Kenji

5Mar09

well, here's a basic intro to the great man i did some years back, hopefully adds a little to the bio here already. Mizoguchi Kenji was born in Tokyo in 1898, the middle child in a family of modest means. The abrupt ending of the 1904-5 Russo-Japanese war, dashing his father's attempts to sell raincoats to the army, precipitated a desperate financial crisis which forced his older sister Suzu to be given up for adoption then sold to a geisha house. Though she was fortunately "rescued" and later married by a wealthy patron, the event, along with the death when he was 17 of the mother he idolised, had a huge impact on Mizoguchi's life and future career as a director- a principal theme of his films being the oppression and suffering of women. Having left school at 13 for a pharmacy apprenticeship, Mizoguchi was found work designing kimonos and began to study art and western painting, before in turn becoming a newspaper illustrator at Kobe. In 1922, after a period of unemployment and rather inconsiderate dependence on Suzu (despite his films' feminist credentials, he was often self-centred in his relationships with women, including his regular actress Tanaka Kinuyo), he was hired as an actor, then as assistant director, at the Nikkatsu company. The next year, he directed the first of over eighty films, the majority of which, from the 1920's and 30's, are now lost. Long established, through pre-war masterpieces such as "Sisters of the Gion", "Osaka Elegy" (both 1936) and the dazzling spatial exploration "Story of the Late Chrysanthemums" (1939), as Japan's leading director along with Ozu, Mizoguchi's films first found international acclaim in 1952. Following on from the huge unexpected success of Kurosawa's "Rashomon" at Venice the previous year, "The Life of Oharu", a harrowing but typically beautiful film concerning a court lady's downfall to ageing prostitute, was awarded the festival's international prize, a feat matched by silver lions for his next two entries. From "Oharu" onwards, his career and enthusiasm now revitalised, Mizoguchi achieved in the space of just four years an unequalled succession of sublime masterpieces, including "Ugetsu Monogatari" (1953), "Sansho the Bailiff", "Chikamatsu Monogatari" (both 1954), "Yang Kwei Fei" and "Tales of the Taira Clan" (both 1955). The last two, with their shimmering jewel-like costumes, are remarkable ventures into colour. By the time of his early death from leukemia in 1956, Mizoguchi's films were widely revered, in particular by young French critics like Jacques Rivette, Eric Rohmer and Jean-Luc Godard, for their superlative mise-en-scene; lovely painterly compositions, elegant long takes and serene, fluid camerawork (most notably that of Miyagawa Kazuo) projecting a political stance- albeit often within "jidai-geki" period dramas- on behalf of downtrodden women. While the disdainfully imperious Samurai epic "The Loyal 47 Ronin" (1941), the neglected little gem "Miss Oyu" (with unlikely moment of ticklish humour) and the gorgeously vivid "Tales of the Taira Clan" are all sorely underrated, the ghostly drama "Ugetsu", an engrossing admonition against vain male ambition and erotic temptation- replete with rapturous idyll at the mansion of eerie Lady Wakasa- is perhaps still his most renowned work. Yet Mizoguchi's qualities and themes are fused at an exquisite, poignant peak in "Sansho the Bailiff", whose refined yet detailed narrative concerns the cruel misfortune befalling an exiled feudal governor's wife and children. Here, the director's ideal of self-sacrificing womanhood, as represented by his mother and sister, is clearly apparent in the characters of Anju and Tamaki. Within a contemplative Zen-like frame of delicately nuanced lighting and lyrical, translucent silvery cinematography, water and ravishing landscapes are imbued with a sense of aching longing and overwhelming emotional resonance. In one scene, a few ripples are charged with fathomless depths of feeling. The immensely touching ending, its final crane and panning shots a model of unobtrusive technique, is rightly famed for conveying a universe beyond the confines of its story. In "Sansho the Bailiff", the director's demanding perfectionism- he would repeatedly return the scripts of loyal screenwriter Yoda Yoshikata with the words "no good"- reaps its richest rewards. Though Mizoguchi is still to receive due recognition in Britain and America, it was voted (along with Chrysanthemums, Ugetsu and Oharu), among the top 100 in Sight and Sound's latest poll of international critics. It is, alone, enough to mark him as one of the very greatest masters and justify his proclaimed status as "the Shakespeare" of cinema.