Popular Entertainments of Japan: A Rapidly Changing Pattern

byKOJI OZAKI

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OF THE five hundred films shown yearly in Japan, half are Japanese and the remainder mainly American, followed by French. Immediately after the war, Japanese audiences showed little interest in native products, but in 1953 the trend was reversed and box-office receipts from Japanese films now far exceed those from foreign ones. This change can be attributed to the growing skill of Japanese directors, the foreign awards which their films have received, and the reawakening of patriotic sentiment among the people.

This new trend began with the spectacular success abroad of Rashomon, directed by Akira Kurosawa, and virtually ignored in Japan until it won the film awards of Venice and of the American Academy. Based on a story by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, in which an outlaw violates a woman before her husband’s eyes, the film posed the question: was the woman attracted by the savagery of the man, or did she yield to save her husband?

Another Venice prize winner, Ugetsu, directed by Kenji Mizoguchi, tells of an ambitious potter, so eager for wealth that he leaves his wife in the ravaged countryside to sell his wares in the city. There, a beautiful woman orders him to her home.

He succumbs to her beauty only to discover that she is a ghost, the last daughter of a ruined clan, and that association with her will be fatal. Awakening from the spell, he hastens home only to find that his wife has been killed. Both direction and photography reflect the story’s blending of realism and fantasy, most notably in the subtle interweaving of time present and time past.

The Tale of Genji, based on the 11th century classic novel of Japanese court life, was directed by Kozaburo Yoshimura and won a Cannes award. A Venice award was given to A Woman’s Life, also directed by Mizoguchi, and based on a novel by the 17th century author Saikaku Ibara.

Gate of Hell, superbly photographed in color and directed by Teinosuke Kinugasa, is placed in the feudal Heian Era. It is a tragic drama of unrequited passion and of a wife who sacrifices her life for her husband’s honor. This film, too, won a prize at Cannes. Of all the Japanese films receiving foreign acclaim, only one, The Place Where the Chimneys are Seen, had a modern theme. Directed by Heinosuke Gosho, it won an award in Berlin.

Despite the many real advances made by Japanese films, there are recurrent themes and situations which reflect the old-fashioned and feudal elements still surviving in social custom. For example: once a woman is married she must never, for any reason, leave her husband’s house and must comply with his will. If a family is extremely poor, they may sell their daughter, and the girl does not hesitate to sacrifice herself to provide for her parents. Such things do still take place, occasionally, in presentday Japan and there are films which exploit these ideas and include all the other trappings and symbols of old Japan — the master-retainer relationships (which always accompany sword fighting), clan feuds, and anachronistic dramatic situations. Certainly such themes do appeal to the Japanese. Tragedies, acted in a style half-classical and halfrealistic, usually center on fatalistic sacrifices. The Japanese, who weep at these films, respond more to the emotions depicted than to the plot itself.

Along with these ancient themes is a fairly heavy emphasis on tragic love. We still do not have the habit of kissing in public, but the films are breaking down this restriction. Before the war, kissing scenes in foreign films wore generally deleted by order of the government. At first depicted with typical Japanese modesty — in the shade of a tree or behind a fan — the intense emotion of parting lovers has recently been shown a little more frankly, often by a kiss in the rain.

There is an effort among some of the younger directors to come to grips realistically with the misery of war and to portray the complicated ways in which modern people live — their struggles, their compromises, and their defeats. Such directors are incorporating new artistic elements into their work, and many now co-operate with authors in an attempt to criticize contemporary society.

Another interesting addition to film art has been provided by some of the older directors, and this is a re-creation of the emotion that one finds in such traditional arts as the Noh drama and Kabuki. They attempt, as far as possible, to stylize actuality, even in the dramatization of present-day events.

The making of Japanese films is primarily the responsibility of five major film companies, of which the largest, Shochiku, has a capital of the equivalent of five million dollars and employs eighteen directors. Compared with foreign production, Japanese companies work at enormous speed. Each produces, for example, at least four films a month, and a director needs only ten days for a feature film.

Until very recently these five companies held a complete monopoly of the Japanese film world, and protected themselves by permanently barring an actor from employment by any of the major companies if he made a film outside their auspices. In 1930, in an attempt to break this monopoly, several small independent producers made films designed to combine entertainment with a social message of some sort. This effort, however, was short-lived. The major companies as a rule steered clear both of politics and of social problems.

Recently, the Nikkatsu Company also tried to challenge the supremacy of the Big Five. As yet, it cannot boast of any stars or first-rate directors, but its influence in the film world has been considerable and has revived the interest in independent producing companies. In fact, many stars now attempt to maintain a free status, and insist that their contracts include a clause allowing them to perform occasionally for other companies.

This trend has been further spurred as a result of the Red purge carried out in the big companies. Many excellent technicians of Leftist politics have now begun to make films independently or with the help and co-operation of labor unions. One of Japan’s more successful directors, Tadashi Imai, who used to work for one of the big companies, now devotes his time exclusively to independent productions. He created a sensation with his School of Echoes, which inquires into the problems of education in elementary schools, and his Tower of Lilies, which was based on the true story of the annihilation of girl students who served as nurses during the fighting on Okinawa — a film meant to highlight the tragedies of the war and the recklessness of the Japanese military. Independent producers concentrate on the production of antiwar films, for the major companies have so far shown no interest in such subjects. The Leftists, of course, openly use such themes for propaganda.

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TELEVISION in Japan is still on a fairly primitive level because neither of the two television networks, the government subsidized NHK, or the commercial NTV, has adequate facilities. A shortage of studios exists, and technical processes are still to be perfected. Yet, a foreigner visiting a Japanese studio would, I think, be surprised at the ingenuity of the sets. The various properties are handmade and, for economy’s sake, the producers have resorted to the ancient techniques of Japanesestyle painting in the making of scenery. For instance, the feeling of dark or light colors is conveyed by the use only of black, white and grays.

The spread of television has been slow. There are at present about 30,000 receivers in operation, and both networks broadcast only five hours a day. When television broadcasts began, certain critics cynically remarked that it was a typically bad habit of the Japanese to start something before they were fully prepared for it. However, the potential popularity of television is now clearly evident. In Tokyo crowds of people gather before the shop windows which display television sets.

By far the most popular television programs are news, baseball, Japanese wrestling, boxing, and of course “pro-wrestling” or Western-style wrestling. Television drama is still in an embryonic state, and only three or four authors are writing what may properly be called television dramas, the most popular of which are comedies. About the only other type of play on television is the “home drama” which is directed at the entire family, and stresses common domestic problems.

In order to promote television drama, the networks have recently been looking everywhere for plays of maximum appeal to the widest range of viewers. NHK, for example, commissioned the popular writer Kiichiro Yamate, equally well known for his stories of city life in former days and his thrillers, to write an original script for television.

There have been other less successful experiments with Guignol and marionette performances for children. But puppet plays on television do not seem to appeal here. Far more effective have been the shadow plays, which are both cheaper to produce and more flexible as a medium. In these shadow plays, the figures are made of cardboard with translucent paper for the eyes and mouth. The buildings and other objects of the background are also made of cardboard. The figures are held up from below and the heads and feet are moved by wires, while a strong back light throws the shadows of both figures and scenery on a white cloth.

Even though original works written for television are still scarce and poor, the medium does serve to bring stage performances to a wider public. Telecasts of Kabuki performances, for instance, have been about the most popular dramatic shows to be put on. Stage performances of other kinds of theater have also enjoyed considerable success. Now that an agreement has been reached with the film companies allowing the use of films that are at least three years old, television’s prospects seem brighter.

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BEFORE the War, there were in Japan only two schools of dancing — the traditional Japanese dance, and the modern dance imported from Europe. Since the war, ballet has been introduced, and has had such an immediate and widespread success that advertisements for “ballet academies” are now seen not only in Tokyo, but in the suburbs. This is one of the most inexplicable entertainment phenomena, for nothing could be farther in mood or technique from the classical dance of Japan.

The Japanese style of dancing has been for some time now controlled by four major schools. In order to become a dancer, a pupil must enter one of these schools and study with an approved teacher. When that teacher decides that the young dancer is sufficiently accomplished, the head of the school gives his consent for the dancer to appear in public and to use the school’s name. Without this cachet, a dancer cannot perform as an independent artist.

This may appear excessively old-fashioned, but it is precisely because of this system that the Japanese classic dances have been preserved intact. However, it must be added that while this conservative system protects the classics and refines techniques, it seriously hinders the production of new works on modern themes.

Apart from the young girls of good families who study dancing as a pretty, drawing-room accomplishment, the chief exponents of traditional dancing are the geishas. To the Japanese, the word “geisha ” has many beautiful associations, even though they know that poverty may have obliged a girl to take up the profession. For a Japanese audience, the brilliant spectacle of geisha dancing on the stage is one of the most moving and glamorous entertainments. In Tokyo, for instance, the Azuma Dance, an annual all-geisha performance, is one of the season’s brightest events, as are the Miyako Dance and the Kamo River Dance in Kyoto.

In 1917, the geisha, Shizue Fujikage, who was at the time considered one of the foremost dancers, began to perform independently as an advocate of the “new” dance. She put together a repertory of dances based on modern themes, but performed with the traditional techniques. Most of the works of the traditional Japanese dance describe unhappy love affairs and Fujikage brought a welcome new note of gaiety, which has been carried on by her followers.

But recently, ballet has far surpassed in popularity the “new” dance, although there are, so far, only two full-size, professional ballet companies, and as yet no Japanese choreographer and no original Japanese ballets. The companies rely entirely on such perennial favorites as Swan Lake, The Nutcracker Suite, Scheherazade, and Coppelia.

Only one recent event has encouraged traditional Japanese dancers to feel that there is an active future for their art. This was the triumph of Tokuho Azuma in America. And although there were sharp protests because she styled herself “a Kabuki dancer,” her success has given added confidence to classical dancers here in the face of trends that seem to draw more and more on the West.

Just as ballet has come into its own in Japan’s world of dance, so in music, opera is now claiming the greatest attention. Before the war, virtually the only Western vocal music heard in Japan were the German lieder, because the teachers in Japanese music schools were almost all Germans. Since the Occupation, however, the American fondness for Madame Butterfly, The Mikado, and the like, has stimulated Japanese musicians to explore the opera form, using native material.

There are said to be over thirty thousand opera devotees in Tokyo alone. So far they have seen little besides the conventional productions of such operas as Boris Godunov or Così Fan Tutte, but lately, original Japanese works have appeared. Ikuma Dan’s Twilight Crane is the operatic version of Junji Kinoshita’s hit play based on the folk tale of a crane whose life is saved by a farmer; she turns into a woman and out of gratitude becomes his bride. The love story of Townsend Harris, America’s first consul in Japan, and the geisha O-Kichi is the theme of Kosaku Yamada’s The Black Ships. Osamu Shimizu has adapted to the opera form a Kabuki play about a maker of masks, called Tale of Shuzen Temple. And Yamada is in the process of completing yet another Japanese opera to be called Princess Fragrance.

In contrast to this tendency, the number of vocal and instrumental recitals has sharply dropped. As a result of visits by such artists as Traubel, Huesch, Cortot, Gieseking, Heifetz, and Backhaus, listeners have, for the time being, lost interest in recitals of Western music by Japanese artists. Tickets for the concerts of the famous foreigners sell for a minimum of 500 yen and a maximum of 3,000 — far too much for an average Japanese, who earns about 20,000 yen (roughly $55) a month. Yet, students often the most ardent followers of Western music, will carefully save up money in order to attend performances of these visiting artists, and such expressions as “my Cortot savings,” or “my Heifetz savings,” are often heard.

Traditional Japanese music, which has a history that goes back hundreds of years, and still retains, in the Imperial Court, such magnificent survivals as Gagaku, orchestral music dating from the 8th and 9th centuries and originally imported from the mainland of Asia, is a more or less private art. Apart from the great music that accompanies the puppet plays and Kabuki, there are few public performances of music alone. Geisha songs are of course accompanied on the samisen, and in upper class houses, the koto (an instrument that resembles the zither) is studied by the daughters as part of their education and refinement. It is believed that to learn the koto and flower arrangement before marriage gives depth to a girl’s sentiments. However, the most famous koto players have been men, and one of the very few Japanese artists who can command a large audience for native music is Michio Miyagi, the greastest koto player and composer of new pieces on old themes and in old styles.

Among workers of the lower classes, Naniwabushi, a musical storytelling which is a survival of an ancient form, is the most popular musical expression. These are usually sung in a strained and hoarse voice and tell of the heroic and desperate actions of warriors and their followers. The general effect of Naniwabushi is that of an American Western sung as a ballad. Several times a year, some ten famous singers of this type give a huge performance in Tokyo; the majority of their spellbound audience consists of older people.

The most rapidly growing and the most hectic of the recent additions to Japan’s popular entertainment is American and South American jazz. It is sweeping the country and finding its chief devotees among the young people between seventeen and twenty-five years of age. In special jazz cafés they whistle, stomp, and become intoxicated by the intense rhythms. The older people tend to frown on this new jazz craze, and wonder what has become of the old Japanese songs. But the jazz mania shows no sign of being halted, and may in the future acquire as great a hold on the Japanese as it now appears to have on Westerners.

Unlike the films, where native style is gaining ground, the predominant influence of the West on Japanese music seems likely to continue.

Translated by Donald Keene