Gate of Hell

Gate of Hell

Jigokumon ~  地獄門

Director ~ Teinosuke Kinugasa

Writers ~ Kan Kikuchi, Teinosuke Kinugasa, Masaichi Nagata

1955, Japan

Stars ~ Machiko KyôKazuo, Hasegawa, Isao Yamagata

 

If it starts in a blaze of chambara, the kind familiar from Kurosawa or King Hu with reams of names and fiefdoms, it is soon apparent that it has settled into a much more uncomfortable jidaigeki about one man’s stalker’s obsession. Once the film’s rhythm and intent has shrunk and settled, its tone is of toxic masculinity propelled and overlooked due to the era’s patriarchy and samurai code.

‘Gate of Hell’ was the first Japanese colour film to be released outside Japan. BenPinga’s 1955 review of it is sniffy at best and distasteful at worst, being insistent on crediting its vivid style to Western influence. It’s hard to give credence to observations such as “‘Gate of Hell’s film technique does not have much to offer in its creative aspects” when, even should you think it’s more style over substance, there so much visual to luxuriate in. Or to Pinga’s conclusion that by comparison, Kinugasa fails because “Kurosawa’s films, though sharing Kinugasa’s violence, never lose their realism”: from the outset, ‘Gate of Hell’ announces its artifice and mounted painting look and Ko theatrics; the comparison is a non-sequitur because there are different directorial agendas. With its green bamboo blinds, stunning costumes, the purple shadows and the dominant use of deep, vivid colour, ‘Gate of Hell’ is more akin to the affectated, comic-book palette of Mario Bava than even the colour scheme of Kurosawa’s ‘Ran’, which is more rooted in naturalism. 

 

When it reveals itself as a psychological drama in Historical Epic garb, it becomes an increasingly uncomfortable watch. Nothing is explicit, but Morito Endô (Kazuo Hasegawa) segue from presumed hero to obvious stalker is the film’s unanticipated twist. The themes simmer with repressed misogyny, violence and lust, hidden behind the formal codes of the samurai and politics. IMDB’s tagline, “A samurai pursues a married lady-in-waiting,” and The Radio Times summarises that a “doomed courtship of Machiko Kyo by the heroic samurai”  and both make it sound almost romantic, yet it is anything but. Once Endô threatens to kill everyone if Kesa (Machiko Kyô) won’t submit to him over her husband, all romantic obsession turns to psychopathy. Kesa may be a little flattered but has no interest in betrayal, and she may swoon and acquiesce as her position wonts, but even with a husband who is decent her options for agency are limited.

 

And in the end, the men seem to be only concerned with how her sacrifice imposes on their values and nobility. Two separate readings of the ending give indication of how slippery ‘Gate of Hell’ proves to be. Christopher long writes, “Whatever the case, Kinugasa pulls a neat trick by transferring our sympathies first to Kesa and then to her husband who seems like the only truly noble character at all times, a quality that marks him as a potential patsy in this craven, hard-scrabble milieu.” In comparison, Haylay Scanlon writes, “Yet in the midst of all that, Kinugasa ends with a triumph of nobility as the compassionate samurai restores order by rejecting the heat of raw emotion for an internalised contemplation of the greater good.” Scanlon also calls Endô’s behaviour “misplaced passion”, and certainly the men would no doubt see it as such, but it’s yet another tale of how men have always imposed and postured and warred at the expense of women’s concerns. Sumptuous by appearance but sour at the centre.