• 花ちりぬ (Fallen Blossoms)

5/23/25 (Fri)

I learned of Ishida Tamizo’s little known 1938 film through a Japanese film blog and was intrigued enough to check it out. The only names I knew in the credits were future director Ichikawa Kon, who served here as one of the assistant directors, and co-writer Morimoto Kaoru, best known for the much-revived stage drama Life of a Woman. (Some sources claim that Morimoto adapted this film from a stage version, but I can’t confirm that anywhere.)

A unique feature of this film is that the entire cast is female, though male voices can be heard from time to time, and the action takes place wholly within the confines of a geisha house in Gion. The time is specified as a roughly 24-hour period from the evening of July 17, 1864, which we now know is just before an anti-government assault by rebel forces known to history as the Kinmon Gate Incident. The rebels suffered a disastrous defeat against the Shogun’s elite Shinsengumi forces with significant loss of life.

But the geisha don’t know that yet. Rumors abound that 30,000 samurai from Choshu are marching toward the city, and people are reportedly beginning to flee. Still, the world inside the establishment is a virtual cocoon, affected only in that fewer customers are braving the heavily patrolled streets. The women divert themselves with entertaining the few customers they have, fighting over men, taking dance and music lessons, and playing silly games as always.

One geisha who is worried is Akira, daughter of the house’s owner. She is in love with a Choshu soldier and treasures the last letter she received from him three years earlier. She has been putting off a marriage proposal from a respectable family as she waits for further word from him. The news about the imminent attack thus has her extremely concerned. She is convinced of the rightness of his cause and appears shocked to learn later in the film that he is considered the enemy.

She is partly driven as well by a desire to escape the geisha world entirely, having seen how limited the lives of her grandmother and mother were as madams of the house. She is disgusted that the mother is still borrowing money to support her “patron” and wants to break the chain, broaden her horizons and see the outside world. The maid, who has come from poverty, counters that the outside is not all it’s cracked up to be, though Akira responds reasonably enough that she wants to see for herself. The maid has refused the house’s offer to train as a geisha, happy to remain on the sidelines and serve honestly.

Another geisha, Tanehashi, has tried several times to escape from her patron in Edo and has slipped back to Kyoto to start anew. She works for another house but frequently serves customers here as well. She is more forthright in the use of sex to lure one customer, resulting in a catfight with another geisha who had her eyes on him. There are other geisha as well with lesser stories, including what looks like a lesbian affair (I’m sure they’ll describe it as just a close friendship, but…).

The situation outside becomes more difficult to deny as they hear furious yelling and cannon fire. The battle literally comes to their door at one point as a Choshu soldier knocks desperately for help. Akira, thinking that this could be her lover, instinctively rushes to let him in, but is quickly stopped by the mother, who wants to stay out of trouble. They hear the man’s cry as he is slashed to death. Akira is guilt-ridden at denying aid to a fellow human being, whether lover or not, and actually goes the next day to check the corpses. She returns safely, having confirmed that her lover was not among them. But her interest in the enemy has attracted the eye of the Shinsengumi, who order the madam of the house to come for questioning. Akira realizes that it is she who they want given her relationship with a Choshu rebel, but her mother insists on going as ordered.

As they wait, they receive word that the situation is rapidly deteriorating, with much of the city now on fire, and that other houses are clearing out. Akira orders the other geisha to leave for safer territory without as she waits for her mother. After they’re gone, Tanehashi, who had disappeared for some time, returns in an inebriated state. She was evidently found again by the lover but managed to get away once more, resolving to die in the burning city rather than suffer further. Akira goes up to the tower adjoining the house, looks at the love letter once more and then out at the dying city, helpless in the face of events, as the film closes.

Ishida manages expertly to convey the claustrophobic world of the geisha house while paradoxically maintaining dynamic camerawork throughout. (Reportedly almost no camera angle is repeated in the film.) The opening credits are transposed over fish in a fishbowl, an obvious but effective metaphor. Ishida has some odd touches in his camerawork, preferring to avoid much drama: for instance, when the two girls are fighting, he concentrates on others watching from the next room, or when men are heard screaming and battling outside, the camera stays on a geisha slouched drunk in the reception area over the low table. He also has an Ozu-like fondness for pillow shots like a random incense burner or bowl of dripping water, and appears fond of close-ups at particularly emotional moments.

There are a few too many characters to keep straight, and the actresses are largely indistinguishable from one another. Still, the director keeps a nice focus on the main three (the madam, Akira and Tanehashi) and the maid, all of whom are excellent. The music is largely just the shamisen sounds emanating from the story, which is highly effective. The sound quality itself is awful, making the impenetrable Kyoto accents even harder to follow. The film desperately needs remastering.

One anachronism: the poem that Akira reads in the love letter is by the famed poet Yanagihara Hakuren, who wrote it in 1928 well into the Showa Era; she wasn’t even born when the events here occurred. It’s a beautiful sentiment and fits perfectly, though, especially given the poet’s scandalous desertion of her husband and elopement with her lover, which matches the fictional character’s desire. So we’ll forgive the time lapse.

While the film does not go nearly as deep as Mizoguchi in terms of social criticism, it is extremely interesting for its unusual female perspective at a critical time in Japanese history. The nation may be on the brink of civil war, and the nation is about to face momentous change. But that’s beyond the control of these women, who do their best to adapt to changing circumstances. It is a fascinating and exceptionally well crafted work. For once, I agree with the superlatives. I re-watched the film two days later and enjoyed it all over again.