During the post-war occupation of Japan which lasted until 1952, the censorship regulations which replaced those of the militarist era perhaps ironically made it more or less impossible to criticise the US presence or depict the extent of wartime devastation lest it raise hostility towards American forces or reinforce a feeling of victimisation. For this reason, images of the atomic bombings were tightly controlled and the events rarely referenced in mainstream media, Hiroshi Shimizu’s Children of the Beehive being a notable if brief exception. Once the occupation was over, however, many assumed it would become easier to broach such taboo subjects.
Hiroshima native Kaneto Shindo’s comparatively better known Children of Hiroshima, inspired by the book Children of the A Bomb: Testament of the Boys and Girls of Hiroshima, was released in 1952 shortly after the censorship regulations were lifted and stars his later wife Nobuko Otowa as a teacher who returns to Hiroshima to visit the graves of her parents killed in the atomic bombing and thereafter several of the children from a nursery school she once taught at who have survived but continue to suffer in various ways due to their experiences. Despite Shindo’s well known leftist credentials, many including the Japan Teachers’ Union who apparently owned the rights to the book though there is some dispute as to their involvement in the production, were disappointed with the film which they felt to be an overly sentimental studio melodrama that was ultimately unhelpful in supporting the anti-war political movement or accurately representing the hibakusha community.
In response, the JTU commissioned a second version in order to better reflect their aims and ideals. Long unseen in either Japan or internationally prior to its recent restoration, Hideo Sekigawa’s Hiroshima (ひろしま) adopts a much more strident docudrama approach while, like Children of Hiroshima, maintaining a focus on the plight of children during the bombing and beyond though it seems somehow unlikely that teachers and parents would be wholeheartedly enthusiastic about showing such a deliberately harrowing piece to a sensitive younger audience. One criticism of Shindo’s film had been that he’d dodged dealing with the bombing itself by concerning himself only with the present-day aftermath. Sekigawa meanwhile focuses directly on the traumatic instant of the attack, utilising expressionistic techniques to recreate the living hell to which the city was reduced literally in flash.
It’s clear however that the normal of that day was already far from normal. Rather than go about their studies, school children are working hard for the war effort helping to clear extensive bomb damage. A teacher and a class of school girls salvaging roof tiles from a ruined building pause to look at the sky. They can hear bombers but no sirens and it’s in that moment of stillness that everything changes. The world as it was implodes and is left in total collapse. Survivors search desperately for loved ones while stumbling through an unfamiliar landscape filled with crying children, charred bodies, rubble and fire. “This is hell” an injured man groans after managing to make his way to the field hospital, “hell”.
Sekigawa bookends his tale with a contemporary framing sequence in which an idealistic teacher tries to instil compassionate values in his students some of whom are survivors of the bomb and still living with its effects including one suffering with radiation-related leukaemia who becomes very upset on listening to a radio lesson recounting the morning of the bombing from the point of view of the pilot flying the plane. Another of the students later comes to her defence, taking some of the others to task and lamenting that the suffering of those affected by the A Bomb is not taken seriously while victims still undergo a degree of social stigma even if they have no visible wounds. He is also very worried about his friend, Endo (Yoshi Kato), who later appears in the flashback to the aftermath of the bombing and has apparently gone off the rails, working in a cabaret bar and addicted to pachinko after losing his entire family.
It’s through Endo that Sekigawa dramatises many of the secondary effects of the bombing in that he was not physically injured but is consumed by a sense of hopeless anxiety, intensely concerned about the prospect of another war and unable to envisage a successful future for himself in a world in which such horror can occur seemingly at random. It’s he who first introduces us to the parasitical disaster tourism that generates a grim trade in A-Bomb “souvenirs” as he passes a stall selling fake skulls as a child and then later attempts to sell actual human remains with inspirational stickers plastered on the top. The “better” future they have imagined for him is however in itself problematic, harking back to the traditional post-war solution of a factory job which directs aligns him with the nation’s push towards a capitalistic society, but is then undercut when he quits not because he is bored or lazy but because he discovered the factory was being used to produce artillery shells and he felt he could have nothing to do with it.
Endo is also among a group of post-war street kids who learn to say the word “hungry” without knowing what it means to get bread and chocolate from passing Americans. A later more direct speech has them make a formal accusation that the Americans are responsible for the deaths of their parents and therefore bear a responsibility towards them which they should immediately repay with food. Some, including Shochiku who were originally set to distribute but later declined, described the film as overly anti-American, but Hiroshima largely refrains from mentioning the Americans other than a suggestion that the dropping of the bomb was itself a racist act in which they used the Japanese people as guinea pigs to test their new weapon, and focuses on the failure of the militarist authorities to respond in an appropriate fashion. We see a soldier read out a proclamation telling a ragged queue of survivors queuing up for food that the situation is “not unusual” in time of war and they should all return to their jobs despite the fact that there are no longer any buildings in which to work. Meanwhile, militarists talk of using the disaster to foment the war effort by marshalling hate and resentment towards the enemy while commanders refuse to take scientific advice that tells them Hiroshima may be uninhabitable for the next 70 years, obsessed only with continuing the war at all costs ironically insisting that their “fervent will” which “burns as brightly as a million stars” will bring them an assured victory.
In the face of a second bombing, however, they are forced to accept that the war cannot continue, many of the victims left perplexed and defeated that despite their suffering the government has unconditionally surrendered and seemingly abandoned them. An abnegation of responsibility is also suggested by the presence of the street kids abandoned by their society and left to fend for themselves though Endo is eventually taken into a progressive care home from which he and other boys make numerous attempts to escape, in his case in the hope that he can find the sister from whom he became separated. Sekigawa does not make suggestions for the future, merely depict the difficult post-war reality while arguing for greater compassion in the contemporary era, one bomb survivor describing her despair in the knowledge that her disability is a barrier to marriage while finding work that can be done with her physical limitations is also difficult as is accessing government support. Sekigawa too may give in to a particular kind of sentimentality in the closing moments but it is indeed undoubtedly effective as a reminder of the human cost of war and our collective responsibility to ensure that it never happens again.
Windows on Worlds 