Obscure Japanese Film #35
Kinzo Shin
The debut film from director Kei Kumai (who also wrote the screenplay) is a docu-drama without stars which tells the true story of the Teigin Incident, one of the most notorious and bizarre crimes in the history of post-war Japan. On 26 January 1948, a man visited a bank in Tokyo just after closing time claiming to be an official from the health department. He informed the bank manager that he was there to protect the staff from an outbreak of dysentery in the area and it was necessary for them to take an oral vaccine. The manager gathered the staff together and the man demonstrated the correct way to take the medicine, apparently swallowing a dose himself to show that it was safe. The staff all took the ‘medicine’ together but within a very short time had been rendered helpless as a result of cyanide poisoning. The man stole 164,000 yen in cash and a cheque for 17,000 yen and left. He had even given a dose to the 8-year-old son of one of the staff, poisoning 16 people in total. Including the boy, 11 died at the scene, with one further victim expiring in hospital later. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the crime was the calmness with which the man had carried it out – although there seems little doubt that he knew the poison would be fatal, the survivors said that his hands had not even trembled as he administered it.
The police arrested a painter named Sadamichi Hirasawa on suspicion of the murders. There were three main reasons for this: there was proof that he had been given a business card which matched the one that the man had presented at the bank but he was unable to produce it; he resembled the description given by the survivors; and he had recently deposited 130,000 yen into his bank account, but refused to reveal the source of his windfall. Hirasawa eventually confessed, but later withdrew his confession, claiming to have been coerced by the police under considerable duress. Doubts about his guilt were also fuelled by the fact that most of the witnesses could not identify him confidently. Nevertheless, the court found Hirasawa guilty and he was sentenced to death, although the sentence was never carried out and he was to die in prison in 1987 at the age of 95.
The Teigin Incident was a big news story in Japan in its day, and one which ran for a long time due to the numerous legal appeals and occasional uncovering of possible new evidence. It also gave birth to a number of conspiracy theories. Perhaps this explains why Nikkatsu Studios thought a film about the case may prove popular even without stars. Kumai clearly believed Hirasawa to have been innocent and was hoping to raise awareness about what he saw as a miscarriage of justice. Personally speaking, from what I’ve read about the case, I believe he was probably guilty. One theory as to why he would not explain the source of his bank deposit is that he had been earning money by painting pornographic pictures and was ashamed to admit it; in my view, it’s difficult to believe that he would not have owned up to that under the circumstances. It would be a strange person indeed who would prefer to be thought guilty of murdering 12 people including a child rather than be exposed as a clandestine painter of lewd pictures. It is also worth noting that some of the works of respected Japanese masters such as Hokusai and Kyosai were pornographic in nature, so would this really have been considered such a shameful thing to have done? Furthermore, Hirasawa’s alibi was that he was walking close to the scene of the crime at the time; considering he had lived in that area in the past but was at that point living in Hokkaido, this must be the world’s worst alibi.
Kumai chooses not to focus on any one character; instead, he concentrates his attention on details of the investigations by both the police and the press. He frequently crams the frame with large groups of policemen and journalists (often seen fanning themselves or wiping the sweat from their necks), painting a picture of post-war Tokyo as a hot, overcrowded and oppressive place just as he would in his later film Wilful Murder (1981), which has a great deal in common with this one. Wilful Murder differs in approach mainly in giving us a central character to identify with (the crusading journalist played by Tatsuya Nakadai) and is arguably more engaging for that reason. Kumai works hard to make his film more than a compilation of scenes of men explaining stuff by throwing in a couple of fights and generally keeping things moving as much as possible. His next film, A Chain of Islands, covered similar ground but used a fictional story, and he would go on to expose other incidents he viewed as injustices his country had tried to sweep under the carpet in a number of future works, such as Sandakan No.8 and The Sea and Poison.
Teigin Incident: Death Row Prisoner is a rather talky picture that tells a complex story, but it’s certainly well-made and features an effectively ominous score by Godzilla composer Akira Ifukube and atmospheric black and white camerawork by Umetsugu Inoue favourite Kazumi Iwasa. The large ensemble cast are mostly fine, while gaunt character actor Kinzo Shin nabs the key role of Hirasawa and portrays him with heartfelt sympathy as being unambiguously innocent. A familiar face from many Japanese films of the era, this was likely the highlight of his on-screen career.
Teigin Incident: Death Row Prisoner seems to have received some screenings abroad under the title The Long Death, but I was unable to find a subtitled copy.
Nice use of a poster for Kurosawa's Drunken Angel (1948)
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