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Kurosawa has been known to focus many of his films around the idea of ‘regeneration in a society struggling to piece itself back together’ (Croce, F cinepassion.org). ‘The Silent Duel’ (1949) is no different. Examined from a subtle and metaphorical standpoint, it analyses the effects of World War Two not only on the Japanese people, but on humanity. An expert at tackling social issues, Kurosawa creatively uses every aspect of cinema to emphasise his viewpoint. As will be acknowledged here, this early addition to Kurosawa’s broad filmography is just as relevant to his career as the likes of ‘Ikiru’ (1952) and ‘Red Beard’ (1965).
Made in 1949, during Americas post-war occupation of Japan, ‘The Silent Duel’ was subject to the many content restrictions imposed on media at that time. Enforced by the SCAP (Supreme Commander of the Allied Powers), films were unable to present any images suffused with militarism or portray ‘excessively light treatment of human life’ (cited in Richie, D A Hundred Years of Japanese Film) as well as feudal loyalty or discrimination of any kind. They were prohibited from showing war-damaged buildings or streets whilst at the same time encouraged to produce films showing the peoples’ endeavours to reconstruct their lives. Because of such limitations, much of the story - adapted from a play by Kazuo Makita - was altered to meet the standards dictated. John Dower notes:
‘The occupied screen did not merely offer a new, imagined world. It also made things disappear’ (ibid)
In ‘The Silent Duel’ this is true not only of what is ‘not’ seen on screen, but also in the presentation of the script and the way in which Kurosawa examines the ‘hidden’ in an extremely visual way. Using a disease as the backbone of the plot, this main feature is already visually hidden. It cannot be seen by anyone, yet everyone knows that it exists. Kurosawa uses this to tackle the psychological effects of the war using ‘syphilis’ as a metaphor for the destruction and confusion that followed the conflict. Dr. Kyoji Fujisaki (Toshiro Mifune) becomes infected when he cuts himself while operating on an infected patient. What ensues is an examination of the moral and ethical difficulties the doctor faces as a result of this mistake. The violation and inner destruction of the disease, both physically and psychologically have been referred to as ‘a parable of Japan’s collective conscience coming out of a lost, dirty war’ (Croce, F cinepassion.org). There is strong evidence to confirm this throughout the film. The protagonist himself is representative of such a statement. Kyoji is a saintly, innocent man (perhaps Japan’s view of itself before the war) who suddenly falls victim to a disease that costs him everything (the consequence of the war on Japanese life). This unfortunate situation is brought about by his rash decision to remove his gloves during surgery, a foolish action that results in dire consequences - echoing Japan’s decision to join the war.
The film has been said to portray war as a ‘corrosive, invasive agent’ (Prince, S. The Warrior’s Cinema: The Cinema of Akira Kurosawa 1999) which is the precise nature of disease. Eating at the body from within, it breaks down all major organs if not treated. World War Two tried to fight opposition in the same way. The destruction caused is presented in the film through our knowledge of Kyoji’s condition rather than any visual presentation of it. Again, this use of ‘the hidden’ works effectively to emphasise the people’s feelings as a result of the war without the need of excessive imagery.
Kyoji’s doppelganger, Susumi Nakata (Kenjiro Uemura), a shameless, dishonest and frivolous man (and the one from whom Kyoji caught the disease), is proud to have syphilis, as he boasts to an injured soldier early on, saying that ‘because of the disease you might be able to go home’ suggesting that it is worth suffering a disease simply to escape the horror of battle. Kyoji also states that because he had to stay in the field for so long, the syphilis developed more rapidly as he was unable to obtain the correct treatment. Both these statements emphasise the futility of war, that there is no escape from it, and if attempted, it is at a greater cost. This therefore presents the war as ‘invasive’ into the lives of civilians. Whether doctor or soldier, neither could evade the physical war in the world, or the inner war inside themselves caused as a result of the conflict.
The relationship between Kyoji and his fiancée Misao (Miki Sanjo) is crucial in recognising the psychological consequences of the war. Engaged to a woman who has been waiting six years to marry him, Kyoji returns home and tells her that he no longer wants to be married, giving her no reason or explanation. The confusion and despair she subsequently feel is representative of the severe loss that all the participating countries endured after the war. Many people - especially women - lost members of their families just as Misao did, with no real explanation. She asks, ‘can a war change such a person so much?’. Following this, it is then as if life before the war was unreal - a fantasy that is best forgotten. She recalls how, when she first met Kyoji, she was just a child and how it was an ‘old fairy tale’, recognising the brutal, miserable reality of post-war life. Misao’s incomprehension and initial inability to let him go represents the lasting effects of the war on society, whilst her final acceptance of her loss highlights the necessity for Japan as a country to move forward. Indeed, this need to move on is epitomised through the regeneration of Rui Minegishi (Noriko Sengoku), an apprentice nurse at the hospital. She literally ‘swings from nihilist almost-hooker to loving young mother’ (Croce, F). On learning of Kyoji’s sacrifice she begins to see the value in life and as a result does not abort her baby nor re-attempt suicide. Her character is a representation of Japan, showing where it has been and where it needs to go to. As Stephen Prince says of Kurosawa’s post war films, they are ‘all interpenetrated by the exigencies of wartime collapse and the emergence of a new Japan’.
The cinematography in ‘The Silent Duel’ is not nearly as astounding as in his more famed works such as ‘Rashomon’ (1950) or ‘The Seven Samurai’ (1954). However, the use of light and sound, particularly in the opening few scenes, is extremely effective in emphasising Kyoji’s emotions. At the opening the audience is subject to the loud oppressive sound of the environment - that of heavy rain beating down upon leaves and the mud as the credit’s role. Suddenly it cuts to the quiet, hot, uncomfortable interior of the doctors’ barracks where Kyoji and another are resting. As a patient is rushed in, the operation that ensues is carried out in relative silence, save for the noise of the rain outside and the occasional word from the doctors. Suddenly the rain begins leaking through the roof and an assistant is assigned to stand beneath the hole with a dish to catch the water. This breach is a pre-cursor to that which is about to overcome the doctor. From then on there is the steady drip of rain on the dish as we proceed to see how the doctor contracts syphilis. As he operates, Kyoji removes his gloves and subsequently cuts himself on a scalpel. As he examines the wound the noise of the rain increases, enhancing the drama even though the viewer is not yet aware of the reason. The use of natural sound - the rain battering the encampment - is representative of the natural peril that has befallen Kyoji. As when he realises, he has syphilis and his inner emotional battle begins, it is the overpowering sound of a truck engine - a manmade machine noise - that is used to express Kyoji’s anger and grief. This use of distinctive sound contributes subtly and extremely effectively to the emotional atmosphere.
As the aggressive sound of nature enhances Kyoji’s external trauma, Kurosawa chooses a softer medium to represent his inner turmoil. When Kyoji turns away from the patient who infected him, the consequences of his mistake sinking in, his face is splashed with patches of light and shadow - a visual sign of his conflict and the uncertainty that blossoms inside him. As he waits for the results of his blood test, every scene is filmed with this lighting. It is only when he returns home after the war that this kind of framing ends, because he has accepted his fate and now has to move on and grapple with a new kind of trauma.
The conflict between the ‘pure’ and the ‘tainted’ are displayed through another more obvious visual medium. The pure white of the doctors’ garments - a colour that is apt for the saintly Kyoji - is never tarnished. Despite the various patients he tends, his overalls remain clean, suggesting that nothing external can, nor need dirty him, as he is already tarnished within.
The ‘quiet duel’ of which the title speaks is shown in Kyoji’s character in two parts. The first part accentuates the conflict with himself as to whether to tell his fiancée the real reason for his breaking off the marriage. He decides not to tell her, justifying it as being for ‘her own good’ as if she were to know she would wait for him until he was healed and, not knowing how long that could be, he could not ‘take responsibility for her life like that’. The second part of the film focuses on the moral restrictions of him being a doctor and therefore a symbol of responsibility and righteousness conflicting with his need to feel a pleasure he had been denied for so long. Kyoji comments ‘I have to live with a doctor’s conscience and a man’s conscience...It’s very hard’. Referring here to his physical desire for his fiancée, he tells Minegishi that before the war he ‘restrained his desire to pretend to be a decent man’ whilst during the war he knew he had a marriage to come back to. Now however, the war is over, but his inner battle is just beginning. He has come back to a life with no physical release or pleasure and, because of his morals, is denied companionship. At one point he says, ‘because of the blood of a shameless guy my body became dirty without knowing any pleasure’. The war took away all chance of hope for the future - as a penance for its coming about in the first place.
The physical personification of Kyoji’s dilemma is visualised in Susumi Nakata. Here is a man with no regard for others and whose reckless actions ruin both his life and that of his wife and child. In many ways Susumi represents the war itself. Having infected Kyoji he goes on to ignore the recommendations of the doctors and gets his wife pregnant, denying that he still has the disease. Susumi then blames Kyoji entirely for his still born, mutated baby. This visual opposite serves to externally realise the battle that rages within the doctor and his conflict with his physical desire.
Kurosawa does not deny the viewer of a promise of optimism and redemption. The end of the film sees the doctor operating with his father and the previously suicidal nurse on a patient who is screaming ‘help me doctor! I have four children’. Somehow, we know everything is going to be alright. There is some debate as to whether this was the ending Kurosawa actually wanted, as it seems a little misplaced and sudden, not really resolving anything.
Like Nagisa Oshima, Kurosawa thrived on making films that addressed social, and frequently controversial, subjects. In ‘The Silent Duel’ he clearly makes known his feelings on the repression and destruction of the WWII portrayed, through the metaphor of a physical ‘dis-ease‘ clearly reflecting the resultant social ‘illness‘ as a consequence of war in itself. The theatrical and therefore often static scenes remain powerful, as they carry so many underlying representations of battle and conflict that the repression of World War Two on the psyche of the individual is made extraordinarily clear. Whether through the main story itself, or the more subtle changes that come about in each character’s life, the reference to the lasting consequences of war and conflict is the chief focus and the ultimate effect of this film on the viewer.
Country: Japan
Budget: £
Length: 94mins
Filmography:
‘The Seven Samurai’, 1954, Akira Kurosawa, Toho Company
‘Rashomon’, 1950, Akira Kurosawa, Daiei Motion Picture Company
‘Red Beard’, 1965, Akira Kurosawa, Kurosawa Production Co.
‘Ikiru’, 1952, Akira Kurosawa, Toho Company
Pub/2008
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Gojo reisenki (Gojoe), 2000, directed by Sogo Ishii
Irma Vep, 1996, directed by Olivier Assayas