• 沈黙 (Silence) (1971 film)

4/30/20 (Thurs)

Shinoda Masahiro’s film adaptation of 1971, just two years after the novel was published, was supposedly co-written by the novelist Endo Shusaku, but I have to wonder how much he contributed given the way the movie veers from the book in some important respects, especially the ending. It follows the general contour of the story fairly straightforwardly, but gives precedence to the drama over the religious and philosophical themes at the heart of the tale. That makes an interesting contrast with Scorsese’s 2016 remake, which had greater sweep (and clearly a budget to match) and delved more deeply into the priest’s struggle with his beliefs.

As the Shinoda film opens, the priests have already arrived in Japan, guided by the self-proclaimed apostate Kichijiro. The Scorsese film begins overseas and reveals right away that a key motive for the priests is to search for their lost colleague. It also shows their first meeting with Kichijiro. Here, they’re simply shown walking on the shore after apparently just landing, implying that their main incentive is to proselytize. Their interest in the missing priest is not even mentioned until 15 minutes into the film. Shinoda doesn’t offer a lot of windy explanations or examine the religious theme as overtly, preferring to show rather than tell. His concern is more the persecution of a minority than a deep consideration of the nature of God as in the book and later film. When Garupe jumps in the ocean to save the persecuted Christians, he is stabbed to death by the Japanese, whereas Scorsese’s priest drowns to death, making the question of man’s troubled relation with God more explicit. Also, the voice of God is not heard as in the later film. The first film takes a curious dodge at the end when it shows Rodrigo virtually raping his newly assigned wife, the widow of a martyred Christian, suggesting that his loss of faith and identity (he has taken the name of the dead husband) has driven him into near beastliness. This is again a stark departure from both the book and the Scorsese film, which themselves each take different approaches.

The Japanese film makes some wise choices. The priests speak a good bit of Japanese, albeit heavily accented, indicating credibly that they prepared for their mission. Scorsese’s priests speak only English, which suggests a disdain for the very population they’ve come to convert. Also, the Judas-like Kichijiro is much more believable here thanks in good part to a terrific performance by Mako, including a fantastic betrayal scene on the shore. The camerawork and lighting are extremely atmospheric. The torture scene with the man buried up to his neck in an attempt to force him to renounce his faith was truly horrifying, the best single sequence in either film. The story may not be as profound thematically but is exceptionally well told.

The acting was variable other than David Lampson as Rodrigo and Iwashita Shima (the director’s wife) as the woman whose faith in God is sorely tested. The biggest misstep was the casting of a Japanese, Tetsurō Tamba, as the wayward priest. It was hard to take him seriously with his accented English, and his glum demeanor seemed like Acting rather than anything deeply felt. This is the all-important Kurtz of the tale, and the lack of a strong presence made the decisive meeting with the priest almost anticlimactic. A real pity. Okada Eiji was rather bland as Inoue, even without comparison to the wonderfully idiosyncratic take of Ogata Issey. Better character actors in those roles in particular would have been an immeasurable help.

While the film is said to have been rejected in the end by the novelist due to its brutal ending – the book is more ambiguous than either film as to the priest’s ultimate state of mind – it is beautifully shot and directed and more than worthwhile as a straightforward telling of a fascinating tale. It does touch upon important themes, if more obliquely than the book or later film, and its dialogue and characterizations are realistic in the context of 17th-century Japan. An interesting take on the classic story.