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I saw the 1 hour version shown on TCM. I'll like to see the 78 minute restoration as this version has no inter titles, no translation of signs and missing a third of the film. Now, back then a benshi would live narrate so there wouldn't be titles but do they have a copy of what the benshi said during the film (if anything)? I would read a synopsis before watching as it makes things clearer. The plot is hard to follow, some of it is from the POV of crazy people or the dream of the protagonist. Well worth watching but more for admiration than enjoyment.

If you do not think you can take graphic scenes of mentally unstable people, this film is not for you.This story is about a man who takes a job at a local mental institution so he can be near his wife, who has gone mad. Throughout this long thought lost film you see clearly harrowing images of people at the institution. The soundtrack only adds to the foreboding. There are people lying catatonic and there is a dancer who doesn't stop dancing until she drops to the floor, exhausted. The film is 59 minutes long, I think it was originally longer but this was all that was found. There are no inter titles, its a silent film. In Japan, I am certain the benshi narrated the story in theaters, but your imagination has to follow this story. So, why a 7? It is daring, unflinching, brave and both ugly and not at the same time. As a point of reference only, Guy Maddin's work approaches this. Just know going in there is no happiness here. You won't soon forget this film. Best idea: Don't watch it before bedtime, it will stay with you.

This is actually one of the titles of the film, a page out of order. It perfectly reflects the film itself, a narrative fractured, demented, cast in and out of a feverish mind, but ultimately incomplete to us, and the various misconceptions it has spawned in trying to evaluate as though it was the whole thing.

I was increasingly suspicious of this while watching, that I was basically confronted with an incomplete film and so a film impenetrable not wholly by design but only because the keys have been lost to us, or are not attached to the film we are watching and we have to apprehend elsewhere. Doing a little research afterwards only confirmed my doubts. So a little context:

-the film is not the tip of the iceberg of an advanced cinema whose main body is lamentably lost to us; it was saved exactly because it was an exception, a low-budget oddity the filmmaker himself re-discovered in his garden shed. The majority of silent Japanese cinema - whose final traces were eclipsed in the aftermath of WWII - were generic studio reworkings of popular material.

-it is not the product of an 'isolated cinematic environment free of influence', rather a studied attempt to recreate what the French avant-garde was pioneering at the time; so yes, the superimpositions, the haze of motions and details, the rapid-fire montage, all of them tools in the attempt to offer us a glimpse of the fractured, elusive reality of the mind, available tools at the time that Kinugasa knew from other films.

-so even though the idea of a janitor coming to work in a mental hospital may carry hues of Caligari, the film itself is from the line of what in France was called impressionism; the films of Epstein, L'Herbier, Gance.

-most importantly, even though the closest parable I can think of is Menilmontant, another French film from the same year that in place of story tried to paint with only images a state of mind from inside the mirror, that film was directly structured around images. It was intended to be seen as we have it. Watching Page it becomes increasingly obvious that a story deeply pertains to what we see; as was customary in Japan at the time, that story was meant to be narrated to the audience by a benshi, a narrator supplied by each theater. We may cobble together a view of that story from other sources, but the intended effect is lost to us.

-there is still the problem that in the version we have approximately one third of the film is missing. Most of it in the end from what I can tell, where the girl is supposed to marry her fiancé (which echoes and wonderfully annotates the scene where the janitor imagines himself reunited with his wife.

Oh, what we have of the film is more than fine, it's actually one of the most captivating visions of the mind in disarray from the time. But it was just not meant to be seen as merely a tone poem. The dreamy flow is clearly flowing somewhere. What we have instead is only what was salvaged from it but at the same time near complete enough, making barely enough sense to stand on its own, that we may be inclined to accept as the full vision.

We can still accept this itself as a fragment of madness and interpret from where our imagination takes us. That is fine, I encourage this.

Rumors have been circulating about a new restored version, hopefully one that - next to a better print - somehow includes the narration, preferably by a benshi, or intertitles at the very least. Until then, no rating from me.

An old man works as a janitor in a mental hospital to be close to his wife who is a patient there and to try to get her out.

This is surely one of the most forgotten masterpieces of the silent era and an oddity in the history of Japanese cinema. Long thought lost, a print was found in the 70s and a music soundtrack added to it, which fits perfectly with the images. It might have been influenced by cabinet of doctor Caligary (director Kinugasa claimed he never saw the German film). However it surpasses it in style and in its more convincing (and chilly) portray of the inner mental state of the inmates in the asylum. To achieve this, the film makes use of every single film technique available at the time: multiple exposures and out of focus subjective point of view, tilted camera angles, fast and slow motion, expressionist lighting and superimpositions among others. It is also a very complicated film to follow, as it has not got intertitles.

The film opens with a montage of shots of rain hitting the windows of the hospital, wind shaking trees and of thunder. The unsettling weather metaphors the mental condition of the patients and introduces one of the them: a former dancer. The combination of sounds produced by rain, wind and thunder serves as the music that incites the dancer to get into a frantic, almost hypnotic dance. In another sequence involving the same patient engaged in another frenzied dance, she is being watched by other inmates. Multiple exposures of the dancer represent the patients' point of view and their confused "view" of the world.

These are just two examples from this amazing film trying to represent the patients' subconscious and view of the "sane" world.

In three words A MUST SEE.

Film history has been negligent in recognizing this landmark silent drama, made in 1926 by pioneering Japanese director Teinosuke Kinugasa, but unknown until 1971, when a surviving print was (literally) unearthed in the director's garden shed. The film was produced in an isolated creative environment far removed from any foreign influence, but is nevertheless a masterpiece of imagery and editing, revealing a stunning visual flair and employing montage techniques as skillfully as anyone since Eisenstein. It tells a powerful, hallucinatory story of a janitor in an insane asylum who wants desperately to help his inmate wife after she attempts suicide, and like Murnau's 'The Last Laugh' unfolds without the crutch of intertitles. The film has aged remarkable little after the better part of a century in limbo, but since its belated rediscovery has yet to earn the acclaim and evaluation it deserves.

...from director Teinosuke Kinugasa. A man (Masuo Inoue) works as a janitor at a mental asylum in order to be near his wife (Yoshie Nakagawa), who is a patient. The man's daughter (Ayako Iijima) is to be married soon, and questions of attendance are making things difficult for the man.

This meager narrative provides the framework for a lot of flash-cut editing, strobing visual tricks, and experimental cinema. This isn't interesting as a traditional story (at least, not the existing version, which is said to be missing nearly a third of its original footage), but rather in depicting madness and inner turmoil in a visual fashion. Even the usual silent film intertitles are absent, rendering the film a purely visual experience. The score that was used on the version I watched seemed like it was suited for a late 1960s acid party. The original release was said to have had a narrator and traditional Japanese music accompaniment. What I saw was still an interesting viewing, much of it closer to experimental films from the 1960s than what I'm used to seeing from the 1920s.

This very strange movie is unlike anything made in the west at the time. With its tumultuous emotions and net of visions, dreams, and startling images, its effect is both beautiful and unsettling. The actors are choreographed more like dance than acting. It contains the only dream sequence I know of that actually resembles a real nightmare (sorry, Dali fans).

Kurutta Ippeji offers a view on the distorted perspective of a troubled janitor in a mental asylum. As a proof of concept, it shows that experimental cinematic techniques can affect the way narration is perceived by the viewer - here, the visual elements contribute to how the viewer experiences the characters' mental state. As an experiment, the movie possibly even makes a stronger case than the comparably surreal Hausu (1977), which is partly imbalanced in its style. However, due to the poor visual quality and the lack of functional storytelling, this experimental feature can't be easily recommended to people looking for a more conventional feature. Overall 7/10 Full Review on movie-discouse.blogspot.com

I saw "A Page of Madness" in a silent film course at Wesleyan University and it haunts me still after 25 years. Truly ahead of its time - perhaps even still - this gem of a film reveals both the frightening and attractive aspects of madness.

Silent film must be very powerful to convey the concept so that nothing is missed. There is no longer any talk of silent films today, but in the past this style of film was very common. Directors at that time had a harder time, because the over-explanation in the text made their film insignificant, and too little explanation might confuse the viewer.

Exactly what happened in "A Page of Madness" was the viewer's confusion. Of course, we can not object to this rationale, because the problem with "a page of madness" is the removal of Benshi (the narrator who narrates the film live). That is, at first, when the film was released in the early years, Benshi was removed, but after the director lost the film (which is a strange and debatable event), Banshi was also removed, and when the film was re-released in 1975, There was no narrator to narrate the film, so this confuses the film for the viewer. But the content of the film ... The film is about a man who works in an orphanage, because he wants to run away from his wife ... In general, this film should be considered one of the best in the horror-psychological genre. Because a lot of techniques have been used, such as mixing images together and creating panic, as well as traditional Japanese music. The director has played the actors well. The atmosphere is well designed to scare the spectator. The atmosphere of the film is very surreal and the symbolism is evident in the film. It is like dancing in one of the prison rooms and using Shita masks (masks used in No performances). In any case, one can get a lot of objections from a film made 100 years ago, but we should look a little fairer because the possibilities of filmmaking were much less. And finally, the question that occupies the viewer's mind is whether the man himself is insane and delusional or not?

Shayan Iroomloo Tabrizi.

It's easy to make really general comments about a film like this. The fact that it's one of the only remaining Japanese films from this era causes people to say that it "started Japanese cinema" and was "unlike anything the west ever made." The latter of these two comments is particularly false as Kinugasa himself admitted to ripping off "Caligari" on more than one occasion. But style was meant to be imitated, and doesn't take away from this film's importance. What we have here is experimental themes and composition built on already established visual styles, opening the doors for a truly brilliant layering of narratives and realities. For this purpose, the madhouse is the ideal setting, and the writers knew this. This is a landmark film, and every effort should be made to track it down.

5 out of 5 - Essential

Kurutta Ichipeiji / A Page of Madness (1926) : Brief Review -

Teinosuke Kinugasa's mental asylum thriller is ahead of time and way too complicated for human horror perception. Japanese cinema was emerging as a surprising factor in the 1920s and 1930s. This era set a base for them, which later went to a global stage in the 50s, 60s and 70s with many filmmakers making waves worldwide. When you look at the early silent films from Japan, you kind of understand the production issues. Even the prints are not well preserved or edited. I mean, it's so visible on the screen. The same thing happened to early French classics. I mean, you watch some pathbreaking content on the screen, but the video quality is way too ordinary compared to what Hollywood and German cinema were doing then. Anyway, one has to review the film as per the industry standard because everyone tries their best with the available production. A Page of Madness is a solid human-horror drama with subtle psychological theories, making for a pathbreaking getaway in Japanese cinema. What makes it more special is the surroundings. The film is set in a mental Asylum, which gives it a free hand to show the characters as a complete mad mess and wild animals. You look at them dancing, running, fighting, and doing other regular things that mental patients do, but the director adds his subtle human-horror elements to the visual outcome. It's just about you noticing all those effects, be it the woman, the bearded man, the doctor, the janitor, or that aide who bows down to him at last. The symphonic trauma is well explained, but still, it's a very complicated film for the normal perception of the horror or thriller genre. Not having intertitles makes it even more complex, but that leads to the film getting your absolute attention on the display. Teinosuke Kinugasa could have been a little lighter, but he was destined to make a heavy film that cannot be lifted easily by people.

RATING - 7/10*

By - #samthebestest.

If you decide to watch this film, read through the summary on IMDb first. While this summary does help to explain what you're seeing (and you DO need this), it also praises the film for not relying on intertitle cards. I totally disagree...a few would have helped explain the action, as without the summary much of it just wouldn't make sense. As it is, the film ALREADY is confusing and strange.

The style of "A Page of Madness" is uniquely strange. It's a Japanese silent film which reminds me a bit of the German Expressionist film "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari"--but not nearly so strange and stylized. Instead, the film relies on fast intercutting of symbols and shapes to provide the odd style for the movie. It also is a bit reminiscent of the American horror film "Freaks" as it tries to evoke a strong reaction in the viewer as they're exposed to insane folks WILDLY overacting and overdoing the whole crazy bit. To me, it makes for an oddly interesting art film but not much more. It's certainly NOT a film to appeal to mass audiences as they wouldn't sit still for such a vague and bizarro film.

As for the plot, I'll have to assume the one on IMDb is correct. I couldn't exactly tell what was happening but the summary did make the film make sense.

Very few Japanese films exist from the silent period. In fact, statistics show that only 1% of around 7,000 productions are represented in the a catalogue of the silent cycle. Director Teinosuke Kinugasa's Kurutta Ippeji (also known as A Page of Madness) was thought lost (and perhaps forgotten) until he himself discovered a print in a warehouse in 1971. He diligently produced a new music soundtrack and re-released it. This is the first example of a silent film from Japan, and have to say that the world should be thankful that Kinugasa discovered this avant- garde little master work.

The film was produced with an avant garde group of artists, known as Shinkankak-ha (School of New Perceptions), an experimental art movement that rejected naturalism, or realism, and was highly influenced by European art movements such as Expressionism, Dada, and Cubism, and evidently uses the techniques found in Soviet Montage, particularly Sergei Eisenstein - fundamentally, as this project deals with madness, it would be easy to draw parallels with Robert Weine's seminal horror film Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari (1920). What the art trope bring to this extreme nightmare are those exaggerated, pointed and alarmist movements like the expressionist acting styles being used in European film and stage work - but happens to find its own stylistic flourishes, and colloquial "voice" (for want of a better word).

Kurutta ippeji's simplistic story focuses on a man (Masuo Inoue) whom has taken a job as a janitor in an asylum, so that he may be close to his wife (Yoshie Nakagawa), who has been condemned. His aim is to aid in her escape from the dogmatic institution. However, when the break-out is orchestrated, her madness has enveloped her, and she is unwilling to leave with her husband. The couples daughter (Ayako Iijima) visits the asylum to advise her mother of her engagement, which leads to a maelstrom of fantastically abstract flashbacks, giving light to the reasons the mother is condemned.

The films style is so incredibly complex and technically brilliant. In the opening sequence, the jarring compositions (both beautiful and haunting), superimposition's, and quick montage editing, creates an assault on the senses that is difficult to break away from - torrential rain falls the scenery in shots of the asylum, expressionist compositions of wind-battered tree branches clashing with windows, and the sight of a woman riddled in madness. The use of superimposition becomes greater as the film moves into crescendo, and these layers portray climatically the merger of madness and modernity. Do we witness the ghosts that haunt the corridors of the asylum? Or are these the devastating spectre's of modernity, and the destruction of tradition? An ironic speculation perhaps, considering the mechanics of cinema production and exhibition.

To a modern audience, silent cinema is often a difficult watch. This film is of particular note for this argument. Kurutta ippeji has no title cards describing dialogue, or internal action, which makes it difficult to follow at times. But as with all 1920's Japanese cinema, the films were always accompanied by narration - a storyteller known colloquially as a benshi. But this small infraction does not hamper an incredibly dazzling piece of early experimental cinema, and one that should be viewed by any film enthusiast, at least for posterity - if not for a formative education on the stylistic diversity of film as art.

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A Page of Madness is an expressionistic Japanese film that has not gotten the attention it deserves. I was introduced to the film through the fifteen part documentary series The Story of Film an Odyssey. Fortunately, a friend had dubbed the silent film off of Turner Classic Movies during one of its infrequent showings.

The clip in The Story of a Film an Odyssey looked like some mad movie genius had crossed the set designs from a German expressionist film with the fast edits of a classic Russian work. This clip was from the attention grabbing opening of A Page of Madness. A janitor wanders an insane asylum at night during a storm. The storm has a strange effect on the patients and, presumably, the attendant. The edits are fast, conveying mystery and terror like in a horror film. This sequence (and a sequence at the climax) is nothing short of brilliance.

From here the film turns to a narrative, although an oblique one. This clerk or janitor seems to have an unhealthy fixation on one of the female patients. . . and more of one for this patient's daughter. The janitor clearly knew this family before the mother was committed. IMDb says that the woman is the janitor's wife. I am not doubting this, but the film is not clear on this point. What is clear is that the janitor is suffering from a lack of love. This janitor is not the only one. One patient is compelled to dance suggestively and nearly starts a riot. By contrast, the doctors appear clinical and ineffectual. As the film goes along, the protagonist's mental state seems to wane.

Much about the plot is unclear. Many Japanese silent were narrated by a spokesman in the theater. This may have been the case with A Page of Madness; thus, some of the ambiguity would have been explained by the live narrator. I prefer to think the ambiguity was deliberate and never explained. The film has a wonderful sense of mystery to it. I don't want any more of an explanation. I (and probably most film fans) watch a lot of movies that are merely fair. These films are watchable, but they do not stay in one's memory. That is why A Page of Madness is so stunning. It kicks the door down and announces itself to the world. I feel less like a reviewer than a herald for a lost classic. Are you listening Criterion?

This film is a perfect example of a fluke. A fluke filled with elements that defined cinema for years to come, used correctly by a director that stumbled upon them, practically, used them together to great effect but was unable to leave a long-lasting mark. It's a fluke and a director's film.

You can argue that this film in particular really encapsulates the feeling of dread and madness the setting provides. Sure. You can argue that the intention was exactly that and that the director really had true creative inspiration when crafting them. All of that is true and yet Teinosuke Kinugasa is a one hit wonder. He created a niche film where directors use it to inspire themselves, where editors inspire themselves but a movie where a spectator is left boggled and with very little at the end.

A good thing with film that talk about mental health is that you can go all out, really absurd-like, and it doesn't really have to make sense. It just is.

I have to admit, I wasn't expecting much going into this film viewing in my Japenese film class, but this film really blew me away. The director does a wonderful job following through with the title of his film, truly portraying a picture of madness. I think the fact that this film is silent adds to the resemblance of madness, helping the viewer experience the characters inner world rather than the world outside his mind. This film just added to my feelings about foreign silent films vs. American, in that the foreign films work much more to exercise your mind and make you think rather than going for the fluffy film always with the happy ending, exercising the imagination very little.

Teinosuke Kinugasa's compelling silent film begins with an incredibly powerful, creatively edited opening sequence before going on to examine the torment of a middle-aged man who takes a job in an insane asylum in order to be close to his wife, who is one of the inmates. The absence of subtitles and use of flashbacks makes A Page of Madness difficult to follow at times, but the visual mastery displayed by Kinugasa provides plenty to dwell upon.

The story is admittedly hard to follow. There are no intertitles and it would have originally been narrated by a benshi. But the relative lack of narrative (and don't get me wrong, there is a discernible plot) only adds to the unsettling, off-kilter nature of the film. It's one of the most dizzying, delirious depictions of insanity I've seen, with haunting and bizarre imagery around every corner, an almost complete breakdown of the wall between subjective and objective reality... and a reminder that, in a way, all cinema is a form of madness. The variety and level of technique on display is not only impressive, but used appropriately. The avant-garde 1971 score makes for brilliant accompaniment as well. It's an exhilarating piece of work, both despite and because of its incompleteness.

I've heard some Japanese silents had a narrator live in the cinema to detail what was happening. But without it, and without intertitles, this film is nigh on unwatchable. The story is impossible to follow. As it stands, it feels not like a story, but a visual art project, in the vain of 'Un Chien Andalou'. To that extent there are a few striking images, with the noir lighting being a highlight, but it is very repetitious. All we see are the same images of women in cells going crazy, and a calm man gazing between the bars. I've read the director had little money while making the film, and it shows, for the same sets are repeated over and over. There really isn't enough material here to warrant a feature length film, and the true madness of the film is that they tried to stretch it so long. 10 or 20 minutes would have been far more suitable.

Where does one begin with this extraordinary piece? Despite missing two reels and lacking both intertitles and the customary narration that would accompany Japanese films at that time, it succeeds thanks to its mesmerising images and the realistic performances that Teinosuke Kinugasa has drawn from his cast.

To say that Kinugasa was experiencing financial troubles would be an understatement but his budgetary limitations have been overcome by sheer inventiveness. He has been aided immeasurably by his actors, many of whom painted the sets, made props and slept on the floor. Apparently his leading actor Masuo Inoue, waived his fee.

Legend has it that the director unearthed a copy in 1971 but in reality there were three more copies in existence. That of course does not detract from his achievement here which is to manipulate past and present, reality and hallucination by using rhythmic montage, flashbacks, distortion and superimposition. Kinugasa could not have been unaware of Eisenstein whilst the influence of Wiene and Murnau is also evident.

All is confusion here and continual movement in the form of rioting by the inmates and Eiko Minani's perpetual dance. In the midst of this lunacy we have the stillness of the marvellous Inouie as an ex-naval officer who has taken a job as a janitor in an asylum in order to be near his deranged wife. This extremely harrowing and difficult role is played by Yoshie Nakagawa and the scene where she shrinks away from the open door to the outside world lingers long in the memory.

Other unforgettable scenes are those where the janitor is offered a brief respite by winning a prize at the fair and the wearing of the smiling Noh masks which is Kinugasa's final masterstroke.

The lasting impact of this film lies not just in the techniques involved in the making of it but in its stark reminder to us all that the mind is a delicate, finely-balanced instrument that can so easily be damaged.

I saw this for the first time few days back. It is about a man who lands himself into a mental asylum so that he can be near his wife who is an inmate cos of his past cruelty. The man, feeling guilty, had taken a job of a janitor at the asylum to take care of her. While inside among patients, the janitor slowly loses control of the border between dreams and reality. The film is very confusing due to the lack of intertitles n of course the weirdness which is present in most Japaness films makes it a confusing n surrealistic film. The asylum in the countryside, the torrential rainstorm, the weird dance sequence, the isolation n the daydreams were intriguing n eerie.