Tangemania

The Asahi reports this morning that the film director, Saito Koichi, passed away on November 28th or pneumonia. He was 80 years old. 

Saito-kantoku was one of the more unique directors in Japanese film history who deserves more attention than he has gotten. First, after studying at Rikkyo and then the Tokyo College of Photography (now Tokyo Polytechnic University), he started out as a still photographer,  at Oizumu Eiga (one of the precursors of Toei) and then at Nikkatsu. He was one of the unsung figures who defined the Nikkatsu Action style: many of the cool stills you see of the Nikkatsu films that are finally getting released outside Japan were shot by him. He also did stills on films by directors such as Imai Tadashi, Imamura Shohei and Ichikawa Kon. He would be a central figure for anyone writing a history of Japanese stills photography (a history which should be written some day), and a fascinating case where stills began to effect the style of the films themselves. 

Saito-kantoku has a quite cool, modern visual sense, so when he decided to direct his own film, gathering enough money to make Tsubuyaki no Jo in 1967, the result was an urban, pop masterpiece that resembled more Richard Lester's Beatles than anything in Japanese film, albeit with more pathos. He and perhaps Obayashi Nobuhiko (in his 1960s experimental films) were arguably the first to really adapt that kind of commercial 1960s visual sense to Japanese film. Saito then utilized that sense in a series of "Group Sounds" films at Shochiku in the late 1960s, which are all quite interesting to watch, especially Chiisana sunakku, based on the Purple Shadows' hit. 

Often focusing on rootless young people, his interest shifted in the early 1970s to those urban youth venturing to the countryside to escape the city or to find themselves. One could link him to a kind of "Discover Japan" ethos in the 1970s (and anyone researching Discover Japan should look at his work), but one that at that point is more critical, given how these young people rarely succeed in their quest for an original Japan. Films such as Yakusoku, Tabi no omosa, and Tsugaru jongarabushi were critically celebrated, with Tsugaru getting the number one spot in the KineJun poll. 

I'm afraid his later films sometimes did fall into nostalgic representations of an original rural life. Like his youthful protagonists heading into the countryside, his pop urban style became more and more defined by aestheticization of the rural. But it is his brilliant work from 1967 to the mid-1970s that strongly deserves a second look. He was big enough at the time that KineJun featured him in one its Sekai no eiga sakka books.

Saito-kantoku was one of the first Japanese directors I got to know personally. When I arrived in Japan in 1992, I was a regular attendee of the Asagaya Eigamura run by the critic Shirai Yoshio. One of the directors Shirai liked and often presented was Saito-kantoku, who came personally to talk about his films and drink with us afterwards. At that time, none of his Group Sounds films were available for rental, but it was the clout of Saito-kantoku and Shirai-san that got us prints of those. I think it was that activity that eventually convinced Shochiku to release some of those on video and helped build up the Group Sounds boom. Saito-kantoku was always an amiable and polite gentleman, who would spend hours talking with us youngsters until the wee hours of the morning. 

He will be missed.

The morning papers are reporting the death of Mizunoe Takiko. She died of old age on November 16th at the age of 94. Most people remember Tākī, as she was fondly called, as a star of the Shochiku Shōjo Kagekidan (Shochiku's rival to Takarazuka), where she in the 1930s she stunned fans as "the beauty in men's clothes." She joined it in 1928 at the age of 13 and left in 1939 to start her own troupe. She was also famous after the war as a host of Kohaku utagassen (the Red and White Song Competition) when it was still on radio and then on TV, and as one of the team leaders on NHK's long-running TV game show, Gesture. 

But we should remember her as a dynamic film producer in an age when almost all the producers were male. She produced Taiyo no kisetsu (Season of the Sun) at Nikkatsu and is widely credited for building Ishihara Yujiro into a star (I wonder if the Kitahara Mie character in Arashi o yobu otoko is not based on her). She produced his first starring film, Kurutta kajitsu (Crazed Fruit, which Criterion has put out on DVD), as well as many other of Yujiro's films. The JMDB lists her as producer on 76 films, all at Nikkatsu. 

She also appeared as an actress in a number of films, the last being Obayashi Nobuhiko's Onna-zakari in 1994. A flamboyant figure who never married, she held her own funeral in 1993, hosted by Morishige Hisaya (who died last week), because "I want to see all your faces while I am still alive." 

There are a number of books on or by Tākī: 

Mizunoe Takiko : Himawari batchama / [chosha Mizunoe Takiko].

Taakii : Mizunoe Takiko den / Nakayama Chinatsu.

Mizunoe takiko : iroiro arimashita.

Tākī hōdan waratta naita

Minna yūchan ga sukidatta : tākī to yūjirō to kantokutachi.

Someone should really do some research on this fascinating figure.

Here is one of her song's on YouTube:

David Bordwell, one of the great film scholars writing on one of the great film blogs, said some kind words about our Research Guide to Japanese Film Studies.

The reaction to my previous post on the supposed scandal at the Japan Foundation has been quite positive, so I thought I would update everyone on some of the discussions that have ensued.

There were a number of reactions on KineJapan, with Mark Roberts in particularly asking the crucial question of what may constitute the structural reasons behind the suspicious contracts. Part of the Asahi's laziness was in easily laying blame on the JF, but not asking how it is that film companies can get away with asking for such contracts. To Mark,

Actually, this seems like an opportunity to air out this relationship and, if necessary, publicly interrogate the constraints imposed by the rights holders and the government stance that tacitly supports them. Isn't it equally possible -- and actually rather likely -- that the rights holders have all the cards, and that taxpayers are being asked, in effect, to subsidize their exclusive ownership of Japanese film heritage? And where is the Japanese government in all of this? Standing on the sidelines?

I would think that these relationships are an important matter to establish and publicize (i.e., who is really beholden to whom? etc.), if only because this is an occasion to address an impasse in the promotion of Japanese cinema, both internationally and domestically. Others more knowledgeable than I may know the details, but it feels like there is still more speculation than fact, more opacity than transparency concerning these policies.

Mark is echoing a concern many of us have, and which I have aired before: that the current climate surrounding copyright, especially over protecting the ownership of  "contents," is stifling scholarship, harming the promotion if not creation of Japanese cinema, and undermining the preservation and communal appreciation of the cinematic heritage. It seems that, all too often, government agencies which should be looking out for the common good with regard to Japanese film, are just buckling to the demands of private companies, who are often not only self-interested but also short-sighted in asserting what is best. This problem is true not only of the JF, but also of institutions like the National Film Center, which I think asserts the rights of film producers and copyright owners more than those of scholars, viewers, or even archives. It seems that the Asahi, which itself is one of these rights holders for various media contents, is only furthering its interests, and not that of the public, by blaming a weak institution like the JF and completely ignoring the power abuses of rights holders.

I should note, however, that rights holders are not of one kind and the power dynamics are complex. Over the last 15 years, I've written kaisetsu for literally hundreds of the films in the JF collection, so I have a good sense of what they have. It should be stressed that many of the films in their collection are from smaller or independent production companies, including quite a number of works that were never commercially released but only sent around the country to show at public halls, etc. I think it would be a mistake to think that the JF is simply buckling under to pressure from powerful rights holders. In fact, I think the JF has relatively few films from Toho, which is now the most annoying about rights (though that might also have to do with the fact that Toho doesn't care much about showing its catalog abroad unless big money is involved). Big companies like Toho, Shochiku and Toei may make some of these demands, but I also had the feeling when I learned of the suspicious contracts that some of them may be backdoor attempts to subsidize independent producers. I can't confirm the intention, but that has probably been the effect in some cases. This does not obviate the above arguments about rights, but it does complicate the history of this practice, and underlines how the government subsidy system itself is rather haphazard and illogical. And it does compel us to consider what rights could mean for independent producers as well. It was great that when we showed one of the dokuritsu pro films from the 1950s at Yale, the rights holder was so happy he let us have it for just the cost of shipping. But I don't think independent producers are all like that. Where do they fit in the picture?

The general sense on KineJapan, I think, was that more needs to be done to right the imbalance by pressuring government agencies higher up, ones that have been complacent so far. Here again was Mark:

It may be that nothing short of direct government intervention is going to change this situation. This is my sense of the situation, though I admit it's a hypothesis, based upon a limited understanding. Perhaps this issue can also be seen in light of what is now a worldwide battle between media consumers and rights holders, with the former in a state of revolt against DRM technologies and pro-industry policies that are working to gate access, erode fair rights' use, etc. In Europe and America, especially, the industry is responding with a lot of money to buy lobbyists, lawyers, judges, etc. The history of the Japanese cinema itself seems to demonstrate that the industry really does not care deeply about film culture or heritage. As Bazin once said: "film is not an art AND an industry, but instead an industrial art that is likely to vanish into thin air as soon as the industry's profits disappear".

W.r.t. the situation in Japan, should the goal of further discussion be an exploration of government policy on film heritage, with initiatives for education and research that, in effect, force the rights holders to play ball with institutions like the JF and NFC? Which policies have worked in other countries that are more pro-active on this? What arguments can be made to gather support for policy changes?

I'm not sure what the best forum for generating discussion about this issue would be, or how to best frame it, but an article written in Japanese that tries to speak to a broader public might be good. 

I agree with this assessment and this plan, but unfortunately I have few connections myself with the major media in Japan, which is where such an article should be printed.

Finally, one other major point discussed was the JF keeping its list of films secret. This only illustrates the lack of logic behind cultural policy. On the one hand, the government lacks the experts to program films and to teach people in foreign communities how to watch the variety of Japanese movies that exist. Yet keeping the list of films secret - even from institutions like Yale that are willing to pay for the screenings (and thus don't fall under the rubric of the suspicious contracts) - means that only experts can use the JF collection. As many reiterated, the JF is very helpful, but only if you come to them with a list of films you want to show; they will then tell you if they have them or not. You thus need to know a lot about Japanese cinema before you even approach them. By keeping the list secret, the JF is again failing in its educational role. So it's no wonder few are using this collection.

Why does the JF keep the collection secret? Many have asked, and the answer is always that the rights holders demand it be kept secret. The films do not belong to the JF, so everything about them is ultimately up to the rights holders. Why would the rights holders prevent the release of information that could promote their films, earn them some money in rentals, and generate interest in Japanese cinema as a whole? I don't know for certain, but it's again likely short-sighted self-interest: the companies don't want people to know of this more convenient and somewhat less expensive way to rent or watch these films for single events and occasions; they want "real business" which involves selling foreign distribution rights. In other words, I think they fear the JF becoming a competitor or a substitute for foreign distribution. This is short-sighted because the vast majority of films in the JF collection will never be bought for DVD or theatrical distribution abroad. In fact, by being kept secret, they most definitely will never be sold because the buzz you need to generate for a commercial release cannot be achieved without spreading awareness of both your film and Japanese film as a brand through such screenings. (It reminds be of the TV networks, which I've talked about before.) It again seems like they are shooting themselves in the foot. 

As Mark asked, what would happen if the JF refused to sign any contract that didn't allow them to publicize the films they contracted for? Would the companies all refuse, even the independents? And if they did, would the government step in to pressure companies to stop thinking about their own short-term return and begin contemplating the long term, a future that must be shared with Japanese film as a whole? 

The answers to such questions are important, and much of the fate of Japanese cinema depends on such decisions.