Eros and Heroism: Mishima, A Life in Four Chapters

The acclaimed postwar Japanese writer Mishima Yukio wrote and rewrote his "autobiography" throughout his career, such that a film on his life would initially seem redundant. That's assuming one knew who Mishima was to begin with. I first knew about Mishima in an oblique way: many years ago, I watched the late Ichikawa Kon's great film Conflagration (1959). Conflagration is based on Mishima's 1956 novel The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, considered one of his major works. The novel itself is based on an incident from 1950, when a young acolyte burned down the said temple in Kyoto. In the novel, the main character Mizoguchi becomes obsessed with the beauty and order of the temple. Paralysed in the presence of such perfection, how can he continue to live? Inversely, how can such beauty tolerate a world of imperfection? To liberate the temple -- and himself -- Mizoguchi destroys it. The themes of beauty in/and destruction, youth, responsibility (aesthetic, political and otherwise), and eroticism that the novel addresses set the tone for talking about Mishima's world of elegance and violence -- and hence, Paul Schrader's 1985 biopic, Mishima.

Criterion releases Mishima in conjunction with their edition of Mishima's one and only self-helmed film, Patriotism (1966). Admittedly, after watching Patriotism I was hesitant to tackle Criterion's two-disc edition. The extremely colourful DVD case design looked like a veritable Pandora's Box that might ironically wrap up the complexities opened up by Patriotism. Not to worry. The film itself is a complex mosaic of a writer for whom words ceased to fulfill him. Quite honestly, these two releases are nothing short of outstanding. The Criterion folks spared no effort in unearthing and assembling a feast of documentaries and archival footage to help the curious become better acquainted with the film and Mishima. In short, to acquaint you with the fact that the film accounts for one among many perspectives on the man who was born Hiraoka Kimitake in 1925 and died as Mishima Yukio in 1970.

If watching Patriotism is a dress rehearsal of Mishima's life devoted to the pursuit of a beautiful, dramatic death, then Schrader's Mishima can be read as the visual autopsy. In making the film, Schrader had a definite perspective on Mishima he wanted to get across. The film interprets Mishima's life and death as not about the issue of whether or not the pen was mightier than the sword. The pen was the sword, that aesthetic power can be equivalent to, more than, or translated into actual political power.

To make a film about Mishima not only involves aesthetics and politics, but also the tumultuous history of militarism in Japan. He was an adolescent while Japan was heading towards all-out war, began writing and came of age during the war, and decided upon writing as his career after military defeat. Schrader's film is an incredibly well-documented production: most, if not all, of the dialogue, scenes, and scenarios have documentary counterparts.

But the result is not your standard biopic. The film is composed of three different threads, each with its own distinct visual style: Mishima's childhood, adolescence, and straightforward biographical info in crisp black-and-white; dramatisations of three of Mishima's novels with heavily stylised theatrical sets designed by Eiko Ishioka; and the last day of Mishima's life in documentary style. The film begins with the latter. It serves as the anchor for the dramatisations and childhood/adolescence sequences that appear like waking dreams. Due to the criss-cross structure that brings together these three threads, the film initially seems like a jumble of different scenes. But it makes seamless these different, at times contradictory, aspects of Mishima's life. In actuality, the structure is an attempt to visualise the development of Mishima's thought. A portrait of an artist whose death became inevitable -- in large part under Mishima's own direction. It succeeds for the most part.

The film charts the progression of Mishima's thought from internal to external, from a man of words to a man of action following the cult of the body. It's no accident that the film's sub-title is "A Life in Four Chapters" (which also references the chapter structure of Mishima's own film). The dramatisations present the different stages of Mishima's thought, and mark the titles of the first three chapters: beauty, art, and action. The dramatisations are based on the publications of three novels presented in chronological order: The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, Kyoko's House (1959, his first commercial failure) and Runaway Horses (1969, the second book in his tetralogy The Sea of Fertility).

The film itself may not be enthralling throughout -- Ogata is faultless as Mishima, but one can't help thinking about Schrader's first choice of Takakura Ken bringing a whole different dimension -- but it presents an atypical and innovative approach to the biopic. More importantly, it sustains a fascination with its subject that the spectator cannot avoid sharing by the time the end credits roll. After all, we're not talking about any old post-war writer. Mishima was and is considered the most gifted writer of his generation. He was familiar with English, French, and German, and was equally comfortable reading European writers such as Rainer Maria Rilke and Raymond Radiguet as the book of samurai ethos, the Hagakure. He has been compared to such cutting figures as Gabriele D'Annunzio and Lord Byron (I'd add to the mix (proto-)Dada suicides like Jacques Rigaut, Jacques Vaché, and Arthur Cravan). In fact, Mishima was a household name in Japan during his lifetime. But he was equally savvy about cultivating an international reputation and recognition. He was several times in the running for the Nobel Prize -- though never to win it.

The core of Schrader's interpretation of Mishima is to blur the lines between literary characters and Mishima, culminating in the last chapter, titled "harmony of pen and sword." The dramatisations-as-textual-analyses stick doggedly to one reading: that all the characters in these three works anticipate and serve as a blueprint for the ultimate writing through the body that was his suicide. Runaway Horses references Mishima's private army, the Tatenokai or Shield Society, as a kind of "branch" of the Japanese Self-Defense Forces formed in the late sixties. (It gained a legitimacy and support from some right-wing politicians/officials to the extent that the Society gained permission to train with the Self-Defense Forces.) Kyoko's House references Mishima bodybuilding beginning in the late fifties, considered as another development in his death aesthetics. It also references a reading of Mishima's suicide at the military base as a lover's suicide with a young Shield Society member named Morita (Schrader and his creative personnel addresses Mishima's homosexuality, but briefly, as Mishima's widow and Toho-Towa executives objected to such a taboo aspect of his life).

Mishima and his private army, left, and Ogata as Mishima saluting his army in the film, right.

If I were to fault the film for anything, its strength of seeking to present Mishima strictly from the "inside" can become its weakness. It's so eager and enthusiastic about Mishima's death aesthetics and literary output that the film risks becoming nothing more than a work by Mishima by proxy -- without deeper historical context. Mishima thus ends up assuming a general knowledge of its subject on the part of the spectator even as it seeks to introduce Mishima to a Western audience. I suppose to set aside the historical conditions is a way to privilege Mishima's own privileging of aesthetics as a kind of politics. But one needs to provide some historical context to see -- let alone to understand -- the sociological and cultural impact of his aesthetics-cum-lifestyle, including the time of his death and during the film's production. Seppuku may be the most "traditional" Japanese suicide, but in a time of post-defeat, economic prosperity, and leftist student riots, his aesthetics cloaked in extreme right-wing ideology and his death alienated as well as confused the Japanese as much as anyone else for being done in public and to the letter (after disemboweling himself, his second Morita beheaded him; after which Morita committed seppuku). Some, then, prefer to read Schrader's Mishima as a continuation of his investigation of a death pathology beginning with Travis Bickle.

Chapter 1: Beauty

Chapter 2: Art

As one would assume, Mishima is a visually dense film. It's absolutely stunning, due in large part to John Bailey's cinematography and Ishioka's gorgeous set designs for the dramatisations. Each set design had a specific colour scheme to bring out the mood of the novel being dramatised. In the actual execution of the film, perhaps the most breathtaking aspect is the collaboration between Schrader, Bailey, Ishioka, and composer Philip Glass on the one hand, and the reunion of classic Japanese stars such as Ozu regular Ryu Chishu, Ikebe Ryo, Hidari Sachiko, with more contemporary stars Ogata Ken and Sawada Kenji, on the other hand. Given the difficulties encountered in the production, this collaboration is nothing short of stellar. It's therefore an even bigger shame that the film has never been released theatrically in Japan because Mishima became a taboo subject after his suicide. Both behind-the-scenes interviews from the main members of the production crew and the audio commentary in particular provided by Schrader and associate producer Alan Poul shed light on some of these issues and more.

Chapter 3: Action

As in Criterion's release of Patriotism, the Mishima DVD does more to make Mishima an enigma than a transparent figure. After watching the film, one wants nothing more than to see and hear Mishima speak about his work and ideas. (Donald Richie fans, though, don't despair: he's in the mix of extras since he knew Mishima.) The extras, in fact, prove yet again why Criterion is at the forefront of changing the way we watch films -- and which ones we're able to watch. Available archival footage with Mishima and a BBC documentary, The Strange Case of Yukio Mishima, made in 1985 constituting part of the second disc help to satisfy such interest. In particular, the BBC documentary contains footage of Mishima trying to deliver his speech about the lack of warrior spirit in the Japanese at the military base prior to his suicide, which the film reenacts. Actually, the BBC documentary is as intriguing as the film, filled with rare footage and interviews with Mishima and some of his colleagues. Taken together, does one end up knowing more about Mishima than from just watching one or the other? Not really. And that's what drives the fascination. That he contacted the media the morning before he and his Shield Society members took hostage General Masuda (Mashita in the film) in his office really drives home Mishima's role as the director, actor, and spectator of his life and death.


Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters was released by the Criterion Collection on July 1, 2008. Released the same day was Criterion's DVD of Mishima's short film Patriotism. For Rowena Aquino's review of Mishima's only film, click here.