Yôkihi

Sometimes its a good idea not to read up on a movie before watching it, it can set up an expectation (or lack of it) that interferes with viewing pleasure. In the newly released Masters of Cinema version the critic Tony Raines is highly dismissive in the introduction - calling it dramatically inert and making a few rather pompous and pedantic points about the translation. Donald Richie in his 'Hundred Years of Japanese Film' is similarly dismissive. It is certainly not Mizoguchi's best, it lacks the flair of Ugetsu and the character development of his more contemporary dramas, but I think this movie is far better than the dismissive comments suggest. Maybe its just that Japanese cinema of the period is so fabulously rich that even very good movies can be discounted.

The story is taken from an ancient Chinese legend - of the beautiful concubine of a great emperor, sacrificed for the sins of her family. No doubt the Chinese setting looks rather ludicrous to Chinese viewers (it was originally a co-production with HK based company, but they seem to have had no artistic input), but thats hardly new - even Crouching Dragon, Hidden Tiger was hated by most mandarin speakers I know. And its probably no worse that the Last Samurai or Memoirs of a Geisha appears to the Japanese.

It was Mizuguchi's first colour film - while some commentators have praised the beauty of the camera-work, I must admit I was left a big cold by it - not a patch on (for example) Ozu's first colour experiments. It may be that the blame is the digital colour transfer or just my poor quality screen, but I think its more than that - I get the strong impression the movie was shot on a very tight budget - some of the sets look very fake compared to most Mizoguchi' films I've seen. I don't think the film makers were totally aware of how colour can show up fakery in a way they could get away with using black and white. In fact, the whole movie has a slightly throw away feel, as if Mizoguchi didn't fully have his heart in it. There are lots of opportunities for the sort of big sweeping scene he specialised in, but which aren't taken up here - I would guess that he simply didn't have the time and budget for it.

But I don't mean to criticise this too much - while the script is occasionally clunky, it is usually very moving and beautifully acted. The characters are vivid and while its a little bit much to believe that a great Emperor could be quite such a sappy soul, Mori and Kyo do a reasonable job in making their characters believable - or as believable as possible when translating such an ancient story. Kyo as always is wonderfully watchable. Mori is slightly less successful - he doesn't quite show the steel that much have existed under the cultured exterior of a man who ran an empire.

So while this film is certainly not a masterpiece by Mizoguchi, or one of the best movies of the period, its certainly superior to most contemporary costume dramas and well worth having to while away a rainy Sunday afternoon.

Yang Kwei Fei (719 - 756) was the most beloved concubine of emperor Xuanzong of the Tang dynasty. She was the last one of the great ancient beauties of China, the other ones being Xi Shi (7th to 6th century BC), Wang Zhaojun (1st century BC) and Diaochan (3rd century AD). All of these women were favourites of kings. The story of Yang Kwei Fei hs been told by the poet Po Chu I (772 - 846) in his poem "A song of unending sorrow".

"Princess Yang Kwi Fei" is one of the last films of Kenji Mizoguchi and one of his few films in color. The color palette used is typical Chinese, as is the story, but to be honest my knowledge about Chinese culture was not enough to notice that myself. It is not a coincidence that a Japanese director adapted this story because it was introduced in Japanese culture as a Noh play as early as the 15th century.

In the booklet that accompanied the DVD an interpretation of the film was offered based on the untranslatable Japenese term "yugen". This interpretation was a little too philosophical to my taste.

When I was watching the movie my interpretation was one of a strange mix of European folk tales, mostly Shakespearean.

There are elements of: Cinderella (of course not by Shakespeare): the neglected stepdaughter whose great beauty is suddenly discovered.

Macbeth: The Yang family trying to grab power and become the leading family.

King Lear: The old emperor that is cheated by his son.

The difference is in the mix. Lead characters Yang Kwei Fei and emperor Xuanzong are not Lady Macbeth and Macbeth respectively. On the contrary, they are rather 180 degrees different! She is used as a bate and he is a rather naive victim. The real Macbeth's and lady Macbeth's are the brothers and sisters of Yang Kwei Fei.

"Princess Yang Kwei Fei" is not considered one of the master pieces of Kenji Mizoguchi. It nevertheless surprised me, and in a positive way. From the three Japanese directors of the 50's Akira Kurosawa is considered the one who translated Shakespeare into Japanese culture. In this film Mizoguchi proves that he also is capable of integrating Shakespearean elements into his movies. That the moving ending reminds of "Ugetsu Monogatari" (1953), a universally recognized masterpiece of Mizoguchi, is the finishing touch.

PRINCESS YANG KWI FEI is an early collaboration betwene Japan's Daiei studio and Hong Kong's Shaw Brothers, and it's very much a sumptuous-looking historical drama. I'm not sure if it's based on a true story but it certainly feels like it is. The story is about an ageing Chinese emperor and a family who gradually insinuate themselves into his court, causing a popular revolt as a result. The film looks Chinese but feels Japanese with a mainly Japanese cast and the usual quietly mannered performances you tend to find in Japanese cinema. It's not the most engrossing out there, but a good example of this genre.

I remember seeing this film more than two years ago, and while the entire story is not very memorable (I could probably not tell everything that happens in it now, which is perhaps more my fault than the filmmaker), I have a fond memory of seeing it in visual beauty. Kenji Mizogichi, a filmmaker I admire from Ugetsu, has here a very lushly made film, with perfectly constructed sets that spark a tinge of both fable and centuries-gone reality, and costumes that compliment the color photography. And that part, of capturing the images, is maybe the best thing that can be recommendable about the film. For a film about a Princess who was once lower on the ranks in the Emperor's home and becomes the Emperor's love interest, it provides such opportunities for a real vision to set in to guide it all.

Mizoguchi provides it with his cinematographer Kôhei Sugiyama in order sometimes for the film to be told almost all on visual terms (the filmmaker was most prolific in the silent-film era). So in the end, even as the story becomes a little cluttered with some scenes, it's never too complex due to the basics that the filmmaker is going for- and probably why it was picked up by Buena Vista distribution in the 1950s- a beautiful scope of Japan's regal side mixed with some of the lower classes. It's like a Shakespearean tale if it was superimposed into Japan and given a touch of that lost-era of color photography that was only matched by Powell/Pressburger's films.

Despite poor health Kenji Mizoguchi mangaged to make about eighty films over a thirty-four year period. Thanks to International Film Festivals it was the works of his final decade that brought him deserved recognition in the West.

This is the first of his two colour films made the year before his death and perhaps because of its lack of natural background and its formalised setting, it has been unjustly overlooked.

It could hardly be said to be teeming with life but captures brilliantly the enclosed and stifling nature of the eighth century Chinese court with its rules, rituals and the rigid protocol that would ultimately lead to the sacrifice of its title character. As a child Mizoguchi had witnessed his sister being sold as a Geisha and it is hardly surprising that the social condition of women was to become his overriding theme.

The attention to detail here is stunning thanks to exquisite art design by Hiroshi Mizatini and costumes by Tsugio Togo whilst cinematographer Kohei Sugiyama shoots in glorious Daiecolor. Not for nothing has Mizoguchi been described as having 'the eye of a painter and the soul of a poet'.

The superlative cast is headed by a sensitive Masayuki Mori as Emperor Xuan, a bravura So Yamamura as Anshan and of course the magical Machiko Kyo as the ill-fated Princess Kwei Fei.

Coincidentally this film was released the same year as Max Ophuls' 'Lola Montes', his only film in colour, and his last. Lola of course flees the country so as to spare Ludwig's monarchy. Film historian David Thomson has observed that both films depict 'the impossible balance between authority and despair, beauty and prison.'