The Women around the Shogun / 続大奥 (秘) 物語 / Zoku ooku maruhi monogatari (‘Secret Tales of the Inner Palace Sequel’, 1967)

Obscure Japanese Film #258

Tomoko Ogawa

This Toei production is a sequel to The Shogun and His Mistresses of the same year, and I recommend reading my review of that film first, even though this one has an entirely separate story.

It’s now 1786 and the 10^th shogun, Ieharu (Masao Mishima), is in power. Ochisa (Tomoko Ogawa), the adopted daughter of Lord Abe (Eitaro Ozawa), is sent to serve the shogun at Edo Castle, where her older sister Oshino (Hiroko Sakuramachi) is one of the shogun’s concubines. It’s not long before Ochisa is forced into the same position, but the sisters try not to become enemies despite the bitchy machinations of the other women around them. However, when the shogun suddenly drops dead of a heart attack, Ochisa finds herself sent to a nunnery with the other concubines, where they’re expected to spend the rest of their lives praying for Ieharu’s soul. The head nun (Chieko Hagashiyama) ensures that the women are cut off from the outside world with the result that one goes mad, another turns to lesbianism and a third starts an affair with a priest – but what will become of Ochisa?

Ogawa with Masao Mishima

Dropping the anthology structure of the first film and released just three months later, it’s no surprise that this rushed-into-production sequel is weaker, especially as it relies on an inexperienced actor to carry it – in her first leading role, 18-year-old Tomoko Ogawa was a last-minute replacement for Yoshiko Sakuma (who reportedly objected to what she saw as an increasing sexual emphasis, although the finished product is probably tamer than the first). As if this were not challenging enough, Ochisa is not a terribly interesting character in the first place, although she does eventually reveal another dimension towards the end and Ogawa does a fair job under the circumstances. However, although her performance was well-received and Toei planned to star her in further similar pictures, disappointing box office led them to insist that she do nude scenes from then on, causing her to quit films and turn to singing, where she found considerable success. Incidentally, Yoshiko Sakuma was not the only one to be replaced – shooting began with Michiko Saga as the older sister, but she apparently got in a strop due to too much waiting around and left after three days, forcing Toei to replace her with Hiroko Sakuramachi.

Hiroko Sakuramachi

Casting shenanigans aside, this is still a decent movie, and one which also benefits from the splendidly villainous presence of Ko Nishimura, who instigates an impressively bloody sword fight with multiple opponents at the film’s climax. Composer Sei Ikeno’s score might have been better suited to a horror movie, but it’s not ineffective, while director Sadao Nakajima (who also made the previous film) is adept at extracting the maximum amount of drama from every scene. The original screenplay by Takeo Kunihiro and Takehiro Nakajima might seem too similar to the original at first, but goes off in some interesting directions before finally revealing its surprising theme of an individual rebelling against the oppressive feudal system. Unusually, in this case, the turning worm is no put-upon samurai, but a concubine who has finally had enough of having no say in her own destiny.

Ko Nishimura

DVD at Toei Video (no English subtitles)

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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.

Ths Shogun and His Mistresses / 大奥(秘)物語 / Ooku maruhi monogatari (‘Secret Tales of the Inner Palace’, 1967)

Obscure Japanese Film #188

Masaya Takahashi

 

Three stories set in the vast and labyrinthine inner chambers of Edo Castle during the reign of the sixth shogun, Ienobu Tokugawa, who held the title from 1709-12. (Nearly 50 at the time, Tokugawa is portrayed here as a somewhat younger man by the 37-year-old Masaya Takahashi.) With the exception of the shogun, only women are permitted in the inner palace, where power plays and factional battles are the norm… 

 

Junko Fuji (left) and Reiko Hagi

 

In the first story, Fusa (Reiko Hagi) is brought to the castle at the request of concubine Okon (Junko Miyazono), who is in poor health and no longer able to bear children, in the hope that she will catch the eye of the shogun and have his child, thus weakening the position of the rival faction of women headed by Osume (Naoko Kubo). However, the shogun prefers the maid that Fusa brought with her instead, Omino (Junko Fuji). But when Osume gets pregnant first, Omino conspires with Okon’s senior attendant Matsushima (Isuzu Yamada) to get pregnant secretly by another man and claim that it’s the shogun’s child…

 

Kyoko Kishida (left) and Tomoko Ogawa

In the second story, the shogun has his eye on the innocent Shinonoi (Tomoko Ogawa) for his next bed partner, but she enters into a lesbian relationship with her mistress, Urao (Kyoko Kishida, in another lesbian role after Manji). But Shininoi has no choice but to obey when summoned to the shogun’s boudoir, which leads Urao to become dangerously jealous… 

 

Kaneko Iwasaki (lying) and Yoshiko Sakuma

 

In the third story, Ochise (Yoshiko Sakuma), a maid to senior lady-in-waiting Asukai (Kaneko Iwasaki), is about to finish her three years of indentured servitude, after which she plans to leave the castle and marry fabric dyer Chokichi (Kunio Murai). No prizes for guessing what happens when she too catches the eye of the lustful shogun…

 

Kunio Murai and Yoshiko Sakuma

 

This Toei production was based on an original screenplay with four contributors, none of whom are especially well-known. Its director, Sadao Nakajima, started out as an assistant director around 1959 at Toei’s Kyoto studios – which meant that most of the films he worked on early on had period settings – before directing his first film, Female Ninja Magic, in 1964. With this debut, he (together with Kyoto studio head Shigeru Okada) was responsible for introducing a new eroticism to the jidaigeki (costume drama) genre, something which is also in evidence in The Shogun and His Mistresses. Although these films were classified as ‘for adults only’ at the time, it should be noted that they were not pornographic, though other filmmakers would copy the template and add nudity and more explicit sex scenes in the years to come. As is often the case, Nakajima’s career was more schizophrenic than that of many directors in the West, and went on to encompass a wide range of material from yakuza flicks and sex documentaries to more highbrow (or at least middlebrow) period dramas. His Meiko Kaji vehicle Jeans Blues: No Future (1974) has a minor cult following, while his passion project The Seburi Story (1985) was nominated for the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival. Nakajima’s career as a feature film director ended in the late 1990s, but not quite – he can be seen playing the part of a director at Toei Kyoto studios (much like himself) in Uzumasa Limelight (2014) and returned to the director’s chair one last time at the age of 84 for Love’s Twisting Path (2018) before passing away in 2023. 

 

Isuzu Yamada and Junko Fuji

 

The most striking direction in this film occurs towards the end of the first story, when Omino arrives at the secluded house with the aim of being impregnated by a stranger and we hear the cries of the cicadas reaching fever pitch on the soundtrack before we get a POV shot from the bottom of a well down which the old lady who owns the house drops her bucket. No other scene is quite as memorable, but it’s a strong film overall, although not without its technical flaws – the wire attached to a fake firefly is visible at one point, while more depth of focus would have been preferable in some scenes, when the actors in the background are reduced to blurry blobs. 

 

Tomoko Ogawa and a blurry Kishida

 

But these niggles are more than made up for by the quality cast, excellent score by Hajime Kaburagi (which utilises traditional instruments to great effect) and the fact that, with all the colourful kimono on display, this is exactly the type of film that benefits most from colour cinematography. The film was a huge hit, which not only spawned two sequels directed by Nakajima, but created a whole new subgenre of female-oriented jidaigeki which came to be known in Japan as ‘Ooku’ (inner palace) stories and would include the previously reviewed Tales of the Inner Chambers. 

 

Isuzu Yamada

 

Bonus trivia:

Most of the young actresses featured in the film had never worn the type of kimono known as uchikake before, so jidaigeki veteran Isuzu Yamada (on loan from Toho) had to spend half a day training them how to walk without falling over. 

Director Tadashi Imai was originally attached to the project, but his reluctance to emphasise the erotic aspects of the story led to him being taken off it by studio head Shigeru Okada.

Thanks to A.K.

DVD at Amazon Japan (no English subtitles) 

 

Kyoko Kishida

 

Tales of the Inner Chambers / 大奥絵巻 / Ooku emaki (1968)

Obscure Japanese Film #173

Yoshiko Sakuma

 

Edo Castle, c.1790. When virginal chambermaid Aki (Yoshiko Sakuma) catches the eye of the shogun (Takahiro Tamura) while taking part in a dance performance, he decides to make her his concubine. Aki’s elder sister, Asaoke (Chikage Awashima), is already employed at the castle, but once Aki enters the inner chambers, all family ties are supposed to be forgotten. 

Takahiro Tamura

 

Aki is extremely reluctant at first, but has absolutely no choice in the matter; fortunately, the shogun treats her better than she expected. This may be because she reminds him of the girl he wanted to marry who died, leading him to become trapped in a loveless marriage of political convenience to Hagino (Hiroko Sakuramachi). Unfortunately, the favouritism of the shogun for Aki and the fact that this is to the advantage of Asaoke is greatly resented by some female members of the court, who split into two factions. 

Chikage Awashima

 

Aki also has a younger sister, Machi (Reiko Ohara), who has a naïve idea of the inner chambers and wants to work there but is discouraged from doing so by her sisters. When the rival faction offer her a position, the scheming between the two groups spirals out of control, leading to blackmail, torture and murder... 

Reiko Ohara

 

Surprisingly, this Toei production is not based on a literary source – the intelligent screenplay was an original work by Masashige Narusawa (who wrote and directed the recently-reviewed Cards Are My Life). In this case, the director is Kosaku Yamashita, perhaps best-known for the same year’s Big Time Gambling Boss. It looks like he put a great deal of care into this, and was ably abetted by cinematographer Juhei Suzuki (13 Assassins), not to mention those responsible for the costumes and art direction, whose combined talents make this film a feast for the eyes which exploits the colour format to the fullest. Ichiro Saito’s orchestral music is also an integral part of the film and is another asset that marks it out as being far from routine. 

Chikage Awashima

 

As far as I can tell, the story itself has little historical basis. It unfolds rather like a Jacobean tragedy and offers a pretty dark view of human nature. As Asaoke (another fine performance from Chikage Awashima) observes, “There is no righteousness or morality here, only female vanity and ostentation. You slay or be slain, kill or be killed.” Indeed, things do get violent, but not gratuitously so, and the film’s comparative restraint may be one reason it’s not better known. In fact, it’s a fine piece of work all round, and the only explanation for its currently criminally low rating on IMDb (5.4) that occurs to me is that maybe some people didn’t get the sexploitation movie they were expecting. 

Yoshiko Sakuma and Hitomi Nozoe

 

I was surprised to see former Daiei star Hitomi Nozoe in such a minor role as the one she has here, but then realised that she’d left Daiei to have kids in 1962 and had only just begun attempting to resurrect her acting career.

A note on the title: Ooku is the name for the inner palace or chambers of Edo Castle, where the shogun’s harem was kept, while emaki means ‘picture scroll’ rather than ‘tales’.

Thanks to A.K.

DVD at Amazon Japan (no English subtitles)

A Story from Echigo / 越後つついし親不知 / Echigo Tsutsuishi Oyashirazu (1964)

Obscure Japanese Film #107

Rentaro Mikuni and Yoshiko Sakuma

In 1930s Japan, Gonsuke (Rentaro Mikuni) is working at a sake brewery in Fushimi, Kyoto when he receives news that his mother is seriously ill. He is given compassionate leave to return to his village in Echigo (a former province in the snowy area of north-central Japan now known as Niigata Prefecture). As a colleague of Gonsuke’s named Tomekichi (Shoichi Ozawa) is from the same village, Gonsuke asks him if he has a message for his wife, Oshin (Yoshiko Sakuma). Tomekichi asks him to tell Oshin that he’s just been promoted. This is news to Gonsuke, who was already jealous of Tomekichi’s marriage to such an attractive woman as Oshin and is now doubly displeased to hear that he’s been passed over for promotion in favour of Tomekichi. 

 

Eijiro Tono and Mikuni

 

On his way home, Gonsuke stops off at an inn, where he falls into conversation with a fellow customer (Eijro Tono) who it turns out used to be in the army with Gonsuke’s elder brother. This lascivious old man tells Gonsuke tales of the brother’s many sexual conquests while they were stationed in Russia together. Gonsuke gets drunk with him before leaving and begins to brood about his own lack of a sex life before completing his journey home. When he’s nearly reached the village, he encounters Oshin walking home alone from her job weaving tatami mats. He makes a clumsy pass at her but, finding himself rejected, he rapes her in the snow.

While Gonsuke was committing this crime, his mother was dying; when he gets home, it’s already too late. However, he seems not only indifferent to her death, but actually full of himself for having managed to have his way with Oshin when there was nobody around. After his mother’s funeral, he visits her and again makes advances but is again rejected. His vanity wounded, he decides to get revenge by telling Tomekichi that Oshin is having an affair with the foreman at her workplace (Kei Sato)…

Sakuma and Mikuni

 

If that partial synopsis rings a bell, that’s because this is a clever recycling of Othello – the setting and the personalities may be considerably altered, but essentially Gonsuke is Iago, Tomekichi is Othello, Oshin is Desdemona and the foreman is Cassio. Due to the way the plot unfolds, it’s clear that this is no coincidence, especially if we take into account that the film was based on a 1962 novel by Tsutomu Mizukami (or Minakami), who would certainly have been familiar with the major plays of Shakespeare. Mizukami was a fine writer whose other filmed novels include The Temple of Wild Geese, Bamboo Dolls of Echizen, Straits of Hunger (aka A Fugitive from the Past) and Lake of Tears (also starring Yoshiko Sakuma). I recommend the Dalkey Archive’s English translation of The Temple of Wild Geese and Bamboo Dolls of Echizen in one volume if you can find it.

The great thing about this kind of story is that it could happen to people of any era or country, so it has not dated at all and probably never will (unlike some of director Tadashi Imai’s more topical pictures, such as Darkness at Noon, for example). Partly for this reason, A Story from Echigo may be his best film, in my opinion (not that I’ve seen them all). Another reason is that the performances from all three principles are outstanding. Rentaro Mikuni was always at his best in sleazy or unsympathetic roles, and he’s in his element here, utterly convincing as a vulgar man with zero morals or empathy, but who is, deep down, a sad and pathetic individual. Yoshiko Sakuma is every bit as good playing the unfortunate victim of male lust and jealousy who does her best to stand up to Gonsuke, but is ultimately placed in an impossible position. Sakuma has some arduous scenes in this film, and you really have to take your hat off to her. This may well be her most impressive performance. Shoichi Ozawa is perhaps better known for playing leading roles of a more comic type in films like Shohei Imamura’s The Pornographers (1966) and Yasuzo Masumura’s Chijin no ai (A Fool’s Love, 1967). In this more serious role, his character changes dramatically throughout the course of the film, and he portrays this metamorphosis extremely well. Eijiro Tono and Kei Sato make the most of their brief appearances, while the film also benefits from the presence of two wonderful old pros, Taiji Tonoyama and Tanie Kitabayashi, as two of the village elders.

Shoichi Ozawa

 

The story is strong stuff, and even contains a not-so-subtle hint of necrophilia at one point, resulting in the film receiving an ‘Adult’ classification for its original release. At the time it was made, Toei (the studio responsible) were deliberately introducing more sex into their films in an effort to entice people away from their TV sets and back into the cinemas. According to Japanese Wikipedia, it was Toei president Shigeru Okada’s idea to feature Yoshiko Sakuma in a more ‘sexy’ role than she had previously played. Toei certainly promoted A Story from Echigo as an erotic film, though it’s hard to imagine anyone being turned on by anything in it. In any case, perhaps this element explains why such a fine film was largely overlooked as far as awards go, scraping only a Mainichi Film Concours Best Screenplay award (shared with another film) for Yasutaro Yagi (1903-87, not 1906-65 as IMDb states). 

 

Composer Sei Ikeno and Tadashi Imai’s frequent collaborator, cinematographer Shunichiro Nakao, also deserve a nod for their fine work on this great film, which has an ending that is both devastating and perfect. 

 

Note on the title: In the Japanese title, Echigo Tsutsuishi Oyashirazu, Tsutsuishi is the name of the village the principal characters come from, while Oyashirazu refers to the Oyashirazu Cliffs in the same area.

Bonus trivia: The village scenes were shot on location at Itoigawa in Niigata Prefecture.