Criterion Sunday 432: Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters (1985)

I think there are a lot of opinions one could hold about the films of Paul Schrader as about the art of Yukio Mishima, and though I’ve read a novel of his and enjoyed it at the level of writing, you don’t have to dig very deep into his life to get profoundly concerned. He’s the kind of man who would probably in our modern age have connected far more readily with the army he was looking for, and perhaps we can be glad of the times he lived in that this didn’t happen. He wanted to roll back post-war changes in Japanese society that he detested and restore Japan to its rightful place of honour, or something along those lines. And Schrader’s own work has been so boldly sadomasochistic and masculinist at times that it feels that matching the two might make for discomfort, and yes it’s certainly not easy to watch this story, either as a character study of a man fixated on honour and death, but also at a formal level it can be challenging to follow. After all, as the title suggests, it’s split into four chapters but is further fractured by various re-enactments of his works (shot in luridly saturated colours) as well as flashbacks in black-and-white to foundational moments in Mishima’s development, as played by Ken Ogata. Still, it remains a beautiful work, with gorgeous lighting and framing and a transcendent Philip Glass score which for a change doesn’t overwhelm the film (mainly because the filmmaking has a strong enough visual look and narrative structure to withstand Glass’s hammering and repetitive musical cadences). I will surely never feel any kinship with Mishima’s ideas but the film does give a visceral sense of his strange relationship to his society, and the fact that this is made by an American creates a strange thematic connection to some other contemporary titles in the Criterion Collection, like The Ice Storm (a quintessential suburban white American story as told by a Taiwanese filmmaker) or The Last Emperor (in which Chinese political history is interpreted by an Italian).


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Director Paul Schrader; Writers Leonard Schrader and Paul Schrader; Cinematographer John Bailey; Starring Ken Ogata 緒形明伸; Length 120 minutes.

Seen at home (Blu-ray), Wellington, Tuesday 25 May 2021.

Criterion Sunday 384: 復讐するは我にあり Fukushu Suru wa Ware ni Ari (Vengeance Is Mine, 1979)

I’ve never really been drawn to films about serial killers, though this is probably a fine example of the genre. It doesn’t let its antihero (played by Ken Ogata, and based on a real Japanese serial killer) off the hook, nor does it dwell on his murders, but instead as a series of flashbacks it spends time with him as he moves between incidents, with women in seedy boarding houses (or perhaps brothels), with his father and wife, finding the banal alongside the criminal. It’s almost inscrutable in the way it deflects understanding of his soul, as though perhaps he has none, and certainly the film seems to suggest in a final scene (that I won’t go into obviously) that his judgement is as much from heaven as it is from other people. It’s a nasty tale, with that grainy raw patina of a lot of 70s filmmaking, and for those that like these stories it’s likely to land a lot better.


FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection
Director Shohei Imamura 今村昌平; Writer Masaru Baba 馬場当 (based on the novel by Ryuzo Saki 佐木隆三); Cinematographer Shinsaku Himeda 姫田真佐久; Starring Ken Ogata 緒形明伸, Rentaro Mikuni 三國連太郎, Mitsuko Baisho 倍賞美津子; Length 140 minutes.

Seen at home (DVD), Wellington, Sunday 27 December 2020.