Review #538: 'Kwaidan' (1964)

Based on the writings of Lafcadio Hearn, who studied Japanese folklore and supernatural tales to form his novel Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things, Kwaidan tells four stories, all varying in length, tone, and quality. The first, The Black Hair, depicts a samurai who abandons his loving wife in search of a rise in the social hierarchy, marrying into wealth after displaying his fine gift for archery on horseback. Spending years in deep regret, he returns back to his first wife only to find her physically the same, yet entirely different. The second, The Woman of the Snow, is a very simplistic tale of a man's encounter with the Yuki-onna, a pale woman with blue lips who lives in the snow, who warns the man that she would kill him if he told anyone about her.

The stand-out segment is undoubtedly the third, Hoichi the Earless, a sweeping epic (in a portmanteau context) tale of a blind musician, Hoichi (Katsuo Nakamura), who's rendition of The Tale of the Heike (a multi-layered account of the long-standing conflict between the Taira and Minamoto clans in 12th century Japan), has gained him renown. The ghost of a warrior that perished during the decisive Battle of Dan-no-ura approaches Hoichi, informing him that his lord has demanded his presence in order to hear his legendary performance. After frequently disappearing during the night, Hoichi is followed and is seen to be playing to a graveyard full of ghosts. The fourth, which is the shortest, is the unfinished story In a Cup of Tea.

Winner of the Grand Jury Prize at Cannes and nominated for the Best Foreign Language Film at the 1965 Academy Awards, Kwaidan is a masterwork of visual splendour, using bold explosions of colour, Expressionist sets, and dream-like, almost fairytale lighting. Hoichi the Earless begins with a beautiful re-telling of the Battle of Dan-no-ura, with lavish red and orange back-drops juxtaposed with the microscopically detailed artwork from the period, making it seem almost like a painting come to life, all with the sound of Hoichi's beautiful rendition of The Tale of the Heike. This comes straight after the rather gloomy Woman of the Snow, which uses blue lighting amidst a snowy terrain to create the most haunting of the tales on show.

Yet Kwaidan is much more than visual elegance. It is deeply rooted in Japanese folk-lore, bringing to mind the Western tales of the Brothers Grimm, back when fairy-tales had a darker tone and social context. It is almost like lying in bed on a thunderous night reading ghost stories by candle-light. Director Makasi Kobayashi (director of The Human Condition trilogy (1959-1961) and Harakiri (1962)) seems especially fascinated and enchanted by these tales, giving each story its own visual style and colour scheme, and even dedicating the final segment to the many unfinished Japanese stories that end abruptly, shrouded in mystery, and ponders the fate of its author.

Running at three hours, Kwaidan never feels strained or tired, and doesn't waste a second of its running time to create something you could easily freeze-frame and hang on your wall. Hoichi the Earless could have been a masterpiece on its own, and is the most fondly remembered of the quartet (the image of Hoichi screaming, clutching his butchered head has become iconic amongst fans of more obscure, art-house 'horror'). The final story does end the film on a sadly quite anti-climactic note however, being by far the poorest of the stories, telling a slightly silly, un-involving twenty-minute story about the reflection of a mysterious man in a cup of tea that appears later to a confused samurai. It jars with what came before, slightly ruining what is a nigh-on perfect trilogy of beautifully rendered films.


Directed by: Masaki Kobayashi
Starring: Katsuo Nakamura, Rentarô Mikuni, Keiko Kishi, Michiyo Aratama
Country: Japan

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie