Obscure Japanese Film #14
Katsuo Nakamura and Yoshiko Sakuma
Saku (Yoshiko Sakuma) is a teenage girl who comes to work at a silk farm situated between Lake Biwa and its much smaller neighbour, Lake Yogo, the ‘Lake of Tears’ of the English-language title.[1] This particular silk farm specialises in the making of shamisen strings from silk. The day after her arrival, a young male apprentice named Ukichi (Katsuo Nakamura) arrives and the two soon fall in love. When Ukichi is called up for military service, he stops eating and drinks large quantities of soya sauce in the hope that he will fail the medical and be able to stay with Saku; his scheme fails, but Saku promises to wait for him. In his absence, Monzaemon, a famous shamisen master, pays a visit and takes a shine to her; she is persuaded to leave the silk farm and study the shamisen with him in Kyoto. As the master musician is played by Ganjiro Nakamura – the dirty old man from Odd Obsession and others – it’s no surprise that his interest in Saku is not entirely altruistic, and we’re all set for a tale which seems engineered to fulfil the tragic promise of its title.
Yoshiko Sakuma and Ganjiro Nakamura
Donald Richie once said that the
conflict between giri (obligation)
and ninjo (inclination) provides the
basis of all Japanese drama. ‘All’ might be going a bit far, but Lake of Tears is certainly a prime
example of this – the young couple’s plans are ruined due to Ukichi’s
obligation to his country and Saku’s obligation to Monzaemon, which puts her in
a very difficult position, especially when she incurs the wrath of his jealous
mistress (Michiyo Kogure).
Ganjiro Nakamura
Set in the mid-1920s, Lake of Tears is one for those with an
interest in the traditional side of Japan, and it’s probably this emphasis
which led to it being selected as Japan’s submission for Best Foreign Film at
the Oscars that year. Considerable attention is given to details of silk
production and the string-making process, while there’s much playing of the shamisen when the story moves to Kyoto.
The film was based on a then newly-published novel written by Tsutomu Minakami, whose stories The Temple of the Wild Geese and Bamboo Dolls of Echizen had already been filmed in Japan and would later be translated into English and published by The Dalkey Archive. In the novel, Saku apparently becomes pregnant by Monzaemon, while in the film it’s merely implied that he has forced himself on her, making her final actions rather baffling. The screenplay is by Naoyuki Suzuki, who had also adapted Minakami’s A House in the Quarter for the same director (Tomotaka Tasaka) in 1963, as well as his Straits of Hunger for Tomu Uchida’s excellent film known in the West as A Fugitive from the Past (1965).
Yoshiko Sakuma
Yoshiko Sakuma (the female lead in Samurai Banners) is ideal as the unfortunate Saku, while Katsuo Nakamura is decent enough in a rather one-dimensional role, but it’s difficult to understand why he won two Best Supporting Actor awards in Japan for his efforts. He was a brother of Kinnosuke Nakamura and is best known abroad as Hoichi the Earless in Kwaidan. The cast also features Kihachi Okamoto favourite Kunie Tanaka and a young Kirin Kikki as fellow silk spinners. Late in her career, Kikki became a favourite of Hirokazu Koreeda and her talent is already evident here from the way she reacts so well to her fellow actors.
Katsuo Nakamura and Kirin Kikki
Director Tomotaka Tasaka indulges in
some interesting flourishes, at times showing us what his characters are
imagining. The most striking example of this is an all-yellow sequence
illustrating a fantasy playing out in Monzaemon’s head, while when he
improvises a song inspired by Saku, Tasaka cuts to an elaborate montage of
flowers and silk-spinning.
Ganjiro Nakamura and Yoshiko Sakuma
I’ve seen two other films by this director (Five Scouts and A Slope in the Sun) and it’s difficult to think of anything they have in common. One interesting fact I managed to uncover is that he was in Hiroshima at the time of the bombing, but was saved from death due to a timely trip to the toilet (although he suffered health issues on and off for the rest of his life as a result of exposure to radiation). Anyway, I would say it is his creativity – along with the excellent colour ‘scope photography of Masahiko Iimura – which makes Lake of Tears worth seeing despite a sentimental, drawn-out and predictable story.
[1] Confusingly, the Japanese title, Umi no koto, refers to a type of Japanese harp known as a koto.
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