By the mid-70s, the pillar native genres of American cinema, such as film noir, had found a new life in Japan. This has been attributed to the movies screened for Japanese POWs during WWII, but the expansion of American hallmarks (the Western and the gangster movie for instance) into foreign territory during the late 50s appears to be the more prevalent cause.
Nagisa Oshima’s Empire of Passion has vibrant film noir markers, but it stays rooted in classic Japanese folklore and tradition. Besides being a balanced masterpiece, it is also a profoundly moving film to various degrees. It is also a lushly beautiful film and Oshima’s crowning jewel. In concept, Empire of Passion follows the tradition of kaidan, stories about vindictive ghosts. But it also offers a revealing look into late 19th century Japan’s concept of family, honor, and the place of women. As clear as its American influences are, Empire of Passion says more about Japanese history and myth than the movies frequently dare to explore.
This gem of a film is narrated as legend, ending with an uncertain fate for its romantic leads, Seki (Kazuko Yoshiyuki), a housewife, and her young lover Toyoji (Tatsuya Fuji) after they murder Seki’s husband and are haunted by his ghost.
Thank God for the Criterion Collection that has preserved this film in all of its stunning beauty. The opening shots capture the prettiness of village life in turn-of-the-century Japan. Local farmers enjoy a simple life living off the land. Tranquility is evident even as the dynamics of a traditional family are established. There is poignancy in the bliss between Seki and her husband Gisaburo (Takahiro Tamura). It is obvious that, in his own way at least, Gisaburo loves his wife and children and tries to give them as good a life as he knows how. Only the intrusion of the sly Toyoji mars the serenity.
Seki’s role as a woman is interesting. Her only function seems to be caring for her children and serving her husband and his fellow field workers. How much choice did this timid woman have against the advances of Toyoji, who arrives at the house whenever Gisaburo is away? How much is she to blame for what transpires?
This sort of situation, a charming playboy taking advantage of a humble housewife has been seen before, but it has to be understood in the context of late 19th century Japan to grasp the significance of Seki’s predicament and why she gives in to Toyoji’s rape and harassment. Could it be that she is enjoying this attention by a man who values her more than her husband, even though he is twenty years younger than her?
Empire of Passion’s complexity stems from the fact that Gisaburo is also a brute. He refuses his daughter a chance to go to school and find a better life. It was the same opportunity he denied to his wife, insisting that they have a good enough life as subservient women. This is why what happens next presents a moral dilemma. Toyoji tells Seki that she must kill her husband. Up to now we haven’t had much reason to care for Gisaburo. But an ignorant man of his time, however, is easier to forgive than a murderous predator. What can Seki do? She is controlled by these two men and knows only how to obey commands. But what does she do when one man’s command means the death of the other? What’s truly frightening is the suspicion that had Toyoji ordered her to kill anyone else, she wouldn’t have had such a hard time doing it. It isn’t that she is drawing the line at homicide, but just that she can’t kill a man who has been her guardian for so long.
When Seki and Toyoji go from adulterers to murderers, Empire of Passion takes their treachery to scary depths. It’s hard to say how evil Seki is since it’s unclear how much say she had on the plan. Toyoji, however, represents a new kind of prowler for the movies. His crime is not one of passion or the result of an ill-fated confrontation. It’s a premeditated murder in cold-blood.
Toyoji is interesting in more ways than one. As with the drifter in The Postman Always Rings Twice, his vocation as a poor itinerant worker with nothing to his name makes us wonder if his crime originated from a jealously he had toward Gisaburo, who has the one thing he wants most.
After the murder, Toyoji spends the autumn months dumping leaves down the well where he and Seki buried Gisaburo’s body. It isn’t to hide the corpse, as the villagers believe the cover-up that he went to Tokyo on business. Maybe he believes that covering a corpse with dead leaves that will never e reborn ensures that a soul will never rise again. Make no mistake, Toyoji is up to something.
We know that Empire of Passion is no ordinary thriller when Seki is visited by the ghost of the man she helped to kill. It happens in a shocking and genuinely scary scene, with one of the best build-ups ever. A disembodied voice calls out to Seki in the dark cottage. She looks outside and sees no one. The look of terror on Seki’s face is the final perfect step before our first glimpse of the spirit out for revenge. His second apparition is even scarier. Although Toyoji believes that Seki has indeed seen a ghost, he takes no responsibility himself and tells her she must stay at her house alone.
In light of these perfect moments of horror, the humorous bits, including Toyoji’s wailing bunkmate and the investigating officer’s (Takuzo Kawatani) interrogation of a deaf field worker, are intrusive ice-breakers. We don’t want relief from the flawlessly manufactured scares.
The homage to Dracula, in which Seki accepts a ride on the cart driven by a ghoul, is Tod Browning by way of kabuki. It may well be the most terrifying depiction of a ghost the movies have yet offered. The fear that the ghost’s presence creates in Seki brings out paranoia and will ultimately lead to her undoing. But Oshima’s brilliance in Empire of Passion is in how he develops anticipated fear. We can sense an apparition by the ghost based on the moods or even the encompassing darkness.
Empire of Passion is a film of endless interest. We begin to understand the ghost’s plan. He has no rush in leading the police to his killers. He would rather torture Toyoji and Seki until they incriminate themselves through their own insanity. Toyoji couldn’t have been more wrong when he promised Seki that, “a ghost can’t harm you.”
Empire of Passion contains many classic film elements; an illicit affair, murder, and revenge, and pure old-fashioned fear. But despite its varied composite, nothing in the film fails to surprise. Not least the fact that when all is said and done Seki accepts the lion’s share of the blame for the murder. Empire of Passion is the best ghost story ever filmed, but it’s also a profoundly moving look at the situation of the living.