We’re not saying Tomu Uchida’s three-hour
film noir masterpiece is dark, but it starts with a ferry disaster killing
hundreds of innocent people. Those currents off the coast of Hokkaido are so
treacherous, they even spit up two extra bodies. It turns out they were
ex-cons, mostly likely responsible for a lethal home invasion. Det. Yumisaka
will pursue the “third man” like Javert in Les
Miserables. The cop from The Fugitive
might be an even more apt comparison. Although Takichi Inukai (if that is
his real name) is not a one-armed man, he has a crushed finger that definitely
counts as an identifying characteristic in Uchida’s Straits of Hunger (a.k.a. A
Fugitive from the Past), which screens as part of MoMA’s ongoing retrospective of the major Japanese auteur.
During the immediate post-war, black
market years, it was not just those straits that were hungry. Nevertheless,
Inukai seems genuinely distressed by the fate of his traveling companions and
also their victims. With the cops out in full force, Inukai takes refuge with
hostess-oiran-prostitute-borderline dominatrix Yae Sugito, who gives him a bit
of hard time, but rather takes a shine to the rough but shy character. The
feeling is somewhat mutual judging from the whopper of a tip the mystery man
left behind.
As Yumiska spends years following-up false
leads, Sugito uses Inukai’s money to pay off her family’s debts and start leading
a relatively straight life in Tokyo. Ironically, she will return to her former
profession, preferring the stability of life with her new paternalist
mom-and-pop employers. Alas, the government eventually decides to be
progressive and reformist by shuttering legal houses of prostitution. Forced to
make yet another new start, Sugito happens to notice a provincial philanthropist’s
picture in the newspaper. Mr. Kyôichirô Tarumi certainly bears a strong resemblance
to the man responsible for her nest egg, who has taken on almost saintly status
in her own head.
It is not hard to understand why Straits (or Fugitive) is regarded in Japan as one of the finest Japanese films
of all time. It truly combines elements of the sympathetic (if not wholly
innocent) fugitive thriller, in the tradition of Hitchcock’s The Wrong Man, with the sweeping scope
and tragedy of Les Mis (which Uchida
adapted straight-up in 1931). His use of gritty widescreen 16mm also gives it a
1960s docu-drama vibe. Yet, what makes the film so appealingly idiosyncratic is
the delight Uchida takes in breaking all the rules. Inukai disappears for a
long period of time, allowing the second movement to become an empathetic woman’s
story, roughly akin to Naruse’s When a Woman Ascends the Stairs.
Sachiko Hidari is remarkably sensitive and
forceful as Yae, commanding the screen and keeping viewers tightly focused even
when the noir skullduggery is at a low ebb. Rentarô Mikuni is indeed generous
with the spotlight, but he brings some seriously hardnosed intensity in the
first and third acts. Noir fans will also appreciate Junzaburô Ban’s wheezy
Yamisaka, who projects world-weary fatalism worthy of Inspector Maigret.
