The Man without a Map (1968)

In the 1960s, filmmaker Hiroshi Teshigahara teamed up with novelist and screenwriter Kôbô Abe, cinematographer Hiroshi Segawa and composer Tôru Takemitsu and delivered a trilogy of some of the greatest films ever. "Pitfall" (1962), "Woman in the Dunes" (1964) and "The Face of Another" (1966) were all absolute masterpieces from the much revered Japanese New Wave. Each film was a work of staggering genius, with extraordinary stories revolving around existential themes, and boasted of some of the finest audiovisual atmospherics in cinema.

"The Man Without a Map" (1968) is the final film from the Teshigahara-Abe collaboration and all except cinematographer Hiroshi Segawa are part of this venture, with Segawa being replaced by Akira Uehara. The moodiness of the earlier three films is retained, except this time, the film is shot in colour and in the anamorphic widescreen format.

The opening credits with psychedelic colours and images of burning paper, along with a hypnotically disorienting score that transforms into what appears to be a switching of radio channels, until one piece of music is settled upon, sets the stage for exactly the kind of mystifying experience the film turns out to be. The process of mystification doesn't begin until much later though. A man by the name of Nimuro Hiroshi goes missing. It is close to six months and there is absolutely no news about his whereabouts. Nimuro's wife (Etsuko Ichihara) hires a gruff looking detective (Shintarô Katsu) from an agency to investigate the disappearance.

The investigation is plagued with dead ends, as the handful of clues fail to give any specific direction. The mystery deepens and seems to diverge rather than converge to a definite solution. Certain characters related to Nimuro come and go, make their presence felt, but provide absolutely nothing of value. Although obsessed with finding an answer, very soon the futility of the case starts to affect the detective's psyche and he begins to lose touch with reality.

The screenplay of "The Man without a Map" is a very perplexing one. On the surface it appears to be a hard-boiled detective fiction with a missing persons case at its center. However, these appearances are but only superficial, and what lies at the core of the film are much larger, metaphysical themes of alienation and existential crisis; of a single man's identity and the loss of it in a greater modern universe. The frame in the very beginning shows a strangely coloured bird's eye view of Tokyo. There's a yellowish hue to the shot and a discordant score plays in the background as a voiceover more or less narrates the central plot of the disappearance. Now in this view, Tokyo initially resembles the layout of a computer chip.

And then as normal colours appear, the city appears more like a maze. The choice of such angles and colours for these images are very relevant in the context of the film's themes. The emphasis is on how a single individual is dwarfed in comparison to a large city, and its fast-paced life and technological advances, leading to an inherent social indifference. The detective fiction is a mere facade then, for the message that clearly seems to be embedded within the film is how the individuality of a single person is lost in a sea of myriad souls striving to establish their own identity, and some even end up getting crushed in the process (an idea explored in the film's final, telling scene). In a way, it leads to the individual literally going missing!

The protagonist of this strange story, finds himself pursuing a man who vanishes without rhyme or reason. His bosses won't talk much, neither will his associates. Those who do talk, seem to have problems of their own, and provide information that really doesn't amount to much. Could it be that all these individuals related to Nimuro are all succumbing to a crisis and seeking to give some kind of meaning or usefulness to their lives? The associate who claims to have some knowledge of Nimuro's rather embarrassing activities seems to be one such kind whose clues offer nothing much of substance, yet gives the man some sense of purpose.

The title of the film is very peculiar as well. There is really no mention of a map except in one scene in which the detective asks Nimuro's associate to point out in the map where he was supposed to have met him last. So who really is the man without a map? It is safe to assume given the film's themes that the map signifies meaning, or direction. And hence, the detective is perhaps following the footsteps of Nimuro himself, and losing himself, gradually diminishing as an individual and struggling to make sense of the mystery at hand and also his own existence.

To depict the lack of a clear connection between individuals, or a general sense of detachment, there is an extensive use of faint glass reflections and distorted images of characters. Sometimes the characters are blurred or out of focus, at other times, they are grotesque reflections of themselves. It is possible that these blurs and distortions also aim at hinting that there is something sinister about these individuals or they aren't what they seem to portray to the detective. Part of the visual brilliance of the film comes from the sudden colour shifts. In some scenes the colours shift to saturated hues of vivid red, purple, yellow and orange. The dissonant, unsettling score, clubbed with some surreal, dream-like imagery lend the kind of atmosphere that you would expect from Teshigahara.

In fact, one wishes there was more of such hallucinatory imagery, and a certain, deeper kind of abstractness to the narrative that would enhance the aura of the film as a psychological drama that it actually aspires to be. There is no question that the film has its gloomy, enigmatic quality and it plays out at an aptly controlled pace. Shintarô Katsu's able performance holds things together as well. Only the film plays out more like a straightforward mystery rather than a profound examination of the protagonist's gradually disintegrating psyche. Nevertheless, Teshigahara's and Abe's final film together still delivers as a solid noir, and a visually brilliant, well-crafted psychological drama.

Score: 9/10

The Face of Another (Tanin No Kao) (1966)

What happens when a man damages his face in an unfortunate accident? His psyche is damaged too. As he walks around, with his face bandaged, he feels like a freak, looked upon with sympathy or curiosity by the people around him. He becomes irritable, suspicious, is filled with distrust; even doubts the intentions of his wife, colleagues and closest friends. He mistakes their good nature and normal behavior for pity and thus an inferiority complex and inherent cynicism seeps in. Nothing seems to have even a shred of positivity or hope.

This is what befalls the unfortunate victim of an industrial accident in Hiroshi Teshigahara's "The Face of Another" (1966). Okuyama (Tatsuya Nakadai) who ends up with a completely disfigured face after the unfortunate incident, lives on with his face bandaged but experiences difficulty in adjusting to society, owing to being filled with negativity. He feels no one can look at him for more than a few seconds and claims the unease on their faces is very much visible. He keeps fussing about how his wife (Machiko Kyo) can't sit still in front of him and always struggles to find stuff to do, rather than be beside him. He feels she is repelled by him. Okuyama's growing insecurities about his wife, and his own inferiority complex makes him behave rudely with almost everyone around him. Even his employer (Eiji Okada) bears the brunt of his behavior over a harmless enquiry about his wife's wellbeing.

An opportunity that could open various doors knocks when his psychiatrist Dr. Hori (Mikijiro Hira) offers to make him a lifelike mask out of material that resembles human skin by virtue of its physical and chemical properties. A lot of meticulous preparation and scientific jargon later, the mask is ready. It fits like magic. Okuyama is a changed man. At least physically. But does the curing of his face, his newfound beauty, his transformation to a human from a monster really cure his tortured soul? Or does the mask make a bigger monster out of him?

"The Face of Another" is Teshigahara's final film of the trilogy of films also consisting of "Pitfall" and "The Woman in the Dunes", for all three films share the common credits of writing by Kobe Abe, music by Toru Takemitsu, cinematography by Hiroshi Segawa and direction by Hiroshi Teshigahara. The technical finesse of the preceding film is maintained, with grim black and white photography, carefully constructed frames, a deliberate pace, and a strange dissonant score rendering an unsettling and surreal touch to the proceedings.

The visuals are arresting and the play of light and dark is remarkable. This is especially enhanced in one powerful scene in which Okuyama ponders about how a faceless man is free only when darkness rules the world. And that is why the most grotesque fish live in the darkness of the deep sea. The filmmaker also experiments with freeze frames this time around that don't necessarily create a huge impact but don't distract either.

The attention to detail regarding character reaction, the mask-making process and its effect on the wearer is extraordinary. The Doctor explains a lot about the process and the chemistry behind his creation, that would lay to rest any doubts the viewer may have about how a mask could possibly replicate human skin. When it is finally ready and Okuyama test-runs the mask in public for the first time, he feels difficulty in breathing and fails to feel the wind on his face. "It's as if there is something between me and the outside world", he says. Minute considerations, like the effect of perspiration and whether it will loosen the seal of the mask, are addressed. The prosthetic makeup effects are excellent as well.

The film, apart from giving a riveting account of Okuyama's face-changing event that ultimately becomes a life changing event, offers some interesting food for thought about how such masks can hamper rather than benefit. A concern is raised that the mask can assume control of the person rather than the other way round! Dr Hori, the creator of the mask, often gets carried away as he pictures a world full of masked men, where solitude would become a normal condition and all of humanity would become perfect strangers to each other. There would be no need to be ashamed of the modern illness that is isolation! All excited about his miraculous invention, he has his own interests in the experiment on Okuyama. Okuyama rightly claims to feel like a guinea pig at one point of time.

And sure enough, Dr Hori, no matter how gentlemanly and helpful he seems almost lives like a mad doctor out to play God. He has a wife, she is mentioned at least twice by the nurse (with whom he is presumably having an affair) in a very odd manner as if she is some kind of an apparition! But the wife doesn't appear, or does she? "Your wife's listening again", the nurse says. From where is she listening? We never know. The sheer enigma of the wife's inconspicuous presence lends a mysterious angle to Dr. Hori's character. Isn't Dr. Hori already wearing a mask himself?

The set design of Dr. Hori's futuristic-looking laboratory or clinic is a sight to behold. The place seems to be right out of someone's sci-fi nightmare! Peculiar paraphernalia and interiors abound the place; large pin like projections from glass walls, doors that seem to open and reveal digital display screens or live blow-up images, large and small replicas of human body parts, like pinnae, among other things. It is almost like Dr Hori thinks of himself as a creator who dwells in his own personal heaven or hell depending on how you look at it!

The narrative branches off into an entirely disparate sub-plot about a beautiful girl (Miki Irie), with half her face charred. This part could very well be a part of a movie that Okuyama watches, for the very first scene of this thread appears as a spliced frame and in letterbox format (in a film that is otherwise in the full-frame aspect ratio) right after a scene in which Okuyama mentions going to the cinema. Of course, in Kobo Abe's novel, it is explicitly mentioned as being part of a film that Okuyama later recalls.

This sub-plot dwells on the life of this girl, who carries on with the disfigured face, is rejected by most, but for horny old men who try to take advantage of her, but never wears bandages or masks. She rather covers the disfigured side with her thick long hair. Parallels can be drawn on the lives of Okuyama and the girl in how both are tormented individuals and long for normalcy in their lives. Only it is not all hunky dory in Abe's and Teshigahara's world.

Despite some criticism that "The Face of Another" fails to match up to the greatness of his previous two films, this is yet another winner for Teshigahara that is supplemented by a chilling lead performance from the great Tatsuya Nakadai. Also watch out for brief but notable appearances by actors from Teshigahara's previous films. 

"The Face of Another" is a grim, dark, disturbing, yet a very thought-provoking, cerebral psychological thriller that dissects the human mind down to its barest, and leaves you stunned and perhaps a tad miserable.

Score: 10/10

Pitfall (Otoshiana) (1962)

Few films make you smile with its delightfully wry humour and at the same time punch you in the guts with its sheer intensity. Hiroshi Teshigahara's debut feature film "Pitfall" AKA "Otoshiana" (1962) is one of those films. Set against the backdrop of the Japanese mining industry in the 1960s, and its segregation into various factions and unions based on dissenting ideologies or differing loyalties to the powers that be, "Pitfall" dwells on the life (and death) of a simpleton mining labourer (Hisashi Igawa) who lives an almost wandering life with his little son. He moves from employer to employer, is a self-admitted deserter, but wishes to earn good money with his hard work.

A mining job offer in a nearby village, that lands in his lap in a rather strange and seemingly easy manner, leads him to an almost deserted place, with not a single soul nearby to even ask for directions. After finally stumbling upon a sole being in the entire town, a shopkeeper woman, he is led to a route across the desolate village, where he is pursued and murdered by a mysterious man clad in a white suit! It all takes a deliriously weird turn when the protagonist rises from the dead, and his ghost, a restless soul comes into being, in order to seek some answers….

Teshigahara, with a screenplay by Kobo Abe, adapted from his own novel, makes an earnest attempt to create a sense of foreboding and an eerie emptiness, shot on an isolated location of empty dwellings. While visualizing Abe's story must've been a mighty challenging task, Teshigahara, with his inborn visual panache, captures bleak desolation and creates unsettling atmospherics like very few filmmakers manage, let alone, in a debut feature. There are long languid shots, full sweaty close-ups which were later improved upon in the follow up to this film "The Woman in the Dunes" (1964). Almost in equal doses are quick jump cuts, especially in the scenes focusing on the ghosts. All this amidst an almost metallic, discordant score by Toru Takemitsu that adds to the dreary mood. Once in a while the mood is lightened up with dark humour.

Teshigahara fuses neorealism with surrealism in a blend so homogeneous, neither aspect comes across as misplaced. The two facets meld seamlessly in this strange yet familiar tale, full of characters who are flesh-and-blood real, as well as their own, otherworldly ghostly selves who make appearances in the story's critical junctures. Just as the protagonist's ghost appears, he begins to see several people in the apparently empty village; but these people are his own kind; lost souls, the spirits of the oppressed dead, mostly miners, who probably could never rest in peace! It's a world right out of a classic ghost story set in contemporary times, where the dead and the living cohabit - an idea explored much later in films like "The Sixth Sense"(1999) and "The Others"(2001), albeit in the Hollywood culture of gimmicky story-telling. This in itself instantly catapults "Pitfall" to a status of a film way ahead of its time, a bold move, especially for a debut feature!

The character that triggers all the action, the mysterious killer appears more than once, in a single costume, like Death itself, rides a moped, delivers his lines in a deadpan voice and speaks through his droopy eyes. Who are his employers? Or is he his own?  Then there's the young son. The aimless, cold, kid, who prima facie doesn’t seem to share any special connection with his father. He just tags along. Initially nonchalant, he wanders about skinning innocent frogs and peeping through holes. It is only towards the end that he appears to be affected by the happenings around him. Always a mute spectator, his eventual breakdown scene highlighting his tiny visage is heartbreaking! The kid is terrified and puzzled. 

So are the ghosts of those killed. It is the kind of mystery, the solution to which one cannot see coming from a hundred miles away. As the mystery unfolds for the viewer, a complex plot surrounding union tiffs and conspiracies hatched by the brass comes to light, but does the ghost of the protagonist ever find out the truth behind his killing? "I will never be able to rest in peace until I find out", he laments. And indeed so; for who would gain from killing an insignificant labourer who's also a stranger to the place?

But Teshigahara is more interested in the inherent confusion and vagueness that results from the gaps between classes, their motives, the lack of communication and the purpose of their existence. He has said that this film is a documentary fantasy. He couldn't have described it more aptly. It is a strong statement on the exploitation of the poor and helpless at the hands of the powerful. In the beginning, some stock footage of real life mining disasters and accidents is shown in its painful entirety. The footage appears out of place, almost out of nowhere, as the protagonist ponders over the kind of life he is doomed to live. But it is not without purpose. The essence of this unique and complex story stems from this very musing. The relentless questioning by the ghosts, despite knowing that no living being can ever hear them, is a metaphor for how voices of the oppressed go unheard. Questions are never answered. Wishes are never fulfilled.

In the end, what "Pitfall" brings out is the futility of extreme human actions. If death is the end to everything, we all have the same destiny. What is gained through elaborate scheming and cutting throats? But it is usually too late to regret. Rifts, rivalries and several corpses and ghosts later, Teshigahara takes us towards the film's inevitable culmination with an ironic image; the shot of a bandana with the word "Unite" written on it, drowning down in the marsh….

Score: 10/10

The Woman in the Dunes (Suna No Onna) (1964)

An entomologist and school teacher, Jumpei (Eiji Okada), goes on a trip to the remote lands where the vast sand dunes are. He is there on a research cum pleasure trip to escape from the hustle-bustle of the city. He spends his time exploring the dunes, then traps and collects some sand bugs and insects in tiny containers and tubes that he carries with him.

After he misses the last bus to town, the village locals make him an offer to stay at a local home, which he readily accepts. Only the house is in a sand pit and requires a rope ladder to access. With a rather adventurous spirit, Jumpei ventures in to find that the house is inhabited by a solitary woman (Kyōko Kishida). Somewhat alarmed, but more tired and hungry, Jumpei quickly bonds with the woman over a delicious meal she cooks for him. After a broken sleep that night, Jumpei wakes up to a shocking reality. The ladder that lowered him is gone, and there is no other means of exit. The horrible truth then dawns upon him. In a bizarre arrangement by the village locals, Jumpei is expected to stay on with her forever and help her shovel sand from the pit and haul it up to the villagers above!

Still unable to accept the situation, a furious Jumpei demands answers but only gets some vague explanations in return. We, the audiences, are as dumbfounded as Jumpei is.

But this strange tale told in "The Woman in the Dunes", written by Kōbō Abe and directed by Hiroshi Teshigahara isn't about explanations or the reasoning behind the situation the protagonist has put himself in. It is more about the situation itself! It is rather, a metaphor for human existence and finding meaning in it. Jumpei is a researcher who desires to be listed in a field guide. This could be made possible if he finds a new variety of a particular insect.

This, he thinks is the purpose of his life; at least up until this point, before he finds himself trapped in a sand pit that has now become a microcosm of a self-sufficient universe within which he and the woman are expected to survive. At one point Jumpei questions the woman about the paradox in her existence. "Are you shoveling sand to live, or living to shovel sand?"

Jumpei eventually gives in, and co-operates, for any opposition to this scheme; any rebellion against the captors means no ration (food, supplies, water)! All that is left is to work, eat, sleep and have sex! The latter part comes with the package, apparently. When Jumpei wakes up that morning and before the brutal reality dawns upon him, he finds the woman sleeping naked on the floor, her body only slightly covered by sand blown in by the wind. He calls out to her; she is awake, but pretends to be asleep; just changes positions. Perhaps it is an indication that she is being offered to the man in return for his servitude?

At one point the woman mentions that her husband and daughter got killed in a sandstorm the year before. Could the husband be a man who was brought in in a similar manner? Jumpei keeps his hope alive, and continues to serve. Refusing to get licked by a bunch of natives, Jumpei tries everything in his power. He devises new schemes to escape. Whether success lies in store for Jumpei or not is an added impetus to glue us to our seats as the narrative unfolds in its deliberately paced, enchanting glory.

"The Woman in the Dunes" is said to be a modern version of the myth of Sisyphus, a king in Greek mythology who was condemned by the Gods to perform a task of rolling a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down again, then repeat the task! The situation reflects Jumpei's futile chore of shoveling up the sand, that only keeps reappearing; a never ending task that is meaningless. So is there any meaning left to life? Or is this constant cycle the new purpose of his existence? An existential crisis indeed! Jumpei's situation also reflects a very common predicament faced by many a man; a feeling of being trapped in a situation out of which there is no escape.

Shot in beautiful monochrome by Hiroshi Segawa, Teshigahara's film is full of striking, hallucinatory imagery. The director loves close-ups. Initially we see a single grain of sand in close-up, then we see how, it is in fact, an infinitesimal part of a large universe that is the sand dunes. The ever shape-shifting contours on the sand are beautifully captured. Later there are more close-ups; of Jumpei, the woman, their faces, their strands of hair, with visibly distinct grains of sand stuck on them! There are erotic overtones throughout. The attraction (possibly stemming from desperation) between the couple is evident, no matter how much Jumpei hates the situation he is in.

These images, some surreal ones and those of the desolate and hot sand dunes are complemented very well by a distant but eerie high-pitched hum in a spectacularly haunting psychedelic score by Toru Takemitsu. Also noteworthy is the use of natural lighting made more evident in a fantastic scene. It is established that there is a single lamp in the room. Jumpei sits with the lamp in the room that appears lit. He then exits the room with the lamp in his hand. As he goes outside, he takes the brightness of the room with him, as the room plunges into darkness, and the outside lights up!

Teshigahara, in his clever use of symbolism shows how Jumpei, in the beginning, takes great pleasure in seeing some bugs struggling to climb up in his slanted test-tube container and being pulled into the sand which isn't firm enough to hold it. He also pins his specimens in a box that holds all the bugs. In an ironic twist of fate, Jumpei finds himself in similar situations, in his numerous attempts at escaping, including the hopeless efforts of trying to scale the steep sand inclines of the pit and one frightening encounter with quicksand! In turn, he has become a specimen being watched by the villagers in the box that is the sand pit! In another ironic turn of events, Jumpei who earlier in the film scoffs at the woman's claims that sand has the ability to attract moisture, later finds that the joke's on him!

Towards the end as you root for our protagonist, you feel like you are engulfed in a blinding sandstorm that has a suffocating and claustrophobic effect. "The Woman in Dunes" is a miraculous film that ends with a twist in the culmination so overwhelmingly powerful, it will leave you dazed. It is difficult to forget that goose-bumpy feeling long after the final frame.

Score: 10/10