Harakiri 1962

Harakiri (1962) was directed by the legendary Masaki Kobayashi. It's difficult to overstate the power and quality of this film. Harakiri is an immersive, austere experience. The action and plot unfolds slowly, carefully, delicately. Like a bow string, this is a taut film. The suspense builds gradually and masterfully. Even though the film is arguably "slow", it's also compelling and captivating, perhaps due to the geometrical beauty of the imagery and the excellent use of cinematography. Each shot is beautifully composed and you really get a feel for the minimalism yet simultaneous power of Japanese art. What is left out is just as important as what is put in. If one were to judge this film on the cinematography alone, one could tell it is Japanese.

However, it's not just the imagery which makes this film one of the highlights of cinema. In a broad sense, Harakiri is about individual morality in conflict with rigid societal codes, and in that sense it's still relevant today and perhaps always will be. The film is set in Japan in 1630 and is largely about the rigidity of the samurai ethic or bushido code. Without spelling it out and spoonfeeding us this message, Harakiri  is a harsh indictment of the samurai ethic. More broadly, the film is an indictment of all unjust, authoritarian institutions. This is indicated at the beginning and end of the film, when the camera lingers on the suit of samurai armour. These shots are significant, indeed essential, to the message of the film. Without these seemingly minor shots, the film would lose much of it's narrative power. These shots emphasise the emptiness and inhumanity of the samurai ethic, an ethic which in this film contributed to the suffering of poor, downtrodden individuals who were just trying to get by in a difficult world.

  

In Harakiri, Kobayashi invites us to reflect on poverty and the extreme, unfortunate situations some people find themselves in. At the same time, he invites us to reflect on the fragility of life and how precarious it can be. The protagonist states "Our lives are like houses built on foundations of sand". Kobayashi, clearly, was sensitive to those members of society who struggle and live in poverty. He wanted, in many of his films, to give these people a voice. This raises him to the status of a great director, for not only was he a skilled storyteller who could make visually stunning pieces, but within his films he instilled almost a personal philosophy based on empathy with the downtrodden.

Kobayashi himself was a pacifist and must have had an acute sense of morality. The protagonist of Harakiri, Tsugumo, is an exemplary figure in this regard, embodying decent values and unwavering in his sense of goodness. Tsugumo could have arranged for his daughter to marry a member of a local clan, which would have meant she'd have riches which the protagonist and his daughter could have benefited from. But he did not wish his daughter to become a concubine and he saw that his daughter already loved someone. The protagonist therefore prioritises genuine love and meaning over riches and comforts, even if this means hardship in other ways. Sadly, the world this man lived in wasn't ready for such a decent person. It arguably still isn't ready. The man's friend even says at one point  "You can't fight against the world you live in".

Kobayashi isn't the only Japanese director making powerful films with a message like this. One of my favourite films of all time is Sansho the Bailiff (1954) by Kenji Mizoguchi. The message is very similar. These films are about individuals upholding morality and decency in the face of unfair societal instiutions. They're about holding on to that glimmer of kindness and love in a dark, hateful world. These messages carry such force because they're still relevant today, and when executed well they always hit me in a profound way.