Môjû tai Issunbôshi (2001) is Teruo Ishii's final film.
Monzô Kobayashi (Lily Franky) writes detective stories and one evening, he attends the performance of cabaret singer and star, Ranko Mizuki (Mutsumi Fujita). The audience is quite taken with her performance, but Monzô notices one patron who cannot look at her at all. Later that evening, Monzô takes a stroll in the park and among the prostitutes and peddlers, he sees a diminutive man hurry from the park. Monzô decides to give chase to the man and follow him. Surreptitiously, Monzô sees the diminutive man enter into a temple and he decides to uncover the small man’s identity. The following day Monzô has an encounter with an acquaintance from his small village, Ms. Yurie Yamano (Reika Hashimoto) who asks him to introduce her to famous detective, Kogorô Akechi (Shinya Tsukamoto). Yurie’s step-daughter has gone missing and she would like Akechi’s help. Monzô approaches his friend Akechi and pleads with him to help Yurie. Akechi reluctantly agrees, because he is more interested in the disappearance of cabaret singer, Ranko Mizuki for whose final performance Monzô was in attendance.
I have quite a fondness for the cinema of Teruo Ishii. I’m a huge fan of his later work, specifically, for example,
Neji-shiki (1998) and
Jigoku (1999) and I also enjoy his earlier cinema, such as
Kyôfu kikei ningen: Edogawa Rampo zenshû (1969) and
Kaidan nobori ryu (1970). Of his cinema that I have seen, his stories are grounded in “reality” (or at least, one of his characters is grounded in “reality.” I have put reality in quotation marks, because at the time of this writing, the word is too fluid as a concept for me to adequately define.).
Môjû tai Issunbôshi (2001) is based upon the stories of Japanese author, Edogawa Rampo, whose mysteries and horror tales have made him a legend in his home country. Having never read the man’s work and having only seen film adaptations of them, his work appears to put him in the same league as other brilliant and pioneering pulp writers, such as Gaston Leroux and Bram Stoker, for example. Ishii’s adaptation of Rampo through
Môjû tai Issunbôshi is a traditionally-styled mystery with traditional results (e.g. investigators gather clues, make their case, and solve their cases). Ishii’s visual style, as in his previous works that I have seen, is completely untraditional and unique. His characters and scenarios, as in
Môjû tai Issunbôshi, are credible and believable and approach the world in like fashion. However, Ishii punctuates his films loudly with trips “through the looking glass”: the
mise en scène becomes overtly theatrical and wild. These scenes are not everyday occurrences, to put it mildly. In any case, a description of a scene would do better justice than a description of his style, but a viewing of the scenes would trump both verbal descriptions.
The English title of
Môjû tai Issunbôshi is
Blind Beast vs. Killer Dwarf who are the two antagonists of the two mysteries within the film. In the film’s opening sequence, hands are seen feeling an art sculpture while Mutsumi Fujita, as Ranko Mizuki, screams at the person touching the sculpture. She is the model for the sculpture and believes that anyone fondling the sculpture is like fondling her. The person touching the sculpture is a blind man, and the only way for him to appreciate and understand the sculpture is to feel it. When he learns that the flesh-and-blood model is standing in front of him, he becomes animated. When Ranko is kidnapped, the film reveals that the blind man is her kidnapper. In his home, the “Blind Beast” has a lair where he houses Ranko. His lair is comprised of constructed body parts made seemingly from poor plaster casings. Arms, legs, torsos, and faces protrude from the walls. At nearly every bit of space, one could reach out and touch and feel one of the objects. The blind man sees Ranko as living art and with his perverted sensibilities, he wants to capture her essence and make her his. Ishii’s style compliments this wildly and literally theatrical scene. He shoots actress Fujita in a completely sensational fashion. She’s very attractive, and Ishii cannot resist more than one audacious composition while she scrambles around the lair solely in her panties. Ranko and her captive’s relationship becomes closer as the film progresses, and Ishii pushes both his visual content and style. There are a few sequences which are jaw-dropping-ly amazing occurring in the “Blind Beast’s” lair, and it would be a disservice to describe them here. They are moments where instant rewind is necessary, because believing they were seen has to be confirmed. The lair sequences are just an example, as
Môjû tai Issunbôshi has many of them.
Despite the fact that
Môjû tai Issunbôshi has a very creative visual style and a traditional narrative, there is sensitivity. However, this sensitivity comes at the cost of contradiction.
Môjû tai Issunbôshi (and the other Ishii cinema that I’ve seen) can be comfortably labeled as sensational or exploitation cinema. If the viewer believes there is nothing behind the sensational veneer, then he/she will find nothing. However, really interesting cinema, like
Môjû tai Issunbôshi, will challenge that belief. For example, the two antagonists, the “Blind Beast” and the “Killer Dwarf” can be understood in two ways: one can look at these two characters’ rendition and see them as freakish, grotesque, and other. Ishii does not deter this mode of viewing: they are perverts, kidnappers, and deviants with their criminal behavior. However, Ishii also affords the opportunity to see his antagonists as physically-disabled people who have been, as a result of their disabilities, treated poorly by others. Ishii shows two scenes, one a flashback and one in the present, involving the diminutive man and the blind man, respectively. They are both scenes of degradation and ridicule at the expense of the antagonists, and each scene ends with revenge. Each scene of course is visually-creative, sensational, and ridiculous, but the emotions within each scene are genuine. A viewer can continue to laugh at these characters or see them in another perspective...take your pick.
I can find no fault with any of the performances within
Môjû tai Issunbôshi. In addition to the titular characters, writer Lily Franky deserves mention as Monzô; drop-dead gorgeous Reika Hashimoto is very good as Yukie; and filmmaker Shinya Tsukamoto, as the detective Akechi, is always fun to watch.
Môjû tai Issunbôshi shows a veteran filmmaker still being progressive (the film was shot on DV) yet still retaining his visual obsessions which have made his work so unique and interesting. As I have said numerous times here at Quiet Cool, those seeking the offbeat and different will certainly find
Môjû tai Issunbôshi of interest. It’s a perfect introduction to Teruo Ishii or a wonderful capping to an amazing career.
Two of Tsube's greatest assets are also his two of his biggest flaws: an overactive imagination and a fatalistic view of the world. As attributes, the holder of these two can produce great art; as character flaws, these two can be killers for most folks. So, let's start with Tsube's suicide attempt. Tsube finds four condoms in Kuniko's purse when she comes to visit him one day from the dormitory. Tsube can't determine if the condoms were for Kuniko's use with him, so his mind begins to hearken back in time to Kuniko's old boyfriends. A particularly shameful episode pops into Tsube's mind when one of Kuniko's suitors comes for a visit at their home. The suitor treats the couple to a nice meal and even shares their bed with them. Tsube doesn't make any wages and Kuniko lives away from him, so in Tsube's mind, he's determined that she's sleeping with someone else. It turns out that she is pregnant with someone else's child, but it's not the scenario Tsube envisioned: Tsube realizes that Kuniko made a serious mistake by having a one-night stand. He also realizes that he doesn't own her and is able to see her as the lonely person that she is. Feeling a failure, he attempts suicide and is hospitalized. His stay in the hospital is hilariously embarrassing. 
On a day trip to the country, Tsube meets Chiyoji (
Ishii films Screwed with a seeming soft-focus lens and a fondness for red hue. Screwed takes overt turns into the surreal, especially the final episode, but for the most part, the film is surreally realistic. That is to say, life is shown as unreal through realistic encounters. Asano is a perfect actor to portray Tsube. Some of my favorite performances from Tadanobu Asano are in Sogo Ishii's Electric Dragon 80000 V (2001), Takashi Miike's Ichi the Killer (2001), and Pen-Ek Ratanaruang's Last Life in the Universe (2003). A lot of Tsube's dialogue is delivered with his soft voice in voice-over, and I really enjoy watching Asano walk down the street with his head down, hearing the thoughts in his mind, and looking around the next corner for something bizarre to pop up. Screwed was one of Ishii's final films. After a very prolific film career in the 60s and 70s, Teruo Ishii disappeared for the entire decade of the 80s, only to appear in the early-90s with a new production. Younger generations of viewers and younger filmmakers brought a new appreciation to his work, and Ishii flourished again. Screwed and Japanese Hell (1999) are two of my favorites from Ishii. Whenever I watch Screwed, it always makes me laugh and puts a smile on my face. It's not because I can feel better that I don't have it as bad as Tsube, but because Tsube plays out a little bit of the human condition which gives a glance at how often we make mistakes with unforeseen consequences. I highly recommend picking up the region-one