Left Field Cinema

Completely overlooked in the pantheon of Japanese film makers such as Yasujiro Ozu, Akira Kurosawa, Mikio Naruse, or Kenji Mizoguchi. Masahiro Shinoda directed some thirty-two films from 1960 to as recently as 2003. All of which are obscure, most of which are unavailable for western audiences, few of his films are available on DVD, and only Silence is available on Region 2 DVD. Whether Silence is his only masterpiece remains to be seen, but one thing is for certain – masterpiece it most certainly is. Forgotten for one reason or another, shrugged aside because of its difficult subject matter, or perhaps Shinoda and the author of the films source book Shusaku Endo were not famous enough to warrant the attention. Had Shinoda been working in the 1950’s (surly Japan’s greatest decade in film) then he would have perhaps joined the ranks of the aforementioned elite. We shall never know...

Perhaps what is most surprising about Silence, produced in 1971, is that it defies expectations by conjuring a story of incredible cinematic breadth whilst remaining thematically complex. The title suggests a more insular narrative, but Silence is instantly captivating, in terms of its location, time, and subject. So much so that Martin Scorsese has recently announced he is also producing a second adaptation of Endo’s book which may star Daniel Day-Lewis and Benicio Del Torro, whether Scorsese can reach the same heights as Shinoda remains to be seen, but where Scorsese will approach the story from a Western/Christian view point, Shinoda approaches it from an Eastern/Japanese view point. Together both films may demonstrate in a different manner - the clash of cultures which the story is based around.

Set in 16th Centaury Japan, two Jesuit priests arrive in an unknown area of the country. They’ve travelled from Portugal and their mission is to bring the word of the Christian God to as many as they can. The Japanese authorities at this point were in fear of the rapid spread of Christianity which at its height had 300,000 believers; they cracked down on the religion, banning icons, ceremonies, preaching or any other form of Christian activity. As the films protagonist Father Rodriguez states later in the proceedings, Christianity will take hold in Japan if the roots are not ripped completely from the ground. The Japanese authorities use every tool at their disposal, murder, torture and coercion to force the strongest amongst Japanese Christians to renounce their faith publicly and demonstrate to the weaker members that they were wrong. The first act follows Father Rodriguez and another missionary as they become the priests for a small village, their identity and existence is kept hidden from neighbouring villages, fearing anyone they don’t know may inform on them. Eventually they are discovered and forced to flee the village where most of their flock will be doubtlessly executed or tortured, the priests are separated and eventually Father Rodriguez is betrayed and captured by the authorities. The second and third acts of the film follow Rodriguez’s struggle against overwhelming circumstances not to give in to the demands of the authorities and denounce his faith. The authorities desire this more than his death, they don’t want to kill Rodriguez as they know full well this will make him a martyr and only inspire others to join Christianity and perhaps find some of his strength. But if they can show the world that even Rodriguez doubts his absent God then they’ve won. What follows is a battle of endurance as Rodriguez is exposed to more and more horrendous treatment, but must not give into their demands or everything he’s worked for will be for nothing.

One point of interest in Silence is it’s portrayal of the missionaries, often seen as the villains in cinema, forcing their ideology onto other cultures and having no regard for the people who are hurt because of their actions. Silence does not take this approach to its protagonist’s occupation, but rather takes a more rounded view of the entire situation. Rodriguez is not a flawless martyr, but nor is he a racist example of religious colonialism, likewise his persecutors are not faceless monsters, they are real men with understandable motives if immoral methods. Neither side is beyond criticism, but also crucially neither side is marginalised or ridiculed. The complexities of the situation are not shunned, they are embraced.

It is a fascinating slice of Japanese history and one that most viewers will probably be unaware of. I myself had no knowledge of Christianity ever reaching as far East as Japan, and so a brief prologue for the film which details the religious historical and geographical context of the films events is appreciated, although most of the details are then repeated through dialogue within the narrative, thus rendering the prologue superfluous and one of this films only minor flaws. Shinoda was fascinated with this part of his countries past because of his own personal history as Doug Cummings states in the Eureka Masters of Cinema DVD booklet on the film:

“As one of the key members of the informal Japanese New Wave of the 1960’s, Masahiro Shinoda was a youthful survivor of World War II, an event that so marked his psyche, he has been attempting to understand his country’s national character ever since. ‘I was willing to sacrifice my life for the emperor’,‘Ever since then, I have wondered about the roots of my patriotism. It is still an enigma for me. How can such absolutism take hold of any individual? Why did this moral imperative persist in Japan as a social phenomenon?’” (P4)

The overwhelming and ultimately devastating personal moral imperative which swept an entire country in World War II - was it a hysterical wave of nationalism as in the case of Nazi Germany or was there another, deeper cause? By the same token, what drove missionaries to travel across the globe to unwelcoming and foreign lands where friends were few and enemies numbered in the thousands? It is a level of devotion to a cause that few of us will ever understand which is what makes it such an engaging topic for both literature and cinema. Even if your beliefs are not of Christian persuasion or any persuasion at all for that matter, the subject of this film will be engrossing. Japanese Christianity and the bizarre hybrid religion which was formed are also of interest. Cummings clarifies:

“Japanese Christians were forced underground and attempted to maintain their faith for centuries without trained priests, translated scriptures, or a full knowledge of the mass. Over time, this resulted in a fascinating hybrid religious community of ‘Kakure kirishitan[s]’ who incorporated secret rituals, Buddhist and Shinto traditions, and a mishmash of pidgin Latin, Portuguese, and Spanish words. In Shinoda’s film, a statue of the Buddhist bodhisattva of mercy, Kannon (or Guan Yin)… is seen as a stand-in for the Virgin Mary. Similarly, after the heated exchange between Fathers Ferreira and Rodrigues questioning the ability of orthodox Christianity to survive in Japan, Shinoda back focuses to a statue of Dainichi, the “Cosmic Buddha” associated with the rhetoric of Francis Xavier.” (P9)

This hybrid or mongrel form of Christianity makes for interesting if sometimes confusing viewing, but what it demonstrates more than anything is the power those first missionaries had over their converts. So intense was this power that years after the religion was banned men and women still held onto the values of Christianity with no formal guide, and no one qualified to continue teaching them. So strong is the faith of these missionaries and their converts that the methods employed by their persecutors to force renouncement have to be equally strong. So severe is the physical and mental torture that these men are forced to endure, but it is no more severe than the resolve and conviction of the missionaries. Silence is about testing faith as far as it will physically and mentally go and in that respect, the parallel between 16th Century Japanese Christians and 20th Century Japanese Soldiers is clear to see, blinded by conviction, dedication to the emperor, and the belief that dying was preferable to surrender the Japanese soldiers persevered through World War II against insurmountable odds. Only when the final blow of nuclear attacks to Hiroshima and Nagaski were delivered was the punishment they endured too severe for their faith in the Emperor to continue. In Silence, the persecutors employ equivalent ruthless techniques to crush the spread of Christianity. Silence features some of the most heinous acts of psychological and physical torture committed to film, but unlike the modern so-called “torture porn” films like Saw or Hostel, Silence has subtlety and genius on its side. The torture is inventive, but not in terms of mechanical apparatus, but rather in terms of psychology. The use of peril as a persuasive measure is particularly startling in one stand out scene a local Japanese Christian couple are tied up outdoors and subjected to a barrage of physical assaults over the course of days rather than hours, constantly they are told that all they need to do is step on the Christian icon and symbolically renounce Christianity, the icon is laid before them and their pain could be ended at any time just by stepping forward. Eventually after all other methods fail, the persecutors release the husband and burry him vertically in a hole a couple of metres away from his wife who is still tied to a pole, only the husbands head remains above ground, the wife is forced to watch as a horseman rides his steed, galloping around the husbands unprotected head, in what feels like an endless sequence the horses hooves land closer and closer to the man’s face until his wife can no longer watch. The tension is unbearable for her and for the audience. Another scene features three of the Japanese Christian’s who refused to renounce their faith being literally crucified on a beach, as the tide comes in the water gets higher and higher and they eventually drown after an agonising wait. Later in the story there is even more torture, but this content is never explicit or exploitive, the torture is a vital part of the story, and at no point are these extreme measures deemed justifiable as they do in episode of 24 for example.

Silence makes the best use of remote Japanese locations; the settings demonstrate the vastly varying nature of Japanese landscapes, from mountains, to coasts, from hill top villages, to rocky settlements. The locations manager deserves an award for Silence. Oddly considering this film was directed by a Japanese national, the look and feel of Japan in Silence is almost alien, unlike the inner city portrayals we’re used to seeing in classic Ozu or flatter countryside of Kurosawa films. Here Shinoda makes best use of the hilly and mountainous terrain, rarely is the ground flat, never does the view seem remotely European or North American for that matter, the appearance of the film is Asian throughout and further exposes Rodriguez as stranger in a strange land. Where exactly Rodriguez is in Japan is not entirely certain, as Cummings notes:

“Shinoda opens on a note of geographical uncertainty that he maintains throughout the picture (despite a few references to place names.) It’s a piecemeal approach composed of nearly abstracted, mountainous landscapes, seaside cliffs, and fragmented glimpses of villages or rooms that are wholly disconnected for the viewer, alienating the setting and generating a palpable sense of an inscrutable habitat. On at least two occasions – early in the film on a distant hillside and later when Rodrigues is captured – characters appear out of nowhere simply on account of an edit, breaking into the narrative with a new camera angle.” (P10)

Silence has a very unusual editing style; it is slow burning but never seems to meander. I would compare the pace with the gentler feature films of South Korean director Ki-duk Kim. Its swift changes in location add to a disquieting mood within the film. Silence also has a very distinct and effective visual style which in some scenes reminds of Ozu’s static legacy. The film has dated exceptionally well in nearly forty years, only the occasional long zoom hints at the films 1970’s origins, in fact I first viewed this with my partner who was unaware at the films production year, she had assumed the film had been made in the 1990’s and was very surprised to learn it was a 1971 production. Cummings again clarifies:

“Shinoda moves his camera very little, preferring tilts, pans, and zooms to tracking shots, yet his compositions are often challenging, beautifully enshrouded in darkness, or focused on spurious visual details… One of the scenes most striking by its static power is the interrogation of the three village captives: save for a brief establishing shot and a final close-up of Kichijiro spitting on the fumi-e, the entire scene is filmed as a single, stationary take as the prisoners feign apostasy but can not continue when the demands are increased. Never is a camera more passive or observatory in the film, yet the scene is suspenseful and heart rending. (Emphasising the public performance aspect of the interrogation, it also conjures up a feeling of theatre.)” (P11)

Shinoda uses careful and intelligent imagery at all points of Silence, the cumulative effect is to direct the audience’s concentration to the story, the conflict, the tension and the human beings at the centre of it all, and not to concentrate on the films technical achievements. The key to Shinoda’s photography is simplicity, the aforementioned scene may have been filmed in a passive observatory fashion to invoke a sense of public theatre, but this invocation comes to a viewer through the scene with no explicit reference. In short, the content never feels didactic, the meaning within Shinoda’s careful camera movement is never so blatant that we have no choice but to notice it, but rather the opposite is true, it enriches the experience of watching Silence without us ever realising. Visually the film appears simple. Unlike the films soundtrack- which although sparse - is ingeniously complex, Cummings expands this point:

“The film’s soundtrack is carefully modulated, emphasising literal silence (sometimes with “natural” ambience, like the loud cicadas that are associated with captivity and inquisition by contrasting it with sudden violence or dialogue. On the one hand, this design emphasises the setting’s physical isolation as well as the story’s thematic preoccupation with the ‘silence of God’; on the other hand, its consistent organisation provides rhythmic form to a fragmented visual design and helps generate a more unified dramatic experience. Often, literal silence is used for dramatic effect…the ambient sound freezing as if skipping a heartbeat.” (P12-13)

As the title suggests the film is often extremely quiet and still, peaceful but then contrasted by the intrusive sounds of extreme violence, harrowing gasps of horror, and distressing cries of pain. Cummings continues this analysis:

“The film’s sense of stillness and silence is lifted straight from Endo’s prose, which continually refers to the monotonous sounds of the ocean, the quiet of the countryside, and the indifference of the cicadas; the natural lulls gnaw on the priest’s soul, who yearns for an interventionist God. It may also be why Shinoda uses far less narration than Endo – extensive voiceover might have overwhelmed the film’s sonic ebb and flow.” (P14)

The films soundtrack is of particular interest; Toru Takemitsu’s music is often beautiful for the brief moments it is used. It also occasionally has a demonstrative effect. The music over the opening titles for example is a disharmonious mixture of Eastern and Western instruments, the disharmony the music creates is mirrored by the disharmony created within the story at the two cultures clash and conflict. Some instruments and some music rhymes are unable to combine harmoniously, likewise some cultures and some religions suffer the same problem.

If Silence is a test of endurance for its protagonist. Shinoda and Endo have clearly attempted to invoke Biblical imagery through their respective direction and story. Rodriguez is forced to ride through hateful crowds who throw rocks at him in fear of what he represents, he is continually beaten and subjected to horrendous horrors until he appears almost Christ-like in the films last act, his eyes exposing the desperation in his soul, like a marathon runner coming to the last mile, exhausted and suffering incredible pain, he can’t kill himself for that is a sin, he can’t give in or it has all been for nothing, he must continue to endure.

The films exploration of canonical territory continues as Rodriguez is only captured because he is betrayed, this story has its Judas and the guilt and torment he feels because of his actions are explored through the films subplot, his pain is as great as Rodriguez’s. He betrayed the priest for money, thinking it would lead him to happiness, but anything he spends the money on only reminds him of his betrayal and so he is forced to give it away in the end. To rid himself of the guilt he confesses to the authorities that he to is a Christian so they’ll lock him up with Rodriguez as well, this is his way of atoning for the sins he’s committed.

Silence is one of the best Japanese films of the 1970’s, aside from the films prologue one of the only other flaws in the film is in terms of performance. Characters speak in a combination of English and Japanese, the performances are definitely stronger in the director’s native tongue, but thankfully the English dialogue is limited after the first act. So few people have seen the film that hopefully if nothing else, Martin Scorsese’s remake will alert more viewers to this forgotten masterpiece – a truly marvellous critique of faith, devotion, conviction, and sacrifice – as powerful as the best of Naruse, as restrained as Ozu’s greatest, as visually interesting as Kurosawa’s finest and as innovative as Mizoguchi bravest works. Shinoda’s film can be held along side the works of all the old school Japanese masters and still appear unblemished.

M.Dawson