Asia Society: Age of Assassins

In the 1960s, Japan was quite embarrassed by its World War II affiliations. One mad scientist was the exception. He is only too happy to lend a few of the specially conditioned killer-inmates from his mental asylum to a Neo-Nazi with grand plans in Kihachi Okamoto’s Age of Assassins, which screens this coming Sunday in New York at the Asia Society as part of their ongoing Japanese Cinema 1960s free film series.

Get ready to be played. It is the swinging sixties, but Shinji Kikyo does not swing. A vision-impaired criminal psychology professor with an unpleasant case of athlete’s foot, he hardly seems the type to get mixed up in international intrigue. Unfortunately, his name is one of three randomly picked out of the phone book by Herr Bruckmayer to test the mad Mizorogi’s loony-bin assassins. The first two die easy as pie, but somehow Kikyo overpowers his would be assailant through sheer dumb bumbling. Of course, nobody believes Kikyo’s story, not even Keiko Tsurumaki, a correspondent for a true crime magazine, but she smells a good story.

Needless to say, subsequent attempts on Kikyo’s life convince her there might be something going on here after all. To better play his role, Tsurumaki gives him a James Bond makeover. The game is on now, as it becomes increasingly clear Kikyo’s involvement is not so random after all.

Perhaps the definitive Japanese leading man for western audiences, it is frankly bizarre to see Tatsuya Nakadai geeked-up and slapsticky as Kikyo. Still, he handles the nutty humor like a good sport. As Tsurumaki, Reiko Dan definitely has a saucy Bond Girl appeal that never goes out of style. Most of the rest of the cast realize they are playing caricatures, so they just go with it, without any sense of restraint.

With its groovy soundtrack and whimsical animated titles, Assassins has a similar spirit to contemporaneous American spy spoofs. Perhaps the WWII twist gives it a bit of historical-sociological significance, but everything is plainly played for laughs, which is fine. Naturally, the story makes no sense at all. In fact, whenever the film backtracks to explain itself, it digs itself a deeper hole. Yet, that is part of the charm of the genre.

Who knew Nakadai could play a Clouseau role? To be fair, he and Toshiro Mifune developed a nice comedic rhythm in Kurosawa’s Sanjuro, but nothing like the broad high-jinks seen in Assassins. An energetic cinematic exercise in cross and double-cross, it is goofy departure from the high tragedy that is often programmed for Japanese film retrospectives. It screens this Sunday (12/5) at the Asia Society and again, admission is free.

Asia Society: Naruse’s Yearning

It is a classic Japanese film for Walmart haters. The survival of the neighborhood market that kept war widow Reiko Morita connected to her in-laws is threatened by the arrival of a new fangled supermarket in their sleepy backwater town. As is often the case, economic uncertainty exposes deeper emotional turmoil for the Morita family in Mikio Naruse’s Yearning (trailer here), which screens this Friday in New York at the Asia Society as part of their ongoing Japanese Cinema 1960s film series—and take note: admission is free.

It is not exactly a forbidden love, but it is certainly frowned upon. Twenty-five year-old Koji has significant feelings for his older brother’s widow. Chucking in an office job in Tokyo, he returns home to be a mahjong and pachinko playing lay-about, simply to be near her. However, she remains eternally faithful to his brother’s memory, selflessly dedicating herself to his family’s market. Unfortunately, the price-cutting supermarket upsets the status quo. The married Morita sisters would like to sell out, but that leaves the delicate question of what becomes of their sister-in-law Reiko?

In a sense, Yearning is a grittier version of an Ozu domestic drama, featuring a dutiful, self-denying daughter-in-law as its protagonist. Like Tokyo Story, it also subtly addresses the lingering pain of the war for the many widows left behind. Unlike most Ozu films though, Yearning deals with sexual themes in franker terms and is more judgmental of its characters.

Even if she is his sister-in-law, it is hard to blame Morita for falling for Reiko when she is played by the legendary Hideko Takamine. Strikingly beautiful yet desperately vulnerable, her heartrending performance is on-par with her celebrated star turn in Naruse’s masterwork, When a Woman Ascends the Stairs. Along with Setsuko Hara, Takamine eclipses the stars of golden age Hollywood for their timeless appeal. In contrast, as brother Koji, Yûzô Kayama’s glowering petulance often comes across as distractingly self-defeating.

Yearning is already a tragedy before viewers even know its full backstory. It becomes ever more so, as per the dictates of fate. Again, the exquisitely sensitive Takamine is truly haunting throughout the film. An undeniable classic, Yearning screens this Friday (12/3) at the Asia Society and admission is free.

Asia Society: Three Outlaw Samurai

It is three hardnosed ronin (masterless samurai) versus a small army of samurai. Good luck faceless hordes, you’re going to need it battling Sakon Shiba and his two new acquaintances. However, the three do not start on the same side in Hideo Gosha’s Three Outlaw Samurai (trailer here), which screens this Friday in New York at the Asia Society as part of their ongoing Japanese Cinema 1960s film series.

While there are obviously thematic similarities between Outlaw and Kurosawa’s Yojimbo, Gosha’s film was actually based on his early 1960’s television show of the same name, making Shiba and his comrades-in-arms some of the first television characters to make the jump from the small box to the large screen. Gosha also became the first television director to take the big step up to features. Yet, as a representative of the samurai film, Outlaw is a complete, self-contained feature, with plenty of hack-and-slash action and tragic fatalism to satisfy genre devotees.

By chance, Shiba happens across three desperate peasants holding hostage the daughter of their local magistrate. They hope to use her as leverage to gain more humane conditions for the peasantry. They even have an official appeal to present when the head of the clan arrives for an official inspection. Of course, the magistrate is having none of it, but his strong-arm tactics backfire, turning bemused spectator Shiba into an active ally of the peasants. It also leads to the defection of garrulous Kyojuro Sakura, the Porthos of the three outlaws, who feels a greater loyalty to the peasant stock from which he came. Though he finds the whole affair rather tacky, Einosuke Kikyo remains in the magistrate’s service, but considering how well he and Shiba seem to get along (not to mention the film’s title), it only seems a matter of time before he changes sides as well.

If not a classic on the level of a Yojimbo, Outlaw is an artfully crafted film delivering everything one could ask for from a film about three ronin anti-heroes. When Shiba, Sakura, and Kikyo finally team-up and take on the clan, they are all business, but not distractingly superhuman. They might cut down a force that out-numbers them fifty to one, but they get a bit dinged up in the process. Yet, true to the spirit of Jidaigeki cinema, it ends with a bittersweet note rather than rousing triumphalism.

Tetsuro Tamba (Tiger Tanaka in You Only Live Twice) nails the square-jawed gunslinger with a conscious vibe of Shiba. He is one bad cat. Likewise, Mikijiro Hira rakishly chews the scenery as the hedonistic Kikyo. Only Sakura, the Oscar Madison samurai, seems like a character firmly rooted in TV land, yet Isamu Nagato brings a measure of pathos to him as he wrestles with his guilt stemming from an unfortunate incident early in the film.

Not currently available on DVD in the U.S., Outlaw is the sort of period action that has earned legions of fans for Japanese cinema. Briskly paced and well staged by Gosha, it should be a real crowd pleaser when it screens this Friday (11/12) at the Asia Society—and the tickets are free.

Asia Society: Pleasures of the Flesh

How far did thirty million yen go in 1960’s Japan? Evidently, it was good for about a year’s worth of unrestrained hedonism. Despite such wild indulgence, nobody is really happy in Nagisa Oshima’s Pleasures of the Flesh (trailer here), which kicks off the Asia Society’s new film series, Japanese Cinema 1960s this Friday—and take note: admission is free.

Atsushi Wakizaka is a highly problematic anti-hero. A poor graduate student, he has developed a sexual fixation on Shoko, the teenaged student he tutors. She looks innocent but harbors dark secrets. Raped as a young girl, her assailant has reappeared to extort money from her family. At their behest, Wakizaka delivers the pay-off. In proper film noir fashion, when it is clear the odious creep intends to continuing bleeding them, the tutor pitches him off a speeding train. Unfortunately, there was a witness, but in Flesh, everyone is compromised.

Hayami Toshihiko is a government bureaucrat about to be exposed as an embezzler. If Wakizaka will hold his ill-gotten thirty million while he does his anticipated sentence, Toshihiko will maintain his silence. Wakizaka agrees, since it is relatively benign demand as far as blackmail goes. However, when the object of his affection marries another, he resolves the blow the cash on a year-long vice bender, killing himself just before Toshihiko’s scheduled release. With his grasp on reality increasingly questionable, Wakizaka engages in a series of profoundly unhealthy long-term assignations with any woman who vaguely resemble Shoko, thoroughly debasing them and himself.

Flesh has been dubbed Oshima’s foray into Pink Eiga, a category of naughty Japanese films with idiosyncratic cult and academic followings. Though its content is certainly mature, that seems like something of an exaggeration (though I claim no expertise in the genre). Rather, stylistically it feels much more in keeping with the so-called Japanese New Wave, which Oshima was often associated with, despite his protestations. Indeed, with its eerie off-camera dialogue and subtle blending of objective reality through Wakizaka’s fever dreams, Oshima keeps viewers off-balance throughout. One can also definitely see a kinship to films like Antonioni’s Blow-Up (which Flesh pre-dates by a year).

Regardless of subject matter, Flesh is definitely the work of an auteur, compellingly mixing unsettling thriller elements into a portrait of self-destructive angst. It is truly a director’s film, but Katsuo Nakamura is creepily effective as the woeful lecher. Given Wakizaka’s misogyny, it is hardly a great showcase for actresses, but at least Hiroko Shimizu conveys some strength and sensitivity as Keiko, the one woman of character he finds himself involved with.

While not exactly explicit per se, it is always perfectly clear how Wakizaka relates to women. Yet, it is all rendered quite artfully. A fairly bold selection to start the Asia Society’s new 1960s Japanese Cinema series, Flesh is a work of strange, hallucinatory power from a major Japanese filmmaker, well worth seeing on the big screen (for free) at this Friday (11/5).