A new Eclipse Series celebrates the six films of the Japanese actress turned filmmaker
Criterion Collection recently revived their Eclipse box-set series, and one of the first new additions is a collection of films by Japan’s second female filmmaker, Kinuyo Tanaka. After working on films with celebrated directors such as Mizugochi, Ozu and Naruse, Tanaka felt limited by her options as an aging actress. She received some training while assisting Mikio Naruse on his Older Brother, Younger Sister (source: Imogen Sara Smith’s essay, “Married to Cinema,” included in the Eclipse box set). Then she went into directing her first film, 1953’s Love Letter, a post-war drama about an ill-fated love between a veteran who works as a letter-writer and the woman he adored as a child.
Tanaka didn’t stick to one genre in the six movies she’d eventually direct; there’s romantic comedy, melodrama, a couple biopics, historical epics, and a social issues drama. Her diverse talents, and those of the crews she assembled, are on view in these works, but her specific voice as a filmmaker is more subtle in a few of them; Forever a Woman (1955) and Girls of the Night (1961) let her shine through.
Love Letter is set in urban Tokyo, where Reikichi (Masayuki Mori, Rashomon, Ugetsu) lives with his younger brother. He doesn’t make much as a translator, so a friend from service invites Reikichi to work for him as a letter writer. Most of their business is composing letters in English for the women left behind by American servicemen.
Reikichi pines for a girl he grew up with and lost contact with, but discovers she’s a regular customer. Love Letter depicts the chaotic streets and alleyways in a Tokyo finding itself after war. The scene of Reikichi chasing after Michiko (Yoshiko Kuga, Equinox Flower, Good Morning) has them meeting eyes through a crowded train platform.
While Tanaka’s films tend to show sex workers in an empathetic light, the character of Reikichi is quite judgmental in his treatment of Michiko. The human woman and the choices she had to make in her life cannot meet up to the expectations Reikichi held for his ideal. “I was wrong, you’re just a woman,” he berates her at one point. With a lyrical script, Love Letter moves at a contemplative pace and delivers raw performances, even as it leans heavily into melodrama.
Based on a script co-written by director Yasujiro Ozu and Ryosuke Saito, 1955’s The Moon Has Risen is the most humorous of Tanaka’s works. Besides his work on the screenplay, it’s easy to see Ozu similarities elsewhere in this film, from the filming style to the production design. Ozu regular Chishu Ryu (Tokyo Story, Late Spring) leads the cast as father to two daughters and a widowed daughter-in-law. Since the war, his family has lodged at a monastery in Nara.
The film is bookended by ritual singing, contrasting the traditional setting to the more modern young women: elder sister Ayako (Yoko Sugi, Aoi sanmyaku), youngest Setsuko (Mie Katahara, Crazed Fruit), and sister-in-law Chizuru (Hisako Yamane, The Life of Oharu). Setsuko is determined to set Ayako up with businessman Amamiya (Ko Mishima), even though neither show obvious signs of attraction to each other. Katahara is utterly charming in her machinations, even roping a family maid (played by the director herself) into her schemes.
The Moon Has Risen starts slow and it took a while for me to warm up to it, but by the end it had won this viewer over. What other movie has lovers sending each other cryptic telegrams with random numbers (which turn out to indicate specific verses of poetry)? I especially enjoyed Setsuko’s own love story, and even the more subtle affection between Chizuru and her educator friend. Of the set, this is the title I’m most likely to revisit often.
Forever a Woman (1955) and The Wandering Princess (1960) are two very different biographies. The earlier film depicts the tragic life of a poet with terminal breast cancer, and the later a Japanese noble who marries the brother of the Manchukuo emperor. The storytelling style in The Wandering Princess is somewhat forgettable, although the film offers an interesting look into the latter days of Japanese colonization of Manchuria. Machiko Kyo plays the lead as too naive and innocent, plus the history here is fairly sanitized. The color Cinemascope picture is gorgeous to watch, despite the dull storytelling; there’s floral imagery used throughout.
The earlier biopic depicts the last years of Fumiko Nakajo (Yumeji Tsukioka, Late Spring), a 30-something divorcee who discovers her voice through poetry (although I noted: we don’t actually see her write very often). While the characterization and performances in Forever a Woman stand out, especially given the era, the storytelling drags in this slow-paced work. Still, I am amazed by the technique evident in Kumenobu Fujioka’s cinematography here.
The shooting style is intimate, inviting the viewer into the poet’s world. In her hospital room, we’re shown some things through Fumiko’s hand mirror. The walkway between her wing and the morgue becomes a sort of tunnel as she follows the body of her former roommate. At one point, the POV switches to Otsuki (a dashing younger reporter played by Ryoji Hayama) as he enters her hospital room.
For Girls of the Night, Tanaka returns to black and white. Her 1961 film has the feel of a docudrama, with Sumie Tanaka’s screenplay depicting the lives of sex workers after Japan’s anti-prostitution law passed in 1958. Girls of the Night centers around the Shiragiku Women’s Home, where female prostitutes are sentenced to live after their arrests. Friendships and relationships grow between the women during their time there, before they are found alternate employment options.
Kuniko (Chisako Hara), a young favorite at the home, faces prejudice and sexual harassment in her first work assignments outside of the facility. Sumie Tanaka’s script and story shows care for Kuniko’s character and her decisions, while Hara’s performance gives emotional heft to the work. There are bitter, cruel moments Kuniko has to make her way through, but there’s a tenderness to the last section as she comes into her own. It’s obvious that the filmmakers respect sex work and the people who enter into it.
Tanaka’s final work is an epic tragedy, Love Under the Crucifix, released in 1962. Set in 1587, the film dramatizes the life of Christian samurai Ukon Takayama (Tatsuya Nakadai, Yojimbo) through his doomed love with Gin (Ineko Arima, Late Chrysanthemums, Equinox Flower), stepdaughter of Lord Toyotomi’s master of tea ceremony Rikyu (Ganjiro Nakamura II, Floating Weeds). Christianity is about to be banned in the country, and younger Gin is besotted with married Ukon. Seeing there’s no future between them, she agrees to marry merchant Shintaro.
Similar to women in Tanaka’s earlier films, Gin is limited by her circumstances and her era, yet knows her own mind. There’s thoughtful cinematography and framing of shots, particularly in the scene where Gin sees a woman on the way to be crucified. The woman, punished in this manner for refusing advances from a lord’s son, looks straight at the camera, demanding we witness what is being done to her. We’re also watching Gin viewing her own tragic future due to the power-hungry patriarchal system in which she lives.
The emotion in Love Under the Crucifix is understated, as is the central performance by Ineko Arima. There are tea ceremonies throughout the film, from the battle scene at the start to the final family ceremony at the end. These add a sense of quiet meditation to the work.
The Tanaka Eclipse set is available now from Criterion.
