Showing posts with label Hiroshi Shimizu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hiroshi Shimizu. Show all posts

Sunday, 5 October 2025

Asu wa Nihon bare / 明日は日本晴れ (‘Tomorrow will be Fine Weather in Japan’, 1948)

Obscure Japanese Film #220

 

Michitaro Mizushima and Wakako Kunitomo

 

Like writer-director Hiroshi Shimizus earlier Mr Thank You (1936) and Dawn Chorus (1941), this film is set almost entirely in (or at times just outside) a bus and was shot on location. In this case, there are similarities with Maupassants famous story Boule de Suif, which had also served as the basis for Mizoguchis  Oyuki the Virgin (1935) and John Fords Stagecoach (1939) and had appeared in Japanese translation by 1938 (if not earlier). Although most internet sources credit Shimizu with the screenplay, the opening titles of the film credit Shin’ichi Sekizawa. ‘Mingo’ at Filmarks.com states that Sekizawa used John Steinbeck’s 1947 novel The Wayward Bus as inspiration, but points out that the film has little in common with it (other than the basic idea of a bus full of random people having their journey interrupted). 

 

Wakako Kunitomo

 

In any case, like Maupassant, Shimizu and Sekizawa throw together a motley assortment of characters to represent a microcosm of society specifically, post-war Japanese society in this instance. The tart with a heart is Waka (Wakako Kunitomo), who happens to be an old flame of bus driver Seiji (Michitaro Mizushima), and was forced to prostitute herself during the war to provide for her sick father. Her presence is resented by bus conductress Sachi (Sachiko Mitani), who of course is in love with Seiji, but if this all sounds like a terrible bunch of old clichés so far, don’t let that put you off. 

 

Shinobu Araki

 

More unexpectedly, a former general (Shinobu Araki) is portrayed very sympathetically as a man carrying a burden of sincere guilt and attempting to make amends. Also on the bus are a masseur who was blinded in the war (Shin’ichi Himori), a porter who lost a leg in it (well played by real-life amputee Gosho Shoichi, who also appeared in Shimizu’s Children of the Beehive and its first sequel) and Mie, a teenage girl who was orphaned by it. Intriguingly, the only character portrayed in an unsympathetic light is a fortune-teller (Seijiro Mayama), who is depicted as lazy and selfish. Why Shimizu and Sekizawa chose a character of this particular profession to be so negative about we can only speculate, but my theory is that he represents the empty promises of a better future that were made to the Japanese people by their militaristic government; virtually everyone on the bus is in some way a victim of the misplaced trust they put in authority. 

 

Shin'ichi Himori and Gosho Shoichi

 

Running just over an hour and lacking any big stars, this might be a modest little movie, but Shimizu makes excellent use of the restricted setting and mountain road locations, while the acting is remarkably strong all round. It’s also a thoughtful film with a positive, humanist message, but it wears it lightly and Shimizu was not one to beat you round the head with it. 

 

Seijiro Mayama

 

If it seems surprising that a film by Hiroshi Shimizu should be quite so obscure, that’s because it was considered lost until 2022, when it was finally found in a Shochiku warehouse (strange, as it was an independent production distributed by Toho) and screened for the first time in 74 years.

Watch on my YouTube channel with English subtitles here

Thanks to A.K. 


Sunday, 2 February 2025

Why Did These Women Become Like This? / 何故彼女等はそうなったか / Naze kanojora wa so natta ka (aka Girls’ Reform School, 1956)

Obscure Japanese Film #163

Kyoko Kagawa and Masako Nakamura

Hiroko (Masako Nakamura), a new arrival who comes from a wealthy family but has begun behaving badly after discovering that she was an illegitimate child; Yoneko (Akiko Mie), who is secretly pregnant; Tomiko (Konomi Fuji), whose good behaviour at the school sees her sent back home only to receive a cold reception from her stepmother (Wakako Kunitomo), causing her to run away again and end up back at the reformatory; and Chiyo (Junko Ikeuchi), who is in danger of being sold into prostitution to a brothel-keeper (Chieko Naniwa, who I’m sure has played this type of role in a number of films).

Chieko Naniwa

 

Somewhat surprisingly, the film was based on a 1952 novel by a male author, Toshihiko Takeda 1891-1961). However, he had some experience in these matters, having co-founded the Association for the Improvement of Children in 1947 and established an actual ‘Girls’ Home’ in 1949 in Muragame

Kyoko Kagawa

The supposed bad behaviour of the girls seems pretty mild today – this is not exactly a female Scum – but, then, writer-director Hiroshi Shimizu clearly wants us to view them with unreserved sympathy. The real bad behaviour is on the part of the uncaring parents, etc, who made them this way, and the unforgiving, self-righteous communities who deny them a second chance. The Japanese aphorism deri kugi wa utareru (‘the nail that sticks out gets hammered down’) springs to mind here. 

 

Akiko Mie

The film certainly gets its message cross, but feels like fairly minor Shimizu. The religious-sounding choral music which sounds as if it has come from a corny Hollywood Christmas movie has not dated well, and the film misses a trick in failing to provide Miss Oda with any backstory, though Kyoko Kagawa gives her usual fine performance in a role similar to that which she played in the later picture The Human Wall (1959). The acting is pretty good across the board, in fact, though of the young actresses who play the girls only Junko Ikeuchi went on to stardom and sustained a long career.

Shimizu incorporates some symbolism into the film - the castle walls which form a backdrop for the opening credits suggest a safe place where the inhabitants are protected from the hostile world outside, while the girls' employment involves painting Okame masks, which represent a woman who brings good fortune to the man she marries. This is, of course, apt as the young women here are clearly hoping to emerge from the establishment with a more positive identity. 

Junko Ikeuchi and Masako Nakamura

 

Thanks to A.K.