La condizione umana: Parte II - Cammino verso l'eternità

Thanks to even just a couple of his works Kobayashi Masaki had already been cemented in my mind as one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live, and upon sitting for 'The human condition' that opinion is only affirmed once again. The first film of the trilogy, 'No greater love,' was stark and sometimes almost unbearable in the difficult gravity of its narrative that so heavily impugns war and the military - but also boasted some of the best writing, direction, and acting that I've ever seen in a title that was altogether exemplary. With the same cast and crew also working on this next portion of the trilogy it's safe to say that I had high expectations, though with a runtime of three hours it may well have again been the case that the picture would take its time to progress to the next level. Sure enough, 'Road to eternity' also begins comparatively softly, but ultimately such stringent dissection is almost beside the point, for this is just as strident in its harsh judgment, if arguably more subtle. Most war films emphasize big action sequences while unthinkingly embracing chest-beating jingoism, toxic masculinity, and sycophantic glorification of the military, and only rare examples are smarter and more thoughtful in approaching the subject matter. Like an even smaller corner of the genre, though this follows in the tradition of exemplars like Abel Gance's 'J'accuse' and Stanley Kubrick's 'Paths of glory' in being unflinching in its unabashedly scorching assessment of the military. In fact, though it starts out more gently, it doesn't take long before the story becomes as ugly as in its predecessor; 'Road to eternity' tackles a slightly different subset of the topic, but is just as fierce, resulting in a feature that is both wonderfully compelling and absorbing as a viewer, but also once again not the easiest to watch. But if that doesn't speak to the power of cinema, nothing does.

Picking up where the previous movie left off, idealist Kaji has been conscripted into the Imperial Army as a recruit, and his commitment to principles of humanism and justice butt up against the turgid reality of the institution and those who breathlessly uphold it. Informed by his own experiences while working alongside Matsuyama Zenzo from Gomikawa Junpei's novel, Kobayashi sets his withering gaze on the dangerously boorish juvenility, barbarous hypermasculinity (and homophobia, and misogyny), and abusive rigidity of basic training and military units; the cold, unyielding inhumanity and self-protecting inaccountability of any military command structure; and even the reckless severity of army hospitals. All this only builds upon those themes already addressed in 'No greater love,' including the corrosive destruction that war and military culture wreak on the human spirit; if not entirely as rough, in no time the viewing experience is just as commanding. Even through all the unpleasantness the narrative is roundly captivating as Kaji's stubbornness again produces trouble, and the scene writing remains dynamic and gripping as the plot develops toward an inevitable, terrible culmination. Kobayashi's direction is unfailingly tight all the while, sustaining a buzzing electricity about the proceedings while orchestrating shots and scenes with masterful finesse. This is to say nothing of the cast, all giving superb, spirited performances befitting the grim vibes of the saga. Naturally Nakadai Tatsuya stands out most as Kaji, deftly meeting the physical and emotional demands placed on him as an actor, but co-stars including Tanaka Kunie, Sato Kei, and Fujita Susumu are to be commended just as much.

While less harried and visceral than in some comparable fare, the stunts, effects, and action sequences we see in 'Road to eternity' are no less brutal and troubling. Miyajima Yoshio's cinematography is gratifyingly sharp and vivid in capturing every detail, whether the nuances of the acting or the horrid, varied violence throughout, to say nothing of the crystal clear audio. Outstanding detail fills the production design, art direction, costume design, and hair and makeup to adjoin terrific filming locations, and the excellence of the craftsmanship somewhat stands in contrast to the nature of the material and the presentation. Kinoshita Chuji's original music seems even more prevalent to me in this title and it is a welcome, somber complement to the tale at hand. Truly, in all regards this is just as fantastic as Part I - the writing, acting, and direction just as exceptional, the storytelling just as dour and dispiriting, and the criticism of war and the military just as strong. I'm inclined to think that this portion of 'The human condition' may overall be less fully striking, yet any discrepancy is quality is negligible to the point that nitpicking is pointless. One way or another the incontrovertible fact is that this is another essential classic in Kobayashi's oeuvre, and 'Road to eternity' and the broader trilogy are stellar movies that demand viewership. Between the tenor of the story and the pictures' lengths one should be well aware of what they're getting into when sitting to watch, but if you have the opportunity to do so, it would be a sore mistake to pass these up. Kobayashi once again proves what an incredible filmmaker he was, and I can only give this my very highest and heartiest recommendation.

This second part of the trilogy is as powerful as the first one. It is gritty but so intense, riveting, I am so amazed, that I think it's such a shame that no more audiences watched it. It is a precious document, rare, so rich for any history lover, searcher or simply movie goer. A so poignant story, that it is impossible to remain frozen in front of it. Keep in mind that no Hollywood or even European film could have been like this one. A pure masterpiece that I highly recommend. This director from Japan was an outcast in his own country precisely because of those three movies. I am not surprised.

Kaji is sent to the Japanese army labeled of Red and is mistreated by the vets. Along his assignment, Kaji witnesses cruelties in the army; he revolts against the abusive treatment spent to the recruit Obara that commits suicide; he also sees his friend Shinjô Ittôhei defecting to the Russian border; and he ends in the front to fight a lost battle against the Soviet tanks division.

"The Human Condition – Parts III & IV" is the first sequel of the anti- war masterpiece by Masaki Kobayashi. The story is impressively realistic and magnificently shot with top-notch camera work, giving the sensation of a documentary. But maybe the most impressive is to see the treatment of the Japanese military with their soldiers. If they treated their own compatriots with such brutality, imagine how the enemies would be treated? My vote is ten.

Title (Brazil): Not Available

The Greeks used the theme of purification through suffering. It is, I believe, the central them of The Iliad. Kaji is a classic hero. He is a man of stuff that few are. In the first, he is nearly destroyed by his own ethical being. Seen as an enemy sympathizer (mainly the Chinese) he ignores the platitudes of war and sees it as something humanity doesn't need. Of course, mankind only knows war and makes heroes out of warriors (even if they must die) and glorifies the whole idea of war. In the second part of the trilogy, Kaji has been drafted and is seen as trouble and watched. He is put in charge of a group of mature soldiers (Japan is losing the war and calling middle aged men to fight). He tries to get his superiors to treat recruits with kindness. This really rubs the other soldiers the wrong way and he continues to be a liability to them.

In the latter part of the film, he and his men go into battle. Unfortunately, with the Japanese on the skids, they are attacked by a Russian tank battalion. They are sitting ducks. Kaji continues to exhibit his heroism, even though many of the men have lost their discipline. Yet instead of seeing himself as a hero, he continues to see the evils of war.

All filmed at once and released over a period of three years, The Human Condition is the Japanese, arthouse version of The Lord of the Rings or Manon of the Source, a single film production broken up into multiple parts for release reasons (who's gonna sit through nine-and-a-half hours at once?). The second part continues the main character's journey downward from a suited up bureaucrat in a corporate office to almost an animal by the end of this, his time in the Japanese army in Manchuria as Japan is steadily losing the overall conflict on both sides, from America at the Pacific and from the Soviet Union on the land.

Kaji (Tatsuya Nakadai) is in basic training at a remote military installation near the front against the Soviet army. He is under suspicion, meaning that he receives informal harsher treatment and won't be on the promotions list, just like Shinjo (Kei Sato), a three-year recruit that has accusations over his head that he is a communist because his brother wrote in a communist paper. The two have become friends, isolated from the rest of the unit, but Shinjo is kept busy by their commanding officer Warrant Officer Hino (Jun Tatara) to the point where they simply don't have enough time for any kind of plotting. Otherwise, Kaji is a good soldier. He's a quality marksman, and he does what he can for the struggling members of the unit, in particular Obara (Kunie Tanaka), a bespectacled young man whose wife and mother-in-law are always fighting back home.

The trials and tribulations of a Japanese soldier at the tail end of World War II are not exactly the stuff of American cinema depictions of American military basic trainings. There's a whole lot more corporal punishment meted out all of the time for the slightest of infractions. The opening scene of the film is actually the unit being awoken in the middle of the night, forced to line up, and the officer in charge slapping every single one of them because a cigarette butt was found in the drinking water. Obara was in charge before lights out, so he is blamed. Kaji comes to his defense with his own witness testimony that everything was in order when Obara was relieved, evidence that heavily implies that it was an officer patrolling around the barracks that flicked the cigarette into the water, but the officer will have none of it. Punishment will be meted out to the junior recruits with the veterans looking on from their bunks up above.

This period in basic training really is a transitional period for Kaji, between the remnants of the civilized world and the harsh wilderness and savagery of life on the battlefield, so it seems appropriate that he gets one final moment with Michiko (Michiyo Aratama), his wife, who comes to the remote training ground and is granted one night with her husband in the storehouse. Their night is his last grasp of love before he must go to the front, and it's painful. They love each other deeply, and there seems to be little hope that they'll ever meet each other again.

The recruits' graduation is a long march, and Kaji does everything he can to help the exhausted Obara to finish it. He takes half of his pack on his own back and carries Obara's rifle, but Obara still cannot finish, eventually picked up by the cart picking up the stragglers (there are three total). The veterans in the training corps, led by Yoshida (Michiro Minami) then humiliate those who couldn't finish, most particularly Obara, which sends Obara into a spiral that ends with him committing suicide. His suicide scene ends up being incredibly sad, not just because he loses hope and decides to end it all with a rifle in the latrine (echoes of this definitely end up in Full Metal Jacket), but because he fails several times and then decides that it's a sign that he should continue on before the gun suddenly goes off. It's tragic in a way, and emblematic of how hard it is to find one's humanity in a system like this.

That extends to Kaji's reaction to Obara's suicide. He wants the offending veteran punished, but the command structure will not allow it. They use a variety of excuses, from Kaji having a personal vendetta to everything being hearsay, but they will not allow the punishment of the perpetrators. Kaji can only stew in his own anger at the injustice as the Japanese military refuses to do anything about it. When the unit is moved towards the border, things gain a different character. It almost becomes wistful as a gap forms between basic training and actual combat, with the border (presumably the border with the Soviet Union) just on the horizon, with promises of freedom for the individual (said by Shinjo, communist, so...eh, it's about the promise not the reality). During an emergency, Shinjo runs towards the border, deserting, and both Kaji and Yoshida run after him with Kaji knocking Yoshida into quicksand, unable to save him. He accidentally kills someone. The humanist who threw his whole life away to save some prisoners of war accidentally kills a man.

That's the end of Part 3. A lot of events in these films, and yet because they're all so tightly focused on Kaji himself and his emotional journey, it never feels like a jumble. There are a handful of small scenes without him (between a couple of superior officers, for instance, who talk about how his guts show that Kaji should remain on the promotions list), but even those scenes outside of his view are all in service of him. Even poor Obara's suicide feeds into Kaji's overall journey (sorry, Obara, this ain't your movie).

Part 4 moves the action to near the border where the unit goes in for artillery training, led by a friend of Kaji's from the civilian world (whom we saw briefly at the start of Part 1), Kageyama (Keiji Sada). Kaji gets the ranking of Private First Class and is put in charge of the barracks, giving him a chance to implement his humanist labor policies one more time, focusing on his fellow rookies. It all falls apart again in relatively the same fashion with human nature from outside the small group putting pressure on the inside until they crack. His ideals meet the real world and survive for a little while until they begin to fall apart as human nature intervenes over time. To relieve some of the tensions in the camp, Kageyama sends Kaji and most of the rookie soldiers out to build fortifications, during which the Russian campaign into Manchuria begins. Kaji's little unit is folded into a new one, and they are the second line of defense after the first line further up dies gloriously for the Japanese Empire.

And here, about six hours into this war epic, do we get our first battle. From a technical point of view, the battle is competent and small in scale. It's remarkably tense, though, and that has almost everything to do with the extraordinary amount of work that went into building Kaji as a character. There are about a dozen tanks, but the extras seem a bit thin. Still, it's easy to see what's going on and watch as the action moves around, and the action does no move in Japan's favor. In the end, Kaji must pick up his gun and fire into the coming soldiers. Did his bullets hit and kill the men we see? Can we be sure in the hail of millions of bullets? We can be sure of the post-battle moment when Kaji has to strangle a fellow Japanese soldier to keep him quiet that he killed him, though. The humanist has become an outright murderer. Surely there's no more for him to fall. We may find out in Parts 5 and 6.

Much like the first part, The Human Condition: Part II really could stand on its own. Kaji has his ideals and his journey (it's downward, if you hadn't surmised), and his time in the regular army has a clear beginning, middle, and end. And that journey is involving and surprisingly crushing. Watching an idealist in the middle of his ideals crashing around him to the point that he has to violate them all is really sad, and the subtext of both Kobayashi and Junpei Gomikawa's own views in relation to the trajectory of Japan through the 30s and 40s (they were against the militarism and colonization of Manchuria) gives it an extra flavor.

This may be the middle third of a three-part tale, but it's a great one.