documents – reading

The critic as a lone wolf:
François Truffaut and Nagisa Oshima
By Philip Cheah

The late 50s was a curious time. It was the true globalization when the New Wave began both in the East and in the West. The French New Wave had as much impact as the Japanese New Wave.

Isn't it any wonder that two of my favorite film critics are the directors Nagisa Oshima and Francois Truffaut. Their two books have been constant reference points whenever I have felt uninspired. "Cinema, Censorship And The State" (MIT Press, 1992) is a collection of Oshima's film criticism since he began contributing to various publications from 1956. "The Films In My Life" (Penguin, first published 1975) is Truffaut's own compilation of writings from 1954–58. Both books cover their journalism before and after they became filmmakers.

Truffaut imparts a crucial lesson for any young critic, that it is important to be subjective. It's a lie whenever someone accuses a critic for not being objective. As Truffaut said: "Art is not scientific. Why should criticism be?" What he means is that if a critic cannot enter subjectively / emotionally into a piece of work, how can he engage the art? But Truffaut proves that one can always relentlessly think about what one loves, or hates.

Reading the book today, one realizes that many of his observations still ring true. For instance, that up to a certain stage in film history (probably till the late 50s), "intelligence stayed behind the camera, it didn't try to be in evidence on the screen". Instead "films have become more intelligent — or rather, intellectual — than those who look at them". For this reason, Bollywood (Indian musical epics) has become a big trend because it still commands a mass audience and it still maintains an intelligence level similar to the audience. For this reason also, Hollywood is still a dominant force because so much of that cinema has been recycled ad nauseum.

Truffaut also notes something that lies deep in our hearts: "The public's desire to see a film — its power to attract — is a stronger motivation than the power of any criticism". Here, he reminds us that while criticism appears to be feared or reviled, it has no collective power. This is because critics don't operate as groups and sadly, this has been particularly true since the 90s when critics were co-opted as advertising mouthpieces or when the most interesting critics started losing their jobs because they were too intellectual for their audience.

The critic as a lone wolf is what Nagisa Oshima demonstrates time and time again, both in his writing and in his films. Oshima's example is that in the end, the critic must be true to his art and his ideals. As he says: "I am independent, and for that reason I am positively full of rebellion." It's his vow not to be bought out or to sell out.

Yet to reach this point, Oshima had to hit rock bottom and that's what makes the writing in the book such riveting reading. It is filled with Oshima's despair, disillusionment and even self-hatred. As he said: "Ever since that time in my youth when I realized that I was a coward and weak, my main concern has been how a weak person like myself can continue to protect himself and survive in this world". Yet of course, we know that Oshima wasn't a coward. In his writings and in his cinema, he has consistently been vocal and courageous in going his own way.

Oshima may be most remembered for his groundbreaking sex film masterpiece, "In the Realm of the Senses" (1976), but most people fail to see that film's politics and the trajectory of his cinema that led to that film. Growing up in the post-war years of Japan, Oshima had strong feelings against the American occupation. So did many of his generation's peers. You can see that seething anger and disenchantment in all of his early films from "Cruel Story about Youth" (1960) to "A Study about Japanese Bawdy Songs" (1967).

While Truffaut makes the point that cinema became too smart after a certain point, Oshima makes a generational argument. He argues that, "At some point, however, people stop seeing films. I don't know about other countries, but in Japan this happens to everyone after adolescence".

Oshima observed that it was the young disenchanted post-war generation that gave the impetus for the New Wave. It was also the growing up of this generation that almost lost the ground for the New Wave. During the 50s, Oshima had to continually exhort and remind his readers that they had a role to play.

Trained as a lawyer, Oshima's other important contribution to cinema was his fervent protests against censorship. To this day, "In the Realm of the Senses" has never been shown uncut in Japan. Oshima has been the rallying point for many Asian critics who have faced similar censorship woes. In fact, many foreign critics don't realize just how onerous the censorship burden is in Asian film.

Early on in his writings, particularly from 1963–65, when he visited Korea and Vietnam, Oshima reflected on the horror of war and the horrifying images of war. He pointed out: "There is something else I want to say to you people of 'good sense'. Have you ever put yourself in the place of the youth who was decapitated? The position of a youth whose life of 10-odd years was tragically cut short? Inspite of that, will you still cover your eyes? What I am trying to say is that closing your eyes to cruelty is itself cruel". In many ways, "In the Realm of the Senses" is also directed at the 'people of good sense'. It's an attack on hypocrisy. During his trial for obscenity, Oshima makes his case: "Isn't it ludicrous that the same Japanese who are unable to see something in Japan are able to see it in a foreign country? Why is something that is not considered 'obscene' in a foreign country is considered 'obscene' here? Isn't Japan one of the advanced countries? Isn't Japan part of the free world?"

Finally, what Oshima leaves us with is that critics must do their jobs with conscience. In today's media when the censorship word is diluted with euphemistic phrases such as 'edited' or 'reduced scenes', only the critics of conscience can see through that.

Philip Cheah
© FIPRESCI 2004

Philip Cheah is co-editor of the Asian rockmagazine BigO, devoted to music and film, and director of the International Singapore Film Festival.

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