Cinema UTA

Interview with Akio Jissoji

2013-05-06T02:49:00.000-07:00

This interview was translated by our kind friend Robert Nishimura. Its main focus is Jissoji's fourth ATG movie, Life of a Court Lady. Since there's so little information about Jissoji in the West this interview stands out as the longest testimony we ever had of the man himself.

Shirai: The first thing I felt was, the script that was written by Shin Ooka was completed as a closet screenplay with completed with writing, lines, and narration, so making that into a film must have required quite a fight.

Jisouji: In other words that was what was interesting, though the result of that fight is another story.

S: Was the idea to do it as you wanted from the time it was decided to make it, or…

J: They just said do what you want to freely. They asked me to not consider basic scenario composition that is used in cinematography in general, and just keep those completely out of our minds.

S: And you just started making it without putting any changes.

J: Composition-wise we put a lot of changes but. But those changes were meant not to make it closer to a cinematic film but to try to fit it better to the closet screenplay itself.

S: In that sense it was really a fight between the screenplay and the presentation then.

J: It was like a challenge that was put forth to us movie makers, and from Shin Ooka’s perspective I’m sure he was interested in seeing what would come out once he had completed the entire thing as a closet drama. At first we received the stage directions and lines separately, and they were complete as independent works. I had never worked on a film like this, and from a personal standpoint it was extremely interesting.

S: You had always worked with Mr. Ishidou and were known for it, but what made you switch and work with Mr. Ooka this time?

J: Mr. Ishidou had prepared four movies for me and then canceled. Mr. Ishidou said that once you do four films one starts to get the other, and I think that is a good point. It’s like a dead end, or more like once one builds up to that point you start to see the harshness, and in order to jump out of that one needs to try a whole different combination, and meet different people.

S: That is Ishidou never the less, and Life of a Court Lady seems to be one film that builds on your experience of doing three with him.
J: I took it on in a way to see whether the colors of Mr. Ooka would come out or the colors of myself would. But I am humble and tend to not put out my color much.

S: It gets pretty tough right after that though...

J: In my third work Poem I continued to make my path narrower, which led to the mountains of Tanbachiku (?). We set off from Mt. Chiku right. And for me that was already a dead end. I had a feeling that I wanted to communicate through a more open world.

S: Please tell me. As a video artist you seem to produce works once or twice every two years. Making a movie through the Art Theater Guild (ATG) must be financially a burden but I feel mentally it is very free. I say this because if you work in the confines of the movie industry it becomes very clear that they are many that are trying to pull strings from a lot of directions. And when you set out into the field of ATG suddenly all of those pulls disappear, and at the same time that becomes a tremendous pressure…

J: In a sense with ATG films it is about where to then place that pull.

S: I agree. With an ATG film one must create it all by ones self. When you are working for a large film firm because you can see all the pulls it is much easier to set ones stance within them.

J: The essence of a pull and trying to understand it is what propels one to present works.

S: That is why it is easier for the works to then present something in particular on the screen. The danger of ATG films is that they immediately start diving into the worlds of abstraction.

J: I always like to try and avoid that. At the same time I feel that the days when ATG films go into abstraction have sort of ended.

S: Why do you not produce films with the five established companies. Is it because you feel it is easier to be yourself in the field of ATG?

J: It is not like that. In another word, this is something I have thought, but I feel movies should be made more by younger people. And I have this desire to keep educating these reserve forces, and in order to absorb such ways of making film are also good. It is also a place that welcomes people who would like to start making movies.

S: I really liked Mujo. In a way I think it is my favorite of your works. I feel that the essence of a Jissouji Teruo film lies within it. In the end we watch a movie and then think about it. Or then we make a movie, and we have repeated this process, but in the end I do think of them in terms of Japan. Many film makers have faced this topic, but what I started to understand is that when put into the context of western type of modern rationalism, local Japanese customs just do not get enough credit or light shined onto them. And from the standpoint of one who makes things, or that of one who critiques them, it feels like Jisouji Teruo was able to express that in Mujo.

J: That is why when one keeps trying to achieve that one ends up in abstraction and in a certain form of dead end. After acknowledging after two or three works that one has ended up in the dead end by questioning and observing honestly this type of nationalism, then this Japanese-ness suddenly starts to just go up in smokes.

S: Making it sound more complicated it is like how the sky is just empty.

J: We end up seeing that there must have been a grander struggle to end up here.

S: Or like when one goes to a shrine, once you go past the main shrine there was nothing behind it, this Buddhist, Japanese-ness seems to exist, it seems very complicated but. Actually the three works prior to Life of a Court Lady appear to be a process of abstracting such ideas. And, I do not know how to put that abstraction but…

J: By setting an individual in a setting and with berserk fury make that one spin in carnal desires. And then do the opposite by developing the one in a more lofty perspective of a home. And by starting them all at a very local place called Mt. Chiku (?), I cultivated this pure culture. But that just ended up in a dead end. And I felt that in myself.

S: It is like you felt the abstraction of the process of creating a film. I am sure once you get passed this one you will find a very dark local culture twirling around. You made your second film in color using only a distorted lens. This most certainly felt like an abstraction of film, and I do still not know exactly why you decided to go with such a complete abstraction. The sex that was in the core of the first movie was, how do I put it, dynamic like that of a gymnast and captured sex in a very dramatic way.
J: That was still when I was into the physiological dimension of thing.

S: I see. But that is what is really important. Once you escape the physiological dimension one ends up in the abstraction of patterns.

J: Mandala was created with my complete over confidence in the filming of abstractions, and like how I used a wide lens throughout, it had many flaws.

S: I just feel if one could feel a movie through a normal lens like that, I just think how much more Mujo could have been developed.

J: Oh yes. Once it was finished I felt the same thing.

(Mandara, 1971)

S: In Poemit seemed like the theme of your first work was then used in reverse. You have definitely walked a very interesting path. Mujo was filmed with a standard black and white. Mandala in color with vista vision. And then Poem in black and white with cinema scope, and this time you did it with color and cinema scope. What was the meaning behind this?

J: This happened because I wanted to go through each of them, as I was raised watching TV on a very small screen and wanted to see how things came out on the big movie screens. I would eventually also want to work with 70mm. In that way I have a tendency to try to create spectacles.

S: I feel that film critics have a tendency of overseeing the type of film, whether it be in black and white, vista vision, or color, when critiquing a movie. I think it is very important in a critique if it was in standard, color, or cinema scope.

J: There was a young director called Hara Maskou (?) who had said the same thing. As in why do critiques come out while they ignore the type of film the artist decided to use. I was inspired by that. Like it made sense. As in when we watch a film or talk about a film we ignore that aspect all together.

S: I think that is not right. I think because critiques are made without a base in sensibility they immediately devolve into an analysis of patterns and end up as a reverse irradiation. That includes myself too…

J: And for me there is an aspect of wanting to cherish the physiological aspects in my works. I have a feeling that the essence of why people start to like movies is in that area.

S: When we think of movies directors like Pasolini become important. I have a strong feeling that Pasolini has accomplished the same thing Jissou Teruo had done with Mujo over in the far lands of Italy. I mean he values the material aspects of things. Like the texture of the desert… Pasolini’s movies have made an impact in the film industry in Japan, but what is sad is rather than incorporating the details of his works that he had built up they have been analyzed, and the analysis has been taken into the films. By doing that they are not inheriting anything, let alone able to compete.

J: I think that is because in Japan when we receive such works we take them as abstractions.

S: That has been the case with Japan as they have taken western culture as an abstraction for a long time. For example with films neo realism had started in Italy. That happened because of the chaos of their financial system right. But when it got imported to Japan they just felt like “Ah the times are now neo realism. Lets dirty up the sets, let’s use outlines for the actors make up, let’s use light so it appears that there is none” and like that they just interpret and use it. Instead of just taking stuff as is, our directors ought to understand the details and try to fix the problems from the start, and by doing so they would also reach the same points.

J: In other words though the Japanese have received such things and have taken them on to create their own style through it, with the good and the bad, giving it their own taste.

S: One third into Life of a Court Lady Shijo becomes a nun and starts her travels right. Until then there were a lot of dark scenes with close ups and excessively long distance shots. But after that point it starts to become more orthodox in style like traveling was in a way a different world with a sense of uncertainty, and I was surprised how directly I could feel that.

J: The reason I chose the middle ages was so that I could try the dead end of this struggle that people had during times when borders and limitations to life were different, and sound-wise to incorporate that interaction they had with East Asia, and how freely things came in, and with the filming I wanted to show that kind of sense of gradually going outward.

S: I was thinking while I was watching, but this unknown entity called the Lord, a character who was in a world that could be as much this modern times, this indoor lifestyle, was filmed using a lot of darkness, with excessive close ups, making them appear excessively big, with the perspective like something was in the way, and then when she leaves the perspective starts to gradually change, and I felt there was meaning to that.

J: That was planned from the beginning. I had already wanted to show that the rhythm and physiological differences of the outside world was different.

S: And the depiction of the sex scenes is so subtle yet well done.

J: Hm...

S: Where did you get the actress Janet Yata from?

J: I am most certain that the women of the Heian period were not dainty per se. I mean just imagine how much more the women of those days carried themselves around mountains. I mean even though she was born in a palace she ends up a traveling nun. I have a feeling she must have had a sturdy body. Like she must have been healthy. Also she had birthed many children too right. And at the same time she was in love and had sex. I wanted to have those basics down.

S: And then she has 3 children all with different men depending on who has the most power right?

J: I thought it was important to be able to tell such things more from the looks than what was being said. There may be some people who will feel it being odd but.

S: I like it. The darkness during her time with the Lord and the pattern gets changed the moment she ends up showing her breasts, it becomes a very interesting detail. Today was a lot of fun. It reminds me of the times we had discussions at the bar when we were in the Waseda Universities Movie Club.

J: That was when I was making my second and third films, and I think I would not had been able to have such a frank talk at the time. In that way I feel like I am reaching a point where I can actually get past myself.

S: Regardless you have concluded a theme together with Mr. Ishidou and now, leaping out and expanding, by even going to the middle ages, I can safely say some new buds are starting to sprout.

Pink Triple Soundtrack Pack

2013-01-24T04:01:00.000-08:00

Ke no Haeta Kenjyuu (1968)

Haragashi-Onna (1968)

Shinjuku Mad (1970)

(Thanks, H2O)
Private use only. Don't pass it away

Nagisa Oshima (1932-2013)

2013-01-15T09:25:00.000-08:00

After Shindo and Wakamatsu, Oshima...It's a great loss because he was one of the directors that introduced me to cinema with his stunning and complex exercises such as "Death by Hanging", "The Ceremony" and most importantly, "The Man Who Left his Will on Film", a terrific nightmare that fascinates me even today! A great director and one of my favorites. You will be missed, Oshima-sensei.

野獣死すべし OST - Akihiko Takashima

2012-10-24T08:44:00.000-07:00

The Beast to Die [Yajû Shisubeshi]

Directed by: Toru Murakawa

1980

(Thanks eternally H2O)

(Also, sorry for being away for this long)

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歩いても歩いても OST - GONTITI

2012-08-27T14:07:00.000-07:00

Still Walking [Aruitemo Aruitemo]

Directed by: Hirokazu Koreeda

2008

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Les Fruits de La Passion

2012-07-18T15:05:00.000-07:00

(On the set of Les Fruits de la Passion, 1981)

Portuguese Translation

Texto e entrevista tirada do dossier de imprensa original (1981)

Q: O que é o sexo para si, Shuji Terayama? Inscreve-se na tradição japonesa na qual devemos as mais belas manifestações eróticas da arte universal? Ou fascinado pelo Ocidente, sente-se influenciado pela herança de Georges Bataille em Les Fruits de la Passion?

T: Deixemos de parte essa questão imensa que levanta Bataille. Isso levar-nos-ia a falar vagarosamente sobre a tradição ocidental do erotismo. Para mim, o sexo é um modo de comunicação, uma forma de jogo, um método para organizar o caos dos encontros e revelar o seu ser mais obscuro. É uma das raras actividades de aposta que não precisa necessariamente de dinheiro para se a praticar. É por isso que se opõe radicalmente à ciência ou ao desporto: o erotismo não existe senão no imaginário.

Q: Que resposta enigmática! Digamos muito simplesmente que na iconografia de Fruits de la Passion, conjugam-se signos eróticos do Oriente com os do Ocidente.

T: Eu não sinto essa dicotomia entre Oriente e Ocidente. A sua interpenetração estimula o meu erotismo, como o fazem as pinturas de Utamaro ou de Hokusai, por exemplo. Eu esforcei-me em criar um modo de representação que me seja próprio. Fica a vosso cargo dizer se estou ainda dependente dos códigos reputados japoneses ou ocidentais. Em Les Fruits de la Passion, o erotismo está associado à incompletude ou à doença. Vejam-se as inquilinas da casa das flores: uma tem a mania dos mitos, a segunda é autista e a terceira uma tísica...

Q: Essas múltiplas representações de "ausências" compõem, em conjunto, a psique feminina?

T: Em todo o caso, elas complementam-se. Aquilo que uma inquilina não tem, a outra tem. Elas vivem juntas porque são efígies de um mundo onde tudo tem um valor de troca, o sexo como dinheiro, os objectos como símbolos. Isto é o que O compreende no fim do filme: talvez ela consiga começar a viver a partir do momento que não esteja mais submetida às leis da troca.

Q: Na decoração da casa das flores, colocaram-se composições monocromáticas que nos parecem remeter para um imaginário especificamente cinematográfico. Isto foi meramente design, ou antes, queria denunciar a ilusão que você próprio instituiu? Que espera das técnicas de montagem?

T: Desde a infância, sinto-me atraido por Lautréamont, pelos encontros inesperados que ele suscitava, unindo elementos perfeitamente heterogêneos, tais como um guarda-chuva e uma máquina de costura numa mesa de dissecação. Sawako Goda e eu mesmo inspirámo-nos por velhas fotos para pintar as paredes que tinhamos integrado no décor em função das personagens que os atravessavam.

Q: A figura da Mãe, recorrente na sua obra passada, é aqui substituida pela imagem do Pai. No sonho de O, o Pai desenha uma prisão traçada à volta da criança com giz. Byakuran, uma das prostitutas, encontra nos traços de um cliente, o pai que lhe exigia toda a espécie de grosserias!

T: O nosso mundo contemporâneo está dado sob o signo dessa ausência. Quer se trate de política, de religião ou de erotismo, estamos todos à procura do pai ausente. O, claro, mas os revolucionários também, que esperam de Sir Stephen que seja o protector deles.

Q: Mas, comparativamente ao universo de trocas que simboliza a casa das flores, que lugar consigna à Revolução?

T: Os meus revolucionários são apenas os palhaços deste universo. Eles não sabem ainda que a Revolução política não é mais do que um aspecto da Revolução. O mundo das prostitutas aparece a cores, o dos revolucionários, a preto-e-branco, pelo menos no princípio do filme. É o rapaz que faz a ligação entre esses dois mundos. Assim que ele entra no mundo de O, o filme muda totalmente para cores. Falava de "palhaços", mas não se esqueça que os palhaços contribuiram muito para mudar o curso da história. Sem a sua revolta, sem a loucura das minhas raparigas, poderia a humanidade progredir?

(original french version in Les films libèrent la tête)

The Assassination of Ryoma [Ryoma Ansatsu]

2012-06-10T19:05:00.000-07:00

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(All ATG Issues Here)

Whispering of the Gods #18

2012-05-30T07:38:00.000-07:00

"The way I look at life is like two sides of a hand. One side, there is despair, but on the other side is hope. So, if you are in despair, you mustn't think it'll last long, because there is always hope on the other side." - Kaneto Shindo

(RIP)

Remembrance [Kyoshu]

2012-05-26T12:18:00.000-07:00

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(All ATG Issues Here)

Lost Lovers [Arakajime Ushinawareta Koibitochiyo]

2012-05-23T06:24:00.000-07:00

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(All ATG Issues Here)

The films of Mitani Kōki: Intertextuality and comedy in contemporary Japanese cinema

2012-05-17T07:12:00.000-07:00

By Rie Yamasaki
University of Tasmania

Introduction

The purpose of this article is to investigate the importance of intertextual references in the films of one of Japan's most successful contemporary comedy filmmakers, Mitani Kōki. (1) Although all texts are related to other texts, (2) Mitani's films are characterised by particularly 'self-conscious forms of intertextuality', (3) a result of his deliberate intent to embed elements from American cinema in his own work. Rather than drawing attention to the original American texts, Mitani's intertextual components are used to enrich the dimensions of his characters and storylines.

Intertextuality is a term created by the Bulgarian-French theorist, Julia Kristeva (b. 1941). Although Kristeva originally applied this theory to the field of literary production, the idea of intertextuality has been developed and adopted to other fields of cultural production. The core idea of this theory is that texts, such as novels, films and plays, are always related to other texts in a way that produces multiple meanings. (4) Among many areas of cultural production, cinema is particularly considered as an intertextual medium due to its flexible nature. (5) Of all the forms of cinema, comedy seems to be the genre that can be most easily intertextualised. It can be fused together with other genres and these other genres have the potential to become comic in turn. (6)

The films of Mitani Kōki (b. 1961) provide one of the most useful examples of intertextuality in contemporary Japanese cinema. Mitani, who was born in Tokyo in 1961, originally worked as a playwright before making his cinema debut in 1997 with Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald ( Rajio no jikan ). (7) As is often the case with people of his generation, (8) Mitani grew up with significant American influences. In particular Billy Wilder and Woody Allen had an impact on Mitani's film-making approaches and he often references their works in his films. More importantly, these American works are actually key elements in the comprehension of Mitani's materials. (9)

Austrian-born Billy Wilder (1906-2002) is regarded as one of the most well-known Hollywood directors to date. (10) This Academy award-winning director left several masterpieces, including The Lost Weekend (1945), Sunset Boulevard (1950) and Some Like It Hot (1959). Woody Allen (b. 1935) is also an Academy award-winning director whose works include Annie Hall (1977) and Everyone Says I Love You (1997). After a long career in the film industry, Allen is now recognised as one of America's 'most inventive and idiosyncratic filmmakers'. (11)

In addition to the complexity generated by the intertextual components in Mitani's work, there are other compelling reasons for choosing Mitani's films as the subject of research. The first of these reasons is related to the 1990s when Mitani debuted as a filmmaker which was also a significant time for Japan as a country. This decade was actually a turning point for the Japanese film industry. During the 1990s, when Japan was going through the so-called 'lost decade' (12) after the burst of the bubble economy, a large number of new and innovative directors including Hirokazu Kore'eda (b. 1962) (13) and Shunji Iwai (b. 1963) (14) debuted. Followed by the success of these directors, more newcomers emerged and contributed to the prosperity of the industry.(15) Besides the domestic recovery, the Japanese film industry received renewed international attention in the 1990s, due to their efforts. (16)

While there are many contemporary Japanese filmmakers of comedy, Mitani’s comedies remain distinct from those of other directors. Scholars acknowledge the fact that American comedy is very popular in Japan and has influenced Japanese comedy formats. (17) However, there are radical differences in the style of comedy practiced in the two countries. As a result, writers and performers of comedy in Japan have experienced difficulty in trying to adopt American comic elements into their own work. Mitani’s successful efforts to emulate American comedy make his comedic style highly original and innovative, as this is rarely seen in the works of other Japanese directors. (18)

Another reason for considering Mitani's work is his place in the global consumption of films. Incomparison toworld famous Japanesedirectorssuchas Takeshi Kitano (b. 1947) (19) and Hayao Miyazaki (b. 1941) (20) Mitani has received limited recognition overseas in spite of the fact that some of his works were shown in other countries, little English language analysis has been conducted on his works. Nonetheless, by taking his film-making approaches such as adopting universal narratives into consideration, it becomes clear that Mitani's films have great potential to be appreciated by a more diverse international audience. (21) All these factors encourage a greater analysis of his films.

In spite of Mitani's popularity in Japan, the director has produced a mere four films: Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald (1997; Rajio no jikan ): All about Our House (2001; Minna no ie ): Suite Dreams (2006; THE uchōten hoteru ): (22) and The Magic Hour (2008; Za majikku awā ). In this article, all four will be analysed from the perspective of intertextuality and how other texts are referred to in his films.

The discussion below will commence with an analysis of the theoretical concept of intertextuality. This will be followed by some comments on the social background to the 1990s, Japan's 'lost decade', when Mitani debuted as a filmmaker. The article will then provide a close reading of each of Mitani's four films in chronological order. In doing so, reference will also be made to film as a medium that is particularly suited to intertextuality. With regard to Mitani's four films, it will be suggested that intertextuality is an essential element to make the director's films 'Mitani-like'.

(Za Majikku Awa, 2008)

Theoretical Framework

Intertextuality

Intertextuality is a powerful theoretical framework through which to view Mitani Kōki’s films. Intertextual theory is often misunderstood as merely being related to the direct influence of one writer on another, or to a writer borrowing from other texts. This, indeed, is often part of what happens in the process of intertextuality, however, from a wholistic perspective it is more productive to consider the process as involving the factors of a complete 'textual system'. (23) For Kristeva, a literary text is defined as 'a translinguistic apparatus that redistributes the order of language by relating communicative speech, which aims to inform directly, to different kinds of anterior or synchronic utterances'. (24) Thus, a literary text can be regarded as a process of 'productivity' (25) and also an 'intersection of textual surfaces rather than a point (a fixed meaning)'. (26)

According to Kristeva, a text is alsoa place for the intersectionand neutralisation of dialogues taken from other texts; that is to say, a text is a 'permutation of other texts'. (27) Therefore, the inherent nature of 'textuality' can be regarded as 'intertextuality'. (28) Taking into consideration the fact that creators are consumers before they create texts and that they (the creators) are exposed to other texts, it would be understandable that texts are always intertextualised. (29) Similarly, Bakhtin, whose ideas had a significant impact on Kristeva, (30) remarks that texts become meaningful only by interacting with other texts. (31) Importantly, the elements that comprise a text are not necessarily merely the product of a writer's consciousness. As Roudiez points out, texts are also influenced by the writer’s unconscious. (32) Associated with this is the fact that forms of intertextual representation are also various, ranging from explicit forms to implicit ones. (33)

For instance, Mitani's second movie, All about Our House (2001; Minna no ie ), shows evidence of interacting with Carol Reed's film version of Michelangelo's biography, The Agony and The Ecstasy (1964). (34) Mitani's movie features a scene which conveys the idea that the designer of the house, Yanagisawa, secretly respects the great Italian artist, Michelangelo. In this scene, based on a famous episode in Reed's movie in which Michelangelo demonstrates his dissatisfaction with a painting he is creating by scattering paint across the wall, Yanagisawa also throws paint across a wall when frustrated with one of his designs. By having Yanagisawa replicate the filmic Michelangelo's actions, Mitani gave his viewers an insight into Yanagisawa's spirit as an artist. In other words, that scene suggests Yanagisawa's respect towards Michelangelo without directly stating this. Viewers also learn from this scene that many differences in opinions concerning the design of the house between the young designer, Yanagisawa, and the carpenters (all of whom are a generation older than Yanagisawa) come from not only the generation gap but also Yanagisawa's notion of not being able to compromise as a professional. Thus, the information implied through these intertextual references assists in enriching audience understanding of the characters.

While Mitani's intertextual practices add depth to audience interpretations of his films, his intertextual references are not so significant as to prevent enjoyment on the part of those members of the audience unfamiliar with the source text. Younger members of the audience, in particular, may have no knowledge of Carol Reed's film on Michelangelo. However, since this information is not essential to the storyline, audiences without this information are still able to find the movie entertaining. The absence of these detailed intertextual components, however, would prevent the movie being recognised as a 'Mitani movie'. Meticulous attention to intertextuality at all levels of the production – even if others fail to notice these small details – is the hallmark of his film-making approach. (35) Therefore, regardless of audience recognition of the references used, intertextuality is an essential strategy in making Mitani's movies 'Mitani-like'.

Intertextuality and the Media

Intertextuality has also been applied to other fields of study. Stuart Hall, for example, investigated this concept in the field of media and cultural studies via the theory of 'encoding/decoding', a model still predominantly used in those fields today. (36) According to Hall, meaning is 'encoded' by producers into a given text, after which receivers (consumers) 'decode' the meaning. (37) However, since the codes used when encoding and then again when decoding are not always identical, misunderstandings and distortions – which givea text new meanings - sometimes occur duringthe processes ofproductionand reception. Therefore, as Kristeva points out, not a single meaning, but multiple meanings are produced regardless of encoders' intention. Thus, meanings are not fixed, but fluid.

The practices of 'representation' are also important here. Representation is defined as a process by which meaning is produced by members of a culture via the use of language. (38) This idea is closely related to the constructionist approach of Swiss linguist, Ferdinand de Saussure. According to Saussure, language is a system of signs that consists of the signifier and the signified. The term signifier refers to the 'form', such as an actual word and image, while the signified is the concept that is associated with the signifier. (39) For instance, the word 'red' is a signifier, while concepts associated with words such as 'blood' and 'STOP' are examples of the signified.

Moreover, there is an important premise in the notion of 'representation' which implies that nothing - no object or its various images – can have a single, fixed meaning. Meaning is fluid in different cultures as well as in different periods of time. It is the response of people at various times and in various places that creates meaning – things are made meaningful by people. (40) In this process of meaning production, decoders are as important as encoders. In fact, while every signifier is encoded with potential meaning, it is not until this is decoded by a reader or viewer that this meaning is effected in any useful sense. (41)

Similarly, according to Fiske, texts relate to other texts in both similar and different ways. (42) It is through these relationships that meaning is culturally produced for audiences. Therefore, meaning is 'not fixed in a universal, empirical 'reality', but in the social situation of the viewer'. (43) Fiske has identified two dimensions operating in the intertextuality process – the horizontal and the vertical. In the horizontal dimension, intertextuality works via explicit fundamental factors, such as genre and character. (44) For example, because Mitani's works are categorised as comedy, viewers expect his texts to generate laughter and humour. In other words, the genre 'pre-orients the viewers to activate the text in certain ways by making some meanings rather than others'. (45) Simultaneously, the vertical dimension is used to mobilise and fix meanings. (46) Secondary texts, including advertisements, posters and reviews that precede the release of a new film, are categorised into this group. These secondary texts help to construct certain meanings and images that function in conjunction with the primary text of the film itself. The vertical dimension most obviously operates when associated with commercial promotion. (47)

To understand how Fiske's vertical dimension functions, we might consider the advertising posters for the following films: Mitani Kōki's The Magic Hour (2008; Za majikku awā ), Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown (1999), Peter Bogdanovich's (b. 1939) (48) Paper Moon (1973) and Frank Capra's (1897-1991) (49) It Happened One Night (1934).

Firstly, each poster produces meanings individually. For example, while the poster of It Happened One Night seems to give the impression of a love story, the first impression given by the Paper Moon poster, in which a frowning girl holds a cigarette, is that of a comedy. However, there are common elements that appear across all posters and have the potential to operate in similar ways in the advertisement for each movie. The moon and the sparkle, for example, are common to each poster and tend to evoke a nostalgic response.

The poster of Allen's movie, Sweet and Lowdown , refers to the poster of Paper Moon , (50) which in turnreferstothe poster ofthe original text, ItHappenedOne Night . Those familiar with the three American posters would have certain expectations raised when they viewed the poster of Mitani's movie. It is likely that they would think The Magic Hour would be a similar sort of movie to all or any of the American films featured in the other posters. From all these perspectives, we can see that even advertising material can include intertextual references and can orientate a prospective viewer's mind in a certain way.

Intertextuality and Comedy Films

Cinema - not only Japanese cinema, but cinema in general – demonstrated a strong intertextual tendency even before intertextuality became a global concept. From the very beginning of film history, the repeat as well as the sequel has been a part of cinema. In addition, cinema, which is a medium that totally depends on a 'delicate blend of repetition', used and 'borrowed' ideas from other media, such as novels and stage-plays. (51) The inherently flexible nature of cinema as an art form – for example, the capacity to edit – in conjunction with its relative newness, has made this medium very receptive to change. Among the specific genres within cinema, comedy is the one that is most

capable of being easily fused with other genres. (52)

Comedy, one of the most pervasive of all cinema genres, is said to originate from stage farces or comic novels. (53) Comedy is also divided into sub-categories, including slapstick, burlesque, parody, irony and black comedy. Since parody is defined as a piece of work that deliberately 'imitates the style' of other people or texts for the purpose of amusement, (54) this form of cinema might be regarded as the best example of intertextual material. Interestingly, it is not only comedy that produces parody – all genres actually have this capacity. This is because when a genre starts tomockits own conventions, ittends to step into a phase of parody. (55) As already mentioned, comedy is capable of integrating with other genres. (56) From these perspectives, comedy can be said to be a very inclusive and flexible genre, a fact that further contributes to its being easily intertextualised.

(Rajio no Jikan, 1997)

Cinema in 1990s Japan

Since Mitani Kōki debuted as a film maker in the 1990s, some consideration will be given to the social conditions of the time and how these impacted both the Japanese film industry in general and on Mitani's film-making in particular. The 1990s was a turning point for the Japanese film industry. As already mentioned, a large number of new directors, including Mitani, made their debut during this decade. Their increasing world-wide recognition due to the screening and critical recognition of their films at international film festivals revitalised the Japanese cinema industry both domestically and internationally.

Although each of these newcomers has a distinctive individual signature, many of them are 'Generation X' filmmakers. According to Howe and Strauss, Generation X referstothose who werebornbetween 1961 and about 1981. (57) One ofthe most successful of these newcomers, Hirokazu Kore'eda, remarked that the directors who emerged in the 1990s come from a generation 'that never apprenticed in a film studio'. (58) The Japanese film industry has traditionally provided few opportunities for direct entry outsiders. (59) However, the emergence of the new cohort of 1990s directors saw the collapse of this long-standing industry convention. (60) This breakdown had a very positive impact on Japanese cinema since the success of the new directors resulted in more opportunities to enter professional film-making opening up to others that followed. (61)

The new generation of 1990s filmmakers received strong cultural influences from the United States. After Japanese society reduced the conflict with the US that arose at the time of the 1960 re-negotiation of the Nichibei Anzen Hoshō Jyōyaku (US-Japan Security Treaty), the country entered into a political alliance with the western superpower that resulted in American cultural influences quickly spreading throughout he whole of Japan. (62) Japanese Gen Xers, including Mitani, grew up under these circumstances where the cultural boundaries between the indigenous and American imports started to blur. (63) Thus, it can be said that, for these young artists, breaking 'Japanese' conventions did not present the serious barrier it may have for the generations that preceded them.

More importantly, the 1990s in Japan was a time of great social upheaval and transformation. This led to significant changes in the film industry itself. The decade was preceded the previous year by the passing of the Shōwa emperor, Hirohito, in January 1989, an event that ensured a clear division between the 1980s and 1990s. (64) Starting with the loss of the emperor, the 1990s was not a joyous decade for the country. The early 1990s saw the collapse of Japan's so-called 'bubble economy' leading to long-term financial stagnation and the contraction of the labour market. The degree of impact on the nation due to this economic downturn was tremendous and is evident from the fact, as noted above, that the 1990s is referred to in Japan as 'the lost decade'. (65)

In 1995, the mid-point of the decade, two catastrophic events occurred. These were the Great Hanshin Earthquake and the sarin terrorism attack by the religious cult, Aum Shinrikyō . The former happened on 17th of January, striking the area around Kōbe (one of Japan's major cities) early in the morning. More than five thousand people were killed and thousands of others left injured and displaced. The massive earthquake also damaged highways, railways and major utility pipelines. However, more significant was the manner in which this natural disaster revealed serious defects in the 'system' of Japan. For instance, there were significant delays in the provision of services such as emergency facilities and water supply immediately after the disaster because of the slow governmental response. To make matters worse, the government clung to demands for 'national autonomy' and rejected offers of foreign aid. (66) Furthermore, it was also revealed that the Ministry of Construction closed its eyes to the fact that a large number of buildings actually failed to meet construction safety-standards. (67)

Just two months later, on March 20th, Tokyo's subway system was attacked by members of the cult known as Aum Shinrikyō who released the highly toxic substance, sarin, on selected trains running on the underground during the morning rush hour peak. Twelve people were killed and more than five thousand commuters were injured. The incident is regarded as one of the worst terrorist attacks in Japan. Again, it was not onlythe issue ofthe attackitself. Asitwitnessed the catastrophe unfold beforeit, Japanese society was forced to reflect upon the assumptions that sustained it. (68) The inability of such a large number of 'ordinary' people – most of the cult's devotees were young and well-educated - to assimilate into the society was attributed to flaws in Japanese societal function itself. (69) Although 1995 was actually the 100th anniversary of Japanese cinema, the disasters that occurred at the time completely swept away any thought of celebrating the memorial year. (70)

The socially disruptive events that happened throughout the 1990s had a strong impact on and are reflected in Japanese cinema. According to Tanaka, live coverage via the medium of television in the aftermath of the earthquake and the Aum incident led to Japanese people witnessing the extraordinary and tremendous panic of human drama as if these were happening in a film. (71) The dreadful images of 'reality' generated by both disasters, which went far beyond people's imagination, made viewers realise that no film could surpass reality any longer. Tanaka argues that this complete defeat of previous cinematic approaches stopped filmmakers from clinging to old styles and patterns which in turn gave directors the opportunities to produce the material they wanted to in new and innovative ways. (72) It was this drastic change that brought about the recovery of Japanese cinema. Regardless of technical difficulties, Mitani's response of trying to incorporate American comedy strategies and styles into his own productions can be considered representative of the typically unconventional approaches to film-making that emerged around this time. In the case of Mitani and others like him, the chaotic social circumstances actually provided an opportunity for these young artists to step into the film industry and to produce alternative films.

The social conditions of the 1990s supported the emergence of a new group of Generation X filmmakers, in addition to contributing to total transformation of the Japanese film industry. In fact, it seems to be no exaggeration to say that the chaotic circumstances of the time provided Generation X filmmakers in particular with the opportunity to produce innovative films that permitted full rein of their individual creative talents. Despite being a dark time, the events of the 1990s were essential for the revival of the industry and also for the emergence of directors like Mitani Kōki.

(Minna no Ie, 2001)

Mitani's Films: The Texts and Their Intertexts

Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald ( 1997 ; Rajio no jikan)

In order to understand the operation of intertextuality in Mitani's films, it is necessary to analyse each of his references in the chronological order of production. Mitani debuted as a film director in 1997 with the typical gunshū geki (group comedy) film, Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald . The characters of this work provide comic depiction of the various human relationships among the people working in a radio station, which is a prime example of Mitani's favorite setting of 'limited space'. (73)

The film's narrative concerns a radio drama that has been written by a prize-winning amateur writer, Miyako Suzuki (Kyōka Suzuki). Although the drama is about to be aired, changes are still being demanded by the self-centred main actress, Senbon Nokko (Keiko Toda). Even during the live broadcast of the drama, the script is continuously changing. It finally gets to the point where the original script, which featured a pure love story, is completely altered turning Miyako's romantic dream into a nightmare.

From its inception, Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald had a strong intertextual element with Mitani intentionally setting out to create in his debut work an American-like Japanese film. (74) In order to do this, the director overlaid his own understanding of the meaning of humour across American situation comedy and screwball comedy formats. (75) In fact, while filming Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald , Mitani strived toshowcase all his knowledge about American films. (76) In other words, what Mitani decoded through American comedy was deliberately encoded in Mitani's first film.

One of the factors that clearly distinguish Mitani's movies from those of other Japanese directors who produce comedy is that other directors rarely make any deliberate attempt to adapt material from American forms of the genre. (77) Although American comedy remains a popular entertaining product, difficulties arise when a Japanese director/producer attempts to create a similar style using local resources. (78) This seems to suggest that there are radical differences between the two. Under these circumstances, Mitani's adherence to and study of American comedy appears to have given him a rare position as a Japanese filmmaker.

There is a further intertextual factor embedded in the setting of Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald , one that provides an example of implicit intertextuality. The film's setting off the radio station is actually copied from the command post of NASA in the film APOLLO 13 (1995). This setting contributes well to the narrative strategy of the work in that the focus on a limited space helps the character relations look more dramatic than is the case in the actual storyline. (79) We might say that the signifier of a limited space was taken by Mitani and constructed into the signified of a radio station. In other words, Mitani consumed (decoded) the space as a command post, but produced (encoded) it as a radio station. This indicates that there can be different uses for one object depending on whether it is passively seen or actively used. Clearly these two processes are not necessarily identical.

All about Our House ( 2001 ; Minna no ie)

Mitani's second film, All about Our House , was released in 2001. This film features a young married couple Naosuke (Naoki Tanaka) and Tamiko (Akiko Yagi) who are in the process of building their own house. While the young couple have their house of dreams firmly in mind, their desire conflicts with the opinions of Tamiko's father, Chōichirō (Kunie Tanaka), who is in charge of the builders working for their house, and the designer, Yanagisawa (Toshiaki Karasawa).

It is evident that Mitani decided to take a different approach for his second production. In contrast to producing the 'American-like Japanese film' format he had used for Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald , the aim of All about Our House was to produce a 'Japanesque American film'. (80) This approach was determined by the fact that the narrative is based around a specifically Japanese experience involving, for example, Japanese ceremonial scenes and landscapes. However, in order to diminish the Japanese elements and create space for an American influence, Mitani decided deliberately to omit various scenic elements that are typically seen in Japanese films. (81)

There are two major influential references in All about Our House ; these are Woody Allen's September (1987) and Manhattan Murder Mystery (1993) also by Allen. Although Mitani drew on a range of elements from each of these films, colours were a central focus. Each colour has been blended into a unified sense of calming orange, a strategy that is hinted at in both of Allen's films. Orange or sepia coloured lighting is a feature of American cinema. While lighting in Japanese films generally brightens the entire area of the screen, American films are often more muted in tone. This produces a highly aesthetic effect on the screen. (82) While influenced by these American strategies, Mitani also sought to create a colour scheme that matched Japanese expectations of brighter cinema lighting. In addition to producing similar lighting effects to those that might be featured in American film, he also transferred these orange shades to, for example, the clothing worn by his characters to create a warm impression suitable for a comedy about family life. (83) In other words, it is Mitani's response to produce a hearty impression via Allen's usage of orange colour.

Even though Mitani 'borrowed' the colour pattern from Allen's films, the storylines of the three films are not necessarily similar. While September is categorised as a home drama, the narrative is serious rather than comic. The storyline of Manhattan Murder Mystery is a cross between mystery and comedy. Thus, the colour scheme has been used for different purposes by each of the two directors (and, in fact, for slightly different effect in each of Allen's films). This difference seems to indicate a culturally different perception towards the orange colour. In Japan, the colours featured are categorised as danshoku-kei (warm colours) and, as the name indicates, considered to give a warm impression. On the other hand, orange is often associated with nostalgia in western countries. Whereas Allen made the settings of his films nostalgic and mysterious, Mitani successfully encoded a warm and homely impression in the orange-coloured lighting and costumes. Besides the example of borrowing a limited space from APOLLO 13 for Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald , this example of Mitani's second film (borrowing orange colour) also shows how the same object is transformed by a person from a different cultural background. As Hall points out, there are different signifieds produced in different cultures. (84)

Although there were differences in the treatment of colour, Mitani actually did replicate a number of Woody Allen's approaches throughout All about Our House . For instance, in the scene set in an izakaya (a Japanese pub), Mitani did not frame all the characters on the screen at the same time. Rather, moving away from his usual preference for long takes, he used a series of facial close-ups of each person. By doing so, an atmosphere was created which led the audience to feel as if they were in the space drinking with each of the characters. This point of Allen's approach actually comes from early Hollywood movies, such as the comedies of Ernst Lubitsch (1892-1947). (85) After this Berlin-born director started his career in Hollywood, his 'sophisticated comic style' quickly became popular and influential enough to the extent that it was imitated by many other directors. Lubitsch works are regarded as an essential part of American national cinema. (86) Thus, itcan besaid thatelements ofthese classic Hollywoodcomedies are present in Mitani's movies indirectly via the use of Allen's techniques.

(Minna no Ie, 2001)

Suite Dreams ( 2006 ; THE uchōten hoteru)

Audiences would have to wait another five long years after All about Our House for Mitani's third film, Suite Dreams , which premiered in 2006. This film adopts the American situation comedy format which is overlaid across the Japanese group comedy (gunshū geki ) style. One of the most prominent intertextual references is Edmund Goulding's classic Grand Hotel (1932) starring Greta Garbo. (87)

It is New Year's Eve and a few hours before a party commences at the Avanti Hotel. The film's many characters, including a world-famous actor, Kōji Yakusho (b.1956), (88) in the starring role, encounter various difficulties as preparations for the party take place, again, in a limited space – this time, a hotel. As in Welcome back, Mr. McDonald , Mitani's first film, this limited space seems to provide a sense of tension and dramatic effect that exceeds that of the actual storyline.

There are intertextually important elements hidden in the names. Firstly, the name of the hotel, Avanti, was actually taken from Wilder's film of the same title. (89) The names of the four suites of Hotel Avanti actually reference the real-life names of the actors, such as Lionel (Lionel Barrymore), who appear in Grand Hotel . The use of these names is, in fact, a clue to the fact that Mitani is referencing the classic film. Thus, Mitani used Fiske’s horizontal dimension, in which explicit elements such as genre and character produce intertextuality, sothat SuiteDreams would beseen as a similar kind offilm to Grand Hotel . This clue, again, would not be significant enough to devalue Suite Dreams' entertaining elements, however, this is what Mitani stresses and enjoys in his filmmaking. (90)

The Magic Hour ( 2008 ; Za majikku awā)

Mitani's latest film, The Magic Hour , which was released in 2008, also attracted large audience numbers. The storyline of this screwball type comedy begins in a port town called Sukago('Chicago'). When the local gangboss, Teshio (Toshiyuki Nishida) discovers that his lover, Mari (Eri Fukatsu), has been cheating on him with a young gangster, Bingo (Satoshi Tsumabuki), he swears to take revenge. The only way the lovers can get into Teshio's good books is by helping him search for the legendary hit-man, Dera Togashi, whomTeshio wishes tocontract for some work. Bingo, who has no idea who Dera Togashi is or where he is to be found, disguises himself as a film director and hires a third-rate actor, Murata (Kōichi Satō), to play the role of the hit-man, as a solution to save their lives.

Compared to Mitani's first three films, The Magic Hour shows a clear difference in the setting. Sukago is a non-Japanesque city with western-style buildings that appear to be 'caught in a 1920s time warp'. (91) The waitress, Natsuko (Haruka Ayase) comments on these unrealistic looking surroundings by observing 'It's like something out of a film. This place is always like that. This view…that building, the hotel…doesn't it remind you of a film set?' ( The Magic Hour 2008). There is actually a similar line in Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950): 'See this street! This is a fake city, made of plywood. I love this street more than any other place in the world'. (92) The similarity between these two lines indicates that the idea of using an obviously artificial and feigned town, Sukago, in The Magic Hour comes from Wilder's masterpiece. (93)

Additionally,JorgeRoy Hill’s The Sting (1973) is obliquelyreferenced throughout the film. Many elements of the mise-en-scene, including the settings and the costumes, were actually borrowed from Hill's film. (94) While he did not overtly acknowledge the fact, Mitani also seems to have found inspiration for the music and the editing from The Sting . In other words, The Sting is partially revived 35 years later in the foreign film, The Magic Hour . Taking into consideration that the opening theme song of The Sting is taken from the classic, The Third Man (1949), we can easily see the extent of the circulatory system of texts.

As in Mitani's previous three films, there are also a range of references from Billy Wilder and Woody Allen in The Magic Hour . First of all, the broad storyline was influenced by Wilder's Some Like It Hot (1959), which presents as a perfect combination of gangster drama and comedy. (95) Some Like It Hot also supplied The Magic Hour with the narrative strategy of disguise. (96) While, at first sight, the Wilder film and The Magic Hour do not appear to have much in common, this assumption ignores the more subtle elements - including the film's general concept – that Mitani encoded from the Hollywood narrative. In fact, components of Wilder's masterpiece are pressed into 'Mitani's world' as the very foundation of the Japanese film.

One of the highlights of this film is Mari singing as she sits on the moon. As already referred to in the previous chapter, this scene is a pastiche of a scene in Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown (1999), which actually harks back to Peter Bogdanovich's Paper Moon (1973) (97) and Frank Capra's It Happened One Night (1934). In fact, the signified of the moon could be It Happened One Night , Paper Moon , Sweet and Lowdown or The Magic Hour ; depending on when and where the scene is viewed.

Moreover, there is a deeper meaning in Mitani's use of this scene hidden in the lyrics ofthe songthe young woman sings, I'mForeverBlowingBubbles . (98) In Mitani's film, the words 'I'm blowing bubbles…They fly so high, nearly reach the sky. Then like my dreams they fade and die. Fortune's always hiding…' (99) actually symbolise film-making. (100) Therefore, it can be decoded that the scene is not merely a reference to Allen's film, but also Mitani demonstrating respect and honour towards cinema itself. (101) While it is not necessary for an audience to have access to this element in order to be entertained by the scene, having knowledge of Mitani's intention adds to what Hall argues is 'meaningful' in the text. (102)

In this section, Mitani's four films and the kinds of references used in his works have been outlined. It has been argued that a large number of American films are embedded both explicitly and implicitly in Mitani's works. Furthermore, it has been noted that the encoded elements of these adopted texts provide clues in how to receive or decode the films. Thus, for viewers of Mitani's films, the American texts referenced assist in the comprehension of the Japanese films.

(Rajio no Jikan, 1997)

Conclusion

This article analysed the work of contemporary Japanese film director, Mitani Kōki, with an emphasis on the 'self-conscious forms of intertextuality' (103) found in each of Mitani's four films. While Mitani's intertextual inspiration comes from a variety of sources, attention was given to the two most prominent – the works of Billy Wilder and Woody Allen. It was noted that, while familiarity with the work of these artists adds depth to audience interpretations of his films, his intertextual references are not essential to enjoy or be entertained by Mitani's material on the part of those members of the audience unfamiliar with the source texts. However, the absence of these detailed intertextual components would prevent the film being recognised as a 'Mitani film'. Meticulous attention to intertextuality at all levels of the production – even if audiences fail to notice these small details – is the hallmark of Mitani's film-making approach. (104) As a result, regardless of recognition of the references used, intertextuality is an essential strategy in making Mitani's films 'Mitani-like'.

Through Mitani's films the circulatory power of media can be observed; old films are revived and freshly re-created across borders and time. As suggested by Mitani’s admiration for the two American artists, Wilder and Allen, in most cases American texts provide the intertextual foundation for Mitani's films. This means that when viewers watch Mitani's films, they actually watch American texts via the Japanese director's works. This dominance of American texts seems to represent the cultural outcomes of Americanisation, a process which, although global, operated particularly strongly in Japan over the past six and a half decades because of the post-war American occupation of Japan. From this perspective, Mitani's films are typical products of the new crop of post-1990 American influenced Japanese Gen X directors. However, it is worthwhile noting again that Mitani is in a unique position as a Japanese comedy creator due to radical differences between Japanese and American comedies.

There is an interesting impression about Japan from other nations. According to Barrett, Japanese comedy ( kigeki ) is little known in the West. (105) In fact, viewers and readers in both the West and in other parts of Asia have a common image of Japanese people as lacking a sense of humour, in spite of the fact that Japanese comedy actually has a long history. (106) Mitani's increasing recognition overseas as a comedy filmmaker has the capacity to dispel the stereotypical impression of an absence of comedy and humour in Japan. Through his films, foreign audiences can understand the strong tradition of comedy and humour in Japanese popular culture.

This, in fact, is one of Mitani's aims. Rather than incorporating American comic elements in his work to become individually famous overseas, Mitani's desire is to give foreign viewers a sense of the highly developed nature of Japanese comedy. (107) To be sure, he successfully changes original American signifieds through his perception to something more Japaneseque. By doing so, these signifieds fit into his storylines and turn into 'Mitani-like' elements from mere extraction from American texts. In other words, despite the fact that Mitani's texts often become meaningful by interacting with American texts, what he wants to express belongs to Japanese cinema. This cultural tangle seems to indicate the power of intertextuality; any intertextual references could communicate with each other regardless of nationalities. Thus, it can be argued that the prevalence of the theory in a large number of fields across the border partially attributes to this powerful nature of intertextuality.

In addition to his films, Mitani's plays have also reached audiences in other countries. The theatrical version of University of Laughs (2004; Warai no daigaku ), which was originally produced as a radio drama in 1994 and then as a play in 1996 before it was adapted as a film directed by Mamoru Hoshi in 2004, was performed in the UK by British actors and also by local actors in Korea. As Mitani has noted, it was incredible that the play was favourably received in Korea, since the social background of this play is the Second World War, (108) a time of harsh Japanese proto-colonial rule of Korea. From this point of view, comedy provides the power to alleviate international tensions and to improve cultural relations. In this sense, Mitani's comedy works as a very positive form of 'soft power', particularly in this globalising world. 'Soft power' is defined as a combination of intangible resources such as 'culture, ideology and identities'. (109)

While power of this kind can serve questionable political and economic ends, (110) the 'soft power' inherent in Mitani's comedies has great potential for a positive influence especially when presented in film format. As he pointed out, film is a medium that entertains people all over the world. (111) Although Mitani was a successful director and a playwright for theatre and television drama, he noticed the limitations of these two media. Theatre is a medium that is made to be enjoyed as a live performance, while Mitani feels that television drama must be seen over a series of weeks. (112) Films, on the other hand, are a one-off easily distributed format that, in effect, has 'eternal life'. Mitani said 'I am still moved by films that were made in Hollywood more than 50 years ago. Isn't it amazing? This means that, if I really try, my films may be able to entertain people all over the world decade after decade'. (113) This eternal potential of cinema may be one reason for its strongly intertextual nature. In other words, the fact that cinema has more potential to be consumed means it has more potential to be re-used (intertextualised). Currently, it is Mitani who references the texts of other directors. However, his increasing international recognition via the power of global cinema gives his works, too, the potential to be referenced and intertextualised by others.

(Rajio no Jikan, 1997)

Notes:

1 I will use the name of Mitani Kōki instead of Kōki Mitani in this article.

2 Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination , p. 5; Bakhtin , Speech Genres and Other Late Essays , p. 162; Gray, Watching with the Simpsons: Television, Parody and Intertextuality , p. 27.

3 Chandler, 'Intertextuality'.

4 Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination , p. 5; Bakhtin, Speech Genres and Other Late Essays , p. 162; Gray, Watching with the Simpsons: Television, Parody and

Intertextuality , p. 27.

5 Strinati, An Introduction to Theories of Popular Culture , p. 225.

6 Bordwell and Thompson, Film Art: An Introduction , pp. 115-116.

7 This article will refer to Mitani's films using the English title. Thus, for example, Rajio no jikan will be written as Welcome Back, Mr. McDonald in the

remainder of the article.

8 Hantke, 'Postmodernism and Genre Fiction as Deferred Action: Haruki Murakami and the Noir Tradition', p. 11.

9 Mori, 'Gaikōsei to Naikōsei wo Ōrai Shite Zenshin Shituzukeru Hyōgensha', p. 42; Nakōji, 'Mitani Kōki to Iu Sakka', pp. 125-127.

10 Chaffin-Quiray, 'Billy Wilder', p. 152.

11 Katz, The Film Encyclopedia: The Complete Guide to Film and the Film Industry , p. 28.

12 Johnson, 'Recovery Demands a Clear-out of Old Guard', p. 16.

13 Hirokazu Kore'eda made his debut in 1995 with Maboroshi ( Maboroshi no hikari ), which received international acclaim at the Venice International Film

Festival. Since then, he has produced a series of quality films, such as After Life (1999; Wandafuru raifu ), Distance (2001; Disutansu ) and Nobody Knows (2004;

Dare mo shiranai ).

14 The remarkable debut work of Shunji Iwai, Love Letter ( Rabu retā ), was released in 1995. He has continued to produce hit films, such as Swallowtail

Butterfly (1996; Suwarō tēru ), April Story (1998; Shigatsu monogatari ) and All about Lily Chou-Chou (2001; Rirī Shushu no subete ).

15 Schilling, Contemporary Japanese Film , p. 71.

16 Nakata, 'Foreword', p. ix; Schilling, Contemporary Japanese Film , p. 7; Tanaka , Gendai/ Nihon/ Eiga , p. 36.

17 Barrett, 'Comic Targets and Comic Styles: An introduction to Japanese Film Comedy', p. 216.

18 Komori, 'Gekisakka, Mitani Kōki, Furikaeruto “Ibara no Michi”', p. 137.

19 The comedian-cum-director, Kitano, also known as 'Beat Takeshi', debuted with Violent Cop ( Sono otoko kyōbō ni tsuki ) in 1989. His Fireworks (1997;

Hana-Bi ), which was awarded the Golden Lion at the Venice International Film Festival, made him a well-known director overseas.

20 Hayao Miyazaki is the most well-known Japanese animator, whose Spirited Away (2001; Sen to Chihiro no kamikakushi ) received the Oscar for Best

Animated Feature in 2002. His films include Castle in the Sky (1986; Tenkū no shiro Raputa ), Princess Mononoke (1997; Mononoke hime ) and Howl's Moving

Castle (2004; Hauru no ugoku shiro ). The animations of Studio Ghibli (Miyazaki's studio) have contributed to world cinema as an exemplar of Japanese

cultural products.

21 Ishihara, cited in Pia Mooks, p. 41.

22 This 'THE' is in the original Japanese title.

23 Kristeva, Desire in Language: A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art , p. 15.

24 Ibid. , p. 36.

25 Ibid.

26 Ibid. , p. 65.

27 Ibid. , p. 36.

28 Ibid.

29 Still and Worton, 'Introduction', p. 2.

30 Gray, Watching with the Simpsons: Television, Parody and Intertextuality , p. 24.

31 Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination , p. 5; Bakhtin, Speech Genres and Other Late Essays , p. 162.

32 Roudiez, 'Introduction', p. 8.

33 Frow, 'Intertextuality and Ontology', p. 45.

34 Reed's movie is based on the novel, The Agony and the Ecstasy: A Novel of Michelangelo (1961), written by Irving Stone.

35 Mitani, cited in Pia Mooks, p. 164; Mori, 'Gaikōsei to Naikōsei wo Ōrai Shite Zenshin Shituzukeru Hyōgensha', p. 42.

36 Gray, Watching with the Simpsons: Television, Parody and Intertextuality , pp. 21, 32.

37 Hall, 'Encoding/decoding', p. 131.

38 Hall, 'The Work of Representation', p. 15.

39 Saussure, cited in Hall, Ibid. , p. 31.

40 Hall, Ibid. , pp. 32, 61.

41 Ibid. , p. 33.

42 Fiske, Television Culture , pp. 115-118.

43 Ibid. , p. 117.

44 Ibid. , p. 108.

45 Ibid.

46 Ibid. , p. 117.

47 Ibid. , p. 118.

48 Peter Bogdanovich is an American filmmaker. He actually started his career as an actor before his debut film, Targets (1968), was released in 1968. His film-making approach keeps the forms of veteran Hollywood directors, such as Howard Hawks and John Ford. Bogdanovich referred to Ford's perspective of rural America in Paper Moon .

49 Frank Capra was born in Sicily and immigrated to the US at the age of six. He directed successful comedies in succession between the 1930s and 1940s. Some of his movies, such as It Happened One Night (1934) and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), are regarded as classic screwball comedy. It Happened One Night , received an Oscar for both Best Picture and Best Director.

50 Hagio, 'Eiga Ai ni Michita Kokoro Yasashii Komedī', p. 40.

51 Strinati, An Introduction to Theories of Popular Culture , p. 225.

52 Bordwell and Thompson, Film Art: An Introduction , p. 116.

53 Ibid. , p. 115.

54 Collins Cobuild English Dictionary , p. 1202.

55 Bordwell and Thompson, Film Art: An Introduction , p. 115.

56 Ibid. , p. 116.

57 Howe and Strauss, cited in Ortner, 'Generation X: Anthropology in a Media-saturated World', p. 416.

58 Kore'eda, cited in Schilling, Contemporary Japanese Film , p. 208.

59 For instance, Hirokazu Kore'eda was a television producer while Shunji Iwai created music videos, promotional films and television dramas prior to entering the film industry.

60 Schilling, Contemporary Japanese Film, p. 71.

61 Ibid.

62 Aoki, 'Murakami Haruki and Contemporary Japan', p. 268.

63 Hantke, 'Postmodernism and Genre Fiction as Deferred Action: Haruki Murakami and the Noir Tradition', p. 11.

64 Fukushima, 'Japanese Literature, or “J-Literature,” in the 1990s', p. 41.

65 Johnson, 'Recovery Demands a Clear-out of Old Guard', p. 16.

66 Iida, Rethinking Identity in Modern Japan , p. 238.

67 Ibid.

68 Ibid. , p. 244.

69 Ibid. , p. 238; Leheny, cited in Roquet, 'Ambient Literature and the Aesthetics of Calm: Mood Regulation in Contemporary Japanese Fiction', p. 89.

70 Tanaka, Gendai/ Nihon/ Eiga , p. 37.

71 Ibid.

72 Ibid.

73 Mitani, Mitani Kōki no Arifureta Seikatsu 6: Yakusha Kidori , p. 116.

74 Mitani, Shigoto, Mitani Kōki no , p. 167.

75 Ishihara, cited in Pia Mooks, p. 39.

76 Mitome, 'Mitani Eiga no Seikō to Daishippai, Sono Riyū wo Tokiakasu!', p. 76.

77 Komori, 'Gekisakka, Mitani Kōki, Furikaeruto “Ibara no Michi”', p. 137.

78 Mitani, Shigoto, Mitani Kōki no , p. 205.

79 Ibid. , p. 76.

80 Mitani, Shigoto, Mitani Kōki no , p. 167.

81 Mitani, cited in Schilling, 'Screen Review Entertainment Show'.

82 Takama, Shi-na Eiga to Ko-ki Eiga , pp. 310-311.

83 Mitani, cited in Schilling, 'Screen Review Entertainment Show'.

84 Hall, 'The Work of Representation', p. 32.

85 Schwarz, 'On the Construction of Reality and Imagery in Jan Van Eyck and Woody Allen', p. 20.

86 Gemunden, 'Ernst Lubitsch's “To Be or Not to Be”', p. 61.

87 Mori, 'Gaikōsei to Naikōsei wo Ōrai Shite Zenshin Shituzukeru Hyōgensha', p. 42; Schilling, 'King of Comedy Scores Again'.

88 Yakusho is in such other films as Jūzō Itami's Dandelion (1985; Tanpopo), Shōhei Imamura's The Eel (1997; Unagi ) and Shinji Aoyama's Eureka (2000; Yuriika ).

89 Hagio, 'Eiga Ai ni Michita Kokoro Yasashii Komedī', p. 42.

90 Ibid., p. 40.

91 Schilling, 'King of Comedy Scores Again'.

92 Taneda, cited in Mitani, Mitani Kōki no Arifureta Seikatsu 7: The Majikku Iyā , p. 187.

93 Ibid.

94 Mitani, Ibid. , p. 39.

95 Ibid. , p. 38.

96 Mitani, Shigoto, Mitani Kōki no , p. 116.

97 Hagio, 'Eiga Ai ni Michita Kokoro Yasashii Komedī', p. 40.

98 Ibid.

99 Kenbrovin, I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles .

100 Hagio, 'Eiga Ai ni Michita Kokoro Yasashii Komedī', p. 40.

101 Ibid.

102 Hall, 'The Work of Representation', p. 33.

103 Chandler, 'Intertextuality'.

104 Mitani, cited in Pia Mooks, p. 164; Mori, 'Gaikōsei to Naikōsei wo Ōrai Shite Zenshin Shituzukeru Hyōgensha', p. 42.

105 Barrett, 'Comic Targets and Comic Styles: An introduction to Japanese Film Comedy', p. 211.

106 Ibid. ; Buruma, 'Humor in Japanese Cinema', p. 26.

107 Mitani, cited in Rikkyō Journal.

108 Mitani, Mitani Kōki no Arifureta Seikatsu 8: Fukkatsu no Hi , pp. 99-101.

109 Nye, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Policies , p. 166.

Women according to Shinji Somai

2012-05-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

(Sera-fuku to Kikanju, 1981)

(Rabu Hoteru, 1985)

(Yuki no Dansho - Jonetsu, 1985)

Whispering of the Gods #17

2012-05-08T17:01:00.000-07:00

"I have always believed since I was a child that beautiful things were true." - Keisuke Kinoshita

Expressionism in Film

2012-04-20T15:55:00.000-07:00

By Donald Richie

Expressionism was perhaps Germany's first notable aesthetic influence on Japan. This style, the term first being used in 1911, was more a label than a school, an attitude than a manner. Its symptoms were those of late romanticism - a sense of imminent crisis; a feeling torn between desire for stillness and urge toward chaos, a disjunction between images of rigidity and the violence within.
The artist sought to avoid the representation of external reality and, instead, attempted to project himself and his highly personal vision of the world. Dramatically, the style was seen as a reaction against realism, an attempt to show inner psychological realities. The stage origins are perhaps to be found in the Swedish writer August Strindberg's The Dream Play (1907) and The Ghost Sonata (1907) as well as in the work of the Germans Franz Wedekind and Ernst Toller, dramatists whose plays were early performed in Japan. A Tokyo favorite was Georg Kaiser's From Morn to Midnight (Von Morgens bis Mitternacht, 1916), both the stage and the screen version. Literary critic and translator of Kaiser, Toller and Wedekind, Kubo Sakae later went to Berlin to study; it also much influenced the expressionistic work of students and admirers such as Kinoshita Junji, one of Japan's foremost modern playwrights.
It was especially the film that popularized what the Japanese understood as Expressionism. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (Das Kabinett des Dr. Caligari, 1920) directed by Robert Wiene and often thought of as the first expressionist film, showed in Tokyo in February 1920, shortly after its Berlin premiere. All together, it has been estimated that close to two dozen expressionist films were released in Japan between 1920 and 1927. These included Karl Heinz Martin's From Morn to Midnight (1920), Fritz Lang's Destiny (Der müde Tod, 1921), Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau's Nosferatu (1922), and Faust (1926) Artur Robison's Warning Shadows (Schatten, l923), and Lang's Metropolis (1927) , the last of the line and the film that summed up the trend.
Expressionism was also regarded as the latest entertainment import from the West and that in itself made it welcome. Also, it was from Germany, a country from which Japan had received a number of ideas, models and products. In addition, a number of pre- Caligari expressionist German films had been popular in Japan. Novelist and film script writer Tanizaki Junichiro much liked the Paul Wegener films, The Student of Prague (Der Student von Prag) and The Golem (Der Golem) , shown in Japan in 1914 and 1916 respectively, and film director Kinugasa Teinosuke had seen a good many as well, having watched Murnau's The Last Laugh , (Der Letzte Mann, 1924) - his “ideal film.” - five times.

(Jujiro, 1928)

Expressionism was seen in Tokyo, as elsewhere, as a reaction against realism. Extreme distortion was used to express an inner emotional reality rather than surface appearance. The writer - or painter, poet, composer - sought to avoid a representation of external reality and, instead, to project a highly personal vision of the world.
This went well with Japanese tastes. Realism had never been a theatrical aim. The Kabuki already had in its sets the large shapes of unshaded color now seen in expressionist works. Kabuki performances were also comparably distorted. Actors shouted, screamed, gestured broadly, and move in choreographed patterns through stylized sets. The goal of Japanese classic drama and German expressionist plays and films was similar - to express inner feelings in the most direct and vivid manner.
In expressionist films, the expressivity associated with the actor extended into every aspect of the filmed scene. Conrad Veidt, who appeared in Caligari , said that if the decor was conceived as having the same spiritual state as that which governed the character's mentality, the actor would find in that decor a valuable aid in composing and living his part. The same might have been said by any actor working in Japan's traditional theater.
A further reason for the welcoming of Expressionism in Japan during the first decades of the twentieth century was that there had long been a definite, if undefined, disinclination toward naturalism - that variety of realism which details all the appearances of daily life. Although Expressionism was considered avant-garde in other cultures, it found a ready home in mainstream Japan because there was a strong popular taste for formulaic treatments and the style of Doctor Caligari easily fitted into this.
In addition, imported Expressionism contained an urban bias which made it seem, in the eyes of the Japanese, truly modern. The works of early expressionism in Europe were set in the appalling megalopolis of industrial capitalism. Humans became cogs in this machine and under its asphalt lay destructive forces, ungovernable but tended by an authoritarian father figure against whom the son must revolt. Japan already had such a megalopolis in Tokyo and the rapid industrialization of the country was plainly leading to a serious economic depression. There were strikes, social unrest, and a pervasive if covert criticism of an overly paternalistic government.
Expressionism made criticism of social status easier to voice and the revolt against the father became a dominant theme, not only in such imported spectacles as Metropolis but in Murata Minoru's Souls on the Road (Rojo no Reikon,1926) with its rebellious son and in many other films as well. Mizoguchi Kenji's early picture, Blood and Spirit (Chi to rei, 1923), about the masses downtrodden by authoritarian capitalism, although it has not survived, was said to have been noticeably expressionist. So was Murata's earlier Eikichi, Chauffeur (Untenshu Eikichi, 1924), with an added touch of class consciousness. Uchida Tomu, was another expressionist influenced director, particularly in his 1929 social satire A Living Puppet (Ikeru Ningyo) .
Expressionism as a style is seen in its fullest and most extreme Japanese form in two pictures by Kinugasa Teinosuke, later an academic director famous for Gate of Hell (1953). The first was A Page Out of Order, (Kurutta Ippeiji, 1926, aka A Page of Madness, aka A Crazy Page). Made as a commercial film, and playing at a commercial theatre (though one reserved for showings of foreign film) it is - among other things - an illustration of how styles considered advanced or difficult in the West were readily accepted into the Japanese mainstream.
Mid-1920s Tokyo was characterized by a torrent of artistic ferment, much of it occasioned by literature and film from abroad. Miyoshi Masao has spoken of the wholesale interest in “bits and dollops of Paul Morand, Andreyev, Croce, Bergson, Futurism, Cubism, Expressionism, Dadaism, Symbolism, Structuralism, Realism, Strindberg, Swinburne, Hauptmann, Romain Rolland, Schnitzler, Lord Dunsany, Wilde, Lady Gregory, and a lot else.” (1)
By 1925 a major literary school was the expressionist-like Shinkankakuha, or “Neo-Perceptionist School,” a group which included the novelist Kawabata Yasunari who early pointed out that German Expressionism was the best vehicle for perceiving the primacy of subjectivity, as opposed to the realistic naturalist view. He compared the new German style to old Asian-style Buddhism, which had among its aims - as in Zen - the breaking down of subject and object. The subjective view of expressionism was, he thought, much like the preliminary stages of this breakdown.

(Kurutta Ippeji, 1926)

Kinugasa agreed and it was decided that a self-consciously expressionist Japanese film should be attempted. Originally the director wanted it to be about a circus - like Caligari, a film he had not seen but which Kawabata had. Later, scouting for ideas, he went to a mental hospital and discovered his subject.
This location appealed to the other Neo-Perceptionists - after all, Caligari had also taken place in a mental hospital and the hallucinations of an institutionalized patient would be an ideal vehicle for expressionist treatment. Apparently the entire group helped write the script, (certainly novelist Yokomitsu Riichi contributed its title) but Kawabata claimed it. Later he wrote a short story about the filming called “Warawanu Otoko” (translated as “The Unsmiling One”), and eventually included the script in his complete works.
The film is about a man who abandons his wife who as a consequence drowns her baby and goes insane. The older daughter holds her father responsible and he, feeling guilty, attempts to make amends by getting a job in the asylum where his wife is incarcerated. He has memories and hallucinations as does his unfortunate spouse and at the end, daughter’s marriage happily arranged, he stays on - now as much a part of the insane asylum as his wife is
More important than the story, however, is the atmosphere - something Japanese audiences quickly detect - in this case, the subjective experience of the asylum itself. This means that the narrative, what there is of it, is reassuringly atmospheric and at the same time can be made to take on a near allegorical importance.
As it is with these poor people, so it is with us - this is a part of the expressionist message. A man, a woman, a daughter - people in expressionist narratives have no names. We all live in an asylum for this is what the world is – this is the same explicit message as in Caligari.
Visually the film (photographed by Sugiyama Kohei, the cameraman who also went on to win Kinugasa his various prizes for Gate of Hell ) owes much to German expressionist film: night-time lighting, lots of reflections, rain-soaked sets, shadows, urban menace. Kinugasa, in authentic expressionist style urged the inclusion of logically irrelevent but emotionally evocative scenes - a broken rice bowl, a rain-soaked cat - and so often interrupted the narrative that the audience had to bring its own subjectivity to assist in the interpretation. It is the story's intent, for example, that one of the insane should “hear” music in a silent film. This is done by juxta-positioning musical instruments over her image, suggesting that her impressions should be ours and our experience of the asylum should be hers.
When the picture opened the press was attentive and respectful. Though not enough money was made to finance a second experimental film (one of Kinugasa's stated ambitions), it was nonetheless thought of as a commercial film, if a rather advanced one. Also, it could be read in a manner which, no matter its pace or its demands upon attention, was one with which the audience was familiar - the primacy of expressed emotion, the validity of the subjective.
Kinugasa's second and last “expressionist” film, Crossroads (Jujiro, 1928), indicated how an imported style could be nationalized. The linkage between scenes is often, in the Japanese manner, neither logical nor causal but emotional. The woman is concerned with her brother's safety, so the director cuts directly to them much younger, in their childhood, to establish her memories, her concern. Often the cut is determined not by the convolutions of the story but by the visuals of the scene - the round shape of a sedge hat suggests the round shape of a teacup, for instance.
The expressionist intentions are mainly in the sets - huge, cavernous UFA-type settings, which recreate Japan's feudal era with lots of night, shadows, smoke and steam. The wounded hero, lost in the capital, wants water and crawls from his bedding only to find himself in a Fritz-Lang-like space with enormous casks half buried and full of water when he tries to drink. Pain becomes steam.
Films which expressionistically showed the menace of city life and the prevalence of insane asylums were, whether they intended it or not, were implicitly criticizing society. Since there is always much the matter with the status quo such criticism expresses popular aspirations and at the same time offends the authorities. This is no less true in Japan - perhaps even more so in Japan where the status quo has historically been less challenged.
Literature, drama, film, in the Taisho/Showa 1920s tended towards such a critique and the “bad” city remained a favorite theme. It is seen in films as otherwise disparate as Mizoguchi's Tokyo March (Tokyo Koshinkyoku, 1920) and Uchida's Naked Town (Hadaka no Machi, 1937). The trend has continued. Kurosawa Akira's post-war Ikiru (1953) is - on one level - about corrupt city government, and in Ozu Yasujiro's Tokyo Story (1953) it is the metropolis that rends the family.
Social criticism is at the core of Expressionism. Increasingly the Japanese government interpreted this as “leftist” (which it sometimes was) and regarded expressionist plays and films as politically suspicious. Though there was never anything like the purge which German Expressionism had to endure (being denounced by the National Socialists as “decadent”) by the mid-1930s the expressionist fashion had finally faded. It left behind, however, both an aura and a legacy – an enduring gift from Berlin to Tokyo.

----
Notes:
(1) Miyoshi Masao, Accomplices of Silence: The Modern Japanese Novel , University of California Press, Berkeley, 1974.

Bibliography:
-Berman, Russell A. Cultural Studies of Modern Germany: History, Representation, and Nationhood , Univ. of Wisconsin, Madison, 1993.
-Raabe, Paul, ed., The Era of German Expressionism , Overlook Press, Woodstock, 1965.
-Richie, Donald, A Hundred Years of Japanese Film , Kodansha, International, Tokyo, 2001.
- Thompson, Kristin and David Bordwell, Film History: An Introduction , McGraw-Hill Companies, New York Inc., 2003

Nihilism in Ghost in the Shell

2012-03-22T18:48:00.000-07:00

By Kalia Pickett
(original article here)

In Ghost in the Shell, Kusanagi completely fails to find out who she is-- the question she has been doggedly asking throughout the whole film. Yet, she ends the movie by transcending herself in an uplifting scene replete with angel feathers and symbols of rebirth. Why, you might wonder, does Oshii want us to be so happy about finding out that we have no concrete identities? A possible answer lies in the philosophies of existential and epistemological nihilism. Existential nihilism is the belief that life has no meaning, purpose or value, and epistemological nihilism is the idea that it is not possible to really know anything. Both of these types of nihilism make up much of the philosophy of the movie, Ghost in the Shell, and knowing them turns a confusing (if visually awesome) action flick into a fascinating and subversive philisophical manifesto (slash action flick). We find nihilism in the visual motif of reflections, which Oshii uses to make the viewer feel how illusory the ‘real world’ on screen is. We find it in the concept of the Ubermensch, which Oshii brings out through his characters. Finally, we find it in Oshii’s reasons for choosing to use Christian imagery in a film that paradoxically tears down the ideas of God, values and belief systems.
To begin with, the world of Ghost in the Shell is visually loaded with reflections, water, glass, distortions, and tricks of light. Kusanagi thinks through her identity crisis underwater, wanders through glassy stretches of city, and flickers in and out of visual existence with her futuristic thermoptic camouflage. These images are all deliberate-- they consistently symbolize the ‘slipperiness’ of reality and our inability to perceive what is real. As Richard Suchenski writes:

“...One of the main functions of Oshii's work is to draw attention to the limitations of human vision and bring the viewer to a point where he/she can recognise the abstract, possibly transcendental, world underlying the seemingly solid object-oriented one we inhabit.” (Richard Suchenski, “Mamoru Oshii”)"

(Kokaku Kidotai, 1995)

Interestingly, this weakness of human vision isn't just limited to the characters-- Oshii wants the audience to experience it, too. For instance, in Ghost in the Shell: Innocence, after a seemingly normal business conference ends, nearly all of the attendees vanish. As viewers we are surprised to find they were only holographically present-- literal tricks of the light, representing the idea that what seems concrete could easily be an illusion. In other words, the fallacies of the movie world apply to our world, too. In addition, the Puppet Master alludes to a Biblical quote about glass to refer to how deceptive Major Kusanagi’s understanding of reality is. The Puppet Master knows Kusanagi will see him* ‘through a glass, darkly’ (that is, in the illusory mannequin shell he uses to navigate the ‘real world’) and only later ‘face to face’ (when they merge together as data.) Glass is verbally equated to a distortion that prevents us from perceiving what is really there. Overall, these motifs of reflections, glass and water are a poetic expression of the idea that ‘we cannot know that anything is real’. They are visual symbols of epistemological nihilism that show up over and over in Ghost in the Shell.
Next there are the characters in Oshii’s films, whose actions and words express the nihilistic concept of the Übermensch, or ‘above-human’. This concept comes from Friedrich Nietzsche, who believed that the advent of nihilism would cause the world to fall into despair, whereupon we would all have to find a way of coping or die out. His solution was the Übermensch-- literally meaning ‘super-human’-- a superior being that can coexist peacefully with the idea of a meaningless life.
Nietzsche thought the Übermensch would rise from unnatural selection that favored a ‘superior’ human. Today, however, the idea of breeding a super-human out of superior genetic material is incredibly controversial-- who decides what material is superior and what isn’t? In a post-Holocaust world, we tend to believe that eugenics has far too much potential to be abused and to encourage atrocities against groups of people to merit its use. Postmodernism, on the other hand, has focused on the idea of the cyborg: another, more universal means of raising the human to the level of the Übermensch.
One could argue that the Puppet Master from Ghost in the Shell is the Übermensch-- a being that transcends the human. The Puppet Master not supposed to be sentient and no one knows what his raison d’etre is, if he even has one. He does not despair about how he can never be ‘human’, though. Like the Übermensch, the Puppet Master embraces his undefined, meaningless creative potential and builds himself a new and less illusory identity and purpose. He does not have whatever it takes to be considered ‘human’ but he doesn’t care-- he transcends the flawed concept of there being such a thing as human nature at all. This seems to match Nietzsche’s sentiments:

" Truth and nature [i.e. the nature of things] are inventions by means of which men escape from this world. The Übermensch is also free from these failings.” -Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Or, in the more succinct words of the Puppet Master,

“Your effort to remain what you are is what limits you.”

(Kokaku Kidotai, 1995)

Both Nietzche and the Puppet Master disdain the pursuit of a concrete identity, or ‘true nature’ as a failing or a limitation. The Puppet Master is telling Kusanagi that the effort to distinguish whether she is ‘human’ or not is a waste of time, and that by leaving the need to define herself as ‘human’ behind she can transcend humanity and become super-human herself. While this movie is set in the future, the concepts are relevant to us in the present. The film offers us an alternative to torturing ourselves over the impossibility of knowing who we are in the face of existential and epistemological meaninglessness. The solution is to embrace meaninglessness; only then will we know freedom. “The net is vast, and infinite,” says Kusanagi-Puppet-Master at the end of the film. She knows that once you have discarded stable values, the creative possibilities are endless.
As an aside, another of Oshii’s films, Angel’s Egg, supplements this point of view nicely. The girl from Angel’s Egg is unable to cope with the loss of her stable values, when the egg is broken open and she discovers nothing inside to affirm her faith. She personifies, more than the despair of losing faith in Christianity, the existential despair of losing faith in values themselves. In this light the swordsman can be seen as a personification of epistemology-- the search for knowledge. Using epistemology we smash open the world’s oldest value systems and reveal their emptiness. Overall, this fruitless search for stable identity and stable values, seen in many of Oshii’s films, also seems to support the idea of epistemological nihilism.
Finally comes the question of why Oshii chose to use uplifting imagery-- specifically, uplifting Christian imagery-- to describe Major Kusanagi’s loss of self. Angus McBlaine in Anime and Philosophy seems to think of this as the movie not living up to its posthuman potential:

“The film falls prey to this leaning in its use of angelic imagery despite the posthuman orientation of the film, which is less about transcending the body and more about unifying and expanding the circuit of the mind-body.” (Just a Ghost in a Shell? Anime and Philosophy, p.37)

However this use of Christian imagery is valuable, too, as a deliberate subversion of the Christian idea of transcendence. Heaven, the movie seems to be saying, is not reached through God but through evolution towards the posthuman ideal. Whether our evolution is more about ‘transcendence’ or ‘expansion’ is debatable, but if you look at Kusanagi as the embodiment of all of humanity, the point becomes moot. This scene can be about mankind, as a whole, transcending its limited concept of ‘self’ as symbolized by Kusanagi’s shell. Furthermore, Oshii himself says:

“I think it's because before, people tended to think that ideology or religion were the things that actually changed people, but it's been proven that that's not the case. I think nowadays, technology has been proven to be the thing that's actually changing people.” (Mamoru Oshii)

In that context, this scene makes sense-- technology is taking over the spot God used to occupy before our worldwide existential crisis made us question God’s existence. In any case, it does not seem like Oshii is glorifying Christianity through the use of religious imagery, or indulging Japan’s pop-culture affinity for western symbols “because they look cool” (although that may be part of the reason!); it seems more like he is presenting these images in a subversive way. He knocks God and traditional human-centered values off the pedestal, and replaces them with a machine. Kusanagi is baptized into meaninglessness and personal freedom. All of these cues seem, again, to affirm existential and epistemological nihilism.

(Kokaku Kidotai, 1995)

Finally, it’s possible that Oshii’s movies have no set meaning at all. An excerpt from the book Stray Dog of Anime says,

“Angel’s Egg is known for being remarkably difficult to understand. Oshii himself has said that he does not know what the film means.” (3)

In other words, it’s possible that this entire paper is a projection of meaning onto a bunch of images that aren’t supposed to have some deep meaning beyond whatever personal significance they have to Oshii. Oshii is not the kind of director who makes movies to please his audience. In Angel’s Egg, he puts in a still shot that lasts tens of seconds and is painfully boring to watch. He uses artistic, audience-alienating touches you will never see in heavily commercial animated films. He also frequently alludes to his pet basset hounds, even though the symbolism of basset hounds is limited to Oshii’s own head. He says, “Every time I make a movie, I feed in elements to make sure that it's my movie. I'm marking poles like a dog does.” One gets the sense that Oshii is committed to making movies for himself, and anyone else is free to take whatever meaning from his films that they will.
In conclusion, epistemological nihilism tells us we have to use our own judgment to create personal meaning rather than relying on so-called ‘objective meaning’. Mamoru Oshii, by denying that his films have any kind of ‘true meaning’, seems to tell us the same thing-- that it’s up to us to do find out what these films mean to us. He refuses to preach, and he can neither confirm nor deny our results.

Bibliography:
1) McBlaine, Angus. "Just a Ghost in a Shell?" Ed. Tristan D. Tamplin and Josef Steiff. Anime and Philosophy: Wide Eyed Wonder. Chicago, IL: Open Court, 2010. 37. Print.
2) "Mamoru Oshii | Film | Interview | The A.V. Club." Interview by Tasha Robinson. The A.V. Club. The Onion, Inc., 15 Sept. 2004. Web. 06 Oct. 2010. .
3) Ruh, Brian. "Angel's Egg." Stray Dog of Anime: the Films of Mamoru Oshii. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. 47. Print.
4) Suchenski, Richard. "Mamoru Oshii." Issue 51, 2009 - Senses of Cinema. June 2004. Web. 06 Oct. 2010. .
5) "Übermensch." Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Web. 06 Oct. 2010.

火の鳥 OST - Jun Fukamachi, Michel Legrand

2012-03-03T19:13:00.000-08:00

Firebird: Daybreak Chapter [Hi no Tori]

Directed by: Kon Ichikawa
1978

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Toshiharu Ikeda Interview

2012-02-26T18:45:00.000-08:00

By Jasper Sharp

*Questions in ( ) are invented

Q: Which film directors most influenced you?

A: Jean Luc Godard, Alfred Hitchcock, John Ford, Sone. Especially Mr. Chusei Sone. I love him.

Q: Which directors were at Nikkatsu when you were there?
A: Chusei Sone especially, and Noboru Tanaka, Tatsumi Kumashiro, Toshiya Fujita, Shogoro Nishimura, etc... I shouldn't say this in front of a lady, but I was called a "prostitute on a busy pitch". A busy prostitue, it means... (laughs) It's an old and unattractive expression, but it was part of the jargon at the studio. They called me a prostitute on piece work because I worked on so many different shoots without any fixes schedule. Normally, one person worked for just one director as his assistant. But I wasn't given any particular director and had to work for everyone. I worked for Chusei Sone and Masaru Konuma more often than anyone else.

Q: (How was your relationship with them?)
A: We all had a good relationship with each other. We didn't have any money though. The wages were very low, it was almost half the average of a university graduate's salary at the time. And sometimes we didn't even get all that because the company had to borrow half of our wages. We couldn't even afford to eat outside, so we had to go to the staff canteen. And after work, someone would have to take me to a bar and buy me drinks. It really was like that. I couldn't even think of tomorrow, I just immersed myself in filmmaking.

(Ningyo densetsu, 1984)

Q: (How about screenplays?)
A: I worked on many screenplays. Well, in a roman porno, we shot 4 films a month and it came to 48 films a year. So even if the screenplay wasn't perect we just had to start shooting. Because the schedule was already fixed. Sometimes, if the director said the script was boring, I had to change it. I've rewritten many scripts. The release of all the films were already fixed in the program picture. It was a strict rule that the release date shouldn't be changed, so even if the script wasn't perfect, we just had to get on with shooting it. So I had to tidy up many scripts. The producers handled the budgeting side, and I was just given a certain period to complete the work, which was 2 weeks in the beginning. I was given 10 days for the last one I shot. Usually, shooting went on for 2 weels, but then came the actors' post-recording, so including the period we spent on sound, I guess it was about a month. Post-production took about 2 to 3 weeks.

Q: What do you think of Chusei Sone?
A: I was a screenwriter and an assistant director on the first "Angel Guts", which was shot by Chusei Sone. And I was also an assistant director on Tanaka's "Angel Guts". Funnily enough, it really was a coincidence. I can understand why he wanted to and why he had to make the series so extreme. That series definitely had an impact on Roman Porno history as well as on the audience. Chusei Sone is a genius. He really is a true genius. The three of us, me, Shinji Somai who has passed away, and Kichitaro Negishi were Chusei Sone's assistant directors. We were all tremendously influenced by him. Anyway he was incredible. It was indescribable. Somai and I normally waited for Chusei Sone in the morning to get the script we were going to work on that day. When he came in, he gave us the updated manuscript and sometimes whole pages were completely crossed out. Tremendous. Because we got to see the original script beforehand we also noticed how badly some scripts were written. As we were wondering what he was going to do about it he'd just turn up in front of us, and dramatically throw pages away. Of course, they prepared a new script immediately, but we then needed to get different cast members and sets in a rush. We were stunned, but at the same time had a deep admiration for his charisma and we were eager to assist him in anyway we could. He really was an amazing director. I miss him...

Top 5 Nikkatsu Roman Porno

2012-02-26T09:56:00.000-08:00

If you don't know, Nikkatsu is the oldest studio in Japan and they were for many years known by their chambara films. However, at the end of the 50's they started to produce youth-themed movies with strong characters and nihilistic themes. Their gangster noir films were recurring productions too. By the beggining of the 70's, because erotic movies were popular and yet mainly produced by smaller companies or none at all, Nikkatsu changed their movie policy again, to save the studio from bankruptcy and conquer a new audience. Thus they began a new line of eroductions called Roman Porno. These productions were somewhat revolutionary because they simbolized the first time erotic movies were taken seriously by a main studio (true, Toei had ero-guro in the 60's but that was always considered excessive and outcast at the time, not being the main focus of the studio) and they usually had big budgets, although their running time was usually sixty, seventy minutes. All kinds of directors and actors emerged, showing the world erotic movies could be much more than just filmed sex. Of course, they were times that none of the directors would care if their movies were more than sex, but other times, some of the productions are exotic, dark and very creative. What I personally enjoy about some Roman Pornos is what I could call "a vision from inside". In these movies, things are seen twisted from their usual sense, creating some sort of claustrophobia of emotions. Sex is just a way to detach the eye into a troubled one, not searching only for pleasure, but for pain. These movies can amaze the viewer, because they depict another world, the world of imanent fears, screams, intimacy... This top is not complete because I didn't watched all those films (and I do think that some of them, like Shinji Somai's Love Hotel, could feature here in the future).

No. 5

Assault! Jack the Ripper! (1978) - directed by Yasuharu Hasebe

Hasebe's Jack The Ripper works like a linear nightmare that gets so intense only to end with no conclusion, suspending the disbelief of the spectator to a point where he can wonder that all is an illusion. Hasebe is known for changing the erotics of Nikkatsu to bleak narratives with violent characters, anti-social actions and with this controversial film, one might wonder if he's awake or asleep.

No. 4

Night of the Felines (1972) - directed by Noboru Tanaka

With this character driven movie, director Noboru Tanaka reworks almost the same themes as Kenji Mizoguchi did in 1956 with his last film, The Street of Shame, but with a more modern background to it. Night of the Felines films the relationships between men and women with a almost sarcastic tone, never forgetting the most dramatic parts and the amazing cinematography (check the last takes, it almost recalls avant-garde films like Oshima's Diary of a Shinjuku Thief).

No. 3
Twisted Path of Love (1973) - directed by Tatsumi Kumashiro

This film by Kumashiro blends almost every good thing that Roman Porno's movies could offer: ecstatic moments of rapture, flirtation with cinema devices (meta-filmic references, anyone?), and the portrait of anguished youth with a great soundtrack - those guitars make me shiver. Kumashiro's movies are almost like if the viewer is listening to a story told by some poor-class worker with great communication skills, but almost illiterate. It's this kind of oral tradition (often musically represented) that Kumashiro masterfully crafts into his ouvre, giving disjointed narratives that seem to go nowhere. Images turn themselves on us, and everything is at the same place: laughter, cries and etc.

No. 2
Sweet Scent of Eros (1973) - directed by Toshiya Fujita

Toshiya Fujita might be most known and acclaimed by his Lady Snowblood films (especially after Tarantino's hommage in Kill Bill) but almost anyone know that he was, at the same time, one of the most groundbreaking Nikkatsu directors, a truly creative voice in the studio. Sweet Scent of Eros is a great example of the genre transforming itself in something else, a bittersweet critique of disoriented youth.

No. 1
Angel Guts: Red Classroom (1979) - directed by Chusei Sone

Director Chusei Sone is the most distinct follower of Seijun Suzuki's oblique style at Nikkatsu. His films are filled with visual alucinations too, mad passions, obsessions and of course haunting images, making him one of the definite masters of Roman Porno. With this thematic sequel to the Angel Guts series (based on the manga by Takashi Ishii, a director in his own right), there is no school exploitation - forget the Classroom in the title - but a tale of deception and sorrowfull erotism. Cinematically speaking, this is maybe one of the most interesting films of the 70's Japanese cinema, one sex scene in particularly feels like the viewer is drunk or high. It's this hard sense of alienation that Sone, with his psychotic camera, captures masterfully.

Lovers Corner #7 - All About Lily Chou Chou

2012-02-25T16:47:00.000-08:00

(Riri Shushu no Subete, 2001)

By Chaos Rampant
(great writer on World-Cinema)

I was perhaps lucky to have seen a Hollywood film a few days prior, Alexander Payne's latest and supposedly also about a spiritual journey of sorts and passing for an 'indie'. The comparison is devastating. The many times Oscar nominated film: airbrushed beauty mistaken for purity. This little obscurity: lyrical breath and pulse from life.
In 1968, there was a film made in Japan called Nanami: Inferno of First Love, also Japanese New Wave about confused, apprehensive youth feeling the first pulls to join the fray of existence: love, pain, loss, all the adult stuff they used to know as words. The fulcrum of that film unraveled from this notion: if you peel a cabbage you get its core, but if you peel an onion? (this is really worth puzzling over by the way, in a Zen way, and the film worth seeking out.)
The answer to that very much pertains here. This is the New New Wave: even more visual episodic movements through edges of life, even more radical dislocations from the ordinary world of narrative.
The story is about teenage high school students: cliques and counter-cliques and much tension and drama inbetween them as they discover love and power. This is woven together with a thread about music, revolving around a band named Lily Chou-Chou that is all the rage among youth. Now and then conversations are enacted in some unspecified blogosphere: this is given to us as disembodied words against a black screen. We presume we'll get to know the people behind the nicknames and identify them as one of several youths whose lives we intimately follow in its petty cockiness and idle pleasure, or even worse that they don't matter at all and this is purely ornamental. It is actually much, much deeper.
Now we're lucky this is Japanese, and even perhaps unconsciously so. Typical for New Wave, the world is distinctly modern and vibrant. It is all about youthful rejection. But as with Oshima and the rest back in the 60's, what these guys perhaps don't know is that French film that seemed so radical and appealing to the Japanese at the time and was presumed to have re-invented cinematic grammar, it was built on precisely what the Japanese had first revolutionized about representation in the 18th and 19th century. The calligraphic eye.
So every rejection of tradition that we find in those films, or this one now, only serves to re-discover what was so vital and groundbreaking about Japanese tradition in the first place.
In other words: if the old Zen Masters were alive now, all of them exceptional poets or landscape painters in their day and with a great sense of humor, they would all be New Wave filmmakers.
This is as Zen as possible and in the most pure sense of the term. Transparent images. Vital emptiness. Calligraphic flows to and from interior heart. Mournful beauty about what it means 'to read the love letters sent by the moon, wind, and snow', to quote an old Buddhist poem. Plum blossoms at the gates of suffering.
So this is where it goes deeper than say, a new Malick film. There are no intricate mechanisms to structure life. That is fine but what this film does is even more difficult to accomplish. Just one lush dynamic sweep of a calligrapher's brush that paints people and worlds as they come into being and vanish again. I have never seen for example a film present death so invisibly, so poetically.
So if you peel a cabbage you get a core, but if you peel an onion?
We may be inclined to answer nothing. The film may seem like it was about nothing, at best tears from a teenager's overly dramatic diary. The form mirrors the diary after all, after Jonas Mekas. A whole segment about a trip to Okinawa is filmed with a cheap camcorder.
Let that settle and then consider the following key scene: a choir of students gets together for a school event to sing a capella a complex piano arrangement, Debussy's Arabesque. They had a perfectly capable piano player to do it but wouldn't let her for petty school rivalries. So once more we may be inclined to think that it was too much hassle for something so simple. Adults would never let things reach that stage. A compromise would be made, the piece would be played on the piano, properly.
Now all through the film we see kids listen to music, everyone seems to have his own portable cd-player for that purpose. Presumably they listen to Lily Chou-Chou, who we're told was heavily inspired by Arabesque. We don't actually listen to her. We never see her or the band, at the big concert we're left outside and marvel at a giant video projection: artificial images in place of the real thing.
But in this one occasion the kids achieve something uniquely sublime: they articulate the music, actually embody it, by learning to be their own instruments and each one each other's.
The entire film is the same effort: to embody inner abstract worlds and their 'ether'. The method is rigorous improvisation.
Something to meditate upon.

Life of a Court Lady [Asaki Yumenishi]

2012-02-19T05:11:00.000-08:00

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Notes #19 - Cache Cache Pastoral

2012-01-31T04:29:00.000-08:00

(Den-en ni shisu, 1974)

By Hariu Ichiro

Typically, images and photographs serve as the base for a commanding view of several objects as well as the space that surrounds them, which is to say that they occupy a comprehensive position. Words, in contrast, constitute only a partial essence of an individual object and, as Saussure has claimed, communicate according to a linear sequence. As such they are not able to form a complete narrative unless several narratives are woven together. However, in Terayama's works these two elements are continually confused in a characteristic form. In his tanka, an image swollen with intense emotion is suddenly interrupted and collides with yet another intense image that has transcended time and space. Alternatively, two images are freely displaced. In his theater, stereotypical images doused in folk psychology along with words soaked with emotion, such as delirious nonsense or magical spells, are pulled together into an assemblage. As the established meanings are eviscerated and the audience is assaulted with violence like bullets. In his films, and particularly in Pastoral, after differentiating the links between images from the flow of the dialogue into a strict duality, the dialogue hints at desires hidden behind the discourse (the statements) and the images unfold psychoanalytically toward the root of desire. Furthermore, when both are linked up in order to construct a plot the scene changes, an uncanny image emerges, and the flow breaks off completely.

The Ceremony [Gishiki]

2012-01-19T08:57:00.000-08:00

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Mandala [Mandara]

2012-01-15T08:10:00.000-08:00

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初恋・地獄篇 OST - Various Artists

2012-01-13T08:27:00.000-08:00

Nanami: The Inferno of First Love [Hatsukoi: Jigoku-hen]

Directed by: Susumu Hani
1968

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(Thanks H2O)

Whispering of the Gods #16

2012-01-11T11:44:00.000-08:00

"Since many years now I happen to think of Portugal when I make my films. It's something that comes from (Manoel de) Oliveira, César Monteiro or Pedro Costa. Once in Lisbon, I understood completely why I have this influence. The Buddhist way of thinking comprehends the notion of cycle, birth and rebirth. Maybe in my previous life I have been Portuguese and lived here." - Shinji Aoyama

Cinema UTA

Interview with Akio Jissoji

Pink Triple Soundtrack Pack

Nagisa Oshima (1932-2013)

野獣死すべし OST - Akihiko Takashima

歩いても 歩いても OST - GONTITI

Les Fruits de La Passion

The Assassination of Ryoma [Ryoma Ansatsu]

Whispering of the Gods #18

Remembrance [Kyoshu]

Lost Lovers [Arakajime Ushinawareta Koibitochiyo]

The films of Mitani Kōki: Intertextuality and comedy in contemporary Japanese cinema

Women according to Shinji Somai

Whispering of the Gods #17

Expressionism in Film

Nihilism in Ghost in the Shell

火の鳥 OST - Jun Fukamachi, Michel Legrand

Toshiharu Ikeda Interview

Top 5 Nikkatsu Roman Porno

Lovers Corner #7 - All About Lily Chou Chou

Life of a Court Lady [Asaki Yumenishi]

Notes #19 - Cache Cache Pastoral

The Ceremony [Gishiki]

Mandala [Mandara]

初恋・地獄篇 OST - Various Artists

Whispering of the Gods #16

歩いても歩いても OST - GONTITI