“SAMURAI GHOSTS”

By Raymond Benson

A new release from The Criterion Collection in time for Halloween is the classic Japanese ghost story anthology, Kwaidan, which, upon its appearance in the mid-sixties, generated a good deal of critical acclaim. After it premiered in Japan in late December 1964, the picture was screened at the Cannes Film Festival in 1965 (in a much shorter version) and won the Special Jury Prize. The film was also nominated for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar (1965). It was also, at the time, Japan’s most expensive production.

It’s a long movie. Criterion has released a new 2K digital restoration of the original 183 minute director’s cut (complete with an intermission intercard) that was shown at the picture’s premiere. Kobayashi was forced to edit it to just over two hours for Cannes, and, for its general and worldwide release, to 164 minutes. “Kwaidan” means “ghost stories,” and the movie consists of four non-related spooky tales from the country’s folklore. The Japanese have always been great tellers of ghost stories, especially ones that take place in feudal Japan—which these do. The individual stories are based on Lafcadio Hearn’s collections of folk tales written in the late 1800s (Hearn is Caucasian but was an expert in all things Japanese).

Visually, Kobayashi’s film is strikingly gorgeous. The high definition improves the quality of Criterion’s original release of several years ago—the colors are vivid and bold, the picture is clear and sharp, and the costumes and set designs are absolutely breathtaking. Kobayashi certainly draws from traditional Kabuki, for the mise-en-scene is more theatrical than cinematic. The settings look like they belong more on the stage than on film. And yet, the director and his designer manage to recreate an epic sea battle with samurai soldiers and wooden ships—in a studio. Impressive stuff.

Despite the visual excellence on display, the four stories are of varying quality. The first, “The Black Hair,” concerns a husband who leaves his wife to search for a better life. He marries the daughter of a nobleman, but is unhappy. When he finally goes back to the original wife, he doesn’t count on reckoning with her long, black hair, which, ahem, has a mind of its own. In “The Woman of the Snow,” a young man’s life is spared by a Yuki-onna (a wicked female spirit) as long as he never reveals that he encountered her. Well, ahem, guess what he does? The longest and slowest, and yet most complex and opulent tale, is “Hoichi the Earless,” in which a blind biwa player (it’s a sort of Japanese lute) is compelled to perform for an entire clan of samurai ghosts; they had long ago perished in that legendary sea battle mentioned above. “Hoichi” features actors Tetsuro Tamba (known to Western audiences for playing Tiger Tanaka in the 1967 James Bond film You Only Live Twice) and Takashi Shimura, one of Japan’s greatest actors, seen in many of Akira Kurosawa’s pictures (he was the leader of the Seven Samurai). The final story is a short one, “In a Cup of Tea,” in which a warlord’s bodyguard sees the face of a ghost in the tea he is drinking—and that spirit pays him an unwelcome visit.

It’s probably safe to say that many of the popular J-Horror flicks of the late 1990s (e.g., Ringu, Ju-on) owe a debt to Kwaidan. The earlier film isn’t gory, although for 1964 it was probably a little shocking with a brief shot of nudity and a few instances of bright red bloodletting. The film isn’t particularly scary, either, but it does have some creepy moments. The sound design is especially notable for its subtlety and occasional surprises that will make you jump. Modern audiences, however, will most likely find Kwaidan too meticulously measured to be a real fright fest. Perhaps it might be best enjoyed by viewing the film in two parts.

Supplements include a new audio commentary by film historian Stephen Prince; a new subtitle translation; an interview with Kobayashi from 1993, conducted by filmmaker Masahiro Shinoda; a new interview with assistant director Kiyoshi Ogasawara, which is interesting for the many revelations about Kobayashi’s working methods and the reasons there were several cuts of the film; a new piece about author Lafcadio Hearn; and vintage trailers. The booklet contains an essay by critic Geoffrey O’Brien.

Art film enthusiasts and devotees of Japanese folklore will certainly enjoy Kwaidan. I would especially recommend it for viewers interested in production and costume design. For those two elements alone, Kwaidan is a sumptuous dreamscape.

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