Tag: Fusako Fujima

Sincerity (まごころ, Mikio Naruse, 1939)

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When the daughter of a poor family leapfrogs that of a rich one to be named top of the class, it exposes a series of hypocrisies and contradictions within the militarist order in Mikio Naruse’s 1939 drama, Sincerity (まごころ, Magokoro). The film opens, however, with a parade led by the Patriotic Women’s Association seeing young men off war. The group is led by Mrs Asada (Sachiko Murase), the mother of the rich girl, Nobuko (Etchan), who is busy giving orders to the other women regarding the air defence watch and sweet potato market which seems very forward thinking for the time period.

But in other ways it’s Mrs Asada who comes in for the greatest criticism as her bossiness and involvement with patriotic activity is depicted as a kind of displacement activity to mitigate her sense of uselessness and unhappiness in her marriage to arch militarist Kei (Minoru Takada) whom she fears is still hung up on his old girlfriend, Tsuta (Takako Irie), who is also the mother of Tomiko (Teruko Kato), the poor girl and apparent model student who has just displaced Nobuko as the cleverest girl in the class. Through Mrs Asada is rightly concerned that Nobuko has dropped a whole 10 places, Kei is not bothered by it at all because she is physically robust and healthy, which are the two most important qualities from a militarist perspective, leaving aside the fact that many wouldn’t regard a woman’s academic success as particularly important. Indeed, Kei is dismissive of his wife. Mrs Asada suggests that he finds her “stupid” and that their daughter is “stupid” by extension while Tsuta’s is clever and earnest because Tsuta is the same. He tells her that a child’s education is the mother’s responsibility and it’s probably her fault for busying herself outside of the home with her wartime activities with the implication that she’s been neglecting her child and that’s why her grades have fallen.

This point seems contradictory seeing that even at this stage, the nation expects women to serve their country in ways other than dedicating themselves to their families which is a responsibility secondary to that they owe to the emperor. Nevertheless, the implication remains that she’s doing it for the wrong reasons because what she enjoys is the status it gives her and the power of being in charge. Unlike Tsuta who has no husband, Mrs Asada’s family is wealthy with servants to take care of the domestic work so has nothing to do all day, while it’s also clear that the marriage is more or less dead and Kei does not particularly care for her, which he later admits, though partly because he has already rededicated himself to the nation in eagerly anticipating his call-up letter. When he’s first introduced, Kei is admiring a sword he’s having made ready for when he gets his papers to enlist as an officer. 

It’s a remark about Kei’s call-up that first sets alarm bells off in Tomiko in noticing the sadness it provokes in her mother, itself a little transgressive from a propaganda perspective. The grades situation doesn’t affect the girls’ friendship in the slightest, though this sudden reckoning with the past does begin to place a wedge between them not only in a growing awareness of their class differences but an awkwardness about the complicated situation between their parents which they are not well equipped to fully understand. Tsuta first tries to tell Nobuko the truth, but it upsets her so much that she lies instead and says that it’s true she knew Kei in the past but only as an acquaintance not a romantic partner. Nevertheless, the fact that she called him “Kei” rather than “Keikichi” or whatever his surname was before he married into Mrs Asada’s family suggests a great degree of intimacy which is something Tomiko seems to pick up on. 

There’s a persistent implication that Kei may be the father of both girls, which further reinforces the idea that their contrasting characters are a product of the way their mothers have raised them. Nobuko is described as self-involved and lazy, characteristics which reflect her privileged upbringing and sense of entitlement. Mrs Asada tries to talk to her new teacher, Mr Iwata, but his opinion is that Nobuko was most likely coasting and is struggling now because the work is more difficult and she hasn’t learned how to study or developed a consciousness that results are born of what you put into them. She, and her mother, simply expect to come top because it’s what a girl of her status deserves. Her displacement is a discomforting inversion of the social order. In this, the film both undercuts and reinforces militarist ideology in stressing the importance of hard work for all while doing so at the expense of a reverence for feudalistic ideas of class hierarchy. 

It’s this class divide that is transgressed when Kei sends the present of an expensive French doll to Tomiko after she and her mother come to Nobuko’s rescue when she cuts her foot on some sharp rocks while the girls’ are playing together at the river. The gift seems rather extravagant for the relatively minor act of kindness Tomiko and her mother performed which accidentally reunited Tsuta and Kei though neither of them say very much and while Tsuta seems to look at him longingly, Kei appears indifferent. Nevertheless, the grandmother suggests the doll reflects Kei’s sincere heart with the implication that it reflects his continuing attachment to Tsuta. Tsuta wants to refuse it, but realises she can’t because Mrs Asada likely doesn’t know and her finding out would just cause more trouble, though it’s a painful reminder of her romantic disappointment. 

Tomiko ends up sending it back herself with a note for Nobuko explaining everything. Nobuko then limps off with her injured foot to return the doll to Tomiko and tell her none of that matters, she wants her to have the doll anyway. The doll then becomes a symbol of the sisterhood between the girls and the erasure of the class boundary between them. Tomiko can be seen holding the doll when they join the parade to send Kei off to war, while Tsuta and Mrs Asada also smooth out the misunderstandings between them to celebrate Kei’s mobilisation together. The message here is more that old differences must now be put aside so that everyone can serve the nation together rather than selfishly fixating on personal drama such as wounded pride or romantic heartbreak. Even so, Naruse slightly undercuts the patriotic conclusion with the hint of sadness on Tsuta’s face before she recomposes herself to smile at Mrs Asada and reinforce the sense of solidarity between them, while what we’re left with is the memories of the idyllic countryside setting and sense of pastoral serenity along with the sincerity of the relationship of the two girls which is rooted not in patriotism but genuine friendship that cares nothing for the divisions of social class or the rigidities of the adult world.

Sincerity screens at Japan Society New York May 10 as part of Mikio Naruse: The World Betrays Us – Part I.

Images: Collection of National Film Archive of Japan

Nightingale (鶯, Shiro Toyoda, 1938)

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Set in a quiet northern town, Shiro Toyoda’s Nightingale (鶯, Uguisu) finds the nation still struggling to emerge from the feudal past into the modern era. The film opens with a scene in the local train station, yet we’re also told that it is literally cut off from prosperity because the express train does not stop there and so it is relegated to the status of provincial backwater. Physically trying to flag the train down, the Mayor has been trying to get the town placed on the fast track but has had no luck so far.

The ticket man, who’d been more or less ignoring him, suggests they can’t put the station on the express line because the population of the town is decreasing presumably as young people migrate to the cities in search of work. One of the people waiting there is a man with two sons who tries to get the younger to pretend he’s younger than he is so he won’t have to pay for his ticket, though the ticket man refuses to give him a discount leaving the man with only the option to leave one of the boys behind while the family can no longer survive in the town. He explains that he’s been financially crippled by the medical fees to care for his now late wife and is clearly at his wits end trying to find a way to support his children.

The costs of medical treatment seem to be a direct driver of poverty and crime. Shifting to the local police station, we’re introduced to a man who’s become a serial chicken thief having begun stealing neighbour’s birds to pay for doctors to treat his sickly wife only she eventually left him for another man because he was always away conducting poultry heists so she thought he’d abandoned her due to her illness. His problem is compounded by the fact he had not formally registered their marriage intending to wait until the first child was born leaving him without a leg to stand on.

An official doctor later jokingly complains that he’s losing custom because no one in the area can afford modern medical care so they’re turning to dubious snake oil-style miracle cures proffered by a “fake priest” the police are about to arrest for fraud. Meanwhile, they’ve also arrested a middle-aged woman (Haruko Sugimura) who assists with births for violating the medical practice law. Branded a midwife she is really more of a wise woman who is well respected in the local community as someone who had had many children herself and also offers advice about folk remedies for various illnesses. She never claims to be a doctor and does not regard it as a job, merely as helping people even if she perhaps also enjoys the sense of being needed and important, and is unable to understand how that could ever be a crime. Unlike the priest, she takes no payment and uses her own resources though people sometimes give her small compensatory gifts such as parcels of rice as a thank you. When a woman goes into labour and the “official” midwife is not available, the policeman is unwilling to let her in but hearing the woman’s distress she runs to help her kicking all the policemen out of this very personal female space.

Her confusion bears out that within the general society as people struggle to adjust to a more ordered modernity and the encroachment of urbanity which is what the police themselves represent. Then again, they are presented as being more compassionate certainly than the staff of the railway and seemingly have a duty of pastoral care for the local area which is separate from their role in enforcing the law. A secondary drama that began at the train station involves a young woman who is being sold into sexual slavery by her father against her will. She is eventually rescued by an earnest school teacher who says the sale isn’t valid because she also signed a contract to become a teacher, convincing her father to change his mind with the help of the police who remonstrate with him that it’s wrong to sell your child even if the practice had been somewhat normalised which plays into a propagandistic element about the importance of moving on from “backward” rural practices still mired in the feudal era. The police also have access to a fund which can be used to get the broker out of the way in an effort to stamp out this morally indefensible situation in which parents sell their children into indentured servitude for reasons of poverty. 

They also agree to help an old lady who’s arrived in search of a child she fostered a decade previously who was taken back by her birth mother and sold to a circus. Like the chicken thief, the old woman was caught out by the modern convention of paperwork. She had been led to believe the adoption had been processed and the child placed on her own family register, but was illiterate and therefore easily deceived. The old woman also becomes a victim of the dodgy priest and the disease currently spreading because of his problematic cure-alls which people have turned to out of desperation in their poverty.

But despite the police’s apparent altruism, the arrival of a young woman selling a captive nightingale reveals the irony that she’s come there because it’s the only place anyone has any money. Unfortunately it turns out that capturing a nightingale has also been ruled illegal, even if one of the policeman was interested in buying it if only it could sing, so she’s come to the wrong place and if she doesn’t release it she’ll end up with a fine. The nightingale’s song is later replaced by that of a flute player who had been arrested for being drunk and disorderly having spent some money he was given towards the funeral of his baby on drink. 

The police are in some ways a disruptive influence, trying to bring a new urban order to this rural place which has its own laws and customs often at odds with those of the city. Their efforts tie in to a persistent message of modernising for the good of the nation which was particularly current in the late 1930s though the film is equally sympathetic towards the plight of the rural poor who are not after all being given very much support as the youngsters move to the city leaving the old behind, trapped on the slow line cut off from the benefits of modernity while otherwise expected to simply adapt to new visions of civility in a society still trying to emerge from the feudal past. 

No Regrets for Our Youth (わが青春に悔なし, Akira Kurosawa, 1946)

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“Freedom is something you have to fight for” a young woman is ironically reminded by her progressively-minded father as she finds herself torn between the conservatism of her upbringing as an upper middle class daughter of an academic family and a bid for independence in the freedoms of the post-war society. In part a lament for a lost generation whose resistance towards rising militarism had been all but forgotten, No Regrets for Our Youth (わが青春に悔なし, Waga Seishun ni Kuinashi), is also the story of a post-war woman seeking new directions which in this case eventually send her back to the land.

Then again, there’s no denying that Yukie’s (Setsuko Hara) dilemma is framed as romantic, torn between a dynamic communist and a spineless conservative while otherwise in her youth fairly vacuous. As the film opens, she frolics with some of her father’s students at a local mountain that overlooks Kyoto University. Caught on a stepping stone she awaits help from either the charismatic Noge (Susumu Fujita) or the diffident Itokawa (Akitake Kono) before Noge boldly dashes forward and carries her to the bank. Seeing Itokawa looking sheepish and embarrassed, she tugs on his student cap as if she hasn’t quite yet made up her mind which path she will take. “If I married you, my life would be calm and peaceful,” Yukie later reveals to Itokawa, “but it would also be a bit boring”, whereas if she married Noge “my life would burn so brightly that I might be blinded.” 

Even so, her outlook as the professor’s daughter leans towards the conservative. During the picnic on the mountain, the students suddenly hear the sound of cadets training with firearms Yukie exclaiming that it makes her heart race before ominously discovering the body of a wounded solider in the overgrowth. She declares that she hates “leftists” and that her father is a “liberal” not a “red” but will any case eventually be vindicated. Though attracted to Noge’s passionate nature, she seems to find him dull company, “boring” in his constant conversation about the rise of fascism while visibly bristling when he all but calls her a vacuous socialite and says she needs a “slap in the face to grow up” which is in a sense what he’s just given her. Her life had been that of a privileged upperclass girl cosseted from the world, engaging with refined pursuits such as playing the piano and learning traditional flower arrangement. Her epiphany seems to come when she realises she’s been doing as she’s told, reminded that flower arrangement is a means of self-expression suddenly tearing the heads off chrysanthemums and crafting something truly avant-garde that is in its own way quietly shocking. Notably her flower arrangements while living with Noge are much more harmonious. 

Still she wavers, wondering if she should give in to the quiet life she’d have with a man like Itokawa, a man with no ideology who sides with the militarists and becomes a prosecutor because it is expedient to do so, or continue to wait for Noge who by this point has been in prison and ostensibly renounced his socialist beliefs to join the army. What she chooses independence, breaking with the conventional life her mother wanted for her to support herself with a job at a trading company in Tokyo. Running into Itokawa in the city, he strongly hints to her that Noge is, from his point of view, up to no good running a kind of think tank as an expert on China. 

When Yukie chooses Noge she implies it’s because she wants “something I can throw myself into body and soul”, hoping to join him in his new cause prepared as her father had warned her to make sacrifices in the struggle for freedom. In the one sense, it’s Yukie making up her own mind to abandon her privileged background to live her life with no regrets, but it’s also impossible to ignore that the cause she dedicates herself to is that of her husband. Committed to making Noge’s parents, both peasant farmers, understand that he was not an “ungrateful” son but a man who did his best to oppose the war and fight for peace and prosperity in Japan, she commits herself to the land and wins them over with the strength of her resolve. The hands that once played piano are now rough with work and it is in this she has found her purpose. Yet it’s difficult to say if the austerity of her new life represents ultimate freedom or only further constraint in the imperative of her continued suffering. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter, if as she says she has no regrets for her youth as she joins hands with the peasant farmers leaving her privileged upbringing behind her even as her mother remarks that with her father reinstated at the university it’s as if nothing had changed. There is then something quite poignant as she sits by the stream and sees the students file past her singing their song of protest that in the end went unheeded while she prepares to reject modernity in its entirety and return to the simplicity of the land.

No Regrets for Our Youth screens at the BFI Southbank, London on 2nd & 10th January 2023 as part of the Kurosawa season.

Here’s to the Young Lady (お嬢さん乾杯!, Keisuke Kinoshita, 1949)

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Here's to the young lady DVD coverLove across the class divide is a perpetual inspiration for melodrama, but what if the problem is less restrictive social codes and more emotional inertia and frustrated desire? Many things were changing in the Japan of 1949, racked by post-war privation and burdened with a scrappy desire to remake itself better and kinder than before. Keisuke Kinoshita, the foremost purveyor of post-war humanism, looks back to the 1930s for his 1949 cheerfully superficial romantic comedy Here’s to the Young Lady (お嬢さん乾杯!, Ojosan Kampai!). A tale of changing social codes and youth trying to find the courage to break free, Kinoshita’s easy romance is as breezy as they come but also hard won and a definitive step towards the freer, fairer world he so often envisages.

Keizo Ishizu (Shuji Sano), a 34-year-old self-made man and successful garage owner, is still single and seemingly pestered by his well meaning friends who keep finding matches for him that he doesn’t really want. Reluctantly, he acquiesces to the demands of his good friend Mr. Sato (Takeshi Sakamoto) who is desperate to introduce him to a pretty young woman from a wealthy family and agrees to meet Yasuko (Setsuko Hara) – a demure 26-year-old apparently keen to get married. Ishizu is instantly smitten, dumbstruck by her beauty and elegance. He begins to think all this marriage talk isn’t so silly after all, but then he is only a country bumpkin made good in the scrappy post-war economy. Yasuko is old money. How could he ever be permitted to enter her world and would she ever truly fit in his? Ishizu falls hard but his dreams of romance are eventually crushed when he discovers that the Ikedas, once a noble family, have hit upon hard times following half the family’s repatriation from Manchuria and the unwise business relations of Yasuko’s father which have landed him in jail as a co-conspirator in large scale fraud.

Despite his misgivings, Ishizu is talked into “dating” Yasuko for a few months during which he plans to find out if she could fall in love with him for real or if the marriage is likely to be an eternally one-sided affair which will make them both miserable. Ishizu resents being thought of as the cash cow, the classless nouveau riche upstart roped in to breathe new life into the fading aristocracy, but can’t let go of the hope that Yasuko might fall for his down to death charms even if not all of her family are very happy with this particular means of survival.

Yasuko’s grandparents are at great pains to emphasise (repeatedly) the immense gap in social class between Ishizu and their cultured, refined ingenue of a granddaughter who enjoys such elegant hobbies skiiing, tennis, and the ballet. Ishizu is into boxing and drinking at his favourite bar. He has no idea what the tune is that Yasuko plays on the piano that he bought for her and somewhat gauchely had delivered direct in front of the mildly scandalised family who can’t help feeling belittled by his generosity, but he finds it charming all the same even if his lack of refinement also stings with embarrassment. Nevertheless, the youngsters end up finding their own way – she takes him to the ballet where he is bored and then somehow moved, and he her to the boxing where she is frightened and then thrilled. They grow closer, but also not as Ishizu becomes increasingly frustrated (if in his characteristically good natured way) by Yasuko’s continuing aloofness.   

Perhaps unusually, it is Yasuko who struggles to move on from the idealised pre-war past in which she lived the romanticised life of a wealthy noblewoman who had not a care in the world and no need to worry about anything. The war has destroyed the nobility but this no Cherry Orchard-style lament for a declining world of elegance and rise of the unrefined in its place but a plea for rational thinking and a desire to move forward into a more egalitarian future. Yasuko’s grandparents cannot accompany her on this journey even if her parents and siblings are minded to be pragmatic, but it’s she herself who will need to make the decision to abandon her rigid ideas of what it is to be a fine lady and learn to embrace her own desires if she is to find happiness (as her father urges her to do) in the rapidly changing post-war world.

Then again, Ishizu is not entirely free of petty prejudice and the mild conservatism of the upwardly mobile as he shows in his intense hostility towards his best friend’s (Keiji Sada) tempestuous relationship with a club dancer (Naruko Sato). Nevertheless, after a good old fashioned case of fisticuffs and a proper consideration of all the obstacles he faces in winning the heart of Yasuko, Ishizu eventually reconsiders and urges his friend to chase happiness wherever it may lie. He vacillates and doubts himself, finds it impossible to approach the icy lady of the manor because of a feeling of social inferiority and finally decides to give up on an unrealistic idea of romance to spare them both pain, but then the obstacles were not all his to overcome and if there is a choice to be made it is Yasuko’s to make. A joyous throwback to the screwball ‘30s, Here’s to the Young Lady, banishes the darkness of the postwar world to the margins while its melancholy youngsters use romantic heartbreaks as a springboard to free themselves from the restrictive social codes of the past in order to choose happiness over misery and despair.

Titles and opening scene (no subtitles)