Thursday, April 22, 2010

Full Metal Miike: Exploring Cultural Issues in Japan through the Films of Takashi Miike.

fFull Metal Miike: Exploring Cultural Issues in Japan through the Films of Takashi Miike.

Alex Newman

Senior Seminar

Dr. Derek Stanovsky

Interdisciplinary Studies Program

Appalachian State University

May 2010

Full Metal Miike: Exploring Cultural Issues in Japan through the Films of Takashi Miike.

Films have captivated the world for more than one hundred years now. Movies bring people together, make them think, entertain them, teach them, and have even become a source of art and inspiration for the world over. America has always been the shining beacon of the film industry with Hollywood at its center. Despite the power of Hollywood, the international market has had a strong influence on American film because of how popular, unique, and different the films were. Entire generations of directors discovered their style through the imitation and study of these foreign films. One of the biggest foreign markets, one that continues to be important worldwide, is the Japanese film industry. Despite the popularity of these international film markets most American and French criticism, in relation to foreign films (obviously excluding French films), tends to focus on particular directors and movements rather than the industry as a whole or in relation to the culture he are in. The Japanese film industry is very strong and has been successful in world markets and home markets.

This study would like to take a step towards creating a more comprehensive criticism. It will combine some directorial criticism using the highly acclaimed director auteur Takashi Miike (1960- ). It will specifically focus on homosexuality and nationalism (completely separately although discussion could easily occur between the two), which is what he often focuses on and demonstrates in his films. This research will use the films that have been translated into English as well as some information on the other films that have not been translated. From his oeuvre I will explore some consistently reappearing themes, motifs, and ideas that are explored in his films by doing in depth analysis on two films. That is the study of homosexuality, nationalism, and a more basic overview of those aspects of culture in general, and in closer relation to the two main subjects.

The purpose of this study would be to create a better understanding of the filmmaker and his works in relation to the history/culture of the Japan. This could create a new way of studying the relationships and influences on media and art as well as a new method of historical and sociological criticism. This study includes mostly literature research, but also intense filmic research involving close readings of two films which have little to no scholarly writing on them. This also could shine new light on the director and maybe help to reignite some interest in the Japanese film industry.

There are a number of weaknesses and limitations to this study. A lot of information cannot be expunged due to linguistic boundaries. Many of the director’s films still do not have English translations, have not been released on video, or have been lost (which seems pretty sad in today’s modern world). That means that many of them are unavailable to me because I do not speak or read Japanese well enough, but I am going to try to find as much information as possible that has been translated. This always leaks into the Japanese literature and criticism, which is also mostly unavailable to me. One of the other glaring weaknesses is simply the fact that I am American and most of the writing about everything Japanese that I will be able to access will be American, which means that a certain amount of disconnect will be present in all this work because it comes from an outsider who has not lived and cannot be a part of that culture.

Hopefully this study can open up critics and viewers to a new way of exploring meaning and relevance to films in other cultures as well as our own. It can help us to achieve greater understanding of the way that history, culture, and media and how they can relate to each other and become entwined together. This can lead to further developments in the academic world by creating a new way of getting students interested in foreign countries with film and to help them to look at things from many different angles. It will help them understand the importance of not judging another country without understanding that we cannot judge fairly because we are not a part of that culture, but we can learn whatever we can with the media and literature that we have access to, to better appreciate their way of life.

Miike: The Man and the Career

Often sporting a pair of shades to complete the always distant, but never cold, persona; Miike rarely exposes himself. He will sit down for almost every DVD release of his films and does not seem to hesitate to give a brief interview to some American critics. Despite this friendliness, the world still lacks detailed, concrete information on the man. A man who has been at the helm for over eighty projects in about eighteen years could say that he has little to hide. If artistic expression is the closest one can get to understanding someone’s soul then Miike’s may be the most thorough (and complex) of any film director in the world.

Takashi Miike was born in Yao, Osaka, Japan in 1960. Yao is a small, densely packed town on the outskirts of Osaka. Osaka, in relation to Tokyo, is a city that has not quite caught up with modern times and is steeped heavily in ancient traditions. It also features a large immigrant (as well as poor) population and Yao in particular has a large Korean immigrant group. Almost everything else that we know about Miike is what Miike has told to American critics. Actual facts about Miike’s life are either unavailable to English speakers or unavailable in general due to his quiet nature about his past and a lack of public records or other eyewitness information. Most of what is known comes from a series of interviews that critic Tom Mes summed up in the first chapter of his book on Takashi Miike (which is only about five pages of information). Whether Miike intends to create (act out) his own persona so that it fits the idea of “cool” to match his artistic style or if he simply is a mysterious man with a troubled past, his history is important to creating a better understanding of his work and how it represents and satirizes Japanese culture and history.

Miike grew up in a working class family, so a lot of high culture (Noh Theatre, family planning, etc.) was not part of his childhood. In fact, he did not even see a movie until his teenage years when his father took his to see Spielberg’s Duel. His father appears to fit the norm for the Japanese male of the working class because when he was not working he spent most of his time gambling, drinking, and away at the movies. This form of masculinity appealed to Miike and he began to imitate it. He spent much of his youth going from different types of extremes like blowing up frogs, to rugby, to motorbike racing where many of his friends died. Despite his quest for danger, Miike had some serious motivational problems and did not want to work too hard. He only applied for film school because there were no entrance exams and then he rarely ever attended. In the end he just got lucky to get a job working on a crew because the school needed someone that they could use without pay (Mes 15-17).

From that first job, which he apparently did quite well, he was able to continue to work on film crews and began to creep up the ranks until eventually becoming the assistant director to Shohei Imamura. He worked as Imamura’s assistant on the films Zegen and Black Rain (Mes 18). Although he does not cite Imamura as one of his biggest influences it is obvious that working under the great director clearly shaped his style. Both directors focus mainly on the working class and lower class, social outcasts, and often have fantastical or open-ended finales in their films. After working as an assistant director on at least one more film, Miike got his first directing jobs with the boom of V-Cinema during the 1990s (Mes 19). These films allowed for a large amount of creative freedom and surprisingly high budgets for direct-to-video films. From here Miike finally moved to the big screen with a couple of gangster flicks, one of which, Fudoh: The New Generation, gathered him worldwide acclaim.

Now Miike has directed a large number of films in many different genres and continues to make a name for himself by stunning audiences in worldwide festivals and international releases. His status as a cult director has been advancing rapidly with many of films coming out on DVD with subtitles varying from English, French, German, etc. Films like Audition, Gozu, and One Missed Call, have made his name well-known among cineastes. His reputation stays closely tied to his ability to push the boundaries in his films. Whether that be the amount of torture that a person can put up with or simply making things explode with a bazooka, he always seems to try to take the art of filmmaking to the next level.

His work generally falls within several different genres or blends of those genres. The largest amount of work that he has done is with the Yakuza (gangster) films. These films tend to focus on a member of the Yakuza who is either a driven, insane murderer or a member that fails at everything. Both often tend to be coming-of-age stories. Some examples include Yakuza Demon, Graveyard of Honor, Family, and Deadly Outlaw: Rekka. Miike’s most famous films are those under the horror genre where he subverts popular Japanese ideology and makes you wait for the terror to begin. Once begun, he makes sure that you cannot help but turn away now and then with often grotesque images of violence and torture. Some examples here are the famous Audition, One Missed Call, and Imprint. Action films comprise the third largest section of his films. These films most often deal with immigrants stuck in Japan and how they are made into outcasts and criminals. Some examples include City of Lost Souls and the Dead or Alive series. Last, but certainly not least, are his coming-of-age stories about youth in Japan. These stories often take place in poor, working class neighborhoods and usually focus on the struggles of a group of friends trying to grow up. Some examples include The Way to Fight, Young Thugs: Nostalgia, and Blues Harp.

Although it is easy to separate his films into these different sections it would be unfair to Miike to say that he sticks only to these genres. In fact many of the films I mentioned are genre blends. He tends to take a lot of his films and combine them with things that would normally be outside of that framework. For example, his Yakuza horror film Gozu takes a fantasy-horror look into the world of the young Yakuza. He also veers off and does other projects as well like when he tackled the period piece with Sabu or the crime thriller with The Negotiator. His career never stops taking interesting turns. Despite his wide range with genre, he has a very distinct style of filmmaking and often covers many of the same themes and ideas in many of his films. The two themes/ideas that I will discuss in this essay are his explorations of homosexuality and youth and the multi-ethnic situation (nationalism) in Japan.

Japanese Homosexuality

“In the case of Japan, it is only in the past decade that academic and activist communities have begun to seriously research the history of a range of hentai, that is, ‘queer’ or ‘perverse,’ communities” (Martin 9). The study of homosexuality in Japan is still relatively fresh, which in itself is a good showing of just how subversive the Japanese do not so publicly come out. There is a general life course (similar somewhat to the Christianized American life course) where a young person goes through school, gets married, gets a job, takes care of the family(and grandparents), and becomes revered in the society. Some of the relationship standards changed after World War II and many of the traditional family ways were coming into question (Long 74). For example, at that time arranged marriages were still common, and although they still happen now, the percentage is far, far smaller. Maybe more important even was the growing disconnect between the extended families. Both of these changes began a course in which the individual started to become more important, and therefore, more people could be homosexual without having to worry as much about following the life course.

The study of “queer studies” tends to have a more fieldwork type of approach because until very recently Japan’s literature studies were focused on literary history (examining the classic canon). This means that a lot of the research is more experience based, but Japan has a history of studying ‘perverse’ desire like in multiple series of magazines discussing them during the 1950s through the 1970s (Martin 10). This continues today in the form of online forums. Both seem to have had only limited effects though when it comes to creating a political voice (Martin 30). Considering that the main group of Japanese literature comes from these magazines, which are almost exclusively ads in search of other men, it is hard to believe that the homosexual voice is really a voice at all (Martin 32). Most of the ads are from white-collar types, but considering the impossibility of knowing how true any of the ads are it is hard to really gather anything concrete on the numbers or situation.

“Japanese society has never known religious homophobia, but the Confucian emphasis on marriage and procreating the family line continues to exert a dominant influence” (Dynes xiv). Even though the typical life course in Japan had gone through alterations, it was, and is, still somewhat objectionable to come out of the closet. The Confucian teachings are the biggest influence on the life course of the Japanese youth. They must learn, they must have a good job, they must marry, and they must have lots of children. These teachings have been part of the Japanese world for a very long time, which makes it hard for homosexuals to come out publicly. This becomes increasingly difficult because of the Japanese tradition of discretion and privacy (Dynes). So although it is not hard to be homosexual in Japan, it is hard to be a homosexual in Japan and have a voice. It is even more confusing when growing up because of the Confucian teachings combined with the lack of a homosexual voice.

Only recently (relatively) has same-sex sexuality come to be considered “problematic and been consigned to the ‘queer’ side of the ‘normal/abnormal’ division” (McClelland 5). “[During the Edo Period there were plenty of same-sex relations] governed by a code of ethics described as shudo (the way of the youths) in the context of which elite men were able to pursue boys and young men who had not undergone their coming-of-age ceremonies” (McClelland 6). They also were allowed these same types of relations with the lower class males of all ages who were actors or prostitutes. After the Meiji Restoration those practices became to be seen as uncivilized as Japan tried to modernize to compete with the West. Same-sex relationships became defined as “perverse.” The magazine publications began soon afterwards, but as was mentioned before, did little to progress a voice for the homosexual community. There has been some stir of activism (for example in cinema the Tokyo International Lesbian and Gay Film Festivals in the early 90s) but it is still on a very small scale and has yet to provide any significant changes or gather significant numbers.

Takashi Miike: An Exploration of Homosexuality and Youth

Many Miike films center on characters that are social outcasts. They tend to fit into (or combine) three categories of outcast; the young virginal imbecile, the violent sexual deviant, and the foreigner. The foreigner tends to be the focus of many of his action films like The City of Lost Souls, which do not venture as strongly into the sexually deviant world as fully as his coming-of-age, horror, and yakuza stories (or the yakuza horror stories and other genre bends). Miike explores the nature of homosexuality in Japanese youth by showing the repressive situations created by the societal norms as well as through the structures of organized crime. His films with homosexual leads often arc in similar fashions, showing the struggle of character’s coming to grips with their sexual reality. They go through a period of masculine oppression structured by societal norms, followed by moments of regained masculinity or false masculinity, then a struggle to find themselves, and eventually a release in death (or something like it). Miike thus examines the constraints placed on homosexuals in Japan and the strain, fear, and, in the end, inability to cope with the deviant thoughts. Considering his career consists of a significantly larger proportion of these films, it only makes sense to focus on one of them for the purpose of this essay. I will focus on the film Full Metal Yakuza which best represents the struggle of growing up while subduing feelings of homosexuality.

Homosexuality in Japan sits in an uneasy but not so unusual place. Sexuality among the Japanese people is an interesting topic that starts at the core of the Japanese lifestyle and way of thinking. The Japanese separate their life into the private life and the public life. Things like religion, family matters, moral issues, and sexuality are in the private sphere and do not leak into the public sphere. People who fail to do so often fear for their livelihood and their jobs because it causes a great discomfort. This has a lot to do also with the sense of Japanese unity and normality. Men are supposed to be men and women are supposed to be women. They have gender roles, which have certainly loosened over the years, but that are still very much in the minds of many Japanese (as if America is all that different). Many Japanese gay men suffer from bullying in their childhood not because they are gay, but because they were too girl-like (McLelland 195). This is where Japan resides today. There is not a prominent gay culture (although the internet may be changing that) because the Japanese tend to keep sexuality restrained to the private life, but that makes it very hard for gay Japanese to be themselves in everyday life. The other constant restraint is the normative values of family life and family planning. In the interviews that Mark J. McLelland did for his book on homosexuality in modern Japan he discovered that one of their greatest fears was letting down their parents and not settling into the normative lifestyle with a wife and kids (McLelland 191-221). A great example, if not the example, would be the great writer Yukio Mishima whose writings and lifestyle decisions harmed his image and his career as he did all kinds of things to try to reinvent his image before completely falling off his rocker.

It could not be displayed more clearly than in Full Metal Yakuza. A creative parody/reinterpretation on Verhoeven’s Robocop, Takashi Miike’s 1997 film puts the issues up front. Weak and incompetent, the protagonist, Keisuke Hagane, fails at being a yakuza and a man. Whether losing a brawl against children who doubt his claims of being yakuza or getting his lights knocked out after hitting a prostitute when he fails to perform (due to his “small” problem), Hagane cannot find where he fits in the world. His yakuza boss, Tosa, provides him some semblance of place by keeping him around. Although Hagane is mostly useless, Tosa forms an attachment with him (possibly a homosexual one), which is reciprocated by Hagane’s idolization of Tosa, who eventually takes the bullet for Hagane. Or rather, a barrage of bullets, that do not spare young Hagane or his boss (despite his heroic efforts). Then, in true Robocop fashion, Hagane experiences a rebirth when a mad scientist returns him to life by connecting his head to a robot (and Tosa’s) body. Tom Mes may say it best in his book: “Now possessing the limbs, penis, tattoo and heart of his boss, his wish to emulate his master has come true. His weakness and failure have vanished, replaced by a multitude of masculinity symbols: the size of Tosa’s member, Keisuke’s newfound supernatural strength, the look of the robot replicates and magnifies masculine build and muscle texture, plus the face that experiencing strong emotions will cause his circuits to malfunction (a very perceptive touch, since he is basically taught not to show emotions)” (Mes 123-124).

Not only is his body a mess of masculinity, but much of that masculinity was originally Tosa’s, furthering the notions of a homosexual relationship between the two. Hagane literally possess all of the qualities to be a capable, potent male. Miike thus presents his, albeit blunt in this case, metaphor for the societal trappings of homosexuality. Much like Rock Hudson or many other actors, Hagane becomes trapped inside a façade (or a body of work) that outwardly portrays pure masculinity while betraying and denying the true feelings inside. The inability to emote would serve as the prime example of this trap. It shows how any sign of something that could be considered non-masculine will literally render him useless (by the way of short circuiting). “You won’t have any emotions and, you lose control if you get overcharged,” the mad scientist lets him know while fixing the short circuited body. The first example of this extends this model even more when Hagane overhears a conversation between a former love and a fellow yakuza about the size of his penis and sexual performance while they are having relations. Upon hearing the conversation we get a reference to earlier in the film (indicating that the entire overheard scene may be an imagined one) where Hagane’s lover complains about him always being tired. This complaint could be seen to indicate his dispassion for her because of his hidden/unrealized sexual preferences. It does not appear to signify any hetero feelings because we already know that he cannot perform with women anyway. His distress appears to be geared towards the man and his comments, rather than the woman, because it calls into question his masculinity. Most of the shots during the sex scene reflect the male’s viewpoint, showing how Hagane desperately tries to put himself into the normative role. The last image, a close up of the man laughing, stops Hagane in his tracks. Even though he is now trapped inside a completely masculine body his inability to perform still rules over him; reminding him of his feelings and his dislike that he cannot fit the norm.

Despite having a new member, which he finds both exciting and terrifying, he never engages sexually with anyone. He finds it exciting on the surface because he is no longer inept, but also because it is Tosa’s penis (terrified by the sheer enormity and the confusion of why it is on his body initially). This excitement comes to the forefront when he wakes one morning with an erection (“Huge” he says to himself) and becomes extremely excited about how large the penis is. Having Tosa’s (presumably heterosexual) body parts leads to more confusion. Hagane, now lacking the ability to emote, becomes more in touch with Tosa and his masculinity after taking revenge for Tosa’s death. The only thing that stops him is his friend Taka who convinces him that the revenge need not go on any further and, despite having him at gunpoint, lets Hagane go. Taka, in turn, becomes the next source of multiple frustrations for Hagane. But first, after the revenge, Hagane outcasts himself by deciding to build a small hut on the beach near Tosa’s grave. This could be interpreted on a few levels. It could be Tosa’s body having an influence over Hagane (which becomes evident later) and Hagane’s need to stay as close to his master as possible. It is not enough to be combined with his body; he needs to be near his mind and soul. Here Hagane finally seems at peace. That is until Yakuri turns up. Yakuri was Tosa’s girlfriend at the time of his death. An unusual love triangle begins.

The triangle exists because of Hagane’s true feelings coinciding with Tosa’s bodily attraction to his former lover and Hagane’s own attraction to her because of how much he wants to be like Tosa. Similar to the way in which a younger brother may love a woman that his older brother used to love (shown in many other films like Susanne Bier’s Brothers most recently). Yakuri begins to fall in love with Hagane because of the masculine body that he is trapped in, which is Tosa’s. “You don’t look like him at all but you make me feel like I’m with him,” she states. Hagane in turn begins to fall in love with her because she was Tosa’s. This situation sparks Hagane’s recognition, or at least some speculation, to his true sexual self. He rejects her and her love on the basis that he is a monster and because part of him is still Tosa. Although he could have easily hidden that fact from her, he chose to let her know because he cannot truly love her even though Tosa’s body still can. Earlier I mentioned the scene in which Hagane becomes excited about the excited state and size of Tosa’s penis; the importance of that scene in regards to examining Hagane’s homosexuality, becomes even more expressive when a few moments later he sees Yakuri by the grave. He completely forgets the hard-on and it is instantly gone as he goes out to say something to her. This also could further the assumptions of Tosa’s own feelings about Hagane because of the need for closure with Yakuri before accepting his own love of Hagane. Yakuri’s statement that she was dumped by him before he went off to jail gives some indication to the fact that maybe Tosa had already begun to find ways to remove himself from her before his death, which means that he may have already accepted his feelings towards Hagane. Whether because of Hagane’s own influence or not, Yakuri is eventually driven away by the hybrid human.

The next step in Hagane’s progression comes back to Taka. After Yakuri leaves, she decides to get back at the yakuza that killed Tosa. She fails miserably and ends up in their hands and is submitted to repeated and multiple rapes. Through a friend of his Hagane becomes aware of her capture and later his own demise as the yakuza take an attempt on his life. Before they attempt to finally put him under ground, Taka gets in touch with Hagane to reunite and explain the situation with the girl and the yakuza family. He informs Hagane that he will get the girl back (Hagane does not want her to get hurt, but not because of any love interest) and that soon he will be the chief of the family. Taka is living out all of their dreams, but he wants to include Hagane again; maybe to get close to him to hurt him, maybe because he knows that Hagane’s strength would be useful, maybe out of fear that Hagane will become his enemy, or maybe because he has feelings for Hagane and resides in the same position that Hagane earlier did (but without the obvious restraints on his abilities to complete the tasks assigned to him). The fact that he does betray him seems to point towards the first reason. After the attempt on Hagane’s life; his anger and frustration with Taka and the yakuza heightens. This leads to the violent conclusion where Hagane literally kills the entire gang.

Before this happens there is one extremely important event. While Yakuri is being raped by the different members of the crew, Hagane is able to watch through his detached eye, which doubles as a camera that feeds the images into his brain. The eye was picked up by the yakuza after they blew up his hut on the beach. They then placed the eye in a position to see Yakuri in her terrible position as she is subjected to rape and beatings. While driving to save her, Hagane continues to witness the event because he cannot stop the images from coming to him. He continues to become more and more disturbed and enraged while driving. Hagane finally combusts when Taka decides to join in the rape. In the middle of Taka’s rape Yakuri begins to spit up blood because she has bitten off her own tongue to commit suicide. Although the obvious reason for Hagane’s short circuiting is that part of him (and Tosa) care about her because of their previous relationships, but there are some underlying reasons as well. Taka is actually what Hagane really wanted to be. He has moved through the ranks of the yakuza and stayed “straight,” performing as a young man should. Part of his being upset then comes twofold; he wishes to be in Taka’s position and the fact that Taka is straight makes him unavailable and less desirable to him. This creates an inner conflict between the part of Hagane that wishes so much to be normal as well as the part that wants to just let it out. It lets itself be shown in his response to the situation. He short circuits, of course, but instead of getting angrier he appears more shocked and surprised. He is upset that his friend would betray the way that he feels; that he should be both a straight yakuza and how he wishes to be a homosexual. It abruptly ends the possibilities of a relationship with Taka.

The lamentations over the deaths of Taka and Yakuri could not demonstrate the homosexuality and importance of Taka more. After defeating most of the yakuza (the repressive structure), Hagane reaches the room where Yakuri was being held. After very briefly mourning over her death, Miike pits the two young men against each other in the final showdown. Hagane, despite the horrible death of Yakuri is still reluctant to harm his old friend. The final reveal occurs when Taka shoots Hagane. This causes Hagane to realize that he is alive. This allows him finally come out of shell to destroy Taka, who represents the person he tried to force himself to be. But it is not just the death that is important, but also the manner with which it happens. Taka is split in two at the waist. Miike provides a visual representation of the duality that Hagane destroyed within himself. He has separated his true self from the ideal self that was created from the situation to fill the norm that his idol lived. The image itself contains a dual meaning because, in part, that split also represents what Hagane wants to do. He wants to be apart from Tosa’s body so that he can be himself by himself, but he cannot. This sadness over the loss of his friend and ideal along with the frustration of being stuck in that body causes him to short circuit again.

It seems like Hagane will forever be trapped inside the body that now presents itself at the constraint to his coming out. Miike often does not let his character come out, but instead forces them to find release through death or repression. Death (although not conclusive in this case) becomes the route for Hagane, but it is not a simple one. In a bizarre metaphoric twist, Miike again gives the viewer a spectacular visual representation of Hagane’s “coming out.” After short circuiting and collapsing to the ground, one last yakuza slowly moves towards Hagane to make sure that he is finished for good. Once he gets close enough, part of Hagane’s body shoots forth and penetrates the man’s body. The extension, an obvious representation of a penis, reaches orgasm by causing the man’s head to explode. Only in death (or near death) is he allowed release. This bears a lot in common with how many Japanese feel about coming out. Through McLelland’s interviews of gay men in Japan he discovered that “a person’s sexual preference, which is just part of who they are, assumes an exaggerated role in how that person is understood and evaluated by others. Given that most of the information about homosexuality is Japanese society consists of negative stereotypes, many gay men feel that they have little to gain in becoming publicly associated with those images” (McLelland 196). This fits Miike’s representation in his films because his characters are never allowed to come out and only find their release in the form of death or complete isolation. In a more real world way, many Japanese gay men discover that going to the USA or leaving Japan is the only way to be who they are. An interview excerpt from McLelland’s book illustrates this well; “’I don’t know if it’s possible to be actively gay in Japan…I’m Japanese and don’t know if it’s possible to be WHO I AM in Japan’” (McLelland 199).

Miike’s film also adds some other hints (some more obvious than others) about Hagane’s sexuality including the ridiculously feminine pose that Hagane has to make to prevent himself from being hit by bullets.

The young man goes through a long, hard struggle to find himself. Miike uses this to show just how complicated and confusing it can be growing up repressing homosexual urges as well as how the societal dynamics force an idealized standard that young men (especially yakuza) should live up to. Hagane suffers through a period of masculine oppression under the norms of the yakuza way of life, which frustrates him when he cannot perform sexually or live up to his idol. He then has a period of regained and newfound masculinity with Tosa’s body, but it is only a false masculinity because he lacks the drive to use it. Hagane instead retreats and begins to struggle to discover where he stands. This is especially hard because he has melded with another person and begins to be brought back into the yakuza world. Finally he achieves his sweet release through his violent bodily discharge while he is incapacitated, completing Miike’s arc. Miike creates a compelling tale that finds its themes repeated in various forms in some of his other films like Big Bang Love, Juvenile A and Shinjuku Triad Society.

The History of Japanese Nationalism and Multi-Ethnic Japan

It was easy for Japan to become a country with a strong sense of national consciousness. “Being geographically isolated off the northeast coast of Asia and having developed, at an early date, a homogeneous people speaking a common language and worshipping indigenous gods, the Japanese soon developed a sense of group unity and, under strong external pressure, became the most nationalistic people in Asia” (Brown v-vi). Brown, in the first few pages of his book on Japanese nationalism hits the nail on the head with his main two points on how Japan became a unified nation. The first of which is geography. The Japanese islands are removed from the rest of Asia and the expanse of water in between them kept it even more separate for a time. “The Japanese themselves were apparently aware of their geographical separateness in prehistoric times, for the earliest histories contain myths about the divine origin of the Japanese islands – myths which, under the impetus of modern nationalist propaganda, became the basis of a fanatical belief in the divine origin and the divine protection of the Japanese islands” (Brown 6). So not only were they separated from the rest of the world, but this geographic division also helped to unify the religion, language, and, because of the nature of the land, also shaped a uniformity of occupation and way of life. The second reason would be the “element of nationalism in Japan [that believes] in a common racial descent” (Brown 7). Even though the people of Japan came from all over the place (many of them Mongol) they had enough time to intermingle so that they have one of the most homogeneous nations in the world. Although it would be beneficial to review the entire history of Japanese nationalism, it is not necessary here because we are dealing with modern Japan, but it is important to at least have a foundation with which to understand some of the basic principles Japanese nationalism came from. There are a few important movements that really capture the majority of the feelings of Japanese nationalism.

The humble beginnings of the Japanese nationalism began in the Nara period around 710. During this time the “bible of nationalism” was written. This “bible” is called the Kojiki (Chronicle of Ancient Matters). It consists of the accounts of the true traditions of Japan as well as historical matters. In this way it began the myths that gave the Japanese their sense of divinity. Also during this period Buddhism became an important part of Japanese culture, although they ignored anything within it that directly contradicted their Shinto beliefs (which is why Japanese nationalism is sometimes called “Shinto Nationalism”) (Brown 16-20). This first period of growth was mostly internal and it was not until later that a true national consciousness arose because the nation as a whole was not literate enough or powerful enough to be involved in the reading of literature and poetry. The next period of growth in the national consciousness came with the arrival of the Europeans in 1543. A new level of scholarship became attainable and military tactics were greatly changed, but most importantly was how the European’s helped both to unite and destroy Japanese unity. Although they experienced a sense of inferiority in terms of technology, Japan gained in national consciousness through internal forces. This period became a time of great turmoil in Japan, but most of this was caused by tensions within Japanese society. “The most articulate expressions of national thought were still limited to a part of the samurai intellectuals and were still a far cry from modern expressions of nationalism; but foundations were laid and an intellectual momentum was built up that, as a factor in the subsequent growth of nationalism cannot be overlooked,” which means that during this time most of the growth of the national conscious was caused by the intellectual movement (stirred by the Europeans) and the internal conflicts in Japan (Brown 60). (Brown 37-61).

The next period of growth in the national conscious came with during the Shogun era and the new foreign pressures. Although the only real literary nationalism still came from mostly samurai and scholar classes, the nation experienced the period “in which modern nationalism was born” (Brown 89). The situation during this time was complicated, but probably the most significant reasons for this continued growth lie in the samurai class and the nation’s traditional Confucian system of foreign relations. The samurai probably realized that their position was in danger with the rise of the merchant class, which was directly related to the influence of foreign goods into the market, especially in the larger cities where many of the samurai either resided or visited in order to do their duties. Thus the Sonno movement began, which had the slogan “Revere the Emperor! Expel the Barbarians!” The purpose obviously to promote the Emperor and to get rid of the mounting foreign pressures, which many men fought against showing one of the first examples of violence indicating their national unity. The Confucian system of foreign relations is the easier to analyze of the two reasons because its position on foreigners is very straight forward. “States were either inside or outside the system. Inside they were tribute-bearing or tribute-receiving states; outside they were ‘barbarians’ who were to be kept at arm’s length” (Brown 90). This meant that foreigners almost had to be treated as barbarians and therefore be expelled from the country. (Brown 61-90)

The Meiji Restoration between 1868 and 1888 provided an interesting turn in the strength of Japanese nationalism and identity. The leaders during that time were trying their best to dismantle the old system and create a modern Westernized nation to make up for their inferiority (turns out that national inferiority works towards unity just as well as pride). Even though they adopted many Western tastes and interests, the strength of the government and lack of any democratic political power ended up creating an ideological unity that increased national strength and moved them even quicker towards a modern nationalism. (Brown 91-111) The next period defines the true beginning of what we now call the modern nationalism of Japan. It happened between 1887 and 1895 when the Sino-Japanese War occurred and the Japanese samurai had uprisings between the Western foreigners. In particular the Sino-Japanese War, which resulted in a victory for Japan. “This New Year’s Day [1895] is the beginning not only of a new year, but also of a new era of Japanese greatness,” Brown states because of the national self-congratulations that popped up in all of the newspapers (Brown 128). The victory combined with their new military power (leading to expansionism), which gave them a new great confidence, built and solidified the modern Japanese nationalism. (Brown 112-128)

The next period of growth was during the Russo-Japanese War, which mainly boosted their confidence and drew the nation closer together by finally beating a Western opposition. This began the period of confidence over fear. (Brown 129-147). After this there was an unusual oddity in the nationalistic feelings and growth of the country. Unlike previous periods the time after the Russo-Japanese War to the end of World War I was remarkably separated from the natural maturity of their ideas of nationalism. This period is defined by its focus on past accomplishments and study of just how the country got to where it was now. Even through this there was something of a change in the wind and the nation saw that its old ways were in serious trouble of dying out. This caused a stir and brought about the National Morals movement to protect their traditional values. Although some of the old traditions were barely holding on, the strength from this time came from the pride of the nation’s accomplishments. The biggest significance here may be that the country’s pride mostly came from their accomplishments defeating the West. Also the importance of hope for future progress was an important part of this time period. (Brown 148-170) The future progress became the focus of the national restoration between 1919 and 1936. Japan was having a poor economic time and spent most of the time working on programs to help stimulate the nation, so it was mainly a transitional period (also another one more characterized by fear than confidence). (Brown 171-199)

The Imperial Rescript shocked the people more than did the appearance of the atomic bomb. This was because, although they did suffer from the lack of food and other means of maintaining a sustenance and although they were completely worn out with the fear of air raids, yet they were willing to fight to the last soldier if the Emperor so commanded. The feeling which the nation had at that time was one that transcended all consideration of the good or bad of such a resistance or the possibility of fighting to the last. The entire nation had deep within its heart an almost unbearable resentment and hatred against the dictatorship of the military and the high-handedness of the bureaucrats. Yet, just because of that, the nation had not hoped for defeat. At the news of the unconditional surrender, some people were dumbstruck into senselessness, others were roused to overpowering indignation. But what man, born a Japanese, could oppose the words of the Emperor which had been spoken in tears? The entire nation in solemnity, tears brimming in their hearts, submitted obediently to the command to surrender. (Kodama 157)

This nationalist writer, Kodama, appropriately sums up much of the feelings during the 8-year war that ended with The Imperial Rescript after the dropping of the atomic bombs. The extended time at war greatly traumatized much of the Japanese population, especially many of the youth. Much of the youth were part of a regime that promoted ultra nationalism, perhaps best known for their “kamikaze” missions. This nationalism was a result of military power, which had very powerful effects on the nation because of the new abilities to promote nationalistic propaganda. “Moving pictures were possibly as important as radios, for although not as many people saw movies as listened to radios, the pictures probably made a deeper impression” (Brown 236). The Japanese were as unified as ever despite all the disgust and pain they had to suffer for their militaristic ventures. In 1945 after The Imperial Rescript came a time of new nationalism for Japan. This new nationalism is somewhat separated from many of the ultra nationalistic tendencies from the past three decades and focused more on the common people because it sparked from a popular interest rather than militaristic propaganda. Despite the focus on improving the lives of the ordinary people there has been a growing dissatisfaction about “the subordinate role that Japan plays in the U.S. alliance” (Nathan 167). Much of the past military mistakes were treated with some sense of shame rather than pride, but that is becoming less so. The Japanese are beginning to regain some of that pride. “Since the Second World War, revulsion against the extreme nationalism which animated the Axis nations has tended, both within and outside them, to overshadow attempts to understand all underlying factors,” Oates discusses in her interesting look at nationalism through the eyes of one particular nationalist (Oates 1). Some of those underlying factors are now being looked into with greater depth. A good indication is the focus on the textbooks and whether or not their material appropriately deals with the reality of the war or if it is too biased and shameful. People are taking both sides, but both sides represent that same unity; one side hopes for a stronger national pride, while the other side promotes the current way because it helps them understand their unity in the now. (Nathan 139-167) This conflict has played “a central role in the struggle over the national narrative and identity of postwar Japan” (Nozaki 152). The struggle has shown how important it is for Japan to have a national identity as well as how hard it is to create one because of how to deal with the “war responsibility.” This is the current state of the Japanese nationalism. They still have a strong sense of unity, but that unity is undermined by a lack of responsibility and struggles on how to accept the past (WWII).

The idea and strength of Japanese nationalism throughout their history has had a very detrimental impact on the race relations within Japan, specifically those animosities towards the Chinese and Korean. Getting into the history of immigration here would be too extensive for the issues here, so just a brief overview of some of the problems and incidents will be noted. Considering the depth of material on poor race relations (especially with Koreans) it does not appear necessary to give the extensive historical background. Starting during and right after WWII was the strongest inciting incidents that have created the cultural divide between the Koreans and the Japanese (Weiner 201). Many of these incidents were work related because many of the Korean immigrants and laborers were working closely with the Japanese workers, which created a similar situation to the Mexican and Latin American immigrants working here in the U.S. For example, in 1941 there were 492 incidents involving 33,526 people (Weiner 202). That is a rather large number of incidents for just one year and who knows how many were not reported. If that was not enough, “racially informed wage structures” made sure to reinforce the discrimination against the Koreans by paying them less for the jobs they were prescribed to do (Weiner 212). “The ethnic minorities in Japan suffer twice; although teased mercilessly in schools and barred from many jobs, their existence is not recognized by the government (except as foreigners), most Japanese people, or, for that matter, by many Western Japanologists and Japanese social scientists” (Lie 5). Combined with all of this was also the geographical separation. Many of the immigrant groups were clustered together in slums and poor areas, which “retarded the assimilation process” (Mitchell 99). Much like the United States there are sections on the outskirts or hidden in the alleyways of big cities of large groups of Korean and Chinese immigrant workers who have never become assimilated into the Japanese culture. So although Japan consists of many different ethnicities and people, it is only the born and bred Japanese that get the benefits of the whole society.

Takashi Miike: An Exploration of Nationalism in a Multi-Ethnic Japan

Miike is obviously not afraid of tackling anything. He takes on projects that most Hollywood directors would only take after a long career of successful works. Managing to make quality films out of third or even fourth rate screenplays, Miike defines what it means to be an auteur. By tackling such issues as homosexuality in Japan first, I have already shown how Miike uses his films to represent and satirize current Japanese culture. It also shows just how willing he is to bring the outcasts to the forefront. But the most important aspect of his filmmaking comes from his ability to show just how much Japan needs to change and move out of their rigid social constructs. Whether that is family planning, normative sexuality, or the Japanese idea of unity, Miike does not worry about breaking up the system. I mentioned three sorts of outcasts in earlier and I will now deal with the foreigner.

The foreigner often shows up mostly in Miike’s action films. Problems that the foreigners have tend to be closely connected in many ways to the issues of homosexuality and sexual deviance in Japan. They are connected through the way in which Japan views them. Homosexuality goes against the normative masculine/feminine gender roles, which breaks up their sense of unity. This unity is part of the Japanese identity, which obviously makes immigrants outsiders even beyond the ethnic and language barriers. Miike represents this “threat” to Japanese culture through his use of editing, mise-en-scene, casting, and through his interactions between foreign characters. None of this can be shown as adequately as in his film City of the Lost Souls, which is the film that I will focus on for this part of the essay, although many others would also do like the Dead of Alive trilogy. As Tom Mes said, “City of Lost Souls is Takashi Miike’s most successful attempt at achieving complete symbiosis between form and content” (Mes 195). The films tackles the issues of a multi-ethnic Japan head on without sacrificing action or intensity as well as enough restraint so that you are not overwhelmed by the message it tries to get across. It also does so with a large amount of satire and wit rather than serious drama, which seems to indicate just how ridiculous the whole situation seems to be.

Unlike Full Metal Yakuza, this film will not be tackled in a linear fashion because these ideas are not formulated into dramatic elements, but are rather different filmmaking techniques used throughout to convey the message. Since this is the case I will begin with a plot summary so that the context can be best understood. The plot may seem complicated, but can be narrowed down to just a few sentences in the end. A young Brazilian/Japanese man, Mario, falls in love with a Chinese hairdresser, Kei, who is being deported by bus.

The City of Lost Souls

After Mario saves her (in dramatic fashion-flying in on a stolen helicopter) the two of them go back to a place where Mario is known and begin searching for a way to flee the country. During this there is a major drug deal going down between the Chinese Mafia and the Japanese Yakuza. Mario gets wind of the dead after a few failed ventures to leave the country and decides to bust in and steal the money. In their attempted robbery they grab the wrong case and end up with a lot of cocaine. After selling the cocaine they get given up by their friends and must save a little girl who has been kidnapped by the Yakuza. After killing off all of the Yakuza and the Chinese Mafia it seems that the couple will finally get to escape, but they are both killed by one of Mario’s ex-lovers. There are a plethora of minor characters that play somewhat important roles, some of which will be discussed and some will not, but there is the story in a nutshell.

The editing of the film plays a large part into how Miike creates his message. Filmmakers often use editing to influence a viewer’s physical perception; like fast cutting to make a viewer’s heart beat faster or to make their mind race, but Miike uses it in a completely different way. Harkening back to Sergei Eisenstein, he uses the art of montage to create film metaphors to represent some of the situations. Eisenstein believed that montage was the essence of cinema and that creating a great montage would influence the viewer’s opinion and helps them grasp the concept of the film. Miike uses Eisensteinian style montage to provide his introduction of Japanese Yakuza. After a brief and violent introduction to the Chinese Mafia, Miike cuts straight to the Japanese Yakuza beating up a man. From here we head straight into the montage. Consisting of clips going back and forth between the brutal beating by the Yakuza and a cockfight, Miike paints his picture far too clear. This war, this rivalry between the Yakuza and the Mafia is nothing more than a cockfight. Two big egos swinging back and forth at each other with intent to kill for nothing more than ego; which works well both in the context of the film and as a metaphor for the Japanese/Chinese situation. For the film it works because it shows how ruthless and deadly the meetings between these two groups are. On the larger satiric level it becomes a representation of the pointless animosity between the Japanese and the Chinese.

Miike obviously recognizes the pointlessness of this conflict and makes sure that the viewer knows it. Through the editing of the cockfighting sequence we get multiple levels of satire thrown in our direction. Being a big budget film, Miike could have easily obtained the skilled computer animators to make the cockfight look as real as possible. Instead, he uses poorly done computer generated images to represent the fight. The roosters come across absolutely phony and ensure a giggle upon each viewing. But Miike does not stop there. Not only do these cocks have a ludicrous appearance, they have possibly the most unrealistic battle in history. They spend their time doing imitation karate moves and run fast enough to stay perpendicular to the wall. Subtlety will not be found in this flick. Miike very aptly applies his point about the nature of the relationship between the Japanese and Chinese; not only within their own country, but in general as well (although I am obviously not focusing on the international politics here and I do not think that was Miike’s intention either).

Tom Mes was completely correct with his statement about this film’s symbiosis between form and content. Following his own lead, he continues to further his point with his two leads: Mario and Kei. Mario is a Brazilian/Japanese and Kei is a Chinese hairdresser. Is this easy enough to follow? Does it seem familiar? Miike again uses this opposition to explore the other side of the issue. Not the other political side, but rather the side of those who are restrained by the ongoing tensions and conflict between the people. Mario and Kei are star-crossed lovers of a different kind. It is not their families that keep them apart, but their country and their people. Miike manages to use the story of their love to show just how big the problem is with the ideas of Japanese unity and discrimination of immigrants.

This idea begins with the love of Mario and Kei. Despite the fact that they come from completely different cultural backgrounds and obviously cannot speak easily to each other (Mario speaks Japanese and Spanish while Kei speaks mostly Chinese) they fall in love. This disrupts almost every idea of Japanese normalcy and ideas of national unity. Miike adds another twist by making Mario an immigrant himself; a man of mixed blood, but I will get back to this point later. For now it is enough to know that he lives in Japan. Everything here is broken. The Japanese are supposed to be a unified nation (which applies to race as well), so Mario breaks that mold, and he is in love with an outsider who is also Chinese. It is obvious that this love cannot work in Japan because of the circumstances. Miike makes sure that the viewer realizes the way that Japan breaks apart the races even when love is involved. He uses visual separations like a scene in which a group of Japanese bikers pass between them. But the greatest of these representations comes in the form of the closing minutes of the movie when both Mario and Kei are shot. Much like Miike’s resolution of his films exploring homosexuality their only escape results in death. Mario’s ex-lover, who is Brazilian, comes in and murders them both with a shotgun. Despite the fact that they defeated the Chinese/Japanese conflict (by killing off both gangs and thus killing off that metaphoric conflict of their love) they still could not defeat the bitter feelings of the immigrants. Miike’s letting us know that not only can this love not work in Japan’s current society, but that both sides are going to have to be willing and open to change.

Miike’s exploration of the problems with Japanese nationalistic unity and the true multi-ethnic nature of Japan come through loud and clear in this film. He allows the viewer to get a visual and metaphoric level of understanding for the problems between the races in Japan and how hard it is for immigrants to become a part of Japan by using editing, mise-en-scene, his wonderful cast and the story. Foreigners are often called gaijin no matter how long they lived in Japan or even if they grew up there. I personally have two cousins that are half Japanese. They both speak Japanese fluently and spent a significant portion of their lives in Japan, but even though they look Japanese and speak Japanese they are still labeled gaijin. Miike recognizes the harm this does and is ready for a change. Hopefully the rest of Japan (and the world for that matter) will catch on and learn to make things right before we too die by the hands of others if we decide to break the norm.

Conclusion

The purpose of this essay was to help spark some thought into using a method like this, having pertinent background information and then doing a close reading of a film, to gain a better understanding of the culture, which comes naturally. It is simply the process of doing a bit of research before watching a film and then using that information to analyze the film. That way the film can open up new ideas about the diversity of problems that other countries face (similar to our own) and how differently (or similarly) they deal with them. This gives the person better access into a foreign culture. Hopefully this straightforward study provides a good example of this process, but also encourages thought in the reader, so that they may gain some new insights into how modern Japanese culture has gotten to the point it has and how they are dealing with it in, both in an artistic manner and in reality.

Bibliography

Boxer, Charles Ralph. Papers on Portuguese, Dutch, and Jesuit Influences in 16th- and 17th-

Century Japan. University Publications of America, Inc. 1979.

Brown, Delmer M. Nationalism in Japan. University of California Press. Berkeley and Los

Angeles. 1955

Dynes, Wayne R. Asian Homosexuality. Garland Publishing, Inc. New York. 1992.

Kodama, I Was Defeated, p. 157.

Lie, John. Multiethnic Japan. London, Harvard University Press. 2001.

Long, Susan Orpett. Family Change and the Life Course in Japan. China-Japan Program

Cornell University. New York. 1987.

Martin, Fred. AsiaPacifiQueer. University of Illinois Press. Chicago. 2008.

McLelland, Mark J., Katsuhiko Suganuma, and James Welker. Queer Voices from Japan:

First Person Narratives from Japan's Sexual Minorities. Studies of modern Japan. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2007.

McLelland, Mark J. Male Homosexuality in Modern Japan. Guildford: FAB, 2000.

McVeigh, Brian J. Nationalisms of Japan. Oxford, Rowman & Littlefield. 2004.

Mitchell, Richard H. The Korean Minority in Japan. University of California Press.

Berkeley and Los Angeles. 1967.

Mes, Tom. Agitator: The Cinema of Takashi Miike. Guildford, FAB. 2003.

Nathan, John. Japan Unbound. Houghton Mifflin Company. New York. 2004.

Nozaki, Yoshiko. War Memory, Nationalism and Education in Postwar Japan, 1945-2007.

Rutledge. London and New York. 2008.

Oates, Leslie Russell. Populist Nationalism in Prewar Japan: A Biography of Nakano

Seigo. George Allen & Unwin. Sydney. 1985.

Weiner, Michael. Race and Migration in Imperial Japan. Routledge. London. 1994.

Yoshino, Kosaku. Cultural Nationalism in Contemporary Japan. Routledge. London. 1992.