Shinjû: Ten no Amijima

"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

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.

A mesmerizing film which asks deep questions about the role [or interplay] of fate and free will in human actions. The occasional appearance of hooded background figures and their actions, sometimes just to change the scenery, is done in such a casual manner that it underlines the view that we are not always in full command of what is perceived to be our reality. The ending is truly stunning. A one of a kind experience!

Based on a 18th century bunraku play (Japanese form of puppet theater) by Chikamatsu, Double Suicide revolves around the star-crossed love of paper merchant Jihei and courtesan Koharu. The problem in Jihei's case however is twofold. First he's a married man and second he can't afford to pay the brothel Koharu works in and redeem her. In the face of their unrequisite and impossible love, Jihei and Koharu decide to commit suicide together - the inevitably tragic conclusion the title refers to.

Double Suicide is a three-act filmed play but it's director Masahiro Shinoda's command of the craft that transforms it into something more. Since the original is a bunraku puppet play, he opens the film with modern bunraku actors preparing for it and after the credits sequence switches the puppets for real actors.

The puppet masters however remain present for the entire movie, dressed in black suits, looking all the same, mute and mostly motionless, like artificial props and part of the set decoration they're charged with changing. Indeed they remove and change sets, actively take part in the action and interact with the actors and even freeze narrative time for our convenience but the best part (and a testament to Shinoda's talent) is that they never call attention to themselves as a gimmick.

They blend seamlessly with the combination of traditional and abstract painted sets and there are times you forget they're even present in the scene until they move. What they do mostly however is observe. Shinoda's direction is as usual perfect - enhanced by Criterion's pristine transfer, Double Suicide is a feast for the eyes shot in stark black and white, where the black is black and the white is white.

Related to Shinoda's excellent directorial skills, a common conception about him is that he's a director easy to admire but hard to love. I think Double Suicide effectively combines the best of both worlds - the technical prowess of a master cinematician with a touching and tragic love story, with universal roots but a very traditionally Japanese approach - the conflict between duty (giri) and passion (ninjo).

...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.