Seppuku (1962, directed by Masaki Kobayashi)
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| Tatsuya Nakadai in Seppuku |
Then again, even apart from this matter, the movie just didn't have the subtle ethical dilemmas and grim atmosphere of Seppuku. The main problems in Rebellion are the following ones.
2. An individual cannot possibly be just the network of social relations and obligations surrounding him or her, and the main characters are trying to get a life apart from the social system they are a part of - even at the cost of being crushed by said system.
3. There are vague hints that the actions of the mean Lord were somewhat dictated by the official norms and traditions themselves, so the woman in question was not oppressed just by a mean individual in a position of power, but by the whole tradition she was a part of.
4. There is duty, and there is moral right, and sometimes they interfere and one has to decide, losing something either way.
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| Toshiro Mifune in Samurai Rebellion |
Seppuku's moral plight was much more continuous and smooth -
the unjustified aggressiveness of the Samurai Code in a time of peace, against
humanitarian (and probably deeper Buddhist) principles, and also its perversion
by the increasingly lax attitude of its practitioners. The ethical argument was
sharp and painful as a katana, the humanism was warm, laughing, crying and bleeding,
and apart from that, the visual metaphors were deep and compelling. Nakadai's
Hanshiro himself was more of a metaphorical archetype than an actual human
being, he was relentless retribution, a bleeding wound frozen in time until the
corroded blade that opened it was found and punished. Both movies end with the
two individual dramas frustratingly concealed by the clan officials, little red
specs crushed under the millstones of large-scale politics, but while Seppuku
takes it with a world-wrecking visual metaphor and a grain of cynical humor, Rebellion
whimpers and declaims.
Rebellion was descriptively, visually and theoretically confusing. Not deadly confusing, of course, but still deflating. I can only think of a handful of images that had an effect on me,
which is also why my analysis is so focused on the ethical part of the story. Neither Ichi, not Yogoro looked like more of a sketch, and apart from some generic "damn women had a bad fate during the Shogunate" reaction, I never felt truly involved in their fate. Of course that playing ping-pong with a woman's life is not nice, but come on, this was such a minor issue compared to the problems from Seppuku - and to my own expectations when I read the title of the movie. Isaburo felt more like a frustrated old man who is trying to (almost forcefully at times) project his dreams of happiness on his son, the Lord and the Intendent were typically bad guys, and Nakadai's Tatewaki was more of an afterthought, almost redundant in the story. I believe that the worst offender here was Ichi and Yogoro's life together, which was supposed to be the portrayal of familial happiness. At least we're told so. In reality, it was the same ritualistic stiffness - and I won't even begin to compare this with the happy scenes from Tsugumo's life with his daughter and son in law. In fact, if the happiness of the three Sasaharas had been actually shown, I think that their subsequent plight would have been much more convincing. Of course, Kobayashi doesn't do very much in the direction of creating an actual universe behind the screen, his worlds look like artificial compositions in both cases, but the construction from Seppuku is so beautiful and complex that it pretty much catches life.
And I never really felt tensed - what I felt was rather discomfort at the domestic conflicts, and toward the end a whiff of irritation at stuff being blown out of proportions. Indeed, the latter could have become a tragic cry of suffocation of the little human against the social bulldozer, problem 2 was by far the most interesting one - and who knows, maybe on a latter reviewing I'll focus on it and draw more from this movie. But this time, it didn't do more than tug a little at the corner of my eye (or the corner of my humanistic principles).
In conclusion, I am heavily tempted to decide that, in spite of its high praise, Samurai Rebellion just didn't work, at least not for me. Sure that my reaction to a movie is, to a certain extent,
influenced by the mood and state I'm in when I see it, and I had seen Seppuku
during a train trip, when I typically feel very relaxed and comfortable (and
open to whatever a movie is throwing at me). Still, I'm pretty sure that,
during the same train trip, had I watched Rebellion, I'd have had a much
less remarkable experience.


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