Scars of the Sun (太陽のきずあと, Chusei Sone, 1981)

In the mid-1950s, a moral panic erupted as the wartime generation found themselves horrified by the world of post-war youth. They resented a generation of bright young things who listened to jazz music in cafes they saw as living hedonistic lives filled with sex and drugs. The irony is that the so-called “Sun Tribe” movement was crystallised in the writings of Shintaro Ishihara, a conservative who later became a very right-wing governor of Tokyo. His brother Yujiro, one of the biggest stars of the post-war entertainment industry, was the face of the Sun Tribe onscreen starring in several of the short-lived genre’s key titles including Ko Nakahira’s Crazed Fruit.

Chusei Sone’s Scars of the Sun (太陽のきずあと, Taiyo no Kizuato) is a reinterpretation of the Sun Tribe movie for the era of high prosperity. Almost an adaptation of Nakahira’s film, it co-opts its central love triangle and ends with a similar sequence in which the hero, Shuhei (Kenichi Kaneda), uses his speedboat to attack a former associate who has stolen his younger brother’s girlfriend and humiliated him by exposing his impotence, both literal and figural. This time, however, Shuhei’s rival isn’t his biological brother but his best friend. Shuhei thinks that this is his gang, but in reality Karasawa (Satoshi Sadanaga) is running it. They just let Shuhei play the gang boss to make use of his wealth and status. 

There is also, however, a degree of homoerotic tension between Karasawa and Shuhei with the implication that Shuhei’s impotence with women is due to homosexuality. When Shuhei arranges for his father’s bar hostess lover (Yuko Katagiri) to be gang raped, Karasawa declines to participate. He says that he does this out of sympathy for Shuhei, sitting on the sofa with him and turning down the attentions of the gang’s moll Kanako. The pair later put a record on and slow dance around the room. Karasawa’s decision to take up with Kaori (Mirai Hayashi), the apparent girlfriend of Shuhei’s estranged brother Koji (Koji Tanaka), is then a triple betrayal. Not only does he defy the longstanding rule of the group that women be shared, but ignores Shuhei’s authority and deliberately wounds him to assert his own superiority.

In a way, Shuhei did something similar in having Mayumi raped, only it doesn’t really bother his father from whom he may have learned his lack of respect for women. Mogi (Ken Ogata) is an Ishihara-esque award-winning novelist who has written screeds about the youth of the day and claims to have a special educational method for raising his son while secretly using his money to cover up all of Shuhei’s indiscretions. Shuhei’s actions are then in some part rebellions against his hypocritical father whom he resents. His unexpected reunion with Koji, his younger brother whom he hasn’t seen for 11 years since his parents’ divorce, reawakens his desire to lead a more conventional family life, though he can’t resist the urge to sabotage it by bringing Koji into his seedy gang boss life as a means of pushing him away.

The implication is also that all of Shuhei’s problems are due to a lack of maternal input and his father’s many failures as a man and a parent. He doesn’t know how to deal with a corrupted parental legacy and is essentially looking for a way back to his mother (Kyoko Enami). When he finally decides to see her, he tidies himself up and puts on a smart suit, making a point of telling his mother not to worry about him because he’s doing okay and will visit again soon, though all the evidence suggests he may be planning to go somewhere from which there is no return. He says that he has erased his other self, in one sense meaning Karasawa as an embodiment of his dark side while seemingly wanting to escape his father’s hypocrisy and corrupted morals to return to a more wholesome domesticity represented by his absent mother. With a lack of parental boundaries or guidance from his father, Shuhei is ultimately thrown into the arms of another authority figure in the form of the police force, signalling the futility of his rebellion. Sone seems to set Shuhei apart in this world, creating vistas of emptiness around him that he childishly tries to fill with violence and transgression amid the vacuity of an age of excess only to discover nothing but loneliness and desperation. 


Scars of the Sun is available as part of the Chusei Sone Double Feature box set.

Trailer (English subtitles)

At Noon (正午なり, Koichi Goto, 1978)

at noonKoichi Goto’s Art Theatre Guild adaptation of Kenji Maruyama’s 1968 novel At Noon (正午なり, Mahiru Nari) begins with a young man on a train. Forlornly looking out of the window, he remains aboard until reaching his rural hometown where he makes a late entry to his parents’ house and is greeted a little less than warmly by his mother. The boy, Tadao, refuses to say why he’s left the big city so abruptly to return to the beautiful, if dull, rural backwater where he grew up.

There’s little work here for a young man, which is why Tadao left in the first place. After using some family connections to try and find a job, he finally decides to make use of his abilities by fixing radios and TV sets for a local electronics store. To begin with he doesn’t want to see his old friend, Tetsuji, perhaps out of a sense of shame at having returned home but the pair later strike up their old friendship – that is, until Tetsuji suddenly announces his plans to run away with a local bar hostess.

It’s never quite revealed what happened to Tadao in Tokyo but it seems to have been something serious enough to change the course of his entire life and send him reeling back home depressed and angry. In many ways he’s a typical young man, if slightly sullen, but he’s developed a serious number of sexual hangups which have turned him into some kind of repressed, misogynistic, pervert. He appears to have made a deliberate decision to dislike the idea of women, or at least the idea of women with sexual appeal. He thinks women are trouble, that no good comes of love, but can’t stop himself from spying on the female tourists staying in an upper room. He’s always looking, staring invasively, but resolved not to touch.

Tadao has already been to the city and evidently found it not quite to his liking but his friend, Tetsuji, feels bored in the village and trapped by his parents who need his help in their orchards. When Tadao realises Tetsuji is taking the hostess with him when he skips town, he asks for the money he just agreed to lend him back and tells him to forget about running away and just to go home. Unfortunately for Tetsuji, Tadao’s advice proves sound as his city dreams don’t work out the way he planned either. To end his frequent attempts to escape, Tetsuji’s family float the idea of an arranged marriage which originally horrifies both boys but after meeting his prospective bride, Tetsuji changes his mind. Tadao doesn’t approve, but after meeting the girl in question and seeing that she is quite lovely changes his mind too and is happy for his friend – that is, until he realises Tetsuji has only introduced him to her as a pretext of getting her on her own to enact his marital rights a little ahead of schedule. This breach of morality proves the final straw for Tadao who does not like the idea of his wayward friend deceiving and then ruining this innocent young flower who’s far too good for him anyway.

Tadao’s fascination with another damaged bar girl, Akemi, continues as the two find themselves both looking at the sad figure of a tethered eagle imprisoned at the local zoo. Akemi says she likes to look at the bird as she feels perhaps somehow that helps him escape. She feels like a caged bird too – trapped in a bad relationship with a useless boyfriend who has a vague plan of turning manure into an energy source while she supports them both by working at a hostess bar and hating every second of it. Tadao feels trapped in a hundred different ways, by his town, by his parents, by whatever happened in Tokyo, and by his own pent-up frustrations. By this point, he’s a one man powder keg ready to explode and after blowing his final safety caps, tragedy is the only possible outcome.

At Noon begins with its epilogue, but uncomfortably frames its protagonist’s despicable final actions with an odd kind of heroism as his head eclipses the sun leaving him with a radiant halo. He may have satisfied himself in some way, put to rest some of that inner turmoil, but what he’s done is something truly dreadful and driven by an intensely animalistic instinct. At Noon may have something to say about the dangers of frustrated young men with no work to go to, no ambition to follow, and no luck with the ladies but displays an oddly ambivalent attitude to its deranged protagonist that makes for often uncomfortable viewing.


By the way, After Noon has music by Ray Davis of The Kinks!

Unsubbed Trailer: