by Bryn Gatehouse
Continuing to study fascism through the lens of film, we may now move away from the heartlands of ‘real fascism’, that being Italy and Germany, towards Japan, the third axis power. Whilst Japan in the 1940s was not analytically fascist, the first half of the Showa era may be considered somewhat aligned with fascist thought. Thus for the sake of simplicity I will refer to Hirohito’s Japan (until the end of World War Two) as fascist. The film that I shall use for my analysis of Japanese fascism is Paul Schrader’s Mishima: a Life in Four Chapters (1985) which follows the last days of Japanese author Yukio Mishima, along with dramatizing three of his most personal, and telling, works. The film, made with a Japanese crew and cast, was banned in Japan and has never been shown due largely to Mishima’s poor reputation in the wake of his death. In order to fully develop my theory of Japanese fascism I will look at each story depicted by Schrader, with the three works and Mishima’s final days, in turn.
Mishima: a Life in Four Chapters, 1985, Warner Bros.
Yukio Mishima, at one point Japan’s biggest literary export, had a lifelong inferiority complex. A poet, bodybuilder, and political activist, the few areas that he truly stuck to were beauty and worship of the Emperor of Japan, a role which he worried was losing its sacred nature in Japanese culture. Unable to serve for his emperor in World War Two due to illness, Mishima found himself as a young man unable to die a heroic death, instead destined to grow old, ugly, and ashamed of his lack of fighting. Forming a private militia called the Tatenokai in the post war period, Mishima’s aims of retaining the role of duty to the emperor in youth then developed into a goal to overthrow the government of Japan, all alongside his writing. In 1970, along with three of the Tatenokai, Mishima stormed a military base in Tokyo, attempted to rally the troops to his cause and, after failing to do so, committed seppuku, one of his students beheading him as the ritual dictates. Despite his rejection of fascism as European rather than Japanese, we may see fascist characteristics in Mishima’s works, and thus in Schrader’s film. These will now be discussed in turn.
The first of Mishima’s works to be adapted by Schrader is The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, a novel about a stuttering Buddhist acolyte who develops an obsessive relationship with the titular temple. This obsession with the sublime beauty of the temple, together with the sexual inadequacy of the young monk, leads to him eventually burning the temple down. Important to note in Schrader’s adaptation of this novel is the near constant presence of the temple within the frame, often lurking behind the main action of the scene. This may indicate the level in which the temple and beauty as a whole has enveloped the boy’s mind, accentuating his feelings of inferiority, and frequently opening itself to show the acolyte an image of complete ideal beauty. In relation to Mishima and fascism, the temple as representation of tradition within Japan is important to note. Stunned at the sight of its beauty, the boy turns away from human sexual relations and instead seems to bond with the temple, the act of setting fire to the temple being a consummation. It is no secret that Mishima thought the most beautiful moments were those of destruction. Even within the film, the character of Mishima notes his desire to be like a firework, a simultaneous image of beauty and destruction. These ideas correspond closely to elements of fascist aesthetics, both in reverence for some tradition, but simultaneously the innate destructive desire that we see in Japan, Germany and Italy. Beauty may be the enemy of the acolyte, but (in a rather Heideggerian sense) the meaning to this beauty reveals itself to the acolyte in death, the final shot being him standing in front of the flames.
The next novel to be adapted is Runaway Horses, part of Mishima’s Sea of Fertility Tetralogy. This is a work that closely corresponds with Mishima’s coup attempt, and involves a group of young Japanese nationalists planning to overthrow the capitalist leaders of Japan. From this may be seen the call to youth along with the discontent with industrialism that Mishima saw in 20th century Japan. Most notable in this segment is the final scene, in which the leader of the students breaks into the home of a notable Japanese capitalist and kills him, before escaping to a beach and committing seppuku in front of the sunrise, with the sun appearing to explode with light at the moment of his death. One interesting and often little discussed area of fascism which we may see in Mishima’s work here is anti-capitalism. Mishima, like the protagonist of this segment, holds industrial capitalism to blame for the destruction of his traditions, and for the destruction of the power and reputation held by the emperor. This is interesting as is held by a number of fascist aligned persons, including many of the founding Italian fascists and figures within the German Nazi party, not to mention the troubadour himself, Ezra Pound. However, Mishima’s ultranationalism does not adhere completely to the fascist image of industrialism, preferring instead to focus on the effect on Japanese culture and this alone. If capitalism is the moderniser that Marx said it has been, then for Mishima it poses an insurmountable threat against the ability for the mortal God of the emperor to exist, in turn also ruining the ability for a noble death. This radical action taken against the modern world is a tenet of fascism, from Evola to Celine. One can see how this movement fits within Schrader’s God’s lonely man theme that runs throughout his discography, with both Mishima and the protagonist shown as feeling somewhat abandoned, and requiring an extreme act of energy to respond to the inattention shown to their views.
The last of Mishima’s works to be adapted by Schrader is Kyoko’s House. This is the first of the three adaptations that may truly fit within the previous framework established of libidinal fascism. It is important to note that, as Nietzsche calls all philosophy an admission, Mishima places himself within each work, hence the lingering themes of inferiority, destruction, tradition, and lust. In this segment, a young actor begins a relationship with an older woman due to his mother’s debt. This slowly builds into a sadomasochistic sexual fantasy ending in the death of both partners. Running throughout this is not just the sadomasochism that I have analysed in previous depictions of fascism, but also a sense of tragedy. One must not forget that every good tragedy ends with the protagonist’s death. Enlightening us on this, Mishima takes the human obsession with the tragedy and forms art, both in his work and in his life. This lays important foundations for his fascism, suggesting it more as an artistic rather than political movement.
Mishima: a Life in Four Chapters, 1985, Warner Bros.
There are a number of intercut scenes of Mishima’s life between the three adaptations. For the sake of time I shall only consider two, relating them in turn to both Schrader and the philosophy of Mishima. First to note is the obsession with St Sebastian, which is found numerous times from when a young Mishima first sees the picture of the saint pierced by arrows to his recreation of the painting as an adult. Martyrdom remains important to Mishima, and fascism in turn, a whole spirited rejection of the liberal individualism that develops across the globe in the 20th century. Only those who die as martyrs may die the honourable, and beautiful, death. Mishima is one of these figures, as he dies an art piece, an exhibit of complete dedication to his cause and aesthetic philosophy. Similarly, in an important final scene, Mishima’s face is intercut with those of all three protagonists, furthering Schrader’s point that all of these characters represent the psychology of Mishima himself, God’s loneliest man.
Mishima: a Life in Four Chapters, 1985, Warner Bros.
Mishima is more than a fascist, but for the sake of our analysis we have been forced to treat him as nothing more than one. In his self-awareness he presents fascism as originating from a simultaneous need for superiority and inferiority, along with an unshakeable reactionary element. Most importantly, and perhaps contrary to the initial aims of this essay, Mishima shows fascism not as political, but artistic, closer resembling the romantics than any other political system of the 20th century. Central to this movement is beauty, along with the destruction of it. But for Mishima, this destruction may bring about a transcendental, overtly tragic beauty that seems to capture the essence of man, strong yet ever futile. Schrader too seems to hold this view, allowing Mishima to join his characters in the closing shot.
by Bryn Gatehouse, October 2022.