Kwaidan (1965)

Kobayashi Masaki

Japan

161 min, color, 2.35:1, monoaural, Japanese (English subtitles)

Although written by a European (Lafcaido Hearn), Kwaidan (Ghost Story) carries the quintessential Japanese ghost story motifs. Directed by Kobayashi Masaki, whom many consider to be second only to Kurosawa Akira, the period film consists of four separate segments, each relating a particular story. The film was not very popular upon its release in Japan but quickly became a favorite on the European art-house circuit. Although I am at a loss to see why it flopped in its native land, I can see why Kwaidan will be loved by critics. It was previously released in the US cut and with the entire second segment missing from the print (inexcusable as it is the second best of the four) but now Criterion have restored the film to its full-length glory.

Black Hair. The often-told story, in which a clueless samurai (Mikuni Rentaro) forsakes his faithful loving wife (Aratama Michiyo) and marries the daughter of a rich influential man to advance his career goals. When the second wife (Watanabe Misako) turns out to be a vain shrew, the samurai begins to remember longingly his first wife. Years pass and eventually the samurai resolves to seek out his ex. Upon returning to their former home in the middle of the night, he finds it in ruins but, strangely enough, his wife still living there. Will they be able to reunite? Was her love strong enough to conquer the separation? Or was her hatred even stronger?

The Woman of the Snow. During a blinding blizzard, two wood cutters become stranded on the far side of a river and decide to spend the night in a nearby shed. When Minokichi (Nakadai Tatsuya) wakes up with a start, he notices a beautiful woman freeze Mosaku (Hamamura Jun) with her icy breath. The woman then turns to him but take pity on his youth and spares him on the condition that he will never mention the event to anyone. Some time later, Minokichi meets a strange woman Yuki (Kishi Keiko), they fall in love, and raise a beautiful family. Years pass, and one day Minokichi blurts out the forbidden story. Will the warning of the woman come true? Does he know his wife that well? Will the love for family overcome an ancient curse?

Hoichi, the Earless. The blind boy Hoichi (Nakamura Katsuo) lives at a temple near Dan-no-ura, the place of the final epic battle between the declining Taira clan and their Minamoto rivals in 1185. Hoichi's peerless musicianship raises the ghosts of the fallen Taira warriors and the drowned Emperor Antoku from their watery graves. They command Hoichi to perform the Heike tale and he agrees, not knowing that he is obliging ghosts. The nightly efforts soon drain his strength and the head priest (Shimura Takashi) takes notice. When the priest discovers the true nature of Hoichi nightly disappearances, he orders his body covered with sacred writings. When the ghost warrior (Tanba Tetsuro) returns, he cannot see Hoichi whose entire body is protected by the magical charms. Entire, that is, with the exception of his ears, which the negligent priest has forgotten to paint...

In a Cup of Tea. A writer (Takizawa Osamu) ponders the abrupt endings of popular tales. He begins composing the story of Kannai (Nakamura Kanemon), a samurai who one day pours himself a cup of water only to discover someone else's reflection in it. Kannai drinks up anyway but next night the odd stranger Heinai (Nakaya Noboru) appears from nowhere to demand redress for the injury suffered. Kannai attacks him, wounds him, and chases him until Heinai mysteriously dissolves into a wall. Is Kannai insane with swallowing someone else's soul? Or are the new apparitions of Heinai's retainers real? How will the writer end this story and will his wife and publisher appreciate it?

This film is impossible to categorize. Almost entirely shot on elaborate studio sets, Kwaidan showcases Kobayashi's superb mastery of the medium. The technique borrows heavily from theater, and indeed much realism is sacrificed in order to obtain a stage effect, similar to a Noh or bunraku play. The sky, the dominant element in the background, is entirely painted, an effect used by Kurosawa in his Dreams with great success. The somewhat static delivery and deliberate pacing have led some to conclude that the film is slow and too ponderous. However, the induced artificiality conveys the fantastic element much more subtly, serving as constant, yet subconscious, reminder that what we are watching is a fairy tale. The pacing has a lyrical effect, just like the listener to a story savors the details and longs not for the conclusion. The process is the pleasure.

Hoichi, the Earless is by far the best segment. The full swing of the fantastic takes us from the ancient battle, in which the fate of a once-mighty clan was sealed, to the power of the poetic that can overcome oblivion and physical disability. The Woman of the Snow is a close second, where the fury of a snow storm is recreated in a studio with inimitable success. In all four segments the cinematography is superb, bursting with colors, and artfully peering into the intricate landscape littered with snowy forests, enchanting streams, forbidding graveyards, and painted skies. A great film, Kwaidan requires patience and indulgence, like any masterpiece.

The Criterion DVD is excellent, with an anamorphic brand new transfer that is almost grain-free. For a film of this age, this achievement is noteworthy. The contrast is good and the colors (something crucial for a film of this sort) are well defined. Since the musical landscape is quite sparse, the minimalist approach requires careful attention due to the importance of each sound. The DVD is a success here as well, rendering flutes, drums, biwa, and voices with great fidelity. The only detraction from the (expensive) release is the complete lack of extras (only a trailer). There are some liner notes that might serve as an inadequate substitute.

October 10, 2001.