| I picked up Portrait
of Hell on a whim, purchasing the DVD
as a former rental and knowing absolutely
nothing about the film except what the box
deigned to tell me, which included the movie
in AnimEigo's Samurai Cinema line. Having
seen only a few "samurai" films
from Japan, I was eager to expand my chanbara
diet, and I was thoroughly amused that the
back included the warning: "Contains
violence, philosophy." It wasn't until
some months later that I actually watched
it, and I was looking forward to seeing why
this philosophy was so offensive.
I was expecting something depressing,
and boy howdy did I get it.
Calling Portrait of Hell
a samurai film is misleading, as samurai and
swordplay have little bearing on this character
study of two proud, morally depraved individuals.
Lord Hosokawa (Kinnosuke Nakamura) is a mighty
ruler in the Heian period of Japanese history,
which ran from 794 to 1185 AD. Hosokawa is
a corrupt "Paramount Lord," his
subjects suffering terribly under his oppressive
reign as he lives in luxury and indifference.
Nevertheless, Hosokawa takes pleasure in the
arts and employs a great Korean artist who
has been given the Japanese name Yoshihide
(Tatsuya
Nakadai)—as with many other Korean
immigrants, his real name has likely been
forcibly abandoned for the convenience of
the Japanese. Yoshihide is a phenomenal artist,
yet a brooding and capricious one who insists
on enlisting his formidable talents in the
production of grotesque art depicting the
suffering of the repressed masses—a
practice which does not please the Paramount
Lord, who prefers to believe that his subjects
adore him. Hosokawa wants Yoshihide to pursue
beautiful art, and in that spirit presses
him to paint the walls of a nearby Buddhist
temple as a mural depicting heaven. Yoshihide
insists the task is impossible; he can only
paint what he has seen with his own eyes,
and he certainly hasn't seen paradise in this
world.
Yoshihide has a daughter, the
beautiful, young Yoshika (Youko Naito)—like
Yoshihide, she must go by a Japanese name.
Yoshika has fallen in love with one of Yoshihide's
Japanese apprentices, but when the cantankerous
artist discovers their relationship, he banishes
the apprentice and insists that no man can
ever have his precious daughter—especially,
one would presume, no Japanese man. The fate
of his daughter, however, is out of Yoshihide's
hands; though he tries to lock her away, she
escapes and is captured by Lord Hosokawa,
who is instantly attracted to her. Accustomed
to taking whatever he wants, Hosokawa claims
Yoshika as another member in his harem of
concubines, much to Yoshihide's horror. The
artist pleads for his daughter's release,
but the lord will have none of it—she
is his now, and the lord will enjoy her as
he sees fit. Yoshihide won't leave the matter
alone, however. Again and again he pleads
with the lord for his daughter's return, and
the lord, tired of this harassment, changes
the subject back to the proposed mural of
heaven. Yoshihide says he wants to paint a
mural of hell instead, and, in a fury, Hosokawa
gives Yoshihide permission to do so, believing
it impossible because the artist cannot see
the real hell any more than he can see heaven.
Thus, Hosokawa proclaims that if Yoshihide
can truly capture hell in his painting, Yoshika
will be released to him. Yoshihide clings
to that promise, and a battle of ferocious
pride and indomitable wills begins as Yoshihide
endeavors to witness the reality of hell with
his own eyes, at any price.
Portrait of Hell is
written from a Buddhist perspective by Rashomon
scribe Ryunosuke Akutagawa, and therefore
many of the central concepts, such as the
Buddhist ideas of heaven and hell, will not
be clear to many western viewers; they are
not particularly clear to me despite the fact
that I've been reading about Buddhism the
last several weeks for a Christian study group
I am a part of. (The academic texts I've been
relying on have made little mention of Buddhist
conceptions of "heaven" and "hell"
as such, focusing more on the teachings of
nirvana and samsara, the history of Buddhism,
and the major branches of belief.) The central
idea of Portrait of Hell seems to be
that the truest hell exists in this life that
we live, and it is a hell of our own making.
Buddhism relies on a strong formulation of
the origin of suffering, which Buddhists explain
is a result of the strong attachments and
desires we develop in this world; peace and
ultimately the goal of nirvana (which might
be explained, very simply, as a cessation
of all desire and feeling) are only possible
through the careful process of eliminating
desires through meditation, strict application
of a list of rules, and studying and living
the teachings of the Buddha, Gautama Siddhartha.
(This, of course, is a gross simplification.)
Therefore, the lives of Hosokawa and Yoshihide
are lives of escalating torment. Hosokawa
is trapped by his insatiable lusts and desires;
he lives a life which ultimately derives pleasure
through the suffering of others, those oppressed
under his rule and who supply him with money
and luxury—a livelihood which would
build up a lot of negative karma. Despite
Hosokawa's essentially carefree existence,
however, his selfish deeds come back to haunt
him—quite literally, as the ghosts of
those he has wronged appear to him in his
nightmares.
Yoshihide, meanwhile, isn't
much better. Though he recognizes the suffering
around him, rather than work to solve the
problems of society, he wallows in the grotesque,
in a sense developing a bizarre attachment
to torment itself as a means of developing
striking art. His strongest desires are selfish,
too, and, like Hosokawa, he is trapped by
them—whether in the attempt to keep
Yoshika to himself (though never truly caring
for her or her wants and needs), or in the
obscene drive to "win" over Hosokawa
even after Yoshika's fate is sealed. Yoshihide's
fight for perceived victory furthers the victimization
of the lower classes, as he actually tortures
one of his assistants in his attempt to visualize
hell, thereby increasing the suffering of
others for his own twisted desires.
Whether all of this is particularly
interesting or worth viewing depends very
much on the tastes of the consumer, and considering
the two protagonists are both extremely unpleasant
individuals on a path of self-destruction,
the appeal for this movie is severely limited.
Suffice it to say, the ending is not a happy
one, and neither is much of anything else
throughout the story. This is not a feel-good
movie, and while it may have some redeeming
social value (it certainly doesn't glamorize
violence!), it's hard to imagine many people
outside of the most open-minded J-film enthusiasts
and followers of high film in general really
enjoying it. The story itself has its problems
as well; some of the editing becomes confusing,
and Anthony Romero, in his review, discussed
the problems in the film's focus as the societal
ills, so prominently addressed in the first
half with the rebel uprising and the death
of the old man, are largely dropped for the
second half. Secondary characters, even Yoshika,
are only lightly sketched while the story
focuses in on the demented protagonists. Still,
even with all that said, the central performances
are impressive and compelling enough to warrant
a viewing.
The real standout here is Tatsuya
Nakadai as Yoshihide. Nakadai, a veteran
from such notable films as Sword
of Doom (1966), Yojimbo
(1961), and Sanjuro
(1962), and who would go on to star in Ran
(1985), turns in a phenomenal performance
as the troubled, troublesome artist. Nakadai
rarely fails to impress, from his grim monotone
when addressing Hosokawa, to the escalating
desperation and emotional paroxysms that so
come to characterize the character. Kinnosuke
Nakamura, who would have a lot of practice
in period pieces playing legendary swordsman
Musashi Miyamoto, holds his own as the corrupt
lord, projecting boastful arrogance and capricious
power very well, though it's hard to imagine
why he puts up with Yoshihide's insubordination
as much as he does. Ultimately Nakamura's
performance is believably despotic, flagrantly
evil, a character captured by his own corruption.
Next to Yoshihide and Hosokawa, the minor
characters barely make an impression except
as woeful victims, like the screaming tortured
assistant or Youko Naito's unfortunate Yoshika,
whose role is mostly to lament her lot in
life.
The production values of the
film are also somewhat uneven. Costumes look
great, at least to my eye, but some of the
special effects are weak, in particular the
instance near the beginning wherein a bull
tramples a poor old man. The look of this
film, on the other hand, is fairly unique
from what I've encountered in Japanese cinema.
Clearly most of the movie was filmed on sets,
including outdoors sequences wherein the matte
paintings are obvious and the nature clearly
artificial. The very artificiality envelops
the film in a sense of surreal stagey-ness.
This may strike some viewers as cheap and
hokey, but I felt that it actually lent the
film a unique tension that underscored the
disconnection from reality that the protagonists
exist within.
Music by Yasushi Akutagawa
is appropriately old-fashioned, with almost
tribal beats in some of the early themes and
more or less standard eerie discordant strings
strengthening the feeling of doom and horror
that prevailed throughout the film. Nothing
was particularly memorable about the score,
but it functioned well with the themes of
the story.
Make no mistake, Portrait
of Hell is an unpleasant film, but it's
meant to be. As silly as it may sound to warn
viewers of depressing philosophy, I can see
the rationalization here. Filmgoers craving
likable heroes and pleasant escapism won't
find that here. That said, Portrait of
Hell wasn't made to be fun. As a story
produced for a particular audience accustomed
to dark plots with a Buddhist moral core,
Portrait of Hell is painted well, albeit
with a few awkward imperfections and limited
scope. Forgiving viewers looking for a different
kind of film experience with fine and fiery
performances at its center will be well rewarded.
|
(3.5/5)