After recently watching Kon Ichikawa’s Fires on the Plain, and being
completely blown away by its tone and perspective on war, it was with great
anticipation that I quickly sought out his other highly regarded film, The
Burmese Harp. Harp was made 3 years prior, but it is vastly different in tone,
look, and overall impression. Yet it is no less effective or moving an
experience. In fact, it is a film of great humanism and compassion, which is
almost polar opposite from Fires on the Plain’s hellish
view of war. It’s fascinating that a director can make such different films on the
same subject within such a short period of time.
The Burmese Harp follows a band of Japanese soldiers in Burma, late in
the war in 1945, who have formed a special bond over their ability to sing
songs of home and camaraderie, and who also have acquired a harp. A private named
Mizushima has learned how to play it along with their renditions. After the
Japanese surrender to a group of British soldiers and the war is over, the
Private is sent on a short mission to convince a group of soldiers, who are
hunkered into a mountain fortress, to surrender. He is unable to convince them
and ends up in the midst of shelling by the British. Mizushima is thought dead,
but is in fact the only survivor of the battle. He acquires a monk’s robe as a
disguise, and begins a journey that will take him to spiritual enlightenment. He achieves this through a profound desire to bury dead soldiers. He is
adopted by a group of monks and seems to disappear from all traces of his previous
life as a soldier, until some chance encounters with his troupe bring memories
and experiences flooding back.
Ichikawa’s film, although in 1.33 aspect ratio, is nearly as expressive
as Fires on the Plain. Cinematography by Minoru Yokoyama contains beautifully framed moments that are arranged in montage. I often recalled
Soviet cinema here and think of Eisenstein or even the work of Kolotozov who
released The Cranes Are Flying right about the same time. There is wonderful
use of low-angle camera shots, and soft lighting that illuminates faces in the foreground
while the background is darkened. There’s also the terrific balance between
close-ups, medium range, and long shots. In fact, balance throughout the film is key. There is a balance between ugliness and beauty, between pain and healing. Both the
elements of the script and the visuals themselves seem to feed into these opposing features.
What I especially loved was the meditative tone, which is heartfelt, genuine and offers up some very moving setpieces. I think of the moment on the beach where Mizushima is working solo to bury a large pile of dead soldiers with a group of onlookers seemingly astonished that anyone would do such a thing. Yet his inspirational efforts cause the rest of them to pitch in. Also there is that spectacular moment near the end where Mizushima’s soldier troupe reads a letter aloud that he wrote, explaining everything he is doing and why. It is a great moment of compassion and outpouring of emotion that is thoroughly earned. Ichikawa breeds a sense of redemption and hope into this film that is vastly different from the following Fires on the Plain. In fact, this also has to be one of the most spiritually satisfying films I’ve ever seen. Rare is the film that is able to touch something of the soul in this particular way.
