Yoru no onnatachi

Kenji Mizoguchi is arguably the greatest Japanese film-maker ever and it is truly a pity, therefore, that this is only the fifth film of his I have watched; luckily, the host of the Italian TV programme which showed WOMEN OF THE NIGHT promised that they will be screening a few more of his films in the near future. In any case, even if I found precious little reading material on the film, that same host dubbed it a "masterpiece" and a French review I found on the Internet said that it was "absolutely unmissable"! Having now watched it, I can verify that it was no idle praise.

Mizoguchi is well-known for being a feminist director and his extensive filmography is full of studies of downtrodden Japanase women of both contemporary and past eras. This happens to be the first bona-fide "women's picture" of his I have watched and even if it may be a notch less appealing than his very best films, UGETSU (1953) and SANSHO THE BAILIFF (1954), it is nevertheless an exceptionally well-made and moving film with a typically strong central performance from Mizoguchi regular Kinuyo Tanaka. Besides, Mizoguchi's remarkably unsentimental outlook ensures that facile answers to the questions raised are kept well at bay but without rendering the film unnecessarily depressing or bleak.

The plot deals with three post-WWII women (from the middle-aged Tanaka to a teenage acquaintance of hers) who all gradually and unwillingly turn to prostitution to make ends meet. The "women of the night" are depicted as being either cynical and bitter (like Tanaka who, despite being infected with disease, still keeps on prostituting herself so as to carry out her revenge on all manhood after being betrayed by her employer/lover), nymphomaniacs (who usually take out their own frustrations on the newer 'recruits') or, worse still, disease-ridden yet pregnant (like Tanaka's younger sister). The kindly doctors who shelter the loose women when in labor are ultimately powerless to prevent them from going back to plying their dangerous trade once they have delivered their usually stillborn children. The devastating final sequence (superbly executed through Mizoguchi's peerless mise-en-scene) portrays just such an occurrence in which Tanaka literally tries to beat some sense into her sister when she joins her on the streets once more, at which point the rest of the prostitutes either vent their anger on the two for scaring off potential customers with all the commotion or take the sisters' side for seeking a way out of their profession.

I had seen this movie back when I was a kid, in the 1960's. Thought it was great. Today, though, I can see why I liked it so much back then, but how the acting is actually pretty bad, and the story is pretty inconsistent with actual history. Never the less, it was a nice trip into nostalgia for a Saturday afternoon. Just don't expect too much.

Fusako Owada, a young woman in postwar Japan, is the mistress of a notorious drug dealer. Fusako's tenuous grasp on meaningful life is shaken when she learns that her lover is having an affair with her sister.

This film is generally dismissed as one of Mizoguchi's "lesser" films, and has been called a "good melodrama" -- something of a backhanded compliment. I like to think it was a bit more than that.

Aside from the drug aspect and the sister relationship, just the mistress status alone is worth examining. This is a very emotional part, as can be seen when the secretary asks if her boss really likes her. He gives a response along the lines of "I will try to be more affectionate." She is craving real love, and he is only acting the part...

Women of the Night is absorbing as a story of post-war malaise among women, of a lack of hope in their futures. It continues Kenji Mizogichi's body of work dedicated to showing women in a society that is perpetually against them, to greater or lesser degrees (usually greater, depending on time and place). While his final film, Street of Shame, is probably his best and most entertaining, this film does have some memorable moments. It tells of two women, one of whom finds out near the start of the film that her husband has died, and after this becomes a "fallen woman" by being a drug dealer's woman on the side. Another drifts into prostitution, or rather almost becomes it, and the two of them get swept up into a women's prison-cum-hospital. One of them, eventually, escapes (this is the most visually striking single shot in the film, by the way, tracking as she struggles across the wire fence).

It's slow moving, even for 73 minutes, though to be fair the American cut feels like it's been cut up, so a recommendation may be half-hearted by default (sometimes it's hard to tell, other times, it looks like an editor cut right into a scene just when it's about to get really good). The performances by Tanaka and Takasuhi, and the actress playing Kumiko, a friend of their characters, are all strong to the degree they're asked, and the climax of the film carries some real power even in the midst of the melodrama and the whole "maybe we have screwed up our lives and should go home" conclusion forced on an audience. But Mizoguchi's aim is, for the most part, met: give the audience a view of this underworld of women without solid footing, and ask why this really is the way it is when these women could be doing other things or working as opposed to just being married or like this. And at the same time make them all human, and not (too) stereotyped. It's ultimately hopeful, but some cynicism in the process goes a long way.

Startling, forceful tale of women descending into a life of prostitution in post-war Osaka. Kinuyo Tanaka, who would play the lost mother of the protagonists in Sansho the Bailiff, stars as a woman who lost both her husband and son to illness long after the war has ended. When her younger sister, Sanae Takasugi, steals the man she's having an affair with, she joins the streetwalkers. Mizoguchi was heavily influenced by Italian Neorealism here, and most of it was filmed in the ruined streets of Osaka. It's blunt as Hell, and arguably exploitative. Mizoguchi disowned it later in his career. The two best sequences in the film, one where a group of prostitutes denudes a young rape victim, and the final one where Tanaka comes to the rescue of the same girl when another group of prostitutes is attacking her, are the seeds that would spawn Seijun Suzuki's Gate of Flesh. That's definitely a compliment, in my book. That final sequence in particular, despite more than a little heavy-handedness (it takes place in a burnt-out church), is one of the most emotionally draining in the director's career.