Shubun (Scandal, 1950)

Kurosawa Akira

Japan

Even masters like Kurosawa must have had bad days, and this film must have been made during one of these. As far as movies go, it is not that horrible, but it is most certainly less-than-stellar considering the director's other works.

Aoye Ichiro (Mifune Toshiro) is a young painter, who has not have much luck selling his art although he is not altogether unknown. Saijo Miyako (Yamaguchi Yoshiko) is a very famous singer whose popularity seems to rest in no small degree on her perceived chastity as a woman. The innocent encounter between the two at a distant mountain resort is turned by the unscrupulous yellow press paparazzi into media frenzy, a scandal, that threatens to ruin... well, it's not clear that it actually threatens the two with anything. Ichiro actually enjoys a boost in his sales that notoriety brings, and although Miyako is a bit distressed over "fan" letters accusing her of whoring, her producer seems to think nothing of it and also schemes to exploit the press coverage.

This, perhaps, is the first glaring hole in the script. We now have to believe that Ichiro will go to the great lengths required by the legal system to prove that he and Miyako are not lovers. I was not persuaded by his boyish aggressiveness and sense of privacy or high morality. Leaving aside the dubious motivation for the dogged pursuit of truth, his choice of a lawyer is even more suspect. If he wants to win, and given that he has not been hurt by the "scandal" one can hardly assume any other goal, retaining the services of Hiruta (Shimura Takashi) is just plain stupid. I realize that one may believe that even a sleazebag can rise above the occasion, but I'd rather have someone else given him a chance. Of course, this may just be me.

To add more cheap melodrama to the proceedings, Kurosawa piles the compassionate factor high. Hiruta, the dirty and frequently drunk failure of a lawyer, has an astonishingly beautiful daughter Masako (Katsugari Yoko), who also happens to be bedridden and dying of tuberculosis. Naturally, this causes Ichiro to instantly hire her father although the little girl seems less than happy about it. In fact, she manages to "scold" her old man with the innocence and wisdom of children... NOT! Who has ever heard of the wisdom of children (except Yoda, that is)? It is preposterous and quite annoying when the old guy falls apart in front of his vexingly good daughter.

Before the trial is under way, the sleazebag Hiruta does what he's expected to do: gets bribed by the evil journalists. This is the other major problem with the movie. Kurosawa has never been known for being particularly subtle. His excessively one-dimensional characters usually work in that allegorical sort of way that makes them interesting and lifelike. But there's nothing of the sort here. Hiruta is bad, wimpy, and quite repulsive. Ichiro is young, dashing, and an idealist. Seeing that the film is about Hiruta, one would expect a little more nuance in his characters, but there is nothing of the sort. His transformation comes late and is utterly unconvincing. We have been waiting so long for it to happen, that we do not believe it when it does.

Hiruta does have struggles with his conscience but the latter invariably loses. Take the otherwise excellent scene when he comes home drunk on Christmas eve only to find that Ichiro and Miyako have come to decorate his place and sing carols to Masako. He hides behind the screen that has three holes in it. The camera slowly tracks his movement along the screen, and we peek through each hole in turn, first at Ichiro, who is playing a small organ, then at Miyako who is singing, and finally at Masako, who sits beneath the decorations, all adorned with regal paraphernalia, with a wide smile, clearly happy although somewhat embarrassed at all this attention. It is a beautiful scene and Hiruta is moved, his drunken stupor accentuating the touching, tragically beautiful implications of what he is seeing. It is not going to last, this happy world of Masako, and everyone knows it. But during this simple evening, it is as moving as only a fleeting moment can be. In this scene Kurosawa manages to capture some of the essence of Japanese art and poetry, the celebration of that which is perishable, and even more beautiful because it will not last. Like cherry blossoms, that bloom only to be mercilessly scattered, Masako manages to touch every person around her and by the time she is gone, none of them are the same.

Had Kurosawa continued in this vein, I think the result would have been stunning. By choosing to focus on Hiruta and his change, an opportunity for beauty was lost, and a not-so-impressive morality tale came to be in its place. One of the most embarrassing scenes was the one at the nightclub, where Ichiro and Hiruta go together, only to get drunk and sing Auld Lang Syne. Nothing these characters say can fix the rather poorly conceived and executed sequence.

I will end on en even lower note: the caricature of the journalists, who are portrayed without any redeeming qualities. Kurosawa was famously hostile to journalists and what he perceived as invasion of privacy, and it is perhaps understandable. But it would have been far more compelling to make them less villainous, especially the chief editor, whose performance in court was nothing short of a badly directed burlesque. Where does freedom of the press end and yellow journalism begin? Is there anything remotely resembling a press worth reading in separation from what the public wants to see? Do celebrities have a right to privacy at all? (This is not an easy question to answer because it is the public that makes them celebrities in the first place.)

So the story has some obvious problems. The direction is less assured and more schematic, even in comparison to earlier works, so one cannot blame inexperience. The first 10-15 minutes of the movie are especially stiff, with Kurosawa rushing through the obligatory preliminaries to set the story and prepare us for the big "scandal" that only ends with the transformation of the main character Hiruta from a worthless human being into a somewhat less worthless one. One cannot help but wonder if a human being is really worthless if he can bring himself to resist the forces that deny him bearable existence.

Whatever may be said about the film and the directing, one thing is sure about the performances: they are superb. Shimura especially shines (wow! what an alliteration) and his portrayal of Hiruta is amazing---his despicable and weak constitution, his inability to overcome his gambling and drinking addictions, his doting affection for his daughter, his shame of being such a failure, all come through in the way he walks, the way his shoulders slump, the way his eyes avoid contact. Mifune is such a delight too, it is just not possible to believe that Miyako would not fall in love with him. The boheme on a motorcycle, he has as much rebellion and sense of right in him as only a young artist (and social outsider) can muster. The revealing scene when he, having doubts about the outcome of the trial for the first time, loses courage for a minute but restores it by cranking the motorcycle, tells wonders about Ichiro. If the film is not worth much as a story or direction, it is certainly worth watching for the performances.

A much better film, in which Shimura portrays the force of transformation (and not without his peculiarities) and Mifune is the "scoundrel" who is about to force himself to become something better than the petty thug that he is, is Drunken Angel, an earlier work that is heartily recommended.

December 8, 2002