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

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

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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)