"Nobi" or "Fires On the Plain" is a film that is so excellent on so many levels, that not enough good things can be said about it. My only regret is that I was not able to see this 1959 film sooner.
Being something of a film purist, I tend to look at films for their artistic merits based upon dialog, acting, photography and even the efforts to remain true to the period in terms of costume. Ultimately, I want to know if the film is "truthful" enough in revealing the human condition to make me think without oppressing me with what the director wants me to think.
"Fires on the Plain" is a great film because it crafts a portrait filled with realistic human reactions to the dying fires of a great historical catastrophe.
Ichikawa's film is a condemnation of war on all levels -- as any good war film should be. War is horrifying, bloody, destructive. It is also murderous on the psyche. However, what is fundamental about "Fires on the Plain" is its unapologetic look at the Japanese soldiers. It shows them slowly collapsing under the weight of superior American firepower and their nation's inability to wage a war of its own making. A fatalistic code encouraging death before surrender is at the heart of this madness.
I was astonished to see such an honest and brutally close look at the bitter fruits of Japan's military misadventure made just 14 years after the end of what the Japanese call the "Great Pacific War." Ichikawa, reveals what the Germans called the "war life," the plight of the common soldier.
Ichikawa's film is interesting, since even today Japan is having a hard time fully coming to terms with its wartime fanaticism, its subjugation of conquered peoples, the racism of its war against the Chinese and war crimes which included cannibalism by soldiers and officers practiced not only against one another, but against Allied prisoners of war.
Ichikawa produces a stark representation of the victimization of soldiers by a confluence of bad political decisions and cultural pressures.
This stark examination is skillfully done by portraying the doomed soldiers as human beings who exhibit, at various times, fear, brilliantly laconic humor, dialog enriched by its sparseness, and a plot whose complexity is belied by the grim, wilderness setting.
Ichikawa's portrait is a ragged and painful tapestry of defeated men. The tubercular Tamura, played as a woebegone and gentle soul by Eiji Funakoshi, is a good soldier who can't abandon his humanity, though he is as frightened and lost as his comrades. Before he departs for a hospital that will reject him as too healthy, Tamura is given a hand grenade by a superior who, recognizing the hopelessness of their situation, advises Tamura to kill himself.
Why Tamura's hopelessly ill-supplied and militarily incapable unit was not ordered to surrender at the start of the film is telling. Ichikawa makes it plain that the war is over and everyone is merely waiting to die. As Tamura leaves his unit for his hopeless search for physical and spiritual salvation, he sees his comrades pointlessly digging an air raid shelter. They appear like corpses looking up from their own mass grave.
We later watch as the overworked hospital's medical staff abandons the dying patients to an all-consuming American artillery barrage. The pathetic patients, who crawl from their huts in a vain attempt to survive, appear like pathetic, serpentine creatures dragging themselves from an omnipotent force. You know they won't survive.
Ichikawa makes it plain that the only thing worse than a defeated army is one that has lost its honor by abandoning its humanity and its comrades. As Tamura staggers through the jungles of Leyte we encounter the noble, the dying and the exploitive. Cannibalism rears its ugly head as soldiers begin to eat one another rather than surrender to American "corned beef."
When the men do talk of surrender, the propaganda of how Americans kills prisoners is countered by a worldly-wise soldier who reveals that the approaching Americans feed and care for prisoners of war because they, unlike the Japanese, respect brave soldiers who are forced to give up.
It is the Japanese who intend to die fighting for the Emperor long after resistance has lost all meaning. Those willing to fight to the death will be killed. It is the calculus of war.
After shooting a murderous and cannibalistic comrade, whom he earlier offered his own body to as food, the fatalistic Tamura's careless surrender also seems to be an intentional form of suicide. His death is a lonely image. Was Ichikawa trying to tell us of the internal conflict of the ordinary soldier who wants to live, but who is still trapped by his nation's suicidal cultural codes?
If someone watches this film carefully, he or she will see that absolutism and fanaticism is the enemy. The Americans are portrayed as a technologically advanced people willing to employ that technology in the form of inexorable military power -- a lesson that transformed Japanese postwar society. Ichikawa's film isn't so shallow that it indicts America. Ichikawa indicts the sedimentary layers of Japan's destructive policies that created the war and then to continue it when all was lost.
Ichikawa does not mention the nuclear weapons dropped upon Nagasaki and Hiroshima. He doesn't have to. The slow-motion destruction of the Imperial Japanese Army in the Philippines reveals the seeds of Japan's immolation.
Being something of a film purist, I tend to look at films for their artistic merits based upon dialog, acting, photography and even the efforts to remain true to the period in terms of costume. Ultimately, I want to know if the film is "truthful" enough in revealing the human condition to make me think without oppressing me with what the director wants me to think.
"Fires on the Plain" is a great film because it crafts a portrait filled with realistic human reactions to the dying fires of a great historical catastrophe.
Ichikawa's film is a condemnation of war on all levels -- as any good war film should be. War is horrifying, bloody, destructive. It is also murderous on the psyche. However, what is fundamental about "Fires on the Plain" is its unapologetic look at the Japanese soldiers. It shows them slowly collapsing under the weight of superior American firepower and their nation's inability to wage a war of its own making. A fatalistic code encouraging death before surrender is at the heart of this madness.
I was astonished to see such an honest and brutally close look at the bitter fruits of Japan's military misadventure made just 14 years after the end of what the Japanese call the "Great Pacific War." Ichikawa, reveals what the Germans called the "war life," the plight of the common soldier.
Ichikawa's film is interesting, since even today Japan is having a hard time fully coming to terms with its wartime fanaticism, its subjugation of conquered peoples, the racism of its war against the Chinese and war crimes which included cannibalism by soldiers and officers practiced not only against one another, but against Allied prisoners of war.
Ichikawa produces a stark representation of the victimization of soldiers by a confluence of bad political decisions and cultural pressures.
This stark examination is skillfully done by portraying the doomed soldiers as human beings who exhibit, at various times, fear, brilliantly laconic humor, dialog enriched by its sparseness, and a plot whose complexity is belied by the grim, wilderness setting.
Ichikawa's portrait is a ragged and painful tapestry of defeated men. The tubercular Tamura, played as a woebegone and gentle soul by Eiji Funakoshi, is a good soldier who can't abandon his humanity, though he is as frightened and lost as his comrades. Before he departs for a hospital that will reject him as too healthy, Tamura is given a hand grenade by a superior who, recognizing the hopelessness of their situation, advises Tamura to kill himself.
Why Tamura's hopelessly ill-supplied and militarily incapable unit was not ordered to surrender at the start of the film is telling. Ichikawa makes it plain that the war is over and everyone is merely waiting to die. As Tamura leaves his unit for his hopeless search for physical and spiritual salvation, he sees his comrades pointlessly digging an air raid shelter. They appear like corpses looking up from their own mass grave.
We later watch as the overworked hospital's medical staff abandons the dying patients to an all-consuming American artillery barrage. The pathetic patients, who crawl from their huts in a vain attempt to survive, appear like pathetic, serpentine creatures dragging themselves from an omnipotent force. You know they won't survive.
Ichikawa makes it plain that the only thing worse than a defeated army is one that has lost its honor by abandoning its humanity and its comrades. As Tamura staggers through the jungles of Leyte we encounter the noble, the dying and the exploitive. Cannibalism rears its ugly head as soldiers begin to eat one another rather than surrender to American "corned beef."
When the men do talk of surrender, the propaganda of how Americans kills prisoners is countered by a worldly-wise soldier who reveals that the approaching Americans feed and care for prisoners of war because they, unlike the Japanese, respect brave soldiers who are forced to give up.
It is the Japanese who intend to die fighting for the Emperor long after resistance has lost all meaning. Those willing to fight to the death will be killed. It is the calculus of war.
After shooting a murderous and cannibalistic comrade, whom he earlier offered his own body to as food, the fatalistic Tamura's careless surrender also seems to be an intentional form of suicide. His death is a lonely image. Was Ichikawa trying to tell us of the internal conflict of the ordinary soldier who wants to live, but who is still trapped by his nation's suicidal cultural codes?
If someone watches this film carefully, he or she will see that absolutism and fanaticism is the enemy. The Americans are portrayed as a technologically advanced people willing to employ that technology in the form of inexorable military power -- a lesson that transformed Japanese postwar society. Ichikawa's film isn't so shallow that it indicts America. Ichikawa indicts the sedimentary layers of Japan's destructive policies that created the war and then to continue it when all was lost.
Ichikawa does not mention the nuclear weapons dropped upon Nagasaki and Hiroshima. He doesn't have to. The slow-motion destruction of the Imperial Japanese Army in the Philippines reveals the seeds of Japan's immolation.