Silence (Chinmoku) (1971)

"In this world, neither God, nor Buddha exists; there's nothing at all anymore".

God's silence is questioned yet again in Japanese filmmaker Masahiro Shinoda's harrowing masterpiece, "Silence" aka "Chinmoku" (1971). We have seen similar themes of the crisis of faith examined in classics such as Ingmar Bergman's "Winter Light" (1963) and Luis Bunuel's "Nazarin" (1959). But despite familiar subject matter, Shinoda's film, based on Shûsaku Endô's novel stands out in its own right, given its setting and focus on some very convincing and relevant religious debate.

It is 17th century Japan. The practice of Christianity in banned, and all practitioners, preachers or believers of the faith are being pulled up by the powers that be, and persecuted by means of brutal torture to set an example of what might happen to those who continue to believe. As clergymen from Europe continue on their mission to preach their religion, Japan stands in strong opposition denying Christianity, claiming that they do not need it as they have their own religion! In such a scenario, Father Rodrigues (David Lampson) and Father Garrpe (Don Kenny) arrive in Japan to try and preach the Christian faith and also locate the whereabouts of Father Ferreira who vanished without a trace after preaching for over a decade in Japan. 

The rest of the story follows the tense journey of these two priests and their quest, as they attempt to connect with the Christians who live a secretive, Godless existence, with all the former priests either vanishing or abandoning them. As the Japanese officials begin their crackdown on the spread of Christianity, and hunt for the priests who have entered their territory, more and more believers are taken hostages and sacrificed. Amidst all this, danger lurks constantly, for the priests' guide Kichijiro (Mako Iwamatsu) is grappling with his own faith, torn between being a weak human and a strong Christian! 

Shinoda's film is a dark, brooding tale that presents a convincing and frightening picture of religion becoming an existential necessity. It depicts a time of shockingly excessive dependence on religion and how its teachings enslave its followers. Be it a preacher or a believer, they all want to embrace the church and follow the word of God. Believers who want to believe in Christ aren't allowed to, but they see no other way, for abandoning their God would mean eternal damnation. Defending their faith is the only way to God, the gateway to paradise, and eventually the only aspect that gives their life some meaning, a reason to live. 

But deep within, each one is struggling with their faith, and constantly attempting to resolve an inner conflict. How far can one go to defend their religion? Where does religion end and humanity begin? Can both coexist? These are some pertinent questions raised in "Silence" and the answers are provided eventually as this distressing tale unfolds, leaving the viewer emotionally drained. 

As the Tokugawa Shogunate attempts to banish Christianity, countless believers and priests face persecution and eventual execution. Some of these scenes are most effectively directed, making them somewhat difficult to watch. During the priests' journey, they are made aware of some chilling accounts of the atrocities of the so-called devil incarnate Inoue Chikugonokami (Eiji Okada). An old woman narrates the tale in graphic detail in a short scene that is hair-raisingly effective despite not explicitly showing the said deeds on screen. 

One of the greatest strengths of "Silence" is in the way Shinoda builds up this atmosphere of persistent dread and unseen horror right up to a turning point in the journey of Father Rodrigues. And then when we are finally introduced to the oppressors we can't help but express some surprise at how expectations are somewhat belied. Shinoda ensures that the opponents of Christianity never come across as pure evil or the devils they are painted out to be. The interpreter (Rokkô Toura), who works for the Magistrate Inoue, provides some justification to deny or ban Christianity, which seems strangely convincing. "Christianity is like an unwelcome gift, that is forced upon the receiver. We have our own religion; we don't need yours!", he explains to a dumbstruck Rodrigues. 

The demon Magistrate Inoue, is in fact, depicted as a thorough gentleman with a smiling face, apart from his weird habit of rubbing his wrist. In a scene that is a definite highlight of the film, Inoue makes a very interesting argument in a debate with Father Rodrigues, in which he compares foreign religion to a concubine. Neither party wants to yield or understand the other side, neither wants to step down. Both believe they are right, and only the viewer knows what is most rational, right or wrong be damned! This is one exchange that is at once, amusing as well as thought-provoking. 

An important character is that of Kichijiro, the guide, mentioned earlier. He keeps reiterating that he is a devout Christian but he has moments of weakness. He eventually becomes a yokel who is laughed at. But can we really blame him for being human? He fears for his life and puts it above religion, unlike all the others around him. He is constantly frustrated, not able to understand why he cannot be a good Christian. Is that his flaw or virtue? Should we really blame Kichijiro for becoming Judas and betraying his Jesus, Father Rodrigues when his life is at stake? Shinoda leaves that to us to decide. 

"Silence" makes a steady progress towards its spectacular third act during which it is revealed what really happened to the missing Father Ferreira. Even more pertinent points are made here, making us applaud the writing. Tôru Takemitsu's eerie score and Kazuo Miyagawa's fine cinematography accentuates the overwhelming experience of the happenings on screen. When a film makes its viewers struggle to take sides, and makes them think, therein lies the power of cinema. 

Score: 10/10

 

Kwaidan (1964)

A revisit of Masaki Kobayashi's masterpiece of atmospheric horror, "Kwaidan" (1964), an epic collection of four spine-chilling tales of the supernatural, effortlessly enthralled yet again, with its majestic flourish, this time in a brand new, fully restored, uncut Criterion transfer, the spectacular cinematography with its gorgeous colours enhanced, like you've never seen. 

All four stories now appear in their full, unabridged detail, previously unavailable even in the earlier Criterion edition. Of course, the cuts were in no way hampering the meaning or the flow of the stories, but what is the point if a film is not enjoyed in its complete form, in its original, intended glory?

What we get with the new release, is the complete 183 minutes version with a mesmerizing image transfer that will make your jaw drop. The richness of the beautiful colours is significantly highlighted in this stunning new transfer. The film's biggest asset is its chilling, slow-burning, otherworldly atmosphere, the likes of which are rarely matched, and this new edition with its sharper, fuller look, accentuates it like never before. 

Kobayashi takes us right into the realm of the spirits with a dense, enchanting environment replete with a bravura sound design and a dissonant score by the great Tôru Takemitsu, creating an unsettling, hypnotic atmosphere. The set design is magnificent; words are simply insufficient to describe how great the achieved look really is!

The supernatural realm comes frighteningly alive with Kobayashi's extraordinary vision. There are effects of the kind that would shame any modern horror. Forget all the mindless gore, fake CGI and those annoying, cliched jump scares of today; this is true horror that makes your hair stand on end, simply by placing you in spirit (pun not intended) in the ghostly otherworld created by the talent on board.

In order to enjoy a film like "Kwaidan", you really have to immerse yourself in the universe created by Kobayashi. Of course, he does more than half the job quite effortlessly, for once you witness those magnetic frames, you can't help but experience the mystical pull and be swept away, far within! With a strong command on storytelling already established with his prior masterworks like "Harakiri" (1962) and "The Human Condition" (1959-1961) films, the viewer cannot help but submit to Kobayashi's narrative prowess and watch the haunting poetry in motion unfold.

All of the tales are brilliant of course, but the one that stands tall is still "Hoichi the Earless" an old folk tale, often recreated in Japanese theatre as well. Akira Kurosawa regular, Takashi Shimura stars in this segment in an important role. There's a distinct tragic air to this ancient lore; a dirge-like quality that has to be seen and felt to be believed. The assembly of ghosts in a manor listening to the recital of a tragic tale of a lost battle is one of the greatest sequences ever seen in cinema, accomplishing the unique feat of being hair-raising and sorrowful at the same time!

"The Black Hair" tells the story of a wronged woman, whose husband, a samurai abandons her owing to poverty and returns many years later, full of regret, only to make a horrible discovery. The design of desolate ruins, and especially the makeup effects in this segment are nothing short of brilliant. It is unbelievable how authentic they are for the time the film was made.

"The Woman in the Snow", starring one of Japan's most famous stars, Tatsuya Nakadai, tells the tale of a ghostly woman who asks for a solemn oath from a young woodcutter in exchange for sparing his life. The woodcutter manages to keep the oath, except much later in his life. The consequences of breaking a promise are revealed in a terrifying twist. The use of colours in this segment is exemplary. Various vivid shades of blue and red are used to a striking effect. Special mention must be made of the colouring of the sky; the way it changes across times, and that nightmarish design of a giant eye looking down upon the earth is goose-bumpy as hell!

The final tale, "In a Cup of Tea" is the shortest and the most surrealistic of them all. It all begins when a middle-aged samurai begins to see the reflection of an unknown younger man in his cup of tea. The man in the reflection eventually shows up, causing havoc with the samurai's mental state.

This story ends with a fantastic meta twist, while maintaining in an initial disclaimer that it was an old folklore passed down across generations, but one that did not have a concrete ending! A clever little conclusion is provided here in the form of an epilogue of sorts, of course, and it is the kind of finale that will make you cheer in sheer admiration. 

"Kwaidan" is an essential classic of Japanese cinema. If you wish to witness a filmmaking marvel, grab it now!

Score: 10/10

The Naked Island (Hadaka No Shima) (1960)

Kaneto Shindo's "The Naked Island" (1960) is founded on the same basic premise of other existential 'struggle' films such as Hiroshi Teshigahara's "The Woman in the Dunes" (1964) and more recently Bela Tarr's "The Turin Horse" (2011). It wouldn't be wrong to say that Shindo laid the groundwork for these later films. For a significant part, Shindo's excellent drama of survival finds a closer comparison to Tarr's film, considering a minimal cast, a small family, and a modest existence with the day to day tedium of performing the same, repetitive, physically strenuous routine.

Where this film primarily differs from Tarr's, is in its tone. Tarr's film is excessively bleak with an almost surreal, doom-laden atmosphere and a sonorous dirge-like score, giving it a more hypnotic feel. Shindo's film is a bit more ethereal, simplistic, realistic, embracing nature in its pure, pleasant form with a more ponderous, rather than depressing score to go along.

Shindo's film chronicles a year in the life of a small farmers' family. The husband, the wife and their two sons seem to be the only inhabitants on a lone island in the middle of the sea. They have abundant plantations in some part of the island. However, they have to go through the tortuous task of carrying buckets of fresh water from the neighbouring mainland in order to water their crops.

This takes the form of their daily routine, the purpose of their being. But they are quite content with their life. Post all the routine, they share a happy meal, the kids go on to study, and the parents get on with preparations for the day after. It is the typically dream-like, tranquil country life, cut away from the stress, pollution and noise of the city, complete, with even the usage of a large, firewood-heated drum of water for bathing. There are, not surprisingly, all joyous smiles on the faces of the foursome as they indulge in these small pleasures of life.

The first forty odd minutes of the film are spent showcasing the couple's daily tasks, which mostly comprise of carrying buckets of water from one island to the other and watering of the crops. That's all! But ever frame drips so much beauty, it is difficult to complain about the filmmaker's indulgence in capturing the scenery in this beautiful, but challenging world. The silhouetted figure of the boatman against a dusky sky, close-up of water seeping in slowly in the soil, a delicate, emotional moment contrasted with fireworks, are all paintings in motion really.

Occasionally there are shots of a single pine cone floating in the water. There are at least ten such shots of this cone! Very beautiful, all these shots, thanks to the outstanding cinematography. Well, the same pine cone needn't have been shown ten times, but that's excusable in the larger context of the film's objective. Shindo wants us to soak in this world. He wants us to take a dip in the ocean. He wants us to feel the languor. He wants us to really live on the island for those ninety-five odd minutes of its duration. The only deviation that occurs in the first half of the film is the somewhat alarming slapping incident, which we will come to later.

It is in the final half of the film, that the happenings divert and we get to see a lot more than just their day to day activities. Seasons change, moods change, there is a fleeting glimpse of some traditional celebrations and gatherings of the locals. And then there is that awesome scenario of the big fish catch, its selling in town, clubbed with a cable car joyride and a hearty meal at a restaurant, something they don't often get to indulge in, or simply don't, as a matter of choice.

One wonders if the illness of one the sons that follows eventually, owes itself to that infrequent trip to town and that rare meal outside of their humble abode. So far they are used to having home-cooked meals from their own crops and earnings. And now with foreign grounds being trodden, does their system lose balance?

"The Naked Island" is an expertly crafted chain of ups and downs in the life of a family. There is happiness, and there's a tragedy. And finally there's the message that life has to go on, no matter what. The lack of dialog complements the primitive, earthy nature of the family's existence. While Shindo, the director is in top form for the most part and delivers as far as a putting out a fine product is cinema is concerned, it is the pacing that leaves a bit to be desired. Rapid editing in the latter half and a fast passage of time in contrast to the languorous, almost real time depiction of events in the first half, renders the film unevenly paced.

It is the final act, where the crux of the film comes in, which makes one ponder about what it's driving at. On one hand, this is a family that lives a simple hand-to-mouth, satisfied life. Almost zero materialism; just work hard, eat, get a good night's sleep, repeat! Perhaps that is what the title alludes to.

The island is naked, stripped of concrete jungles, modern technology, worldly pleasures and practically anything that has to do with the contemporary urban life as we know it. The family represents the island they thrive on. The island is their life. Whether this kind of lifestyle, no matter how healthy and cut out from technology and modern science is actually not a cool way to live, no matter how human? Or is it simply suggesting that whether you are a slave to the modern life, or whether you shun it completely, there's practically no difference?

The attitude of the husband seems to suggest so. He slaps the woman for a small error. She quietly resumes her duties without protesting. Later, the son dies, but there is no room for grieving. The woman clearly has her heart elsewhere. But the husband ignores his woman's bawling and continues to water the plants! The woman watches him and follows suit. This scene is perhaps the most crucial part of the film.

Does it mean that even if connected to nature, a general insensitivity comes in anyway? The existence of these folks is almost robotic, going through the same rigmarole day in day out. Similar to any materialistic family in the city, where the modern man has no time to look up from his tablet or computer; where the human connect is lost, and reality is virtual, a lack of emotion; where perhaps a conference call is more important than the wife's birthday, for example.

So how different is the humble farmer's behaviour from the modern man, really? Shindo gives us something to think about.

The concluding shot of the camera zooming out, revealing the island in the vast sea, perhaps suggests something on similar lines, that the lives of the members of this family serve as a microcosm for the entire universe surrounding it. The family is but a miniscule part of the whole, that essentially follows the same pattern.

Score: 9/10