Why should one disapprove the rigid nature of an establishment or
a system? Doesn’t that rigidity keeps people in line and allows justice be
served? The question we need to ask back is: what kind of people become prey of
this ‘rigidity’ and what kind of justice is served? When you seek answers for
that question, you can come across the pompous and vacuous nature of an
inflexible establishment. The argument for ‘rigidity’ or ‘justice’ is tossed
around by the sentinels of the establishment, whenever their decisions have to
circumvent basic humanity. And, our
history, most often, is not only written by victors, but also by humans who
perceived fellow human tragedies through set of codes and intellectual reasoning. Great men of history have construed rituals and customs more often
to advance their own ends and use it as a means to cut down any perceived
menace. Japanese master Masaki Kobayashi’s “Harakiri" aka “Seppuku” (1962), set
in 1630 feudal Japan, pointedly contemplates on this vile human nature, which I’d like to call as the
‘callousness of establishment’.
The movie opens with the arrival of impoverished and master-less
samurai Hanshiro Tsugumo (Tatsuya Nakadai) to the domain of Iyi clan. He is
seeking to commit the ritual suicide by disembowelment -- ‘Harakiri’ or
‘Seppuku’ -- in the clan’s courtyard. Tsugumo claims that the peace has
unemployed him for years and rather than live like a dog, he prefers suicide by Bushido code. The clan chief Saito (Rentaro Mikuni) narrates a cautionary tale
to Tsugumo, upon hearing his request. The tale concerns the fate of Chijiwa
Motome (Akira Ishihama), a young samurai from a similar defunct clan,
approached Iyi to commit harakiri. The clan’s advisors state Motome is simply
trying to extort food or job by threatening ritual suicide. They are ashamed about
how a samurai could trade in his unwavering honor for survival. Saito and his
underlings of the clan get more enraged when they see the bamboo substitute for
a samurai sword. The clan is determined to see Motome commit harakiri with the
same bamboo sword or else to cut him down. Motome vainly appeals to Saito to
postpone the ritual, but eventually in a brutal sequence he slowly pierces his
bowels.
Tsugumo answers that he is a man of his word and would never waver from his decision. The preparations for the custom are made and the
important clan members gather in the courtyard to witness it. Tsugumo requests
fine swordsman Hikokuro Omodaka (Tetsuro Tanba) to be his ‘second’ – to deliver
the mortal blow to head after the disembowelment act. Unfortunately, due to
fatigue Omodaka has sought relief from his duties for 3 or 4 days. Tsugumo
pleads Saito to bring the swordsman to finish this ritual. While men depart
to solicit Omodaka, Tsugumo starts telling his own life story from the time his clan
was abolished. He talks about the fate of his beautiful daughter Miho (Shima Iwashita), her husband and their sickly little child. The tale also reveals
Tsugumo's reasons for choosing Iyi clan for performing 'Seppuku'. His incisive looks, words, and actions exhibit the shame
and hypocrisy of the clan’s unbending protocols.
By now, cinephiles might be aware of how ‘chanbara’ or
‘samurai' movies gained prominence in the post-World War II Japan (later
influenced many Western films & film-makers) and how the great film-makers
Akira Kurosawa and Masaki Kobayashi’s approach to this genre differed. Apart
from exploring the darker, nether side of Bushido, Kobayashi’s exemplary works
beautifully plays with the generic expectations of ‘samurai’ movie. “Harakiri”
has astounding sword-fighting set-pieces, like any other great films belonging to
the genre. But, what makes it a timeless classic lays in the way Mr. Kobayashi
sets his priorities right. Right from the opening shot of the ‘sacred symbol of ancestors’, the film-maker adds narrative weight onto his
character and finds enough room to mount the powerful social criticisms. Even
when the real hacking and slashing commences, we don’t just see the protagonist
outrunning his attackers, but also his fatigue and the sad realization of how
one man (despite being a hero) couldn’t overcome a repressing establishment.
Nevertheless, Kobayashi’s “Harakiri” heaps most of its damages on the villains
through potent words. If we draw parallels to what happened in Japanese feudal
era to any oppressive regime in a country, we can come to a conclusion that
those empty governance will fall eventually. How? Because, however, majestic
and powerful the establishment is, its foundation of hypocrisy & lies are
like quick sands, waiting to topple everything. May be our history books on empires
might say different things. Alas, history is truthful & real as people make
it to be.
The precise directorial techniques of Kobayashi are a wonder
to behold. Often the director impeccably establishes the geography for his
tale, before bringing in the characters. In “Harakiri”, Kobayashi opens with
the shots of clan’s neatly aligned structures. The camera movements, the
framing plus the placid, lined surroundings indicate the ‘rigidness’ or the
alleged ‘semblance of order’. The zoom-ins and camera pans are incredibly
handled and showcase how one character’s relationship with another transforms
within those physical, rigid borders. The framing of ‘ceremonial mat’ in the
middle of courtyard indicates the empty adulation on the part of clan
observers. Kobayashi amply employs high-angle and low-angle shots to
demonstrate the hierarchy between Saito and Tsugumo. The elevated presence of
Saito urges us to think upon his non-literal distance (or indifference) with
Tsugumo’s plight. The black-and-white cinematography by Yoshio Miyajima weaves
a sumptuous aesthetic that emphasizes on the spaces, characters finds
themselves in and never tries to lighten up the figurative starkness. My most favorite of the staging happens when
Omodaka confronts Tsugumo at his cramped up hut. Tsugumo takes up Omodaka’s
challenge to fight and they both slowly pass through a cemetery, a forest filled
with dense bamboo trees, and a field in the mountain, rustling heavily under
the wind. The sequence elegantly leads to a duel under the ominous, gloomy sky.
Of course, one can’t forget the iconic, close-quarter sword fighting sequence
in the climax. The way the swords slash, spear erupts and the walls come down with
a brute force offers a visceral treat that’s hard to surpass by any modern
action sequences.
Author Donald Richie claims the clan’s ancestor statue,
cloaked in (red) armor suit as a metaphor for the false & empty nature of
samurai code; its pomp and ceremony preached by rulers to the obedient menials. The
statue is seen by Iyi clan as the representation of samurai honor, while a
samurai’s blade is perceived as his soul. The uselessness of both the symbols
is shown in a both figurative and literal manner. In the final fight, Tsugumo
picks up the armored object and throws it, grasping its useless nature and with
an intent to desecrate the object. But, despite the destruction of the sacred
object, the clan members cover things up to retain an order, and with such an
empty act they desecrate the very honor they wanted to uphold. Similarly, by
clinging to his coveted sword, Tsugumo understands his own stupidity (but too
late) for adhering to ‘figurative’ honor when he could have done a lot to save
his family. These two different acts ruminate upon the same thing: on how
rituals and ideas of honor become empty and ceremonious, when the much-needed
humanity is taken away from it. The lack of humanity creates more fanatic
individuals, interested in upholding honor rather than saving human lives. You can
take this aspect of “Harakiri” and come up with many parallels in our own corners
of society, where inflexibility and hierarchical nature prevails.
The script and dialogues writtten by Shinobu Hashimoto
(wrote the script for Kurosawa’s “Rashomon”, “Ikiru”, etc) and Yasuhiko
Takiguchi matches the ferocity and preciseness of the direction. The dialogues
Tsugumo speaks to recall the fate of his daughter’s family gives us a hard time
holding back the tears and at other times, they sharply blend in old Japanese
sayings (“The suspicious mind conjures its own demons” – what an insightful
line!). Tatsuya Nakadai’s central
performance as Tsugumo doubles the fierce strength of the film. He blends in
the fury and tragedy when he narrates each word of his life story. His part
exasperated, part sinister laughs (the laugh raises from the guts – the kind
which frightens the enemy) and way he holds the sword like a bird ready to fly are
some of the iconic Nakadai images. Rentaro Mikuni as Saito has also given a
formidable performance, whose expressions exhibit hate and hidden shame in
equal proportions.
Trailer
It would be futile to perceive “Harakiri” aka “Seppuku” (133 minutes) as a samurai movie or as a simple morality tale. Masaki Kobayashi’s masterpiece indicts the perpetual human nature to compromise humanity for preserving hollow ideals.
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