Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters

Not many films can make a scene where a sado-masochist couple slice each other with razor blades appear beautiful, but Mishima pulls it off with plausible insight to a life style which is difficult to imagine. The film is intercut with lavishly produced scenes from Mishima's plays, but even the main biographic scenes of the film are highly theatrical.

John Bailey deserves a lot of credit for the lustrous visual quality of this film.

This is my favourite film and I think it is perfect. Unlike virtually any other film I can name, I never watch this film and think it would have been better if they'd changed this or that or whatever. Is this the definition of a work of art? I think so. Every brushstroke in Mishima is perfect and it all flows from the Schrader's script. I've always sort of liked Paul Schrader's work (you can't argue with Taxi Driver and Light Sleeper is an amazing film), but while his writing often seems to border on the bombastic, his directing style is usually non-existent. This is deliberate, I think, because his films usually deal with a search for redemption and are set in the real world; ugly and harsh. His style suits his themes as he presents his characters in a simple and realistic way, and lets them show the audience the truth of the situation. Imagine if Schrader had directed Taxi Driver or Bringing Out The Dead, instead of Scorsese. But like the protagonists of those two films, while Mishima the man was ideal Schrader material, right-wing, vain and at odds with society, his works were subtle and beautiful. In fact he had a secondary writing career as a woman's writer, churning out what can reasonably be described as romantic potboilers. So you wouldn't necessarily imagine that Schrader was the ideal man to capture that subtlety and beauty on film. I think the film shows that he was. The script he helped fashion splits Mishima the man into three parts; his life, his death and his mind. His life is represented in black and white, still camera, formal compositions. His death, for which he will always be best remembered, is handheld documentary style. And his mind is represented by the dramatised extracts from his novels, each one revealing the thought processes of this complex man, who hardly ever wrote a character that wasn't a reflection of himself. These dramatisations are beautiful to look at, thanks to Eiko Ishioka's remarkable production design and Schrader's imaginative staging. In all parts, the acting is superb, especially from Ken Ogata as Mishima, who captures the essential charm, arrogance and narcissism of the man. The photography is excellent throughout and contains images that the viewer will retain forever. Finally, the music is simply superb, perfectly matching the images, although written and recorded before shooting, adjusted during the editorial process and then re-recorded. How much the music influenced the shoot I do not know, but it bonds perfectly to the image. I have seen many ideas of what various people think the theme of the film is, what Schrader is trying to say. You know, the big stuff about life, death etc. But I do not think the film is saying anything. Mishima has already said it, the film simply repeats.

A story told in four chapters and in three levels. Flashbacks of Yukio Mishima's life, dramatizations of his written works, and the events of his final day of life.

If Mishima was a fictional character, I doubt if anyone would believe or accept such a creation. But he was a real, flesh and blood, human being, which makes the film all the more incredible. Granted that some of the facts have been dramatized or "enhanced" for the screen, but the story is quite factual.

A man of many contrasts: A devoted family man who kept a gay lover. A writer who saw his words being "not enough". A patriotic man at home in the present who yearned for a return to Imperial Japan's past glory. A man who struggled to unite movement with action, and saw everything he strove for fall apart at the most critical moment.

The film is lovingly made, magnificently acted, painstakingly edited and the musical soundtrack by Philip Glass will stay with you for days. The film's tight budget doesn't show at all.

Now available on DVD, this film is a worthy addition to the collections of true cinemaphiles.

My rating: 10/10

There are very few films that are able to tell such a complicated story on so many levels as well as Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters. One of the most difficult aspects of story telling is the ability to flashback and forward without losing the pace of the film. This film not only flashes back and fourth with the greatest of easy, but it also flows through some of Yukio Mishima greatest stories. This film exceeds in every aspect and is a joy to watch. Not to mention the incredible Philip Glass Soundtrack.

Someone else put his finger on where this magnificent film falls short when he said, "Mishima has already said it all, the film simply repeats." Ultimately, Schrader has made a movie which refuses to comment on Mishima one way or another, and which becomes somewhat lifeless and stilted in the final segment as a result. Because he is bending over backwards not to criticize Mishima, Schrader simply refuses to examine the uglier implications of his public suicide.

Ironically, this approach hurts the film precisely because Mishima himself was capable of much more perceptive self-criticism. In the first two chapters -- "Beauty" (THE GOLDEN PAVILION) and "Art" (KYOKO'S HOUSE) Schrader's work is nothing short of brilliant. With great subtlety, he interweaves black and white scenes from Mishima's early life with lush full-color scenes from his early novels. What makes these sections so haunting are the subtle, suggestive differences between Mishima and the people he is writing about. For example, Mizoguchi, the acolyte who destroys the Golden Temple, is not a homosexual, nor is he a talented writer. His stammering could be a metaphor for those things, or it could be a metaphor for nothing at all. The mystery of creation and imagination, wordless and inexpressible, really seems to come to life here -- particularly in the dissolve where the schoolboy Mishima "morphs" into the slightly older Mizoguchi.

The problems start in the third chapter, "Action." Here Schrader films scenes from Mishima's RUNAWAY HORSES (one of my personal favorites) as if they are not just similar, but absolutely interchangeable with Mishima's militarist activities with the Shield Society. Schrader seems to assume that the hero of the novel, Isao, is simply a stand in for Mishima. How can you tell? Because Schrader cuts out precisely those sections of the novel in which Mishima actually analyzes Isao's emotions and his illusions. The Isao of this movie is merely a straw man who spouts platitudes about the emperor and Japan's greatness. The Isao of the book is a courageous, unselfish, but very human teenage boy, whose callous and narrow-minded parents are unable to love and who plainly have had a crushing effect on his psyche. Mishima, whether consciously or not, included some truly vile scenes of parental cruelty and manipulation in this book precisely because he understood on some level that Isao's decision to end his own life was not entirely unselfish. The connection between the sordid ugliness of Isao's loveless home and his desire to die a violent death is clear enough in the book. But it is absent from the movie. Oddly enough, Schrader thinks he is protecting Mishima in the last section, by not moralizing about the suicide, but he is actually diminishing him as an author.

The RUNAWAY HORSES section is by far the weakest of the movie. The final scenes, in which Mishima at the moment of death attains "oneness" with his heroes, really are quite exhilarating. But they would have been still richer if Schrader had taken a more nuanced approach to RUNAWAY HORSES, instead of just viewing it as a "blueprint" for the last events in Mishima's life.

This is unquestionably a brilliant, inspiring film, but it's not quite flawless.