Suicide Troops of the Watchtower (望楼の決死隊, Tadashi Imai, 1943)

Produced by Toho and Chosun Film Production Corporation, Suicide Troops of the Watchtower (望楼の決死隊, Boro no kesshitai) was intended as a piece of imperial propaganda promoting a sense of unity between Koreans and the Japanese who had annexed their country in 1910 and thereafter ruled in an oppressive and often brutal fashion. Not that you would know any of that from the film which is directed by committed communist Tadashi Imai while equally surprisingly crediting Choi In-gyu as an “assistant director”, though Choi was already an established and successful director of colonial films such as Tuition (1940) and Angels on the Street (1941). 

Like Tuition the film is almost entirely in Japanese, Korean having been banned onscreen by this point, though small smatterings of Korean are heard in the background. The film is set in 1935, but there are signs visible at certain points reminding people to “use only the national language,” eg. Japanese, though one of the Japanese officers has apparently learned Korean to better communicate with the local community. Likewise, though Korean actors also appear in the film, they are mainly in smaller parts with the most prominent roles being played by well-known Japanese stars. Nevertheless, Korean characters have not generally taken Japanese names, but are referred to by the Japanese reading of the Chinese characters with which their names are written. Thus, the sister of the Korean border patrol officer who is killed is referred to as Eishuku (played by Korean actress Kim Shin-jae), rather than as Yong-suk. Meanwhile, another man remarks that if he called himself “Hayashi” he might feel more Japanese, while his wife has become accustomed to wearing Japanese kimono.

The earliest scenes of the film capture the idyllic pastorality of the Korean landscape and are intended to extend a degree of exoticism to the mainland Japanese audience who are likely less familiar with Korea or Korean culture. This is also true of the early scene in which members of the border patrol hold a welcome party for Asano (Hideo Saito) which takes place at a traditional Korean home. The men eat and drink outside sitting at low tables while the Japanese soldiers attempt to learn a Korean folksong taught to them by Kin. These scenes seek to paint colonial life as a more genial form of cultural exchange brokered by friendliness and respect even though in reality expressions of Koreanness are generally discouraged while the people are brutally oppressed and economically exploited. 

Unlike some similar films, however, Suicide Troops of the Watchtower presents Korean and Japanese people as equals who are fighting for the Japanese empire together. Though they are also portrayed as simple, rural people, the Koreans are never seen to be stupid or incapable and are overall honest and kind if grateful to the Japanese border patrol officers for protecting them from the bandits. In some surprising ways, the film at times presents a more progressive view of society than might be expected as the border patrol is universally supportive of Eishuku’s desire to become a doctor with one of the officers selling off his rice field to ensure she can continue her education after her brother’s death. The implication might be that this is an opportunity afforded to her by the “civilising” force of Japanese colonialism, but she is nevertheless encouraged to become an independent working woman who will also use her skills in support of the empire. 

On the other hand, the Chinese characters seen in the film are all played by Japanese actors and are generally viewed with a degree of suspicion. Cafe owner Wanryu (Ichiro Sugai) has crossed the border expressly to escape the violent bandits of Manchuria, but is still mistrusted by the border patrol despite repeatedly pledging his loyalty to them. When a man in stereotypical Chinese dress with a wounded arm turns up in Wanryu’s cafe and ends up killing officer Kin when challenged, suspicion falls on Wanryu. The Chinese population has essentially been characterised as the “other” and the force against which the Japanese and Koreans are unified, which somewhat undermines the final pronouncement that the bandit problem has been solved by the elimination of the border now that Japan has conquered Manchuria. 

Though they are described as “bandits” and it is said that they have been pushed into Korean territory by Japanese soldiers pursuing them, it easy to read these insurgents as Korean Independence fighters many of whom had gone into exile in China, particularly in Shanghai. Wanko, the estranged son of Wanryu, is not just a young man who ran off to live a life of banditry, but a guerrilla fighter resisting Japanese imperialism. His eventual conversion born the desire to avenge the death of his father at the hands of bandit leader Koryo who meant to kill Wanryu fearing he had betrayed them by warning his father of the imminent attack, is then depicted as a kind of homecoming as border patrol chief Takatsu (Minoru Takada) agrees to release him so that he can fight alongside them. 

To that extent, it might seem surprising that the film makes the bandits seem so powerful to the degree that they pose a genuine threat the security of the empire. Their assault is staged in a way that resembles Hollywood westerns. At the film’s conclusion, it really appears as if all is lost and the border patrol will be wiped out by the bandits, partly because they are clearly understaffed which would seem to be a strategic failure on the part of the authorities. Takatsu’s ever capable wife Yoshiko (Setsuko Hara) is seen lugging weaponry around bearing out the all hands on deck mentality. At the lowest moment, Takatsu gives his pistol to his wife with the intention that she use it on herself when they are overrun while the Korean residents make similar plans with a new mother preparing to smother her baby if the need arises. 

In the end they are saved by the timely arrival of reinforcements thanks to the efforts of the new arrival Asano who had been unable to cope with the harsh life on the border and was determined to quit. Even the one Korean who had subversively complained about being exploited as free labour by the entitled Japanese occupiers chips in to help so that the bandits are eventually defeated by the united force of Koreans and Japanese officers fighting side by side. Even so, the closing speech insists that the colonial authorities will now continue with their ideal of bringing “order” to Korea. Commander Takatsu proves his commitment by giving up  the opportunity to return home to see his dying mother, while his wife becomes a maternal figure to the local community. Released in 1943, the film is perhaps an advocation for unity born of increasing desperation as Japan suffered repeated defeat and domestic strain, preparing its audience for the necessity of defending themselves against a similar onslaught while suggesting that all must work together to save the nation.


Three Women of the North (北の三人, Kiyoshi Saeki, 1945)

Film was the primary medium for propaganda and Japan had been pumping out increasingly patriotic fare under the National Policy programme since the late 1930s but what’s interesting about those which appeared towards the war’s end is that they do not try to sugarcoat the situation or pretend that the conflict is going well, rather they use the encroaching sense of desperation as an additional motivator to get all hands on deck. Released on Aug. 5, 1945, Three Women of the North (北の三人, Kita no Sannin) was the last propaganda film to be produced and the only film currently screening when the war ended on Aug. 15. Of course, after that it was swiftly withdrawn by the Occupation forces never to be seen again except perhaps as a historical document. 

Like The Most Beautiful, the film skews accidentally feminist in its focus on three female radio operators who seem to be regarded as something of pioneers in the field. After encountering technical issues, a plane with a top secret mission is guided into an airfield in Aomori by nothing more than the voice of radio operator Sumiko (Setsuko Hara) yet on landing the pilot expresses surprise apparently stunned that a young woman would be able to perform such a stellar job. The sexist attitudes seem almost set up so they can be shot down, the pilot is quickly corrected by the ground control chief (Takashi Shimura) who explains “nowadays women can become excellent radio operators.”

Of course, this is born of necessity seeing as at this late stage there is a huge untapped resource of young and widowed middle-aged women previously discouraged from getting directly involved with the war effort. In earlier propaganda films, the most important thing a woman could do was get married and particularly to a young man who was going to the war, but this time a conflict develops between two of the women, Yoshie (Hideko Takamine) and Sumiko, because Sumiko declined to marry Yoshie’s brother Kazuo before he left because she too wanted to do her bit for the war effort and would not have been able to do so as a married woman. On learning from Yoshie that Kazuo has been killed after volunteering to lead a suicide mission, she breaks down in tears and cries that she should have married him but Yoshie, who has forgiven her on learning of her patriotic reasoning, tells her that she has done the right thing and her brother would be proud of her for serving her country. 

Meanwhile, at another airfield even deeper into the frozen north their friend Akiko (Hisako Yamane) has a developed a fondness for a research scientist but their romance is of course frustrated by the war. In a moment of fraught emotion, he tells her that he will be returning after delivering his findings and she should wait for him there which is almost to say that they will be granted their romantic resolution once the war is over. The curious thing is that Hara (Shin Saburi) is a weather scientist whose cloud forecasts have apparently been very useful to the pilots. A slightly strange diversion sees the film try to argue that at this point the greatest threat to the Japanese war effort is the weather, which aside from sounding like a very British excuse makes very little sense even if it is obviously a factor in mission success. 

The radio operators obviously can’t do much about the weather, but they can pull together with plucky spirit dedicating themselves to the national good and giving all to the war effort. While Sumiko and Yoshie are having their emotional confrontation they’re interrupted by a trio of young women who were supposed to be getting a radio demonstration from Sumiko but they’ve come to say they can’t make it because one of the other girl’s mothers has been taken ill so they’re walking up the snowy mountain to the observatory in the middle of the night to send her back and take over her shift. When the radio operator on the special flight is taken down by pneumonia (the weather, again), Yoshie volunteers insisting that she’s prepared if the worst should happen but on landing remarks that she couldn’t have got through it without Sumiko and Akiko on the other end of the line resting their success on female solidarity. Though it’s clear the film was made on a shoe string it does feature special effects by none other than Eiji Tsuburaya along with some well conceived action sequences that lend an uncomfortably thrilling note to this extremely late entry into the realms of propaganda filmmaking. 


Street of Violence: The Pen Never Lies (ペン偽らず 暴力の街, Satsuo Yamamoto, 1950)

vlcsnap-2020-01-16-00h05m26s354The immediate post-war era was one marked by fear and anxiety. The world had turned upside down, food was scarce, and desperation had provoked a widespread moral decline which rendered compassion a luxury many thought they could ill afford. Yet, in hitting rock bottom there was also the opportunity to rebuild the world better than it had been before. Street of Violence: The Pen Never Lies (ペン偽らず 暴力の街, Pen Itsuwarazu Boryoku no Machi), is one of many pro-democracy films arriving in the wake of Japan’s new constitution and makes an unlikely hero of the local newspaperman as the sole means of speaking truth to power in the fierce belief that the people have a right to know.

Tojo, a small town Northwest of Tokyo, was once the centre of the silk trade but as the industry declined, it gradually became home to gangs and a hub for wartime black market shenanigans. The sad truth is that the growing nouveau riche middle-classes profiting from post-war shadiness have more or less got the town sewn up. The corrupt police force is in cahoots with the gangsters who call themselves a “police support organisation” and make a point of wining and dining the local police chief, while also making sure the local paper is firmly in their pocket. The trouble starts when rookie reporter Kita (Yasumi Hara) is invited to a policeman’s ball and figures out the whole thing is sponsored by the silk traders’ union, which he thinks is not quite right. He takes what he’s learned back to his editor and is warned off the story but publishes something anyway, quickly becoming a target for prominent “politician” Onishi (Masao Mishima).

Street of Violence opens with onscreen text taken from the press code which emphasises that mass media has a duty to preserve the truth. Kita’s paper had been in league with the police and the gangsters enabling the atmosphere of casual violence which is gradually consuming the town. Kita, a new recruit, is not yet inured to the way things are and immediately thinks his duty is to blow a whistle, most obviously on the corrupt police force and judiciary. He is only allowed to do so because the previous editor stepped down and a similarly idealistic older gentleman (Takashi Shimura) from out of town has taken over. He decides to fight back, standing up to the crypto-fascist goons by continuing to publish the truth about the links between the police, black market silk traders, gangsters, and the rest of the local press who eventually gain the courage to join him.

Onishi continues to masquerade as a “legitimate businessman” and “respectable politician” claiming that he’s “striving for democracy” to help the “downtrodden”, but is also responsible for directly targeting Kita’s mother and sister in an attempt to intimidate him. The editor assigns another reporter, Kawasaki (Ryo Ikebe), to keep Kita safe and starts trying to find locals who will consent to be interviewed about gang intimidation while Kita’s friends from the Youth Association generate a kind of resistance movement holding protests and handing out flyers condemning the atmosphere of violence which has ordinary citizens turning off their lights and avoiding going out after dark to protect themselves from thuggery.

The silent cause of all this strife is of course post-war privation which has made the blackmarket the only means of survival for those otherwise starving but has also given free rein to selfish immorality. The Onishis of the world, the spineless police chief, and the cynical local press, have all abnegated their human responsibilities in wilfully taking advantage of a bad situation to further their own cause. When the press chooses not to turn a blind eye to entrenched corruption, it raises a flag that ordinary people can follow. Too intimidated to speak out, the townspeople had been living in fear but post-war youth has the courage to say no and demand a better future. A mass rally crying out “democracy” and insisting on an end to the cronyism and the corrupt systems of pre-war feudalism produces a people power revolution that can’t be ignored, forcing Onishi into submission, and a clean out of corrupt law enforcement. But, the earnest voice over reminds us, the victory is only partial – violence still exists and will rise again when it thinks no one’s looking. The press, most of all, cannot afford to look away if “democracy” is to be maintained.