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| Director Kenji Mizoguchi |
THE STORY OF THE LAST CHRYSANTHEMUMS (Zangiku monogatari) A Japan (142 mi) 1939 d: Kenji Mizoguchi
Your art is your very life. If not, even Kikugoro would be no different than other people. —Otoku (Kakuto Mori)
Adapted from a Shōfu Muramatsu novel, a poignant tale of tragedy and redemption, selected for the first Minister of Education prize in 1940, this is an old-fashioned tearjerker melodrama elevated to a work of art in the hands of a master, whose stylized conception utilizes the world of kabuki theater, with the sounds of the theater playing throughout, where several key scenes are shot at what appears to be live theatrical performances. While the story itself is fairly predictable, with an uninteresting lead actor, Kikunosuke Onoue (stage actor Shōtarō Hanayagi in his film debut playing a character at least 20 years younger than his age), who seems to lack any sense of charisma, yet the manner in which the story unfolds, the costumes, set decorations, camera movement from room to room, unusual scene composition and overall artistry is spectacular, with meticulously choreographed set pieces, especially the finely calibrated, beautifully focused finale which is nothing short of phenomenal. Completely unknown outside of Japan until after the war, it didn’t play in the United States until 1979, forty years after it was made, while at the same time Mizoguchi may be less celebrated because his films received less exposure in English-speaking countries than Kurosawa or Ozu. Eschewing the use of close-ups, which may distance modern day viewers from identifying with the characters, the opening scenes do take a while to grow accustomed to the life rhythms of the individuals involved, with an overly expressive acting style that when offstage, never captures the same level of intensity as what we experience onstage, which are beautifully staged performances that turn out to be cultural time capsules of 19th century Japanese history. Of particular interest is the time this film was made, during the lead-up to the war, when Mizoguchi was typically making several films per year, most of which have been lost, but in this year, his first release for the Shochiku film studio, a company that virtually monopolized kabuki exhibition, he made only one film. Filmmakers of this period were encouraged to make films during the 17th century Edo period, as they glorified the strengths and traditions of Japan, but Mizoguchi preferred to make something more symbolic, becoming in a sense a class-conscious exposé of prewar Japan, expressing the impossibility of transcending one’s social limitations in much the same way Renoir’s A Day in the Country (Partie de Campagne) (1936), THE GRAND ILLUSION (1937), and THE RULES OF THE GAME (1939) explored similar conditions in prewar France, all blithely ignoring the coming reality, where the war forever changed the lives of ordinary citizens, where cultural norms and traditions were challenged in ways that were completely unexpected. Mizoguchi’s unique place in history allowed him to make films both before and after the war, appointed to the presidency of the Directors Guild of Japan during the war, and when this was made he was given a wide berth to explore cinematic conventions, where this film is unlike other Japanese films of the 30’s, as it so visibly accentuates a unique aspect of Japanese traditions without overtly resorting to nationalist expectations, where its distinct style establishes an ongoing relationship with its intended viewing audience, and is an example of Kokutai loyalty. The film is intended to instill viewers with the importance of loyalty and sacrifice to the state, as the Kokutai ideology describes the Japanese nation as one family, with the emperor as the figurative father, which the obedient nation is expected to serve, perhaps best exemplified by the Japanese tradition of women being subservient to the needs of the patriarchy. This blend of art and politics is a stunning exposé by an artist at the height of his powers, and much like music and other parts of popular culture, the film looked to the past to reinforce the present. Amidst mounting tensions with the West, reverence for the emperor and Japan was beginning to gain strength, with the film reflecting a call for sacrifice and loyalty. At the time of the Japanese invasion of Pearl Harbor, the public enthusiastically supported the war, but after four long years of losing battles, along with the loss of close to 3 million people, while millions more were homeless or injured, public opinion shifted, and the era of Kokutai spirit had waned, as the style was quickly abandoned after the war.
In the 50’s and 60’s, Mizoguchi was lauded on the pages of Cahiers du Cinéma, actually securing the international fame of the director, where his psychological complexity, stylized realism, unconventional use of long takes and long shots, subtle camera angles, deep focus, and fluid tracking shots are mixed with an obsessively detailed attention to period costume, architecture, and the traditional Japanese arts and literature from which he drew inspiration, capturing the attention of André Bazin and his youthful intellectuals Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Rivette, and Éric Rohmer, ultimately finding him the most quintessentially Japanese filmmaker. Due to questionable preservation practices before the war, the only surviving copies of this film are less than pristine, exhibiting noticeable wear and tear, as there are still slight audio distortions, and the image quality is badly compromised, with poor detail and occasional rough edges around the frame. The essential power of the drama, however, remains undiminished. Shot by Shigeto Miki, his chief cameraman, making 17 films together from 1933 to 1947, this film is a modernist take on the Geidomono genre, films that depicted the traditional Japanese arts, such as kabuki, puppet theater (bunraku), or traditional dance, a form Mizoguchi turned to in the late 1930’s as an alternative to the propaganda war films promulgated by the increasing militarization of Japan, where it’s hard to imagine how a film which questions the hierarchal structure of society could be shown in such a tense political climate, while also providing a potent critique of the oppression of women and the sacrifices required of them. After an explosive opening performance, where Kikugoro Onoue (Gonjuro Kawarazaki), a legendary kabuki performer is onstage with his adopted stepson, who is supposedly following in his footsteps, but is pampered by privilege and poor training, yet both are catered to like royalty afterwards, where despite the father’s expressed dissatisfaction, no one is willing to tell “the young master” the truth, that his acting talents are atrocious. Only his brother’s nursemaid, Otoku (Kakuto Mori), has the courage to gently encourage him through honest criticism. He is so taken by her outspokenness that he immediately falls in love, which causes a family scandal due to her lower class standing, because in the world of traditional Japanese theater (and culture) “pedigree means everything,” so she is fired on the spot in a captivating nine-minute sequence that moves from room to room, expressing the shifting moods and differing perspectives, including the silent eavesdropping housemaids who likely informed on her, falsely accused of misconduct, and banned from ever seeing him again. This only inflames the young man’s desire to seek her out, refusing his father’s direct orders to stay away and sets out to prove his fame on his own, cast out from his own family for refusing to capitulate and apologize to the patriarch. Set in the 1880’s, in the bustling theater worlds of Tokyo and Osaka, with time also spent in the backwater provinces, Kikunosuke initially seeks out his Uncle Tamizo (Tamitaro Onoue), studying under his influence in Osaka, but he experiences only scorn from audiences and fellow actors, who deride his poor performances, yet his uncle is more patient and nurturing, reminding him “None of us were any good when we were young.” Unfortunately Tamizo dies, and the rest of the troupe is less patient, parting ways with Kikunosuke, forcing him to go on the road, eventually rediscovering Otoku while on the verge of abandoning his career, where she literally breathes new life into him, encouraging him not to quit, but to persevere. Adapted from a melodramatic Shinpa story, the film alters the story of the female protagonist, as Otoku was more of a fallen woman with designs on seducing Kikunosuke, while here, in keeping with the war years, her role is explicitly clear, as she is the epitome of the prewar Japanese woman, sacrificing herself for the good of “the young master,” and the good of the nation, pleading to the family before they discharge her, suggesting “what I offer him is something like being a nursemaid to his art.”
Working on an open set which was singularly large in scale by Japanese standards, a distinction unique to this director at the time, having achieved fame in the silent era of the 20’s, the film offers a haunting vision tragically shaped by the suffering heroine, who stands by the side of the struggling actor throughout, despite his missteps. After years of drifting from town to town, where a wandering actor’s status is much lower than in an established troupe, it’s clear their once inseparable bond has changed, as Kikunosuke routinely mistreats Otoku, despite her undying devotion to him. She spends all of her energy helping him achieve success, at one point selling her kimono to buy him a dressing table and mirror stand used to apply make-up, something very important for an actor. Living as a common-law couple, their romantic love is only intensified because it’s forbidden and transgressive, where it would have been improper for Otoku to bear Kikunosuke’s children, as neither his family nor Japanese society at the time acknowledged their “marriage.” The film juxtaposes images of theater and life, showing non-theatrical figures bathed in light in dark settings, while we constantly hear the stylized sounds of theater as a background to scenes of daily life. There is also a constant reminder of the actual choices artists must make between the rigors of their art and their desires in life. Even with a companion as devoted and self-sacrificing as Otoku, the choice is enforced on Kikunosuke by the restrictions placed on the actor in order to succeed in the kabuki world, where despite his improving skills, it is apparent he would continue to drift this way, nearly penniless, forever, leading a life of utter poverty, languishing in obscurity as a lowly actor alongside a consumptive Otoku, believing his once lofty goals are a “lost dream.” As they descend into poverty and disillusionment on society’s margins, it is again the lowly maid who seeks out his prominent family, acknowledging to them that talent isn’t enough, one needs the backing of a family name in order to play in the best theaters in Tokyo, so she secretly forges a deal with his uncle to bring the son back into the family operations, but at a price, as she must not accompany him for his triumphant return. Offered a one-time chance to prove himself in an 18th century play in Nagoya, Mizoguchi gives us a long kabuki scene, a world where women weren’t allowed to act and female characters were played by men, showing him in the famous female role of Sumizome (Kabuki Plays - Tsumoru Koi Yuki no Sekinoto), a courtesan transformed into the spirit of a cherry tree, seen through a series of long shots that allow scant access to the actor’s facial features and actual performance, emphasizing instead the operatic grandeur, where a sense of a real kabuki theatre is vividly conveyed on a grand scale through quasi-documentary long shots of the packed auditorium. Otoku retreats to a position under the stage, hidden from view, praying to Buddha for his success, which only elevates the pathos, creating a separation between the public and private worlds, stardom and anonymity, where she’s able to hear the enthusiastic audience response, which takes everyone by surprise. Elated, they celebrate with a sumptuous feast afterwards, as she orders local delicacies for him before slipping away in silence. Despite her lowly status where women are overshadowed by men in a fiercely patriarchal society, Otoku is the true protagonist and moral center who drives the action and fully expresses the spirit of Bushido. Having worked herself to death in order to support his acting career, she is suffering from consumption and returns alone to their former residence in Osaka. In stark contrast, Kikunosuke is given a hero’s welcome, lionized as an instant success, where he’s proudly showcased upon his return to Tokyo, reunited in the good graces of his family, and while he initially revolted against kabuki’s patrimony system, in the end he embraces his return to the family’s tradition. In order to celebrate his triumph, his father places him in a position of honor at the head of a lantern-lit river procession on the Okawa River, part of the Tenjin Matsuri Festival, Osaka’s spectacular 1000-year old summer tradition. Kikunosuke remains oblivious to Otoku’s personal self-sacrifice throughout, which becomes all the more affecting as the film wears on, culminating in images of unforgettable poignancy.
Zangiku monogatari (AKA The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums) (1939) (English Subtitles) Criterion version available on YouTube (2:23:50)
