News and Opinion

I am still amazed by those who have the time to maintain a blog. I don't, so the best I can offer here is occasional short bits of news and observations. 

I have disabled comments for this site. If you want to discuss Japanese cinema, please join KineJapan, the list for which I serve as co-owner. 

Media Theory in Japan, Television, and the Forgetting of Film


I have a piece out in new anthology from Duke entitled Media Theory in Japan. It is edited by Alex Zahlten of Harvard and Marc Sternberg of Concordia, and is based in an intense workshop that took place at Harvard in November 2013. Their project parallels mine: if I have been endeavoring to bring to light the history of film theory in Japan, they have been doing the same for media theory. One sign that the two intersect is the fact that they chose one of the pieces I selected for the “Decentering Theory” special issue to include in their anthology: Kitada Akihiro great essay on Nakai Masakazu’s theory of media.

The Duke anthology includes essays by Yuriko Furuhata, Takeshi Kadobayashi, Marilyn Ivy, Miryam Sas, Tomiko Yoda, Ryoko Misono (sadly, a posthumous contribution), Anne McKnight, Fabian Schäfer, Keisuke Kitano, and Tom Looser on such topics as the Tange Lab, Azuma Hiroki, McLuhan in Japan, Nancy Seki, Rokudenashiko, Kobayashi Hideo, and the Kyoto School. 

My contribution was placed at the beginning, in part because it questions the concept of new media through a historical analysis of some early theories of television in Japan. If, as Lev Manovich as argued, new media often repeat older media, my essay considers how new media theory can repeat that of older media. Focusing on one of the groundbreaking moments in development of television theory in Japan—the 1958 issue of Shisō devoted to the new medium—and in particular the ideas of its central figure, the sociologist Shimizu Ikutarō, I note how claims about television’s unique relation to the everyday forgot similar claims about cinema’s relation to the mundane made decades before by Gonda Yasunosuke and others. I argue that such forgetting functioned in part to repress the historical politics of the everyday, or more specifically, the history of media’s relationship with the everyday. In the end, the debate over the everyday was not just about which media was closer to the everyday or what constituted the mediated everyday, but also about the relation of theory to the everyday—the everydayness of theory.

Matsumoto Toshio dies at age 85


Matsumoto Toshio (松本俊夫), a major figure in postwar Japanese cinema and film theory, passed away on 12 April 2017 at the age of 85. This is a great shock to me, not only because of his immense contributions to Japanese film and image culture, but also because of all the help he provided for my career.

Matsumoto-san is of course well known for his work as a feature film director, with Funeral Parade of Roses (the photo at the right is of him in the film) and Dogura Magura being two of his most famous works. He started out in documentary, however, joining Shin Riken after studying aesthetics at the University of Tokyo. It was through documentary that I first came to know him. In 1993, the Yamagata International Documentary Film Festival did a retrospective of Japanese documentaries of the 1960s, curated by Yasui Yoshio of Planet, which featured four of Matsumoto-san’s films: Nishijin (1961), The Song of Stones (1963), Mothers (1967), and For My Crushed Right Eye (1968). One of my first tasks for the YIDFF was translating much of the retro catalog, so I first read Matsumoto before seeing his works. While Mothers was the least interesting of the four, his exploration of the image—from the still photographs of The Song of Stones to the multi-projector For My Crushed Right Eye—stood out amid the documentary of the time. 

Nakadai Tatsuya Interview on FilmStruck


This is just a short post, but I wanted to let you know that an on-camera interview I did for Criterion with the actor Nakadai Tatsuya is now being shown on Criterion’s streaming service, FilmStruck. We invited Nakadai-san to Yale last fall for a truly wonderful event, but he spent good amount of time in New York City before and after Yale. It was about a week after his Yale visit that I went down to NYC to do the interview at the Criterion office. My task was to ask Nakadai-san about his experiences with working with five directors whose films Criterion handles: Kurosawa Akira, Kobayashi Masaki, Naruse Mikio, Okamoto Kihachi, and Teshigahara Hiroshi. I’m not that experienced at these things, but Nakadai-san was full of wonderful stories and the Criterion crew made it (including me) look good.

You have to subscribe to FilmStruck to see it in full, but you can see a snippet featuring Nakadai-san talking about the famous duel at the end of Kurosawa's Sanjuro here on the Criterion site.

Ogino Shigeji, Ofuji Noburo, and Classic Japanese Animation

Even the BBC has reported on this, so the news has spread that the National Film Center in Japan, in collaboration with the Agency for Cultural Affairs and other institutions, has opened the website Japanese Animated Film Classics to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the birth of Japanese animation. The site features 64 pre-WWII animated films that can be viewed in full, some with English subtitles. (Right now, the site itself is only in Japanese, though an English site is supposed to be opened soon.) 

Naturally, the site offers a number of important works, starting with Kouchi Jun’ichi’s The Dull Sword (Namakura-gatana), which is counted as one of the first three Japanese-made animated films released in 1917. Kitayama Seitaro, who directed one of the other two (which are not extant), is partially represented through one of his 1918 works, Urashima Taro. Other animators featured include such greats as Masaoka Kenzo, Yamamoto Sanae, and Murata Yasuji. I was particularly happy to see Seo Mitsuyo’s Arichan the Ant (1941) included, since that is not only another example of the work of the director of the two, greatly celebrated wartime Momotaro films, but also reportedly the first use of the multiplanar camera in Japan. 

Globalism, New Media, and Cinematically Imagining the Inescapable Japan


For a long time I have been wondering about a recurring theme in Japanese cinema: the seeming inability of Japanese to escape Japan. Characters contemplate or even actively try to leave Japan but are stopped at the border, sometimes even dying on the beach. This is not necessarily new—one of Yoshida Kiju’s films was even called Escape from Japan (Nihon dasshutsu, 1964)—but I especially noticed it in films from the 1990s. Kitano Takeshi or Miike Takashi often had characters dying at limits of national territory. Aoyama Shinji’s Helpless featured a character mentioning an episode of The Prisoner, in which Number 6 flees the Village only to be returned there—as if implying that Japan itself is the Village. And Kurosawa Kiyoshi’s Barren Illusion (Oinaru gen'ei, 1999) even had a character travel all the way to the airport so as to leave the country, go to the check-in counter, and end up being ignored, forcing her to return.

This, however, is the age of globalism, when national borders are breaking down, goods and people constantly cross boundaries, and the nation itself is under question. How can there be so many representations of Japanese unable to leave Japan when Japanese are traveling to other nations all the time?

Cinema and Kawabata Yasunari Studies


When I wrote my book on Kinugasa Teinosuke’s A Page of Madness, I devoted a number of pages to the Nobel Prize winner Kawabata Yasunari’s involvement in the project. Even though I in the end concluded that his involvement was not as great as some had seen, that did not mean that I thought his relation with that film or with cinema in general was insignificant. I had actually published an article in Iris some years before, entitled “Celluloid Masks,” that contrasted Kawabata’s connections to cinema to those of Tanizaki Junichiro, especially in their literature (you can read the full article here). But there was a lot more I could have written about.

I was thus quite pleased to get an invitation in 2014 to participate in a conference in Paris on Kawabata, hosted by Cécile Sakai. It was a great opportunity to revisit Kawabata and complicate the notion prevalent in the scholarship that particularly his early works were “cinematic.” But it was also an excellent chance to connect him to my larger project on the history of Japanese film theory, and explore the possibility of a film theory evoked in his writings, both fictional and non-fictional.

Obayashi Nobuhiko’s Once Seen Movie Theater


It was a great thrill welcoming the illustrious film director Obayashi Nobuhiko to Yale last fall and helping the Japan Society do a long-awaited retrospective of his work. Not only was it wonderful re-encountering his films, but it was an honor getting to know him and his family during his visit to the States. They are truly warm and generous people. When we were back in Japan this summer, they even treated me and my family to some very fine tempura near Futako Tamagawa.

His foreign fans might not know this, but Obayashi is a prolific writer, one who has published over two dozen books. His most recent tome has just been published, and it is huge: a two-volume work totaling 1368 pages! Entitled Itsuka mita eigakan (roughly translated as “Once Seen Movie Theater” or “Theater of Movies I Once Saw”), it is basically a collection of Obayashi’s thoughts on 121 films ranging from Preston Sturges' Sullivan’s Travels to Ozu Yasujiro’s Equinox Flower. The majority of films are foreign, but range in genre from Westerns to films featuring music. A few other essays are included, particularly about war and cinema, and an extra bonus is a DVD entitled “The Truth and Lies of John Wayne.”

Aaron Gerow’s old papers

I don’t like titles with my own name in them, but this is both accurate and more conducive to web searches. 

For a while I’ve been wondering about what to do with my old papers and articles. Having published for over 25 years, I have a large number of them, some of which are in now out-of-print books, obscure journals, or film festival catalogs that were never intended for wide distribution. I was not always particular about where I published—for instance only thinking about “tenure-able” venues—and always believed that academics should be instructive where they can in multiple platforms. But in trying to reach out to many audiences, some of my writing has been caught in the ephemerality of much publishing. While I don’t intend to assert my scholarship deserves world-wide attention, I still hope some of it can be of help to both film fans and scholars, which it can’t if it is unavailable or not readily available.

That’s why I’ve decided to start making available some of my old papers and articles on a couple of internet platforms. The first is the Yale section of Bepress, an open access platform. The second is I am more comfortable with the former, since, despite its educational name, is a for-profit company, but I thought using multiple platforms means more availability. 

Yale University Welcomes Nakadai Tatsuya


Our big Japanese film event at Yale this fall is a visit by the illustrious actor, Nakadai Tatsuya, on October 27-28, 2016. One of my favorites since high school, I am thrilled with the opportunity to welcome him to Yale and talk to him about his work. We’ll show two of his films, with Q&A—Harakiri (Kobayashi Masaki, 1962) and Age of Assassins (Okamoto Kihachi, 1967). He will also do two talk sessions with a smaller audience that are by registration only. He’ll also be catching some theater while he’s here.

This year is the centennial of the birth of Kobayashi Masaki, with whom Nakadai made some of his best films. He thus insisted on doing at least one Kobayashi film. We talked at first about doing two, but he was intrigued about doing an Okamoto film, so that’s the second one.

Nakadai will also do some events in New York, but we hope people can make the trek to New Haven to catch Nakadai in a more relaxed and intimate atmosphere.

I’ve met him a couple of times in preparation for the event—which itself was a thrill!—and I was so impressed with what a charming and wonderful human being he is. At 84 years old, he still works full-time and runs his own acting school/troupe called Mumeijuku. He’s acted in so many media and had a career spanning seven decades, so there is so much he can share with us.

Kurosawa Kiyoshi, Dis/continuity, and the Ghostly Ethics of Meaning and Auteurship


Kurosawa Kiyoshi has long been one of my favorite filmmakers, but one I’ve found very hard to talk about. Perhaps that difficulty is one reason I like him so much: his films resist our ability to comfortably confine them in words, and challenge our systems of knowledge and perception. That’s one reason they are so attractive but also so frightening.

That’s also why I have always been at somewhat of a loss when I encounter articles on Kurosawa that profess to know him or his works through some allegorical, postmodern, or ecocritical methodology. There’s a lot we can learn about Kurosawa from such articles, but it still stikes me that many of them were less watching his films in their complexity than imposing their interpretations. And given that Kurosawa’s films are populated with detectives and detective-like figures whose interpretations are problematic, that approach can be self-defeating, if not blind to what’s going on in the films. They effectively offer comfort against a set of films that are fundamentally disturbing.

Early Science Fiction and Fantasy Film in Japan


The Far East Film Festival in Udine, Italy, has established itself as the premier forum for introducing popular East Asian film to Europe. As any good festival should do, it also runs retrospective programs in addition to its programs showcasing new films. Mark Schilling, the longtime critic for the Japan Times and author of such books as Yakuza Movie Book, has programmed a number of Japanese film retros at Udine, including the one that led to the book No Borders, No Limits: Nikkatsu Action Cinema

His task in 2016 was to do a series on Japanese sci-fi and fantasy films that went beyond the kaiju films people are used to. Entitled “Beyond Godzilla: Alternative Futures and Fantasies in Japanese Cinema,” it featured ten films and a special visit by Obayashi Nobuhiko, whom we hosted at Yale in 2015. Mark also edited the catalog and asked me to pen a history of Japanese sci-fi and fantasy films before WWII. 

That was quite a task because most of what was made no longer exists. For instance, only pictures of the infamous King Kong Appears in Edo (Edo ni arawareta Kingu Kongu, 1938) survive. A few films are still available for viewing, such as Makino Masahiro’s Shimizu Harbor, Part II (Zoku Shimizuko, 1940) or Yamamoto Kajiro’s Son Goku (1940), starring Enomoto Ken'ichi, but that’s not enough for an article. 

The Toy Film Museum in Kyoto おもちゃ映画ミュージアム


The other week I had to travel to the Kansai area on business and research. I used the opportunity to visit the newly opened Toy Film Museum in the Mibu area of Kyoto. 

What are toy films? They have usually been referred to in Japanese as “omocha eiga” (おもちゃ映画) or “gangu eiga” (玩具映画), and have denoted modes of watching cinema in the home in the early years of the medium. While we are familiar with small gauge films (kogata eiga 小型映画) like 8mm—or the 9.5mm Pathé Baby format popular in the prewar—that came to be defined as the mode for home movies, the motion pictures did not necessarily enter the home in such formats. Much larger gauges—including 35mm film—were actually common as a home movie system confined to projection. You might be surprised at that if you know of the huge projectors that exist (or existed) in theaters for 35mm projection, but in fact from the 1910s, there were small tin 35mm projectors produced in Europe and North America, the first working off of oil lamps, the later ones off of electric light, that could be used at home. With small spools of film and cranked by hand, they could present films a few minutes long. The picture on the left is of a foreign-made projector with the film loaded that is on display at the Museum.

The Japanese Research Guide to Japanese Film Studies 日本映画研究へのガイドブック

IMG 20160628 0003.jpg

The Japanese version of the Research Guide to Japanese Film Studies that Markus Nornes and I produced back in 2009 has just been published by Yumani Shobo. This is not just a translation of our guide to archives, reference books, and websites important to the study of Japanese film, but a major update of the Guide. Not only have a few errors been corrected or addresses or URLs updated, but we’ve added or revised quite a number of entries, taking into account new archives and books as well as changing circumstances since 2009. Those of you who have used the English version and can read Japanese should get this version in order to have the most up-to-date information. Markus and I are thinking about putting out a revised English version—a plan we’ve had since the original book—but it may take some time before that is out.

I have not always had good luck with translations. The Japanese translation of Visions of Japanese Modernity has been in process for nearly fifteen years (starting even before California published it), and the translation of Kitano Takeshi has been in the works for about seven years. But I was fortunate this time. Not only did the translation not take too long, but we were fortunate that Dogase Masato supervised the translation, working with Otake Mizuho, Murakami Satoru, and Sawa Shigehito. They did a splendid job. The staff at Yumani also worked hard, checking all the phone numbers and addresses, and even allowing additions up until the last moment. It was a pleasure working with everyone.

War and Nationalism in Recent Japanese Cinema: Yamato and Divided Lenses


Way back in December 2008, I took part in an excellent conference at Stanford on war and memory in East Asian cinema. The talk I delivered was on Yamato (Otokotachi no Yamato, 2005), Sato Jun’ya’s box office hit that was produced by the maverick Kadokawa Haruki about the ill-fated battleship Yamato. Taking into consideration not only the long history of films on the Yamato, but also some contemporary kamikaze war films, I argued that the film is not just reworking wartime memory for the sake present-day historical revisionism towards WWII, but that it is utilizing its own depiction of violence to create a kind of “vicarious trauma” whose main effect is a forgetting of the postwar and its own traumatic history of the Cold War.

The plan even then was to turn the conference into an anthology, but for various reasons, the plan dragged on. When it was clear the anthology was not going to appear very soon, I got permission to publish a very abridged version of my piece in Japan Focus under the title, "War and Nationalism in Yamato: Trauma and Forgetting the Postwar.” It then took about another five years for the anthology to come out, but it finally has, and it looks great. Here’s the reference for my piece:

Donald Richie and Transnational Japanese Cinema


Donald Richie, one of the most important introducers of Japan and its cinema, passed away about this time three years ago. The following July, Iwamoto Kenji hosted a symposium on Donald at Waseda University. I talked about the famous Japanese film history he produced with Joseph Anderson, The Japanese Film: Art and Industry. While noting its problems, especially its orientalism and Cold War worldview, I also pointed out how its own stance of being other to Japanese film culture enabled it to provide a depiction of that culture, especially of such seemingly innocuous phenomena as the state of an average movie theater, that Japanese sources could not offer. In the end, I argued that, while Richie himself was not innocent of othering Japan, his decision to himself remain other to Japan—for instance, refusing to assimilate—was itself often productive.

That essay, plus some others presented that day, have been combined with many other articles (most composed as part of a series of workshops Iwamoto was holding), to create the anthology: 

Aoyama Shinji’s “Nouvelle Vague Manifesto” and Japanese Film Theory

An English translation I did of one of the Japanese film director Aoyama Shinji’s major writings on film, "Nouvelle Vague Manifesto; or, How I Became a Disciple of Philippe Garrel,” has finally appeared in print in the sixth issue of LOLA, the online film journal edited by Adrian Martin and Girish Shambu.

The article is accompanied by a short introduction I penned that explains the manifesto’s basic points and its historical place. 

I want to thank Aoyama for not only allowing me to publish this, but also for helping me find the citations for the many quotations in the piece. I also need to thank Adrian and Girish for publishing this. I did the translation years ago—and Adrian expressed interest in it years ago—so I apologize for the delay, even if some of the time taken was necessary.

Aoyama’s manifesto was published in 1997, right when he debuted as a director, and represents his thoughts on his positionality and future direction. While the manifesto never became the defining document of an organized film movement, I argue that it helps us understand not only Aoyama’s cinema, but also an in certain ways representative intervention in the cinema world at the time. As such, it can help us comprehend one definition of a politics of film style (the use of the long take, the rejection of image as representation, etc.) and how that relates to the politics of post Cold War Japan (the problem of the individual, the problem of the Other), especially in contrast to the political modernism of the 1960s New Wave. Along with Aoyama’s later essay, “The Geography of Cinema” (Eiga no chirigaku), published in his essay collection Ware eiga o hakkenseri (Seidosha, 2001), the manifesto is one of the major theoretical contributions of the time. I have used it not only in my article on Aoyama in Yvonne Tasker’s Fifty Contemporary Film Directors (Routledge, 2010), but also in my book on Kitano Takeshi.

Obayashi Nobuhiko Retrospective at the Japan Society

Our Yale event with the great director Obayashi Nobuhiko ended with considerable success. We can’t get the crowds of New York or Boston, but we had some deep discussions about such topics ad Ozu’s editing, 3.11, and experimental film. Obayashi-kantoku is very much the 1960s gentleman, his wife and producer Kyoko the kindest of ladies, and their daughter Chigumi a pillar of support.

We had Obayashi and his family over to our house for dinner while they were here. There were lots of entertaining stories (including one about Kadokawa Haruki) and a bit of wisdom, but I could also see how he could be a great teacher or mentor. My son showed him the film he made in class in the spring. Not just focusing on how good the film was or not, Obayashi told him that amateur films are as equally cinema as professional films. The crucial thing is to know--and positively use--one's limitations and to have control over the film, giving it unity. Thus if my son had to play 5 or 6 parts out of necessity, the important thing is for the film to be conscious of that and use it to its benefit. If an amateur film does that, it is just as much cinema as any professional film is. Obayashi then used my son’s film as example in the talk session the next day.

A Movie: The Cinema of Obayashi Nobuhiko — at Yale

A Movie: The Cinema of Obayashi Nobuhiko

One of the last major Japanese directors active since the 1960s, Obayashi Nobuhiko
 is doing a four-city tour of the East Coast, with Yale as the first stop. Little known outside of Japan, he gained a following in America with the DVD release of his debut feature film House, but our Yale event will present his unknown sides through screenings of three of his films and separate informal talk sessions. A pioneer of experimental film in Japan, Obayashi continued to stun audiences with his stylistic flourishes even as he became one of the hit-makers if the 1980s and 1990s. A wonderful study in contrast, he combined pop culture with literary sensibility, visual innovation with a love for classical Japanese film, and nostalgia with a celebration of cinematic artifice, a stance evident in the words “A Movie” he attaches to many of his films. 

Friday, November 13, 2015

12:00 pm, Sterling Memorial Library Room 218
Talk Session (with Interpreter) and Lunch 
RSVP to Suzette Benitez, CEAS:

7:00 pm, Whitney Humanities Center, Auditorium 
I Are You, You Am Me – “Tenkōsei” [a.k.a. Exchange Student] (Japan, 1982) 112 min., 35 mm
Complexe (Japan, 1964) 14 min., 16 mm
Director Ōbayashi Nobuhiko
Introduced and followed by a Q&A with the director
(Council on East Asian Studies and Films at the Whitney, supported by the Barbakow Fund for Innovative Film Programs at Yale)

Saturday, November 14, 2015

12:00 pm, Sterling Memorial Library Room 218
Talk Session (in Japanese) and Lunch 
RSVP to Suzette Benitez, CEAS:

7 pm, Whitney Humanities Center, Auditorium
The Rocking Horsemen – “Seishun dendekedekedeke” (Japan, 1992) 135 min., 35 mm
Director Ōbayashi Nobuhiko
Introduced and followed by a Q&A with the director
(Council on East Asian Studies and Films at the Whitney, supported by the Barbakow Fund for Innovative Film Programs at Yale)

Film synopses: 

The Pamphlet: Lone Wolves and Stray Dogs: The Japanese Crime Film

As I mentioned before, we at Yale have done a couple of Japanese film series in collaboration with the National Film Center of the Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo. One of the conditions of the collaboration is that we produce something physical as a record of the event. We did that with our first series, The Sword and The Screen: The Japanese Period Film 1915-1960 (which took place in January and February 2012), and then used that experience to create an even longer pamphlet for our second series with the NFC: Lone Wolves and Stray Dogs: The Japanese Crime Film, 1931-1969

It was again a wonderful project for the grad students doing East Asian film and media at Yale, who helped translate articles, write commentaries on the films being shown, and layout and edit the pamphlet. Rea Amit, Samuel Malissa, Noriko Morisue, Hsin-Huan Peng, Stephen Poland, Grace Ting, Takuya Tsunoda, Justine Wiesinger, and Young Yi all did splendid work.

We also had our symposium guests, Yomota Inuhiko, Jō Ōsawa, and Phil Kaffen, compose original and quite stimulating articles for the pamphlet. I added an introduction. 

Shinozaki Makoto’s Sharing and Cinema after 3.11

As I have argued many times before (for instance, in my writings on Kitano Takeshi, on Aoyama Shinji, or for the Japan Foundation), one of central problematics of Japanese cinema of the last two decades has been how to represent the other. In some cases, this has involved representing Japan’s others, especially minorities within the country, but on a more basic level, this has extended to questioning the ability of cinema to represent other individuals. This, I argue, has led many filmmakers of the 1990s to pursue a “detached style” that refrained from using close ups or analytical editing as means of enabling spectators to “know” what characters are thinking and feeling.

This problematic has seemingly declined in importance as new filmmakers have appeared and television—which in Japan has long offered pre-digested visions of the world, as Abe Kasho has argued in Beat Takeshi vs. Kitano Takeshi—has come to dominate film production. But the triple disaster of March 11, 2011, may have revived it in the form of the question of how to understand those who did and still suffer.

Everything © Aaron Gerow. Send comments and suggestions to