great material to work with.) In all, Blind Woman’s Curse is akin to those classically anarchic drive-in pastiches of the past. But it also has with it tons of style to spare. Ishii may have let simple sense get away from him here, but it is no way a total deterrent. Great, mad fun.