Brand of Evil / 悪の紋章 / Aku no monsho (1964)

Obscure Japanese Film #229

Tsutomu Yamazaki

 

Kikuchi (Tsutomu Yamazaki, the kidnapper from High and Low) is a police detective investigating the murder of a young woman. The trail leads to company boss Shibata (Rokko Toura), but he suddenly finds himself falsely accused of accepting bribes from a drug dealer and is kicked out of the police force and sent to prison for two years. After his release, he manages to find work with a private detective agency on condition that he drops any notion of trying to clear his name. He agrees, then promptly sets about trying to clear his name, during the course of which he finds himself involved with Setsuko (Michiyo Aratama), a young woman he sees falling victim to a pickpocket on the subway…

 

Michiyo Aratama

This co-production between Toho and Takarazuka Eiga was based on a 1962 novel of the same name by Shinobu Hashimoto, who co-wrote the screenplay with Sakae Hirosawa and the director, Hiromichi Horikawa. Horikawa and Hashimoto had previously collaborated on The Lost Alibi (1960) and Shiro to kuro (1963), two similarly dark and twisty crime thrillers, and both had begun their film careers under the tutelage of Kurosawa. The master’s influence is apparent here in the way certain scenes are shot and the use of weather to heighten atmosphere. In fact, the moody high-contrast cinematography comes courtesy of Yuzuru Aizawa, who had shot The Bad Sleep Well (1960). Another asset is a strong jazz score by one of Japan’s top composers, Toshiro Mayuzumi, while the excellent cast also includes Kyoko ‘Woman in the Dunes’ Kishida, Keiji Sada and, wasted in a tiny role as the head of the detective agency, Takashi Shimura. 

 

Hashimoto’s view of the world tended towards the misanthropic, and none of the characters in Brand of Evil are terribly nice. In fact, one of the most memorable scenes involves the supposed hero torturing a hapless yakuza stooge to the strains of a Strauss waltz (‘Rosen aus dem Süden’), which reminded me of the way Tarantino used ‘Stuck in the Middle with You’ in Reservoir Dogs, although Tarantino certainly took it to another level. 

 

Keiji Sada and Tsutomu Yamazaki

In my view, the film is slightly less effective than The Lost Alibi or Shiro to kuro because the combination of the lack of a sympathetic protagonist combined with a rather convoluted plot and slightly excessive running time of around two hours and eleven minutes makes it hard to feel emotionally invested in the story all the way to the end. It’s also hard to forgive the demeaning portrayal of a disabled character, Setsuko’s friend Tsuyako, played by Toshiko Yabuki. 

 

Rokko Toura

 

Tatsuya Nakadai 1932-2025

 

Sword of Doom (1966)

 

Today (which happens to be Remembrance Day) I woke up and turned on my phone to find a WhatsApp message from a friend in Japan informing me that the great Japanese actor Tatsuya Nakadai had died on November 8 at the age of 92. As some readers will know, I spent around three years writing a book about Nakadai, published in 2021 under the title The Face of an Actor – The Life and Films of Tatsuya Nakadai.

I never met the man myself, although I tried my best to make it happen. In early 2020, I flew to Japan armed with a letter of introduction from the BBC’s Alan Yentob and tickets to see Nakadai on stage in Moliere’s Tartuffe, only to learn on arrival that the performances had been cancelled due to the COVID pandemic, which was still in its very early days at the time. I thought it was just possible that this might work out in my favour as Nakadai would now have more time on his hands at least, so I persuaded my Japanese friend Masa to phone his theatre school, Mumeijuku, and see what he could do. It didn’t come to anything in the end, probably because – understandably – they didn’t want to risk exposing the elderly actor to anyone while the pandemic was in progress, although they were too polite to say so.

I came to write the book in a roundabout kind of way. I had written one previous biography, Beware of the Actor – The Rise and Fall of Nicol Williamson (2017), as a result of which I came to know a wonderful gentleman named Leslie Megahey, who had directed Williamson in the film The Hour of the Pig and on stage in Jack – A Night on the Town with John Barrymore. Leslie had also made a documentary about Akira Kurosawa for the BBC back in 1986 and, after I finished my Williamson biography, it just so happened that he was writing the text to accompany a book showcasing Kurosawa film posters entitled Akira Kurosawa – A Life in Film. When he discovered that I was knowledgable on the films of Kurosawa and, to some extent, on Japanese culture, Leslie hired me to help him with some fact-checking and it was as a result of this that I came to decide upon Nakadai as the subject of my next book.

Before beginning my research, I knew very little about Nakadai beyond his film performances, and I was to be constantly surprised and impressed with what I discovered. He was born into a poor family in 1932 and his father died young from tuberculosis while Nakadai was still a child. During a bombing raid in World War II, a young girl he was trying to help to find shelter was killed in front of his eyes. Late in life, he confessed that he was still tormented by this image in his dreams decades later. It’s no wonder, then, that he took every opportunity to speak out against the horrors of war for his entire adult life.

Considering that Nakadai was an actor famous partly for samurai sword-wielding roles in films such as Sanjuro, Hara Kiri, Sword of Doom and several for director Hideo Gosha, it was surprising to learn that he was a theatre actor who had trained in shingeki, a theatre movement that sought to emulate Western realism and mainly performed Western works in translation – in other words, Nakadai actually began his career playing Westerners on stage! Although he made his 4-second film debut as a ronin wandering through town in Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (1954), it was not until Sanjuro (shot in 1961) that he played a proper samurai role on film. 

 

pre-fame in Oban (1957)

 

The most important influences on Nakadai’s career were, firstly, Koreya Senda, the founder of the Haiyuza theatre school where Nakadai trained; secondly, Masaki Kobayashi, who gave him his first really notable screen role in Black River (1957) and went on to cast him in the highly-coveted lead role in his Human Condition trilogy (1959-61) and finally, of course, Kurosawa, who cast him as the pistol-packing opponent of Toshiro Mifune in Yojimbo (1961) and would eventually choose him for the lead in his late masterpieces Kagemusha (1980) and Ran (1985).

Despite all his film success, Nakadai maintained his independence, turning down offers of contracts from the major studios. He stubbornly remained a freelancer in film and never gave up the theatre. He continued as a member of Haiyuza for many years and eventually founded his own theatre school, Mumeijuku, in the late 1970s, a project that he continued right up until his passing. He used the money from his films to fund it, trained hundreds of actors over the years – including international star Koji Yakusho – and never charged an admission fee. It was also not just a school, but a theatre company that staged at least one production per year. In this endeavour, he was greatly helped by his wife, actor and writer Yasuko Miyazaki, who succumbed to cancer in 1996. The late 1990s were, as a result, a low point for Nakadai as he struggled to cope with this loss, but, fortunately, he decided to keep Mumeijuku going, partly as a tribute to his wife. In the 1960s, Yasuko had become pregnant but lost the baby and Mumeijuku had filled a void in their lives, something which was also helped by their adoption of Yasuko’s then 4-year-old niece, Nao, in 1978. 

 

Until the Break of Dawn (2012)

Nakadai’s late film career was disappointing and I’ve never understood why Japanese filmmakers failed to make good use of his talents in the 21^st century. The exception was Masahiro Kobayashi, who created three excellent roles for Nakadai in the films Haru’s Journey (2010), Japan’s Tragedy (2012) and Lear on the Shore (2017).

When I began researching for my book, I had no idea what I might find. It’s one thing to admire an actor’s performances, but this may not necessarily lead to admiration for them as a human being. However, the more I found out about Nakadai, the more my respect for him grew. He worked hard for what he achieved and, when fame arrived, he showed little interest in accumulating personal wealth, preferring instead to focus his energies on doing work he felt to be worthwhile for other reasons. As far as I know, he also remained faithful to his wife - it was difficult, in fact, to find a bad word said about him, at least in terms of the man as a human being (like all actors, he received bad notices occasionally). And just in case this piece has made him sound like some kind of goody-two-shoes, well – there are stories of him getting into drunken fights with fellow actors as well, so he certainly had a colourful side to him too! But there’s no doubt in my mind that we have lost a man who enriched the world by his presence.

The official announcement on the Mumeijuku website reads:

Actor Tatsuya Nakadai passed away at 12:25 AM on Saturday, November 8th due to pneumonia. This year, he played the lead role in the Noto Peninsula Earthquake Recovery Performance "Mother Courage and Her Children" and had just begun rehearsals for his next performance. Known worldwide for his work in the films of directors Akira Kurosawa and Masaki Kobayashi, he was a unique actor who was dedicated to his acting and remained active throughout his life. In accordance with Nakadai's wishes , the wake and funeral will be held only for close relatives, and there are no plans for a farewell party. We ask that you please refrain from offering any offerings or condolence money. We would like to express our sincere gratitude for your support up to this day.

The Alaska Story / アラスカ物語 / Arasuka monogatari (1977)

Obscure Japanese Film #228

Kinya Kitaoji

This Toho production was based on a 1974 novel* by Jiro Nitta (1912-80), who also supplied the source material for the previously-reviewed Mount Hakkoda, another big movie shot on rugged locations and released the same year. Nitta’s novel was itself based on the life of Frank Yasuda (1868-1958), sometimes dubbed the ‘Japanese Moses.’ Yasuda emigrated to the USA as a young man and served on the USS Bear, a coast guard vessel which became entrapped in ice off the coast of Alaska in 1893. Sent to get help, he walked a vast distance before eventually collapsing, then was rescued by some Inuit in the nick of time. They sent a party to the aid of his shipmates, but Yasuda decided to remain with the Inuit and was taken under the wing of a man named Amaohka, who taught him whaling and hunting. Yasuda ended up marrying Amaohka’s daughter, Nebiro. However, when food became scarce in the area, Yasuda hooked up with Thomas Carter, an American gold prospector, hoping to strike it rich and make enough to lead his adoptive people to a better land (hence the ‘Japanese Moses’ moniker)…

Kyoko Mitsubayashi

Adapted for the screen by Masato Ide (known for his work with Kurosawa), the film follows Yasuda’s story quite closely, but throws in some fictional scenes to spice up the drama, such as the rather absurd but highly entertaining one in which a pack of wolves try to break into Yasuda’s cabin while his wife’s trying to give birth. There was an opportunity to make a more thoughtful, serious film here, but what we get is a disappointingly superficial entertainment. The director, Hiromichi Horikawa, was a former assistant to Kurosawa who made at least two very good films, The Lost Alibi (1960) and Shiro to kuro (1963), but failed to live up to that early promise.

Joe Shishido

Having said that, The Alaska Story was by no means a chore to sit through and remains worth a look for its breathtaking locations shot by cinematographer Kozo Okazaki, who worked with many of Japan’s top directors. Masaru Sato’s elaborate score is also inspired at times. Leading man Kinya Kitaoji was likely cast for his physical toughness and endurance rather than acting ability, but he’s adequate anyway. The only other Japanese character is played by Joe Shishido, who steals the show here as the forthright George Oshima, Yasuda’s real-life friend, who seems to have been a sort of wandering lone adventurer. Other well-known Japanese actors appear as Inuit, including Eiji Okada as Amaohka, Kyoko Mitsubayashi as Nebiro, and Hideo Gosha favourite Isao Natsuyagi, while Tetsuro Tanba pops up as a Native American chief – and I must say he does look the part! But the real star of this film is nature herself.

Tetsuro Tanba

As usual with Japanese films featuring Western characters (of which there are quite a few), the director appears to have just grabbed the nearest Westerners to fill these roles regardless of acting ability or experience, and they’re mostly terrible. The one honourable exception is William Ross, who plays Tom Carter, and is quite decent. Ross was an American who emigrated to Japan and found work in the film industry in many capacities, but basically whenever a gaijin was needed.

William Ross

Those who enjoy tales of real-life adventure may well enjoy this film, but a word of warning for animal-lovers – it looks like Kitaoji killed a seal for real in one scene, and there’s also a sequence featuring a whale hunt which I don’t think was faked. As the British Board of Film Censors prohibits such scenes, I suspect that this is the reason why the film has had no UK release that I know of.

* An English translation was published in 1980 as An Alaskan Tale

If you'd like to support me, please go to:

https://BUYMEACOFFEE.com/martindowsing

or pick up a copy of my book from Amazon:

The Face of an Actor – The Life and Films of Tatsuya Nakadai 

(ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09HFS96CC)  

A Picture of Madame Yuki / 雪夫人繪圖 / Yuki Fujin ezu (1968)

Obscure Japanese Film #227

1949. Teenage orphan Hamako (Sumiko Hasegawa) arrives at a grand residence at Shinobazu Pond in Ueno, Tokyo, to serve as maid to the aristocratic Madame Yuki (Yoshiko Sakuma), whose father, a former viscount, has just died. Various relatives and opportunistic acquaintances flock to the scene like vultures hoping to secure a piece of the carcass for themselves. Among them are Yuki’s husband, Naoyuki (Isao Yamagata), who spends most of his time in Kyoto with his mistress, Ayako (Yuko Hama). However, it turns out that Yuki’s father has left nothing but debts, so the house is sold and the family’s other home in snowy Nagano is turned into an inn. Meanwhile, Yuki has been having an affair with Kikunaka (Tetsuro Tanba), a married writer, but even though she detests her own husband, he retains a mysterious sexual hold over her from which she seems unable to break free...

Isao Yamagata

Although the official English title of this film chooses ‘Picture’ over ‘Portrait’, it is, of course, based on the same novel as the better-known Kenji Mizoguchi film of 1950. The novel, by Seiichi Funahashi* (1904-76), first appeared in serial form between 1948-1950 and remains untranslated into English. To be frank, I can’t stand the story in either film version. One reason is the portrayal of unquestioning devotion, even idolatry, of a servant for her mistress, which seems to give tacit approval to the class system. Although Hamako becomes disillusioned with her mistress and Funahashi may have been trying to make a broader point about the disillusionment of the younger generation in the post-war years regarding the ruling class, the problem is that Yuki is presented as someone to be pitied and, if not deserving of the elevated status she enjoyed, it’s only because of her lack of courage. Indeed, while her self-pitying, acquiescent victimhood is irritating, she’s still painted as a tragic heroine. It also doesn’t help that the bad behaviour of the villains of the piece – the cruel husband and his predictably cheap and vulgar mistress – is so blatant that it’s never convincing.

At heart, the story is an old-fashioned melodrama, and, while the writer-director of this version, Masashige Narusawa – who had been a screenwriter for Mizoguchi on four of the latter’s final films – has for the most part clearly tried to downplay this as much as possible, still it is what it is. He certainly made a very different film to his mentor’s and was, reportedly, more faithful to the original novel. However, well-photographed though it is, it lacks the often inspired camera placement and composition found in the original, and so is not really an improvement overall, only in certain aspects. Transferring the bulk of the story to a snowy location (yuki means snow in Japanese) was a good idea, but it’s those crane shots with the rolling mist by the lake at the end of Mizoguchi’s film that linger in my mind.

Tetsuro Tanba

Compared to the wimpy character portrayed by Ken Uehara in 1950, Tetsuro Tanba is a much more commanding, masculine presence, yet none of the performances in either film are especially notable, perhaps because Funahashi – who also wrote the source novel for The Story of a Blind Woman – failed to put much life into them in the first place. Still, it’s a shame that this proved to be the final film directed by Narusawa as he clearly had talent, even if it’s less evident here than in his previous two pictures.

Produced by Toei, who had been pushing Yoshiko Sakuma as a star of literary erotica since their 1963 film of Tsutomu Mizukami’s Gobancho Yugiri-ro (aka A House in the Quarter), this version was shelved and not released until it was bought by Nikkatsu in 1975.

*Sometimes listed as Funabashi, but I think that’s incorrect.

Thanks to Coralsundy for the subtitles, which can be found here.

Thanks to A.K.

Hyoroku’s Dream Tale / 兵六夢物語 / Hyoroku yume monogatari (1943)

 Obscure Japanese Film #226

Ken'ichi Enomoto aka Enoken

 

Here’s a weird one! This Toho production was based on a story by Masanao Mori (1761-1803) with the slightly longer title of ‘Oishi Hyoroku yume monogatari’, though that was not a totally original work, but rather Mori's version of a folk tale. Of course, being made in Japan during the war years, the filmmakers had little choice but to introduce a propaganda element, so the film begins with a scene in the modern day in which young children with wooden swords are being taught to defend the motherland from attack by foreign soldiers. I guess somebody thought that was motivational at the time, but, from today’s perspective, it’s hard to see it as anything other than a sad indictment of a sick society (I suppose the other possible interpretation is that director Nobuo Aoyagi was subtly critiquing the militaristic government in a way they were too dumb to appreciate). 

 

Jumping back a couple of centuries, we’re introduced to Hyoroku (Ken’ichi Enomoto), a teenage samurai who lives with his mother and is practising for an upcoming kendo competition. With his small stature and prematurely-aged face, he cuts a ridiculous figure, but happens to be the grandson of a master swordsman and so feels obliged to try to act like one. Unfortunately, his efforts to impress not only embarrass himself, but bring shame to the others in his kendo group, who want to kick him out. 

 

Hideko Takamine

When Hyoroku’s mother asks him to deliver a letter to a monk five miles away, he discovers that he must first get past the various yokai (supernatural entities)* in the forest, and hopes to restore his honour by slaying them. However, these shape-shifting creatures – which include a fox who turns into a young girl (Hideko Takamine) – prove to be not so easy to defeat… 

 

For those unfamiliar with the story (probably everyone not Japanese), there’s little clue in the first half of the film that this comedy is going to turn into an out-and-out fantasy with a good number of special effects. In fact, it’s surprising that the film’s not a little better-known given that it features a number of yokai created by legendary effects whiz Eiji Tsuburaya, who went on to bring Godzilla to life in 1954. Although the 69-minute running time suggests a B-movie, budgets were low during the war years, and this film may well have been considered quite lavish at the time. Indeed, it’s also a musical and features an elaborate dance number at one point, as well as several popular stars of the era, even if only Ken’ichi Enomoto and Takamine are remembered at all today. 

 

Playing a curiously old-looking teenager, the comic actor Ken’ichi Enomoto, better-known as Enoken, was 38 at the time and one of the most well-known faces in Japanese entertainment. Outside of his home country, he’s only likely to be familiar to those who have seen The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail (1945), one of Akira Kurosawa’s early films. In Hyoroku’s Dream Tale, his unsmiling demeanour is sometimes reminiscent of Buster Keaton. 

 

Takamine again

The director, Nobuo Aoyagi, helmed over 80 films between 1940 and 1964, including the modest masterpiece World of Love (1943), also with Takamine, and over a dozen other Enoken vehicles. Despite its unfortunate message – which seems to be that even physical weaklings have a part to play in defeating the enemy – Hyoroku’s Dream Tale is often quite nicely shot and I somehow couldn’t bring myself to dislike it.

BONUS TRIVIA: The production manager was none other than Kon Ichikawa.

* For more on yokai, check out this interesting page. Thanks to Michel for the link. 

Watch on YouTube here (no English subtitles)

Yellow Dog / イエロー・ドッグ (1973)

Obscure Japanese Film #225

 

Jiro Tamiya

 

This oddity is an independent Japanese-British co-production from a company called Akari, which seems to have been formed by star Jiro Tamiya and director Terence Donovan especially for this movie. Tamiya plays Kimura, a secret service man who goes to London on a covert mission. A Professor Bewsley (John Welsh) has found a way to produce synthetic fuel from hydrogen (or sommat) and Kimura must prevent it from falling into the wrong hands – but of course that’s all just a Hitchcock-like MacGuffin to set the plot in motion. Along the way, Kimura forms an uneasy alliance with British secret service man Alexander (Robert Hardy) and is seduced by the mysterious Della (Carolyn Seymour). 

 

Carolyn Seymour

Unfortunately, the plot is convoluted to the point of incomprehensibility at times. The screenplay is by Shinobu Hashimoto, justly famous for his collaborations with Akira Kurosawa among others, but who sometimes seemed to go off the rails when not working from a literary source and left to his own devices (see also Lake of Illusions). Here, Hashimoto has based his story on the fact that Japan had no specific law against espionage at the time, making it a so-called ‘paradise for spies’ (Japan’s State Secrecy Law finally went into force in 2014). It’s perhaps worth noting that, preceding Hashimoto’s screenplay credit, the opening credits state (in this order) ‘New Dialogue by John Bird / Original Translation from the Japanese by Professor Alan Turney / From an Idea by Terence Donovan.’ John Bird (1936-2022) was a very well-known figure in the UK, famous for his satirical writing and comic acting, mainly on television, and was no doubt responsible for making the dialogue more colloquial. In any case, a bizarre climax involving Tamiya rubbing rice balls all over himself and an actual yellow dog (which has been died that colour) is something only the eccentric Hashimoto could have cooked up.

 

Of course, the title is also partly a racial epithet – another strange scene features Kimura pretending to be hopeless at judo before his opponent calls him a ‘yellow Jap’, at which point he snarls, ‘I don’t mind the “Jap” so much, but don’t ever call me “yellow”!’ He then loses it and proceeds to fuck up his opponent by dislocating both his arm and his jaw for him (incidentally, Tamiya was a black belt in karate, so why the filmmakers failed to make use of this real-life skill instead of featuring a judo match is anyone’s guess). Helpfully, Kimura later explains the second word in the title more fully, saying, ‘In Japan, detectives and informers are called dogs – they’re always sniffing around. Not a very polite expression,’ while another canine quirk of this film is that Kimura has a phobia of dogs. However, perhaps a further motivation for the use of ‘dog’ in the title is that Tamiya had starred in the series of nine Inu (‘dog’) films made by Daiei between 1964 and 1967. 

 

Tamiya with Robert Hardy

God knows how Tamiya hooked up with fashion photographer Terence Donovan and chose him as director. Donovan had never made a film before and never would again, with the exception of a number of music videos such as the one for Robert Palmer’s ‘Addicted to Love’. On this evidence, it’s not hard to see why Donovan made no further features. Almost everything falls flat here and, considering Donovan’s background, one might expect the film to look good at least, but most of it’s indifferently photographed and looks like cheap TV. A tragic footnote to this film is the fact that both Tamiya and Donovan suffered from depression and would die by suicide – Donovan not until 1996, but Tamiya in 1978, the year after this film was finally released in Japan (by Shochiku) and flopped both with the critics and at the box office. While Yellow Dog was certainly not the reason for his suicide, it may have been one of many contributing factors. 

 

Tamiya does surprisingly well in terms of his English pronunciation, though his intonation is rather strange and I suspect that he learned his lines phonetically. This must have been quite a challenge, and you can only admire him for taking it on, especially considering that he’s surrounded by such experienced and confident British actors as Robert Hardy and co. Cross-cultural collaborations of this sort rarely turn out well, and this one certainly didn’t, but it’s not entirely without entertainment value as we watch Tamiya as a fish out of water slurping his soup, pretending incompetence and bemusing the Brits, who (I’m ashamed to say) mostly come across as a cold and chauvinistic bunch of entitled snobs. 

 

Robert Hardy and Angela Thorne

 

Yukiko / 由紀子 (1955)

 Obscure Japanese Film #224

 

Keiko Tsushima

1932. Intending to kill herself in a beautiful place, high school girl Yukiko (Keiko Tsushima) travels to Lake Towada in northern Honshu, but her plans are foiled by Kyosuke (Jukichi Uno), an older artist who happened to be contemplating suicide in the same spot. Kyosuke is disabled as a result of contracting polio at the age of 30 and is miserable because his wife has left him and run off with his apprentice.

 

Jukichi Uno

As Yukiko tells her story to Kyosuke, we learn in flashback that she is an orphan brought up by her cold-hearted aunt (Sachiko Murase), who considers Yukiko’s mother to have been a slut as she had Yukiko out of wedlock and who thinks that Yukiko will go the same way. Yukiko’s best friend, Tatsuko (Chieko Seki), has already dropped out of school and become a dancer at the Casino Follies in Asakusa, run by dapper gangster Aoto (Eitaro Ozawa), who has already broken up Tatsuko’s relationship with her fiancé Miyoshi (Isao Kimura). 

 

Chieko Seki

Yukiko finds herself in the awkward position of becoming an intermediary between Tatsuko and Miyoshi, but the result is that she falls out with Tatsuko and becomes close to Miyoshi, who gets in a fight with Aoto, stabs him in self-defence and is forced to flee. Yukiko is then expelled from school for having been friends with Miyoshi, who is now wanted by the police. 

 

Isao Kimura

 

Back in the present, Yukiko and Kyosuke become close companions. Four years pass, and it’s now 1936. When the attempted coup of February 26 occurs, they head south to escape the chaos, and she suggests going to Innoshima island. Her hidden motive is that she knows this is where Miyoshi fled to and is hoping to see him again. She finds him in a remote fishing village where he has now become engaged to fisherman’s daughter Tome (Hitomi Nozoe)…

 

Hitomi Nozoe

This independent production by by Chuo Eiga (who made the previously-reviewed Sisters the same year) was based on a popular radio serial of the time by the prolific Kazuo Kikuta (male, 1908-73), who also provided the source material for Kurosawa’s The Silent Duel (1949), Hideo Oba’s What’s Your Name? (trilogy 1953-54) and wrote the play version of Fumiko Hayashi’s autobiographical Horo-ki filmed by Mikio Naruse in 1962 (the film is known in English as A Wanderer’s Notebook). 

 

Sachiko Murase

It’s difficult to see what director Tadashi Imai saw in this corny and sentimental misery fest – certainly, it’s quite a dull watch and there’s little of interest in it in terms of direction, although he does do an excellent job of recreating the Asakusa of 1932. This neighbourhood was largely destroyed in bombing raids during the war, but the Casino Follies was a real venue located, oddly enough, above an aquarium, and the mock-up constructed for this film looks identical.*

 

Keiko Tsushima

Matters are not helped by the miscasting of the 29-year-old Keiko Tsushima, who’s entirely unconvincing as a high school teenager and immediately looks more comfortable as soon as her character’s finally grown up a bit and shed the sailor suit uniform. The organ music featured prominently on the soundtrack is another poor choice.

 

Eitaro Ozawa and Chieko Seki

The only people to come out of this film well are Sachiko Murase (later the elderly heroine of Kurosawa’s 1991 film Rhapsody in August), whose performance suggests a thin line between puritanism and sadism, and Eitaro Ozawa as the foppish, narcissistic bully Aoto. Ozawa seems to have got into his role a bit too much, in fact, as I swear he’s hitting poor Isao Kimura for real during their big confrontation scene.

*Go to this link if you’d like to compare the two.

Watched with dodgy subtitles.