Shinjû: Ten no Amijima

Fine film. I usually prefer non historic Japanese films but this is really very good and the tendency to being ponderous is not here at all. Watched this after seeing the wonderful Pale Flower, directed by Masahiro Shinoda a few years before this and was not disappointed. The film opens with a discussion as to how the suicide sequence is to be shot and we see traditional Kabuki puppets, all during the opening credits. Historic setting and very traditional goings on, not good news, I thought but how wrong. Once the film begins we are in the territory of live action only, although there is the sensational element of puppetry in the form of black cloaked 'puppeteers' forever hovering around, attending to the main protagonists and changing scenery about. There is not a frame that is not perfect and despite the plot being remarkably slender, this is riveting and all involving.

Kichiemon Nakamura is a paper merchant, desperately in love with courtesan Shima Iwashita and she with him, but she has five years left on her contract and he does not have the money to free her from it. He is also married -- his wife is also played by Miss Iwashita, who is married to the director of the movie, Masahiro Shinoda -- and so they speak about killing themselves together. In the meantime, their love has become common gossip.

It's based on Chikamatsu Monzaemon's 1721 joruni puppet play THE LOVE SUICIDES AT ANIJIMAI; a live performance soon followed. Monzaemon (1653-1725) was the son of a masterless samurai. It is uncertain when he wrote the first of his more than 130 plays, but his earliest known credit was 1683's THE SOGA HEIRS. He wrote for puppet plays and, until the middle 1690s, kabuki. He is widely thought to be Japan's greatest playwright.

This production acknowledges both forms. The play starts in a theater, with a producer speaking of the problems; some mannequin heads bespeak of the puppet drama. The rest of the movie is kabuki-like, with artificial-looking sets and masked stagehands in black to move props around, follow the lovers as their go about the course of their tragedy, and aid in their suicide. Their presence in the cinematic medium, which usually stressed naturism, gives them a weird, demonic purpose as the executioners of fate.

Similar to the fate of the star-crossed lovers in Romeo and Juliet, Double Suicide by Masahiro Shinoda is Shakespearean in its theme of lovers who are forbidden by society's rules to be together and can only find fulfillment in death. The film is based on a 1720 Kabuki (or Bunraku) puppet play, The Love Suicide at Amijima by Monzaemon Chikamatsu, who has been called the Japanese Shakespeare. As the film begins, black-clad puppeteers known as kurago are busy assembling puppets and setting the stage for the drama. Soon live actors replace the puppets but the puppeteers remain in the background, silent participants changing the sets, assembling the props, and "pulling the strings", representing perhaps the inexorable hand that guides our lives or as Shinoda has said the `thin line between truth and falsehood". The film is intensely emotional and has the feel of grand opera but the puppeteers make clear the artificiality of the drama and keep us distanced.

In the film, Jihei (Kichiemon Nakamura) is a paper merchant who is married with two young children. Though he loves his wife Osan, he has been secretly seeing a courtesan Koharu (Shima Iwashita who also plays Osan) for two and a half years. He has dissipated his fortune at the brothel and now cannot raise enough money to redeem Koharu from her enslavement to the brothel's owner (Kamatari Fujiwara). Though his family finds out about their romance and Osan tries to persuade Jehei to sever the relationship, it becomes apparent that the bond is unbreakable and we watch helplessly as the inevitable tragedy unfolds. Double Suicide has a haunting score by Toru Takemitsu and amazing black and white photography, shown in sharp detail and contrast in the new Criterion DVD, and is highly recommended for a unique viewing experience.

"Double Suicide" is a bunraku puppet performance at its core, with perhaps the only difference being that actual humans play the roles of the puppets.

The puppet masters, their faces covered with thin black silk masks, move around props, rapidly change the minimal sets, never interfering with the plot or the characters, yet moving them forward and cooperating with them in a way that is not at all distracting.

The puppets themselves are finely crafted, and the characters that they play present a depth of humanity that is rare in all forms of staged entertainment (whether it be a movie, a play, or the like). Being puppets, however, the viewer is left feeling detached from them, even if there is a sense of humanity present that one can grasp. Oddly enough, that is a good thing in this case - it increases the sense of how the only thing that one could do when the tragic events unfold is to watch.

This is not a film for all tastes, obviously. But the same statement can apply to the bunraku puppet play that this movie is based on. This performance is pulled off with perfection, and I highly recommend it.

10 out of 10

...based on the 18th century play by Chikamatsu. Married paper merchant Jihei (Kichiemon Nakamura) falls in love with indentured prostitute Koharu (Sima Iwashita), and promises to raise the money necessary to secure her freedom. However, when their plans look unlikely to succeed, they swear to commit suicide together to be united in eternity. Sima Iwashita also plays Jihei's long-suffering wife Osan.

Director Masahiro Shinoda opts for a highly stylized production. The film open with a bunraku, or puppet show, troupe preparing for a performance of the play while Shinoda is heard discussing the film's script with screenwriter Toru Takemitsu. When the story finally gets underway, the performances range from realism to kabuki expressionism, while the sets are also a blend of the real-world with the deliberately artificial. The most striking aspect is the presence of stagehands, dressed in black from head to toe as is the traditional way in stage performances, lurking about the sets. Their otherworldly appearance and silent presence turn them into a sort of grim reaper hovering over the characters, signaling their inevitable fate.