[Film] OKAMOTO Kihachi（岡本喜八） and his films

OKAMOTO Kihachi ---a tribute to a director, a master pitching a curve ball

Starting this week, Japanese Film Festival 2015 in Singapore is held at the National Museum of Singapore. This year, there is an OKAMOTO Kihachi retrospective as a part of the festival. In association with that retrospective, I would like to offer a modest introduction on the director, Okamoto Kihachi, focusing on some of his films with war themes from his 27 films screened in the festival.

Here is their website:

http://jpfilmfestival.com/jff2015/ 

  

“They can’t even live past 20 years. Sad music for them is too hard.

Send them off with lively music.

Else, they cannot stay dying.”

(from “Fort Graveyard” directed by Okamoto Kihachi)

OKAMOTO Kihachi is regarded as the representative “Senchu-ha” director. “Senchu-ha (generation from the war)” refers to the generation who lived and survived through the Second World War in their youth and rebuilt post war Japan through high economic growth. In Okamoto’s “The Elegant Life of Mr. Everyman”, the protagonist, Mr. Eburi described the war years as “the last years of youth”. Okamoto who was 21-year-old at the end of the War, lived as a youth through those war years, living them as his life’s last years, knowing that he will not live long enough to be an adult.

When Japan committed to the Second World War in 1941, Okamoto expected his life span would be for about 23 years. He was then only 17-year-old. After graduated from college, Okamoto joined Toho Movie Co. in 1943, but in the same year, he was commandeered by the military to work as an engineer in a plane factory. The next year, he received his ‘red postcard’ and he joined the army as a military cadet. While he was not dispatched overseas, he had to undergo ridiculous and horrible war training like carrying and running away to set up a heavy box of bomb to the bottom of a tank. In April 29, 1945, the day Okamoto was transferred to the Reserve Military Academy of Toyohashi, the Academy was bombed by one of the Allies air raids. Okamoto saw with his own eyes his fellow cadets dying covered in blood, guts ripped out and legs and arms blown up. In the summer of 1945, upon his discharge from the Academy, he found that half of his old hometown classmates never came back. That was war for Okamoto Kihachi.

Despite this trauma, Okamoto did not bring high-toned ideology into his films. Instead, he made a kicking war action film like Western film, which does not look serious on the surface. That was “Desperado Outpost” in 1959 and its continuing the Desperado Army series. In there, Okamoto made fun of the army rules, of the system; he responded to the absurdity of war with dry humour. For his protagonist outlaws from the military, the main motivation in war was to survive instead of dying for the nation. In expressing war like a game to be played, Okamoto implicated that war is worthless and foolish; Keeping pure excitement and thrill as war action film, observing the ridiculousness of war with a cool and sometimes sarcastic eye. Such Okamoto’s sense was unique, standing out in Japanese film industry where generally to express emotion or sentiment is prevailing.

Beyond the Desperado Army series, another great achievement was a masterpiece, “Fort Graveyard” in 1965. In the worsening situation toward the end of the War, an unheard-of sergeant played by MIFUNE Toshiro led a boys military band in an operation to recover a fort called “Yakiba (a crematory)”. The words mentioned above, “They can’t even live past 20 years…” is said by the sergeant, Mifune in a scene from the film when some of the boy soldiers killed in action were buried.

On the other hand, in the comedy, “The Elegant Life of Mr. Everyman” (1963), Okamoto describes the daily life of Mr. Eburi, a “Senchu-ha” salaryman coping with the generation gap and post war trauma. In the film, Mr. Eburi’s father who belonged to the older generation, reflected the ups and downs of Japan itself in his life. And Mr. Eburi played terrifically by KOBAYASHI Keiju laid bare the feelings of “Senchu-ha” like deep-seated grudge. “The Elegant Life of Mr. Everyman” was seen to be too innovative for the studio. Toho producer, FUJIMOTO Sanezumi was not pleased with this film and scolded Okamoto, describing the film as a “curve ball” with reference to a baseball pitching style. Despite this, the comedy went on to become one of Okamoto’s masterpieces.

“Japan’s Longest Day (a.k.a. The Emperor and a General)” (1967) is about the last 24 hours of 15 August 1945, showing the struggle of the military authority, the politicians on the radio broadcasting the Emperor’s edict and the resulting coup d’etat by young officers rejecting the termination of the War. The film is 2 and a half hours long, but Okamoto’s tight direction and speedy editing keeps the story suspenseful throughout. While the film is quite entertaining, Okamoto’s underlying cynical view of war is there. The young officers’ voices bawling to urge the revolt for the continuity of the war sound empty and their pure belief for the nation brings to the audience the madness and horror of war.

After “Japan’s Longest Day (a.k.a. The Emperor and a General)”, Okamoto had an irresistible urge to make “Human Bullet (a.k.a. Nikudan)” (1968). While the former was about the end of the War from the perspective of the leaders, the latter was the end of the War from the viewpoint of a young, unknown and weak soldier unnamed as ‘he’, who is also an alter ego for Okamoto. “Human Bullet (a.k.a. Nikudan)” is a fiction based on Okamoto’s experiences during the war. He made it outside of Toho Studio, sharing the production cost with an independent company for arts film, Art Theater Guild (ATG), owing a debt for that. Like his usual work, “Human Bullet (a.k.a. Nikudan)” makes fun of the army, with humorous sequences involving the last 24 hours leave of a suicide attack soldier. On the other hand, the film is sometimes filled with strong poetry and delicate sorrow not seen in his previous films. By the way, when “Human Bullet (a.k.a. Nikudan)” was produced, Okamoto’s wife, OKAMOTO Mineko ran about borrowing money for the production cost on behalf of her husband. Later Okamoto Mineko became a film producer and continued supporting her husband in production work.

In 1971, Okamoto directed “Battle of Okinawa”, about the only ground battle in Japan where 200,000 people were killed. Working with a limited budget from Toho, Okamoto managed to show the war from both sides of the military and the citizens, describing each character well as an individual while never letting the film become heroic or spectacle.

The entertaining crime comedy, “Rainbow Kids” (1991) was about a 82-year-old granny kidnapped for her huge estate by 3 young amateur criminals. At the last sequence of the film, the granny said to herself “What has the nation been for me?”

In Okamoto’s films, there is a consistent underlying humanism. It does not matter whether it is a war film or not. Like the Japanese proverb “Issun no Mushi nimo Gobu no Tamashi (even a small worm has his own pride; it is similar to a English phrase “even a worm will turn”.)”, it is anger against individual sacrifice for a national polity, condition or authority. But that anger is seldom shown directly. Okamoto tried to make his work entertaining first. In the sprightly rhythm of direction and editing, he made ‘insignificant’ characters lively, sometimes laughing the absurdity of war, sometimes observing the horror of war. In there, Okamoto’s humanism is like a secret pinch, instead of shouting in a loud voice, it arrives engraved in the audience’ heart. (8 July 2015)

References:
Toho Shuppan Jigyo-shitsu (Toho Publishing Department) “Kihachi: Artisan with Four Beat” published by Toho Publishing Department in Japan in 1992
OKAMOTO Kihachi “Majime to Fumajime no Aida (Between Seriousness and Unseriousness)” published by Chikuma Shobo in Japan in 2011

『映画』タワーリング・インフェルノ（The Towering Inferno) 新宿ミラノ座にて

2014年12月24日

「タワーリング・インフェルノ」———さよなら、新宿ミラノ座　（***映画レビューではありません）

公開年：1974年

製作国：アメリカ

監督：ジョン・ギラーミン

出演：スティーブ・マックイーン、ポール・ニューマン

見た場所：新宿ミラノ座

レビューの英語版はこちらをクリックして下さい。(Click here to read the English review.)

　2014年大晦日に新宿ミラノ座が閉まると聞き、たまたま東京に行ったので、最終興行を見に行った。過去58年間の上映作品の中から歴代のヒット作を再上映していたのだが、この日は1975年日本公開のパニック映画の傑作、「タワーリング・インフェルノ」だった。

 

　新宿ミラノ座は、歌舞伎町の複合娯楽施設TOKYU MILANOの代表的映画館だった。新宿ミラノ座が閉まるということは、日本で最後の客席数1000席を超える映画館が閉まるということであり、そのため閉館の話題はテレビ等でもニュースになった。閉館の理由は、ビルの老朽化とシネコンに押されて客足が遠のいたことだという。私が東京にいた頃は、このミラノ座よりもむしろ、同じTOKYU MILANO内のミニシアター、シネマスクエアとうきゅうにお世話になった。この閉館でシネマスクエアとうきゅうも閉まるため、ミラノ座最終興行では、シネマスクエアとうきゅうのかつてのヒット作も番組に組まれていた。

　近年、日本では古い映画館がどんどん閉まって行く。私は新宿ミラノ座の固定ファンではなかったので、昨今の映画館の閉鎖では、このミラノ座よりもむしろ吉祥寺バウスシアターの閉館の方が、私にはショックだった。でも、ミラノ座が閉館されることはやはり寂しかった。TOKYU MILANOのビルとミラノ座は、私にとっては歌舞伎町を代表する顔だった。あの巨大なボウリング・ピンのついた建物は、一大歓楽街、歌舞伎町の表玄関を表すようだった。かつて春の夜に、うっかり間違って早慶戦の日にこの辺りに来てしまうと、へべれけに酔いしれた学生達が調子に乗って、わさわさ騒いでいたものだ。今もあんな景気のいいことが行われているのだろうか。

　

　昔は映画館なんて、チケットを買ったら、一日中居座ることも可能だった。各回入替制ではなかったのだ。座席指定もなかった。人気作品の時には立ち見も出たし、食べ物も外から持ち込んだものだった（それでも映画館が利益を出すことができたのである）。そんな郷愁に若干浸りつつ、「新宿ミラノ座より愛をこめて〜Last Show〜」と題された興行を見に行ったのだった。

 

　1000席の客席の眺めは壮観だった。もちろん自由席だったが、これだけ広いとどこに座ったらいいのかもはやわからなくなる。私が見に行ったのは、クリスマス・イヴとはいえ平日夜7時の回だったが、それでも　多くのお客さんが入っていた。私のように閉館を聞きつけてやって来たと思われる、会社帰りのサラリーマンのお兄さん・おじさんも結構いた。この開始時刻だと、職場からまっすぐ映画館に来て、上映前に夕食を取る時間もなかったことと思う。ペットボトルのお茶を携え、チョコレートなどでとりあえず小腹を満たしている彼らの姿が泣かせた。そんなお兄さん・おじさん達の思いに応えるべく（もちろん女性の観客もたくさんいた）、スクリーンでは、「タワーリング・インフェルノ」、スティーブ・マックイーンとポール・ニューマン、二人のタフ・ガイが高層ビル火災と戦う映画が上映されたのだった。

　

　上映前に支配人による挨拶があったが、「タワーリング・インフェルノ」は新宿ミラノ座で歴代二位の観客動員数だったそうだ。その数32万人（ちなみに一位はスティーブン・スピルバーグの「E.T.」である）。映画雑誌にミラノ座上映作品リストが出ていたので確認したら、1975年の公開当時、6月の終わりから11月の半ばまで上映が行われていた。1000席の映画館で約5ヶ月間、一本の映画を上映していたわけである。映画はこれからも作られていくだろうし、新しい大ヒット作も生まれていくだろうが、もうこういう時代が戻って来ることはないだろうな、と何となく思った。

　

　それは、よく言われることであるが、映画が娯楽の中心だった時代である。さらに言うなら、映画が世界を知る（例えば、洋画で海外のことを知る）重要な窓口だった時代である。そしてさらに、たぶん、映画で孤独を知ることのできた時代である。

　

　映画館に一人で映画を見に行くと、暗い中に他の知らないお客さん達と座って、一緒に泣き笑いすることになる。見ている間は、暗闇が逆に居心地のいいものだ。そこでは人目を気にする必要はないが、かと言って一人ぼっちでもないからだ。映画に集中していると、憂鬱なことも忘れていられる。しかし、いったん映画が終わってしまうと、埃っぽい密閉された空間に自分一人。後は、見も知らない他人が素知らぬ顔をして、三々五々に立ち去って行く。

　

　例えば、前述した吉祥寺バウスシアターで、一人で変なチェコ映画など見てしまったとする。しかもそれが冬で、劇場を出たら北風が吹きつける夜になっていたりするともう大変である。「今日一日、自分は一体何をやっていたのか？」と、自分の人生が虚しくなって、死にたいように感じられる（もちろんこれは、そのチェコ映画自体が悪いわけでは決してない。）

　

　かりそめに他人と一緒にいたことで、実は最初から自分は一人であったという事実がいや増すような、そんな暗い気分を堪能することが、シネコンではなかなか難しいと思う。なぜなら今は、映画館の暗闇を出てロビーを抜ければ外、そこには北風がピープー吹く、または真夏の夕日が照りつける街が、というわけではないから。シネコンでは劇場を出ると、たいていショッピング・センターの中に出てしまう。映画館を去っても、またもう一つの非現実的な場所、しかも訪れる人を努めて明るく楽しい気持ちにしようとしてくれる場所に出るのだ。嫌な気持ちになる映画を見たとしても、それは忘れて、ドーナツでも食べるか何か、楽しいことをして帰ろうかしら、などと思ってしまう。

　

　映画が娯楽の王様であることはもうないだろうし、その一方で、映画館に行くことの暗さを味わうことも難しくなってしまった。「タワーリング・インフェルノ」が終わった後、心の中で「いい映画だったなー」と思いつつ、夜の街を黙々と歩いて帰った。12月末の東京は寒かった。ネオンと客引きに彩られていても、一人で歩いている自分には、歌舞伎町はにぎやかに感じられなかった。（2015年2月22日）

[Film] The Towering Inferno, in Shinjuku Milano-za

24 December 2014

“The Towering Inferno”---Farewell, Shinjuku Milano-za  (***This is not a review.)

Release Year: 1974

Country: USA

Director: John Guillermin

Cast: Steve McQueen, Paul Newman

Location I watched: Shinjuku Milano-za

Click here to read the Japanese review. (レビューの日本語版はこちらをクリックして下さい。）

   

I heard the Shinjuku Milano-za cinema was closing down at the end of 2014. By chance I was in Tokyo at that period, so I visited it to watch one of its final screenings. The cinema was showing the all-time box office hits from their 58 years history. The program of the day I went was “The Towering Inferno”, the disaster film masterpiece released in Japan in 1975.

  

Shinjuku Milano-za was the main cinema in the Tokyu Milano leisure complex building in Kabuki-cho, Shinjuku. The closure of Shinjuku Milano-za means that the last remaining large cinema hall with more than 1,000 seats in Japan closes down. For that, its closure was covered in the press. The reasons of its closure were that the building itself was old and deteriorating and that the cinema audience affected by the cinema complex’ flourish was decreasing. When I was living in Tokyo, I used to go to the Cinema Square Tokyu, a small art-house cinema located in the same building, Tokyu Milano building. It was closing, too, so a few former hit films shown previously in Cinema Square Tokyu was programmed as part of the Milano-za final screenings.

Cinema halls have been closing all around Japan. The recent closing of the Kichijoji Baus Theater was rather shocking to me than the closing of the Milano-za because I was never a fan of the Milano-za. But its closure still made me sad. For me, the Tokyu Milano building and the Milano-za was a main “face” of Kabuki-cho. The huge bowling pin replica on the front of the building signaled the doorway of Kabuki-cho, a great amusement area. I remember coming here accidentally in spring, on the day of So-Kei Sen (a traditional university baseball match between Waseda University and Keio University). There were filled with many drunken university students making noise, shouting whoopee. I wondered if this merrymaking tradition is still happening to this day.

Back then, in the cinema, you could buy a single cinema ticket and settle down there to watch film screening all day. Ushers did not try to chase you away every screening’s end. You could sit anywhere. If it was a very popular film and all the seats were full, you could watch it standing up from the aisle. You could bring in your own food and drinks (the cinema would still make a profit). When I went to the Milano-za to watch their program called “From Shinjuku Milano-za with Love—-the Last Show---“, I felt a little bit of nostalgia.

 

The view inside the cinema hall with 1,000 seats was spectacular. In such a big space, I didn’t know where I should seat (it is free seating). The day I went was on Christmas Eve for the 7pm screening. In Japan, Christmas is not a public holiday, so it was a normal weekday evening. Yet, hundreds of people came there. There were many “salarymen”, ranging from young “bro” to middle-aged “uncle”. They had heard of the Milano-za closing, and on that day, they probably rushed straight from the office, skipping dinner to make it in time for the screening. I saw them carrying a bottle of ocha (green tea) and snacking on chocolate to keep off their hunger. This small but sincere tribute to the Milano-za made me “weep” (“Weep” is a joking, but it was sure to be a heart-warming scene). In response to the expectation from the bros and uncles (Of course, from many ladies in the cinema), “The Towering Inferno”---a film about two tough guys, Steve McQueen and Paul Newman fighting a large fire in a high-rise building--started.

 By the way, before the screening, we had an introduction by the manager of Milano-za. According to him, “The Towering Inferno” is the second best box-office hit ever recorded in the Milano-za with a total audience of 320,000. The number one hit, by the way, is Steven Spielberg’s “E.T.”. Later, from a film magazine, I found that in 1975, the Milano-za had screened “The Towering Inferno” continuously from the end of June to the middle of November. A 1,000 seat cinema had been screening 1 single film for 5 months. New films will be produced, new big hit films will emerge, but those old days will never come back, I feel.

It is sometimes said that the days were when film was the centre of popular entertainment, and when film was an important window to discover the world (for example, when watching foreign imported films). And, maybe the days were when you could experience loneliness by watching a film.

When you go to the cinema alone, you sit down with strangers in the dark space and laugh or cry together. While you are watching a film, the darkness is rather comfortable for you. You do not have to be concerned about the public eye, but you are still in public and not lonely there. You can forget everything which makes you depressed. However, once the film is over, you find yourself left alone in the dusty and closed space. Total strangers around you, looking as if they do not notice your existence completely, leave there together in twos and threes.

I recall, for example, when I watched an odd Czech film or something alone in the Kichijoji Baus Theater. Stepping out of the theatre, on a winter night, besides the north wind was whistling. Then I was thinking, “What was I doing all day today?” I felt like dying for such a void in my life. (Of course, that was not that Czech film’ fault at all.)

Staying with others transitorily reveals more an undeniable fact that I have been alone from the first. Savouring such gloom is difficult now. In the old cinemas, at the moment you step out from the darkness of the cinema hall, leaving the cinema lobby, you are exposed in the outside world, maybe on a town street with the north wind blowing or under the sunset in a hot summer. Most modern cinema complexes are located within a shopping centre. The moment you leave the cinema, you find yourself in another unreal place where they are trying to make visitors happy and cheerful. Even after watching a depressing film, you feel like eating doughnuts, or having fun in the shopping centre on the way home.

Film will no longer be the centre of popular entertainment. And, it has become difficult to enjoy loneliness by going to the cinema. After “The Towering Inferno” finished, I walked back at night in the town, thinking in my mind, “It was a good film..”. Tokyo in December was cold. Kabuki-cho was colored by neon lights and barkers from the bars, but the town did not feel lively to me, walking alone in silence. (22 February 2015)