#29
Japan | 183 min.
2.35:1 OAR anamorphic
colour
original monaural
Special Features
- New progressive transfer of the complete 183-minute Japanese version
- A selection of original trailers
- Promotional material gallery
- New and improved optional English subtitles
- Special 72-page illustrated book with reprints of Lafcadio Hearn’s original ghost stories; a survey of the life and career of Masaki Kobayashi by Linda Hoaglund; and a wide-ranging interview with the filmmaker — the last he ever gave
Kwaidan
Masaki Kobayashi, 1965
For the first time in the West, The Masters of Cinema Series is proud to present the complete 183-minute original Japanese cut of Masaki Kobayashi’s Kwaidan — one of the most meticulously crafted supernatural fantasy films ever made.
Winner of the Special Jury Prize at Cannes, Kwaidan features four nightmarish tales adapted from Lafcadio Hearn’s classic Japanese ghost stories. For this lavish, ‘scope production, Kobayashi drew extensively on his own training as a student of painting and the fine arts. Indeed, the breadth of the film’s poetic expression is unmatched in all of Japanese cinema: breathtakingly photographed on handpainted sets, the film is at once a miniature writ large, and an abstract wash of luminescent colours that seem to hail from another world. On the soundtrack, an electronic score by avant-garde composer Toru Takemitsu plays hauntingly with the natural sounds — crickets, rain, the cracking of wood, the loud silence of snow. This interaction of the film’s plastic and aural textures with the simple, aching humanity of Hearn’s tales serves to accentuate the power of the storytelling: four episodes about mortals caught up in forces beyond their comprehension — when the supernatural world intervenes in their lives. Perhaps the definitive adaptation of Hearn’s work, Kwaidan also presents the author’s most emblematic tale — “Hoichi, the Earless”, in which a blind young monk journeys every night to an abandoned graveyard, compelled by the ghosts of a famous battle to retell their story, over and over again…
Starring Tatsuya Nakadai (Yojimbo, The Face of Another, Harakiri), this complete print of Kwaidan — incorporating 21 minutes of footage never before released to Western audiences — also includes the uncut version of “The Snow Maiden”, in which a woodcutter marries a woman whose true calling is to wander enveloped in swirling snowflakes, bringing death to mortals. The episode marks the apotheosis of the film’s eerie atmosphere — anticipating, and arguably surpassing, Japanese cinema’s recent excursions in the realm of “J-horror”. Over forty years on, Kobayashi’s film remains an unparalleled achievement.
Trailer:
Essay :
In a Cup of tea
by Lafcadio Hearn, 1902
from Kottô: Being Japanese Curios, with Sundry Cobwebs (1902)
Have you ever attempted to mount some old tower stairway, spiring up through darkness, and in the heart of that darkness found yourself at the cobwebbed edge of nothing? Or have you followed some coast path, cut along the face of a cliff, only to discover yourself, at a turn, on the jagged verge of a break? The emotional worth of such experience — from a literary point of view — is proved by the force of the sensations aroused, and by the vividness with which they are remembered.
Now there have been curiously preserved, in old Japanese story-books, certain fragments of fiction that produce an almost similar emotional experience… . Perhaps the writer was lazy; perhaps he had a quarrel with the publisher; perhaps he was suddenly called away from his little table, and never came back; perhaps death stopped the writing-brush in the very middle of a sentence. But no mortal man can ever tell us exactly why these things were left unfinished… . I select a typical example.
On the fourth day of the first month of the third Tenwa, — that is to say, about two hundred and twenty years ago, — the lord Nakagawa Sado, while on his way to make a New Year’s visit, halted with his train at a tea-house in Hakusan, in the Hongô district of Yedo. While the party were resting there, one of the lord’s attendants, — a wakatô* named Sekinai, — feeling very thirsty, filled for himself a large water-cup with tea. He was raising the cup to his lips when he suddenly perceived, in the transparent yellow infusion, the image or reflection of a face that was not his own. Startled, he looked around, but could see no one near him. The face in the tea appeared, from the coiffure, to be the face of a young samurai: it was strangely distinct, and very handsome, — delicate as the face of a girl. And it seemed the reflection of a living face; for the eyes and the lips were moving. Bewildered by this mysterious apparition, Sekinai threw away the tea, and carefully examined the cup. It proved to be a very cheap water-cup, with no artistic devices of any sort. He found and filled another cup; and again the face appeared in the tea. He then ordered fresh tea, and refilled the cup; and once more the strange face appeared, — this time with a mocking smile. But Sekinai did not allow himself to be frightened. “Whoever you are,” he muttered, “you shall delude me no further!” — then he swallowed the tea, face and all, and went his way, wondering whether he had swallowed a ghost.
Late in the evening of the same day, while on watch in the palace of the lord Nakagawa, Sekinai was surprised by the soundless coming of a stranger into the apartment. This stranger, a richly dressed young samurai, seated himiself directly in front of Sekinai, and, saluting the wakatô with a slight bow, observed: —
“I am Shikibu Heinai — met you to-day for the same time… . You do not seem to recognize me.”
He spoke in a very low, but penetrating voice. And Sekinai was astonished to find before him the same sinister, handsome face of which he had seen, and swallowed, the apparition in a cup of tea. It was smiling now, as the phantom had smiled; but the steady gaze of the eyes, above the smiling lips, was at once a challenge and an insult.
“No, I do not recognize you,” returned Sekinai, angry but cool; — “and perhaps you will now be good enough to inform me how you obtained admission to this house?”
[In feudal times the residence of a lord was strictly guarded at all hours; and no one could enter unannounced, except through some unpardonable negligence on the part of the armed wretch.]
“Ah, you do not recognize me!” exclaimed the visitor, in a tone of irony, drawing a little nearer as he spoke. “No, you do not recognize me! Yet you took upon yourself this morning to do me a deadly injury! …”
Sekinai instantly seized the tantô* at his girdle, and made a fierce thrust at the throat of the man. But the blade seemed to touch no substance. Simultaneously and soundlessly the intruder leaped sideward to the chamber-wall, and through it! … The wall showed no trace of his exit. He had traversed it only as the light of the candle passes through lantern-paper.
When Sekinai made report of the incident, his recital astonished and puzzled the retainers. No stranger had been seen either to enter or to leave the palace at the hour of the occurrence; and no one in the service of the lord Nakagawa had ever heard of the name “Shikibu Heinai.”
On the following night Sekinai was off duty, and remained at home with his parents. At a rather late hour he was informed that some strangers had called at the house, and desired to speak with him for a moment. Taking his sword, he went to the entrance, and there found three armed men, — apparently retainers, — waiting in front of the door-step. The three bowed respectfully to Sekinai; and one of them said: —
“Our names are Matsuoka Bungô, Tsuchibashi Bungô, and Okamura Heiroku. We are retainers of the noble Shikibu Heinai. When our master last night deigned to pay you a visit, you struck him with a sword. He was much hurt, and has been obliged to go to the hot springs, where his wound is now being treated. But on the sixteenth day of the coming month he will return; and he will then fitly repay you for the injury done him… .”
Without waiting to hear more, Sekinai leaped out, sword in hand, and slashed right and left, at the strangers. But the three men sprang to the wall of the adjoining building, and flitted up the wall like shadows, and …
Here the old narrative breaks off; the rest of the story existed only in some brain that has been dust for a century.
I am able to imagine several possible endings; but none of them would satisfy an Occidental imagination. I prefer to let the reader attempt to decide for himself the probable consequence of swallowing a Soul.1
Footnotes
1 – The armed attendant of a samurai was thus called. The relation of the wakatô to the samurai was that of squire to knight.
MoC Note: Hearn here abandons italicisation of the word “samurai”, but not “wakatô”.
- The shorter of the two swords carried by samurai. The longer sword was called katana.
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