Marquis de Sade's Prosperities of Vice (1988)

 

Director: Akio Jissoji

Screenplay: Rio Kishida

Based on the work of the Marquis de Sade

Cast: Renji Ishibashi, Seiran Li, Kôji Shimizu, Yasumi Hara, Kimiaki Makino, Kumiko Tachibana, Minori Terada and Miwako Yonezawa

Canon Fodder

 

Prosperities of Vice takes us to the Taisho era of Japan in the 1920s. A group of upper class men and one women, Sadean figures of power, are being served at a long dining table by topless, submissive female maids, and they recount their tales of sin and debauchery, be it turning a public officer's wife into a pet, or executing an innocent man as a judge and being aroused by it sexually. One of them, a nobleman calling himself a Marquis (Kôji Shimizu), runs a theatre and sets about adapting the novel Justine by his namesake the Marquis de Sade using real criminals, murderers and sex workers as the cast. It is all with the intention to show the deepest desire of people secretly to commit crime, to "teach the pleasure of vice" to audiences.

His wife, the beautiful Seiran Li, a former sex worker herself bought by him and playing the titular character, is shown mirroring Justine herself, having become a sex worker out of losing her family and being left an orphan, a real life example of the character without needing to live in a world of period appropriate French dress costumes. The Marquis however made an ill-advised decision in doing this, as he decided to cast a thief in the lead male role (Renji Ishibashi), even going as far as have him seduce and take his wife for his voyeuristic pleasures behind a peephole. The thief and wife fall in love, undercutting the ideology of vice with their true love beyond Sadean ideas. Also significant is the historical date as, with the thirties approaching, here as in real life Japan, there would be a military uprising would lead to the end of the Taisho era, and the push to a far right wing military leadership.  They would invade other countries and, leading the Pacific and Second World War's aftermaths, and would cleave through dissidents considered "anti-Japanese" to the new leaders the moment they got power.

An eighties Japanese film with a very glossy look that is unique to Japanese cinema, it is a late era Roman Porno and still as much an erotic film if undercut by its melancholic air. This is in mind to its director Akio Jissoji, whose style completely takes the period erotic drama here into a fascinating direction. He was a fascinating director in general still needing more attention given to him. With his debut This Transient Life (1970), and his other films for the Art Theatre Guild, he created very striking existential dramas, the debut itself with each image and scene playing out with continual movement of the camera or with something important and distinct in each shot. Yet he was also directing tokusatsu films and television series like for the popular Ultraman franchise. He would juggle genres and themes over the years, even adapting Edogawa Ranpo tales by the nineties, and here he presents many distinct, eye catching images and sequences, all centred around this illusion which is broken by a real murder in the theatre midway through.

The film is very subdued and is drawn back in its plotting, its sensuality and even the sense of depravity marked against its mood, which slowly re-tales Justine against the inevitable tragic end to the tale. Even in mind that the Sadean lot are not good people, the irony of their depravity to the militarisation that comes, and how its defeat radically scarred Japan literally and culturally, is not lost. There is a lot to take in that would need multiple viewings, which makes the rarity of the film more disappointing, its elusive tone pulling the plot further from being fully conveyed conventionally on purpose.

The film is more fantastical than This Transient Life, of clocks and a small cramp hideaway full of life sized mannequins. The concept of de Sade's virtues of vice are forced to be re-evaluated when a real death takes place, the real world encroaches on your desires, and someone you control goes against your wishes by falling in love. The film splits itself in the real and the abstract. The machinations of real life, seeing actors getting into costumes and rehearsing, are contrasted against the actual theatre stage. The film cuts from one time period to another, the play reflecting what is happening off the stage, and when the otherworld is brought up by the end, the theatre becomes an internal construct of the characters' minds as well.

In terms of sexuality and debauchery, it is as subdued. Baring a scene of said maids being forced to eat sea cucumbers, which turns out to be the most grotesque scene even next to all the perversions depicted, it is as subtle as its tone. It is not Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975) either. It is still a very erotic film, but it conveys it through image and mood rather than actual sex even when that is shown. For a film which even has an explicit scene of necrophilia, it is depicted with a matter-of-fact eeriness which is less shock value, but portrayed through a baroque tone as a heighted dramatic denouement for some characters.  Unlike other depictions of Sade as well, it is about the ideas being conveyed through words and thought rather than the whips and chains of, say, Jess Franco's adaptations. Like This Transient Life, it matches this with a visual texture to make everything, the actors' naked bodies to the environments around them, sensual. Even when he adapted more fantastical genre work, like Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis (1988) with its time hopping tale, including the Taisho era, of the war between Tokyo and a magician wishing to reduce it to rubble, the director was just as fascinated with the visual textures and mood of his work. Its depictions of the occult and the monstrous felt from the same director of This Transient Life, making his career directing the likes of Ultraman even more compelling to contrast to these films.

The result is very unconventional. The concepts of de Sade are placed against reality itself, of political strife and emotional strife, the Marquis and his friends as isolated in their perversions as the four leaders in Salo... while the world changes completely for them outside the buildings they are housed in. The virtues and vices cannot be easily separated as his wife proclaims at one point she is neither Justine nor the good Juliette, of the other Marquis de Sade tale that was written as a mirror, instead her own person with her own thoughts, ideas, and her own forms of virtue and perversion. The plan of the Marquis to bring the joys of vice to people through the play does not bear in mind that the people he is around already act out their own delights, and like most people, he becomes hostile to it. Despite the heavy subtext this and This Transient Life have, they are all about where people place themselves when they are separated from perceived texts and concepts, and have to think about their own existence. Mandala (1971), which could be a deeply troubling film nowadays to some to watch as it followed a religious cult who practiced rape to bring in subservient members, was a pretext for themes this film had with hindsight for me. Like the Japanese cinema and culture I have been able to view so far, it is very much an existentialism that goes as far as the soul, and does not shy away from the perverted and vulgar in answering the questions, or mixing it into "vulgar" genres like pinku films. Nikkatsu, who produced the film, abandoned the roman porno movies that kept them afloat by the time this was made. Those films are still there for me to view, but it is befitting I became aware of the one which breaks the ideas of sexuality and perverse delights down and scrutinises them.

One day, I hope this particular film gets rediscovered and brought in full restoration due to these reasons talked of in the review, a film which does scenes that are deliberately erotic even if playing with taboos, in green dream haze flashbacks having politicians' wives crawl naked with their sleek figures and black bob haircuts on chains like a pet, but contrasting it with the deconstructions of these philosophies. It contrasts them with the absurd naivety of the Marquis' last meal, starting with a mere olive stuffed into an animal carcass than insert that into more animal carcasses so that the olive itself, with the rest disposed of, takes all the succulent flavours of the earth to the sky in one single bite. Decadence is shown but with a moral knife point, where the philosophy meant to free people of organised religion, government and guilt in the West is shown here as being as complacent and as capable of being a tool for the elite to hold power against the public, eventually to be swallowed by another elite iron fist which was not complacent in real life. 

What becomes true liberation is how, in the romance in the centre of the plot even to be lost, eroticism is found even within the actresses' makeup, sensual even without the sex or nudity. The eroticism that is pure and sensual is in how much coloured gel and decor there is as well as the intimacy show, fully liberated as much as in how characters talk to each other intimately bonding as much as the sex. Dolls populate the environment and they move, opening their eyes or turning their heads. A pubescent girl doll spills from her stomach vibrant, sexually red strawberries. The artificiality of the Western European clothes in this Japanese film give as much a sense of the unnatural especially as, until we see the chaos in the real world once or twice, it is entirely closed within its own existence. It is a film which ends with unexpected half-clown makeup and dress, and feels appropriate to the tone of the work, a sense of art and pulp that sent a shiver down my spine.

Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis (1988)

Director: Akio Jissoji

Screenplay: Kaizo Hayashi

Based on the novel by Hiroshi Aramata

Cast: Kōji Takahashi as Koda Rohan; Shintarô Katsu as Eichi Shibusawa; Kyûsaku Shimada as Yasunori Kato; Mieko Harada as Keiko Tatsumiya; Jun'ichi Ishida as Yoichiro Tatsumiya (as Junichi Ishida); Haruka Sugata as Yukari Tatsumiya; Ken Teraizumi as Torahiko Terada; Bunshi Katsura Vi as Shigemaru Kuroda; Tamasaburô Bandô as Kyoka Izumi; Shirô Sano as Junichi Narumi; Katsuo Nakamura as Ogai Mori; Jô Shishido as Noritsugu Hayakawa; Hisashi Igawa as Ryokichi Tagami; Shôgo Shimada as Arata Mekata

Canon Fodder / A Night of a Thousand Horror (Movies)

 

Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis came to me, and Britain, through an old Arts Magic DVD release, one of the earlier DVD distributers who brought a lot of cool stuff in the medium’s older days, some returning in Blu Ray (the Bloodthirsty trilogy of Toho Studio vampire films from the seventies like The Vampire Doll (1970)) to those sadly not (their dalliance in early polygonal 3D anime like the bizarre dystopian body horror Malice@Doll (2001)). Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis has a lot of significance as a film just by itself as a release. It is an adaptation of the first novel of Hiroshi Aramata’s series documenting the history of Japan through occultism. Aramata has been described as a polymath and the best way to some up his work with this story, all centering around a villainous magician named Yasunori Kato who attempts to destroy Tokyo over countless decades of the 20^th century, is that he is also alongside his acclaim in fantasy/science fiction literature a natural history specialist, one who brought Western texts to Japan off the back of the success of his literature, translator of fantasy novels, author and expert in a variety of areas from occultism and to iconography, and an honest-to-God candidate to that term "polymath" in his knowledge. His book franchise, which Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis begins adapting the first 1985 novel of, begins here with Kato brought to 1912 Japan, at a significant turn in the country's history to modernization in Kato's quest to resurrect Taira no Masakado, a Heian period provincial magnate and samurai, who died on March 25th 940 and famous as the leader of the first recorded uprising against the central government in Kyōto. Killed and with his head eventually finding its way to the future site of Edo, later to be Tokyo, it was buried there and is of course the central target in this film for Kato to resurrect in his goal to destroy Tokyo itself, even if Masakado himself wishes to not be resurrected and disturbed from his slumber. The legend of Masakado's head, among the details that sadly might be lost to those without knowledge brought to this tale, makes even Kato's goal to ravage Tokyo more connected to real folklore; the 1923 earthquake which is central to the film when it comes to the burning down of the finance ministry building during said earthquake in Tokyo, was blamed on Masakado¹.Alongside the decision, in 1874, of the new government officially proclaimed him an “enemy of the emperor”¹, neither did bulldozing his grave by mistake when building the finance ministry help, and by 1928, a new grave was build with even a priest called in to hold a pacification ceremony¹. Beyond even then, more incidents blamed on a curse followed, only for change to transpire in 1984 when, after public pressure, his deity status was reinstated and great care taken not to antagonize him any further².

Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis, if there is a big issue with the film, tries to cram so much in just over two hours of an ambitious work. As this novel series goes, it continues with Franklin D. Roosevelt, 32nd president of the United States, as prominent character in one of the stories, a target for occult assassination, as does the controversial novelist Yukio Mishima, so Hiroshi Aramata's has so much content within itself to unpack as ambitious storytelling. For what it is worth, this does an admirable attempt in containing just a prelude to this wider novel series, contained in a worthy way, and the film is important for me too as this was my introduction to its director Akio Jissoji, who presents the fascinating and noble trait of how he could saddle art cinema and genre cinema without contradiction. He worked both with the Art Theatre Guild, a significant film production and distribution company for seminal experimental work, with the titles as deep and experimental like This Transient Life (1970), to pure genre, his legacy also encompassing his work in the tokusatsu genre with television and cinema like his collaboration in the Ultraman franchise. Even the screenwriter Kaizo Hayashi stands out; before this film, he made the truly unique film To Sleep So as to Dream (1986) as his debut, a tribute to Japanese silent cinema by way of a magical realism detective narrative.

Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis is more genre leaning, but you can see a director (with his screenwriter) who fit at ease with the fantastical and the somber with this curious mix of real Japanese history attacked by demons and evil occultists, presenting the Meiji era ending in 1912 and leading to the Taishō era, a period of flourishing Western influence and big events, the construction of the first Tokyo Metro Ginza Line subway beginning in 1925, a year before the end of the Taishō era itself. The Taishō era itself, through pop culture, has become a fascinating era for me in its eventual turmoil, leading to the militarization of Japan, and its aesthetic culture, from Seijun Suzuki’s incredible trilogy of surreal films between 1980 to 1991 set in the decade, authors like Edogawa Ranpo starting their career from the era and anime series like Mononoke (2007) having a narrative arch about a cat-goblin monster terrorizing people on one of the earliest subways in Tokyo opened in the era. Even if you have no knowledge of a lot of the history or the mythology and occultism filtered through Aramata’s work, this film adaptation is rich in presentation and story.

It is visibly a big box office film from the eighties Japanese cinema era, and yet also really idiosyncratic due to its content. It finds itself between horror and supernatural period suspense, even pure body horror, contrasted by a historical drama where its biggest drama when not saving Tokyo from decimation is its growth into the 20^th century. Alongside Taira no Masakado's possible resurrection, there is also the real figure of Eiichi Shibusawa (played by Shintarô Katsu here), the father of "Japanese capitalism" in charge of the head of the Tokyo Improvement Project, bringing together a variety of specialists in different fields trying to transform Tokyo into a major metropolis with global influence. All of this is under threat if Kato, if not through the assistance of a direct descendent of Masakado, Yukari Tatsumiya, uses her daughter instead into the 1920s if need be to get his goal completed.  It does feel with hindsight a prelude to a bigger work, over other novels, but this film does not feel slight, its own fully told tell but a curious juxtaposition between conversations between higher ups about where they will take Tokyo to turn it into an influential city, and deal with the constant risk of earthquakes, contrasted with stop motion monsters and work even involving Swiss artist H. R. Giger among the great practical effects and craft on display.

The film’s escalation is pretty simple – Kato wants to reawaken the buried Masakado in the middle of Tokyo, whether he wants to be resurrected or not - and instead the film becomes a curious juxtaposition of history and occultism, where even if it based on spirits and luck, a prominent detail of the film is the theme of industrialization and indiscriminate expansion of Tokyo destroying stability if not done carefully, notable as this brings in the 1923 earthquake as caused by Kato. This is a film where real author Kōda Rohan is the protagonist, as played by Kōji Takahashi, trying to save Tokyo, and it is fascinating as a film because of these juxtapositions. There is a long scene discussing the way to evoke, even if considered to build underground, going through a tumultuous period in its history, between destruction to economic growth, immediately followed by a stop motion worm creature being forcibly removed out of a female victim from the throat, which pretty much sets up the tone.

This alternative history narrative is an acquired taste, but compelled me as a viewer, not just from all the curious details of real and reel Japanese history onscreen and behind it, including Jô Shishido, of Branded to Kill (1967) fame, playing the real life businessman Noritsugu Hayakawa, here as in real life funding the first subway, Tokyo Metro Ginza Line, that becomes a huge plot point here. How it reimaginings such an important century in world history, let alone Japanese, in all its chaos and modernization, is important even in terms of the Tokyo subway itself, seen as a huge moment for Tokyo if, in this case, its biggest threat being all the little goblin-like stop motion creatures underground. mauling the workers trying to create the tunnels. Alongside how a literal robot is required, it presents a fascinating world where occultism, including figures that specialize in lay lines, is as vital to the plot as the men and women forced to fight Kato, and how they are just among all the figures who influence this world, contrasted with real Japanese sociological history and both viewed with fascination. The occultism itself, in the world of vivid horror cinema aesthetic, is presented as vibrant and even surreal, where the production design is allowed to be as imaginative as the period setting is an attempt to bring accuracy to the time periods. H.R. Giger visibly provided work here, especially on what is effectively his take on the floating orbs of the Phantasm horror franchise, but this is also a film where a multi-limbed behemoth, in stop motion, wandered out of a Ray Harryhausen production, looking magnificent when revealed among other special and practical effects. It a spectacle film as much as with its other content, one which is finding the right foot between its genre beats and a grandeur, where Kato, through Kyusaku Shimada’s performance, is a villain but one given the cadence of a figure with menace and a justification of humanity destroying the world through their growth.

A sequel came, Tokyo: The Last War (1989), which follows in 1945 in the eve of Japan’s lost in the Pacific War with the United States, reflecting a seismic change in the country in real history, but sadly never came to the West. Doomed Megalopolis (1991-2), an animated episodic adaptation from Rintaro, a well regarded anime director who started in the beginning of the industry as we know it in the sixties, came later, readapting The Last Megalopolis in a more overtly horrific and supernatural take, and even Takashi Miike would cross paths with this franchise as, among the many tie-in and spin-offs works in cinema and in literature around Hiroshi Aramata's creations, the last novel Kato was in, Aramata's The Great Yokai War, was adapted by Miike in 2005. It also cannot be denied that the version of Yasunori Katō as shown here, with his militaristic costume including cap and cape, likely influenced the design of M. Bison/Vega, the boss antagonist character from the Street Fighter video game franchise.

Even if you the reader only know the games through Raul Julia’s portrait in the 1994 film, with the costume strikingly similar to Kato’s here, so Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis is a big work to consider. It is a novel franchise which sadly seems not to have come over to the West, in mind to how much content within it is of its own country's and Eastern Asian culture, to the point Hiroshi Aramata can be thanked for how much interest he brought to occultist folklore in his homeland, and would need a lot of explanation to Western readers. It is however novel franchise which tantalizes, as with every time I have seen this film, even if it struggles with the loftiness of cramming a huge text into one film, it still has so much to admire. Even those who helped fund the film have a huge significance in Japanese genre cinema as, for an exclamation mark, its executive producer is Takashige Ichise. He early on funded screenwriter Kaizo Hayashi's debut directorial film To Sleep So as to Dream, and worked with Brian Yuzna with American-Japanese co-productions like Crying Freeman (1995). He also produced Hideo Nakata's Ring (1998), Dark Water (2002), Takashi Shimizu's Ju-Oh: The Grudge (2002) and a lot of Japanese horror films during the early to mid-2000s boom in "J-horror" cinema coming to the West. He comes off, with an incredible and idiosyncratic list of productions even into the 2020s, as a king level figure for genre history.

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1) The curse of Masakado: why a malevolent ghost haunts Tokyo, written by Jonathan Clements for the Guardian, published 10th June 2019.

2) Taira no Masakado, written for Yokai.com, written, illustrated, and maintained by Matthew Meyer.