Masumura and Yoshida, Pulp and Melodrama

The films discussed...

Masumura and Yoshida, Pulp and Melodrama

The films discussed here appeared in the recent series,

Much has been said of Yasuzo Masumura and Kiju (Yoshishige) Yoshida’s interests in Western arts, their formal precision and literary inspirations, but to my mind these two heralded luminaries of the Japanese “New Wave” of the late ’50s through early ’70s share a common trait insufficiently explored, a hard and fast dedication to specific dramatic subgenres performed along retooled norms, yet satisfying their ultimate expectations. Along this line of thought I’d associate Masumura with pulp cinema, or perhaps pulp noir, and Yoshida with the dramatic film melodrama.

One important misconception that should be resolved before analyzing these filmmakers’ adherence to conventions is the difference between Japan’s New Wave and the roughly simultaneous French . While this influx of new blood and rejuvenated creativity in the French industry relied upon the transition of critics into production, the (itself a Japanese pronunciation of the French term) drew on talent already in the studio system, often assistants working directly under the masters of the previous generation they would rail against.

This was the system in which Masumura and Yoshida came to professional maturity, and genre sold in Japan (and still does).

A caricature of Yasuzo Masumura by Tim Hensley [Image source]

It’s interesting Masumura is generally recognized for the oft-fatal obsessions and perversions of his doomed protagonists (as Jonathan Rosenbaum put it, “ordinary madness”) and not the bizarre energy of a Masumura film itself, which propels its characters forward toward their desires and self-destructive inevitablities. His characters are victims of time, place and happenstance—and some very bad decisions made along the way—all key elements of pulp. I’d like to compare him to Nicholas Ray for his compassion for these underdogs, but that apathy is so often coupled with a sadistic edge that seduces his audience and turns them complicit to the protagonists’ demise. Films such as RED ANGEL, SEISAKU’S WIFE, MANJI and TATTOO portray realities previously defined by historical representations or delineated by an author with strong personality; the Manchurian front, the eve of the Russo-Japanese War, and the worlds of Junichiro Tanizaki, but that defined quantity is twisted in a lurid or exploitative fashion. Aside from these stories’ sensational set-ups, they are treated to a steady one-upmanship of narrative development in individual scenes and the plot as a whole; in RED ANGEL: a beautiful nurse, a beautiful nurse who cares for her patients with sexual favors, a beautiful nurse who cares for her patients with sexual favors and falls in love with an impotent frontline surgeon who just doesn’t care anymore; limbs aren’t just sawed off with grating sound effects, but piled in buckets.

Of course what I’ve failed to mention is the beautiful quality of the director’s visuals consistent across films and cinematographers (although he did work with some of the best of the era: Kazuo Miyagawa and Setsuo Kobayashi to name a few), and it’s this consistency which would seem to sway him from losing himself in any one rapturous moment, setting him apart from more textbook exploitation directors that would arrive in the ’70s. It’s the net effect of a Masumura film that gets you, and also, I’d argue, what makes him a good genre director.

Yoshida, on the other hand, is certainly one to enchant with rapturous cinematic moments, testing patience while expanding the atmospheric incantations of picture and sound.

Wife and husband team Mariko Okada and Kiju Yoshida [Image source]

Yoshida famously called his films “anti-melodramas,” yet this sensational appellation might be better translated as counter-melodrama, as the films do carry many strong qualities of the genre, yet twisted toward an avant-garde aesthetic. For instance, “melodramas,” literally “plays with music,” are expected to offer plots tailored to appeal to the heightened emotions of the audience enhanced by the use of music. Yoshida’s films are enriched by a soundtrack which more often than not works against the images on the screen. In contrast to traditional melodrama, a Yoshida film can be quite difficult to watch, if you aren’t prepared for this metered formal collision. This director also worked with a variety of cinematographers and musicians and continued to reach toward an ever-morphing aesthetic ideal, given license (in his most engaging projects) because of such an exact awareness of genre.

The films are often organized according to non-linear plots with flashback voiceovers, some scenes feature gloriously overexposed photography while others consist of a character walking in a void, backlit by a single powerful light source, characters recite tender memories with literary precision and twenty minutes may pass with scarcely a line of dialogue. Not the stuff of traditional melodrama, but the central conflicts of Yoshida’s films are comparable to those of Douglas Sirk (most generally boiling down to the trials and tribulations of marriage and sexual politics). It’s the treatment of the material that differs. These aren’t films against story and mythos, yet they do problematize its traditional representation, with increasing experimentation, reaching an apex with EROS PLUS MASSACRE.

One final thought: the quality which perhaps sets the work of these two filmmakers apart from their predecessors in the genre I’ve (temporarily) marked them down in, is their dedication to real examination of gender roles, often leaving the traditional balance overturned and emphasizing strong female roles over the emotional weakness and insecurity of men.

JNA