Inoue at the Japan Society: The Eagle and the Hawk

A rusty slow boat is always a good noir setting. The crew and stowaways on the good ship Kaiyo Maru would not be so out of place in classics like Across the Pacific and Journey into Fear, but they sing more. It seems like a stretch to call it a musical, but there is still a fair amount of crooning and uke strumming in Umetsugu Inoue’s The Eagle and the Hawk, which screens as part of Japan’s Music Man, the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective of Inoue’s musicals.

First Mate Goro’s father was murdered shortly before he shipped out with Captain Onizame, his dad’s old sea crony. They both always assumed he would marry Onizame’s daughter Akiko, but she has him pegged squarely in the raised-like-siblings corner of the friend-zone. Rather awkwardly, she is more attracted to the rebellious new sailor Senkichi Nomura, who rather recklessly implies he is the murderer to Sasaki, another new crewman.

Frankly, Akiko was not supposed to join her father on this run to Hong Kong, but she decided to play stowaway. She is not the only one. The dysfunctionally codependent Akemi has also followed her contemptuous lover Nomura on-board, setting the stage for a four-way romantic conflict. In all fairness, it should be stipulated Nomura and Goro are quite civil towards each other, considering the former most likely killed the latter’s father and is definitely romancing his presumed fiancée. For a hot-headed rebel, Nomura also gets on quite well with Sasaki, whom he and Akiko suspect to be an undercover cop. That is all fine and reasonable, but somebody must be behind the mysterious accidents plaguing the ship.

Eagle helped launch Yujiro Ishihara’s career, along with Stormy Man, but the real star for contemporary noir fans will be Rentarô Mikuni as the often bare-chested Sasaki, out-Mitchuming Robert Mitchum, in a way that is both steely and laidback. Ishihara might be the brooding heartthrob, but Mikuni is just ultra-cool. Of course, he leaves the singing to Ishihara’s Nomura.

The ensemble is packed with colorful characters, but Tôru Abe is probably the saltiest as Matsu, the fugitive bosun, who doubles as the voice of the film’s conscience. Ruriko Asaoka is the picture of plucky purity as Akiko, but Yumeji Tsukioka is far more engaging and poignant as the defiantly lovestruck Akemi.

Inoue’s narrative starts out as a gritty revenge thriller, but evolves into an even darker B. Traven-style tale of high seas exploitation. Yet, the music and mismatched romance give it a deceptively light vibe. Once again, he shows a knack for slightly bittersweet endings that still satisfy, but could never be dismissed as cop-outs. Highly recommended as some good old-fashioned entertainment, The Eagle and the Hawk screens today (12/15) and tomorrow (12/16), as part of the Japan Society’s Inoue musical series.

Inoue at the Japan Society: The Winner

What do a boxer and a ballerina have in common? They both understand the importance of footwork. In this case, they also have the same patron. Both will pursue their ambitions, even if it means deferring questions of love in Umetsugu Inoue’s The Winner, which screens as part of Japan’s Music Man, the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective of Inoue’s musicals.

Eikichi was a contender, but he could have been a champ had he not allowed himself to get distracted by his love for Natsuko. He now manages her father’s Ginza nightclub and tries to mold professional boxers on the side. The palooka who just got knocked out by the rank amateur Shuntaro Fuma was supposed to be his last fighter, but he signs up Fuma instead. Natsuko is not thrilled about it, but she continues to patiently wait for their long-promised marriage. However, Eikichi will have a harder time explaining why he impulsively decides to sponsor Mari Shiraki’s ballet studies, after he was forced to fire her from the club’s floor show.

The truth is, Shiraki’s relationship with her “sensei” is strictly chaste, even though she might have mixed feelings about that. Inevitably, she also meets the surly Fuma, who falls head-over-heels. So yes, it gets really complicated, but Eickichi sort of simplifies matters by insisting neither of his protégés can act on their feelings until they have achieved their goals. Cue the training montages.

Despite the Ginza setting, it would be a stretch to call The Winner a musical without the ballet sequence directly inspired by The Red Shoes. Obviously, there is a strong Venn diagram overlap between fans of the Powell & Pressburger ballet fable and boxing movies like Rocky, because The Winner was a big hit in 1957. Frankly, the tone is decidedly Runyonesque, as boxers and dancers mingle and the smart set rubs shoulders with low life thugs.

Yûjirô Ishihara turns on the punky charm as Fuma and develops some endearing chemistry with Mie Kitahara’s Shiraki. Kitahara exudes waifish vulnerability and aptly looks the part of a classically trained prima ballerina throughout the slightly surreal ballet fantasia. Yoko Minamida also brings sophistication and attitude as the chic Natsuko. Yet, it is Tatsuya Mihashi who holds it all together as driven, world weary Eickichi, boosting everyone around him. In terms of tone, think of Harrison Ford in the Sabrina remake, but with more hardbitten cynicism.

The screenwriting battery of Toru Kino, Toshio Masuda, and Isamu Onoda devise an ending that is messier and more bittersweet than the standard big title fight ending (although that is still definitely part of the mix). Of course, Inoue marinates it all in post-war style. Highly recommended, The Winner screens today and tomorrow (12/15 & 12/16), as part of the Japan Society’s Inoue musical series.

Inoue at the Japan Society: The Stormy Man

It is hard to imagine a jazz critic appearing on American television to discuss rival drummers in a national jazz poll, but it certainly is fun to imagine. On the other hand, Jazz has had considerably more mainstream commercial acceptance in Japan during the immediate post-war years. It is still a bit of a stretch, but we can suspend our disbelief as bad boy drummer Shoichi Kokubu becomes a media sensation in Umetsugu Inoue’s The Stormy Man, which screens as part of Japan's Music Man, the Japan Society’s weekend retrospective of Inoue’s musicals.

“Charlie,” the current #1 drummer, just broke up with his manager, Miyako Fukushima, both professionally and romantically. That leaves a vacant chair her band, the Six Jokers that needs to be filled pronto. Taking a chance, Fukushima bails out disorderly Kokubu, taking him directly from the overnight lock-up to the bandstand.

Of course, Kokubu rises to the occasion, really surprising everyone with his teen heartthrob vocals. He also makes quite the impression on Mary Oka, a nightclub dancer, who happens to be Charlie’s girlfriend. Inevitably, they become bitter rivals. Kokubu has all the initial advantages, including greater energy and talent. He also strikes a Faustian bargain with slimy jazz critic Toru Sakyo, who will champion his career in exchange for help wooing Fukushima. However, Sakyo will turn on the drummer when he starts his own relationship with Fukushima, threatening to sabotage the premiere of his virtuous little brother Eiji’s symphonic jazz tone poem (clearly based on Rhapsody in Blue). Yet, if you think Sakyo is mean-spirited, wait till you meet Kokubu’s ultra-judgmental mother, who thinks very little of his career choices.

Stormy is a delightfully lurid melodrama filled with music, gangsters, and angry young man angst. In many ways, it is an ode to the sights and sounds of Tokyo’s Ginza district, which looks like a total blast, but also more than a little dangerous, in an old school kind of way. This is definitely a jazz film, even though Shoichi’s vocals venture into the realm of jump-blues and Eiji’s composition approaching the sounds and textures of Stan Kenton’s progressive third-stream explorations.

This is also the film that launched Yûjirô Ishihara as a James Dean-esque teen idol, who relentlessly rages and seethes as the resentful drummer with mother issues. Ironically, he looks much younger than Kyoji Aoyama, portraying the unshakably sensible Eiji. Mie Kitahara is terrific bringing the sly attitude and show-stopping glamor as Fukushima, like a femme fatale, without the fatalness. In contrast, Nobuo Kaneko makes quite a slimy, clammy, forked-tongue impression as the manipulative Sakyo. You can think of him as a combination of the absolute worst traits of Tony Curtis’s Sidney Falco and Burt Lancaster’s J.J. Hunsecker in The Sweet Smell of Success.

There is a lot of violent gangster business going on in Stormy Man, but somehow Inoue still manages to keep it bopping along quite buoyantly. It looks colorful and splashy, whole sounding swinging and modern. The Ginza jazz life was probably never really like this, but it is fun to think that it was. Enthusiastically recommended for hip audiences, The Stormy Man screens this Saturday and Sunday (12/15 & 12/16), as part of the Japan Society’s Inoue musical series.