La Harpe de Birmanie

Very poignant anti-war statement, supported with passionate music and photography. A Japanese POW at the end of the war is separated from his comrades when he tries to coax some hold-outs to surrender. After disastrous results, he disguises as a Buddhist monk and is considered dead, wandering the countryside and continually confronted with the truly dead. His friends suspect he has survived and are disconsolate unless reunited with him. But before he can rejoin them, his journey gradually and painfully transforms him. He has a new mission and a new identity, his spiritual garb no longer a mere disguise.

Based on a novel by Michio Takeyama, The Burmese Harp was the first film that brought director Kon Ichikawa to international attention. It is the story of Mizushima (Shoji Yasui) a Japanese soldier in Burma at the close of World War Two who is sent on a mission by his Captain to inform another unit of the Japanese surrender and to convince them to stop fighting. When the unit refuses to give up and are destroyed by the British Army, only Mizushima remains alive and must come to terms with his nation's defeat. Pretending to be a Buddhist monk, he undergoes a religious conversion when he comes face to face with the staggering amount of death and destruction he sees as he travels across the region in search of his unit. Determined to honor and bury the dead, Mizushima is conflicted about remaining in Burma to live a life of service or returning to Japan to help rebuild his own country.

The film takes its name from a Burmese harp acquired by Mizushima. He has become an expert harpist and plays while the soldiers sing beautiful chorales with a sound so lush it feels as if it is coming from the Mormon Tabernacle. While the depiction of the soldiers may be idealized, The Burmese Harp transcends its limitations to become a universal testament not only to the madness that prevailed in Burma, but to the unspeakable horror of all war. Ichikawa, in spite of the fact that film became a classic, loved the story so much that he filmed it again in 1985.

Many in the United States have heard about how Germany (and maybe about how Italy) had to do a lot after World War II in order to deal with the residual effects of their actions during the war. It's also worth looking at how Japan had to do the same. Kon Ichikawa's "Biruma no tategoto" ("The Burmese Harp" in English) does a good job with this.

In July, 1945, a Japanese platoon in Burma gets captured by the British army. One of the men - named Mizushima - has to go to the mountains to convince another Japanese platoon to surrender. But the latter platoon refuses to do so and all the members get killed in a shootout. As Mizushima walks back to his platoon, he comes across the bodies of more soldiers who perished in the war. Thus he sees his new mission in life: no longer can he be a soldier, but becomes a Buddhist monk, with the aim of healing all affected by the war.

I see Mizushima as representing what Japan as a society had to do following its defeat in WWII. Aside from the fact that the Land of the Rising Sun has had to be a pacifist country (the US forced it to have a constitution prohibiting military intervention), the bombing of Hiroshima made the Japanese people averse to militarism in general. Certainly this movie's anti-war stance makes it all the more relevant in this day and age. I recommend it.

This is a film about the immediate aftermath of war from the perspective of the defeated. A Japanese company exhausted by their retreat through the Burmese jungle learn of their nation's surrender. At the request of their allied captors one of their number, Mizushima, agrees to journey to a mountain stronghold where another company is still holding out and engaging in combat. He tries to persuade his compatriots to lay down their arms and narrowly escapes death when they are massacred after refusing to give in. Appalled by the carnage around him, Mizushima decides not to return to his colleagues or country. Disguised as a Buddhist monk, he embarks on the task of laying to rest the war dead that would otherwise fall prey to the vultures. There is nothing in the way of plot beyond this. "The Burmese Harp" is that rare thing, a war film that does not rely on action. Rather does it attempt to define the innate dignity of a former aggressor attempting to salvage some sort of meaning through reparation rather than taking the comfortable course that peace can offer. Ichikawa's tender tribute to a form of saintliness sometimes totters on the tightrope of sentimentality and oversimplification - did ever weary soldiers sing more beautifully! - but by the end the message overrides all doubts. We are witnessing a proud expansionist nation coming to terms with collapse and attempting, through the powerful symbol of Mizushima, to expiate its past. Ichikawa made this film towards the end of the golden age of monochrome. that of Welles, Reed, Wyler and Ford. Like those giants he gives us wonderful closeups. "The Burmese Harp" abounds in evocative images of Burmese villagers, Buddhist monks and Japanese soldier that once seen leave an indelible impression within the mind.

Powerful, if slow moving, and relentlessly allegorical anti war film. The problem I have with allegorical works, be they movies, plays or novels, is that the characters, being more symbols than living, breathing characters with living, breathing quirks and contradictions, tend toward the stiff and humorless. And with the partial exception of the lone woman in this film, a subtly wry old crone, that is the case here.

What redeems the film and gives it its force is director Kon Ichikawa's imagery and use of music. Aided by his cinematographer Minoru Yokoyama, Ichikawa has many shots that are arresting and that linger in the mind. The most visceral, of course, are the killing fields through which the soldier turned monk Mizushima must pass in order to attain inner peace but for me the most affecting is the shot, from behind, of Mizushima, twin parrots perched on each shoulder, playing "No Place Like Home" on the eponymous musical instrument, child acolyte by his side and Japanese prisoners, behind barbed wire, listening, one hopes attentively and not just sentimentally, to the plaintive song. Which brings me to Ichikawa's use of music, mentioned by several previous reviewers. It is brilliant in its ability to convey the themes of humanity and brotherhood that are at the heart of this eminently good hearted work. In fact, the score is so striking that at times it reminds me of a John Ford film. And where I come from that is high praise, indeed. B plus.