Th e specter of communism haunted the seemingly harmless lyrics of “Tokyo March.”
According to his autobiography, Saijo at fi rst wrote the fi rst two lines of the fi nal verse diff erently. Th e initial version was “A Marx boy with long hair holds Red Love 28 as usual.”
Th is sentence was withdrawn upon a Victor Japan executive’s suggestion for fear of the censor, and Saijo revised it to the existing version. 29 As has been oft en noted, reading Capital or Red Love and having long hair and a rupashka shirt was the coolest thing to do in 1929 Japan, although the police’s torture chamber and maybe even the scaff old awaited those who took the trend too seriously. Th e censored passage was more Saijo’s cynical gesture of edginess than an expression of sympathy.
Th e revised version, however, did not entirely succeed in repressing the specter.
Perhaps the specter of “Tokyo March” was not that of communism, but a diff erent type of specter that nonetheless was a symptom of the same sociopolitical condition that fostered the emergent interest in communism: anonymity and homelessness in the metropolis and the everyday life of white-collar workers, in which both work and enter- tainment were produced by the same machinery of industrial capitalism. 30 It is highly signifi cant that the fi rst two verses of the song depict ephemeral contacts and chance encounters between strangers in public space. In the last two verses, illicit relation- ships take advantage of anonymity in a big city. Moga and mobo (modern boys) in a dance hall or café, or salarymen at work in the Maru Building, were interchangeable, like mass-produced commodities. Th ey exchanged glances and made love, not because of destiny, but because of contingency. Th is is a song that might well have accompa- nied King Vidor’s Th e Crowd (1928), Curt and Robert Siodmak’s People on Sunday ( Menschen am Sonntag , written by Billy Wilder, 1930), and above all, Walter Ruttmann’s Berlin: Symphony of a Big City (1927).
Let us investigate the language of the lyrics. Th e fi rst three verses generate an impres- sion of kaleidoscopic montage or juxtaposition of snapshots of city life, by constantly shift ing the subject position through which an event is depicted. Given that the Japanese original lacks the fi rst person singular and plural nouns in the fi rst verse, the subject-object relationship of the depiction becomes further blurred. Even though it might not be entirely impossible to reduce the last three verses into a linear narrative of a boy-meets-girl story (“he meets a girl in the train, picks up a rose she drops, and writes her a letter at work; then, they have a rendezvous in Asakusa and fantasize about elop- ing in Shinjuku”), multiple locations and perspectives accentuate spatial juxtaposition
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rather than temporal linearity. Th us, Saijo’s lyrics construct surface aesthetics tinged by consciously cheap sentimentality.
Beneath this surface, however, opens up an abyss, indicated by the phrase “Shall we run away on the Odakyu line?” Because the preceding verses do not explicate the cou- ple’s situation, the sudden proposal to elope, especially when put in the same paradig- matic category as going for movies or to cafés, sounds shockingly lighthearted, or at best impulsive. Th e modernity of the lyrics lies not only in the name of the newly opened commuter train from and to the suburbs, but also in this surge of the desire to escape from the surface monotony of everyday life in the city. Th is monotony points to an abyss created by anonymity, homelessness, and the complete interchangeability of persons.
Th e song describes a specifi cally modern elopement, completely diff erent by nature from that of destined lovers dramatized in the Tokugawa doll theater.
Th is aspect of “Tokyo March” not only struck a chord with the listeners/consumers but also got on the authorities’ nerves. Teishinsho (the Ministry of Communications) abruptly banned the radio broadcasting of the song performance scheduled on June 15, 1929. 31 Th e ministry offi cial responsible for the banning explained, “Jazz in itself was all right. But we reached the decision to ban the song because the lyrics were somehow improper. [If the medium is fi lm], that is OK. Only those who want to watch the fi lm go there; but this is radio. It is really a problem to expose the upright and innocent youth to the lyrics that talk about a rendezvous in Asakusa and elopement on the Odakyu.” 32
Th is self-consciously superfi cial, decadent song that condensed the characteristics of modanizumu was not merely a “theme song” of Mizoguchi’s fi lm version, but was deeply integrated into its texture through the exhibition practice called kouta eiga . Kouta eiga , directly translated as “little song fi lm,” refers to silent fi lms featuring popular songs. 33 In little song fi lms in 1929, somewhere around the time when the genre had reached its maturity, a professional singer gave a live performance of the song as the image track played more or less like a music video, with the lyrics superimposed on the image in the manner of karaoke. For the fi lm Tokyo March , Nikkatsu held a special preview at the Hinode Newspaper Company Hall in Kyoto on May 24, 1929, prior to its nation- wide release. At the preview, the singer Kawahara Setsuko’s live performance of the song was highlighted as one of the main attractions. 34 Film critic Iijima Tadashi noted that Musashinokan had a “dancer” ( odoriko ) sing the little song as prologue at the screening of Tokyo March . 35
While no print of the complete version of the fi lm Tokyo March survives, the existing two shortened versions, both around twenty minutes, partially preserve what must have been the little song sequence. 36 Furthermore, the shooting script by Kimura Chieo was published in the fi lm journal Eiga chisihi right aft er the fi lm’s release. To quote the open- ing sequence:
A train comes up on an elevated rail
(An oblique bird’s-eye-view from a place around the Yurakucho railroad bridge captures a view of the Shinbashi station.)
—Which overlaps with—
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Th e sky (blank)
(Th e following title appears, superimposed on the sky:) Title
“Tokyo: the largest modern city in Asia, in which Japan’s culture, education, arts—
and vice and corruption—are concentrated.”
Aft er the above title disappears, the sky remains there briefl y. (Th en, P.V.P. [alphabets in original, unidentifi able abbreviation])
A bird’s-eye-view of the main street
Th e camera (placed on the roof of the Yurakucho Building) pans from Mitsukoshi [a department store], through Nihonbashi, Kyobashi, and Ginza, and stops around the Shinbashi station.
—Which overlaps with—
A traveling shot either from Suidobashi to Ochanomizu or from Ochanomizu to Manseibashi
(A panoramic view from the window of the Metropolitan Train [Shoden]) A fountain in a large park (surrounded by fl ower gardens)
—Which overlaps with—
(Eff ects of the same movement)
A public faucet in a back alley (against the background of garbage cans or diapers hung to dry)
—Which overlaps with—
A Persian cat lying on fur rug licks milk in a sunny parlor.
—Which overlaps with—
(Th e same movement)
A carriage horse drinks water at the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
An extremely long shot of Ginza streets (a bird’s-eye-view from the Daiichi Sogo Building) Th e fi rst verse of “Tokyo March” starts overlapping.
—Which overlaps with—
A closer view of Ginza streets (a forward traveling shot taken from an automobile) Feet, feet, and feet walking on the pavement
(Use the pavement in the Riken laboratories.) Th e fi rst verse of “Tokyo March” ends.
—Which overlaps with—
Th e Maru Building
(Eff ects of the silhouette taken from the pavement around the Mitsubishi Village [the blocks in which the offi ce buildings belonging to the Mitsubishi Zaibatsu were concentrated])
Th e song’s second verse starts overlapping.
—Which overlaps with—
A glimpse of rush hours in front of the Tokyo station A triple superimposition of
—A crowd of offi ce workers coming out of the station —Passengers bustling, getting on and off a train —Getting on and off a bus
Th e song’s second verse ends.
Th e Arakawa factory district viewed from the Arakawa drainage canal (the skyline of chimneys sticking out like a forest)
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Th e song’s third verse starts overlapping.
—Which overlaps with—
Th e Sumida River refl ecting the setting sun (in backlight capturing the Eitai Bridge) —Which overlaps with—
Th e subway rushing forward —Which overlaps with—
Th e Goddess of Mercy of Asakusa (eff ects of the roof from a low angle) —Which overlaps with—
Illuminations of the Ikenohata 6th Quarter —Which overlaps with—
Th e engine belt is vigorously revolving.
—Which overlaps with—
A female factory worker [ joko ] is working hard with types.
It’s Michiyo (medium close-up).
Title
Michiyo has to work a night shift , putting her exhausted body together.
Michiyo looks up, fi xing loose hair.
Th e soot-covered lamp of the factory —Which overlaps with—
A large chandelier in the dance hall of the Imperial Hotel —Which overlaps with—
Champagne glasses
—Which quickly overlaps with—
Th e face of a gaudy woman putting lipstick on —Which quickly overlaps with—
Dancing foot, foot, foot (Bust [English in original, which probably means medium close-up])
—Which quickly overlaps with—
Th e dance hall (full view)
(Tapes, jumbled, fall fl amboyantly) —Which quickly overlaps with—
Men and women dance merrily —Which quickly overlaps with—
Sayuri and Matsunami Nobuo come out of the dancing crowd of men and women 37 Following the city symphony format, the Tokyo March opening orchestrates documen- tary footage of Tokyo, with the fi rst three verses of the song superimposed, joining dif- ferent fragments of city life together by means of visual or semantic association. It clearly shows the impact of Ruttmann’s Berlin: Symphony of a Big City (1927). Iwasaki Akira, a German-speaking Marxist fi lm critic, introduced the Ruttmann fi lm to Japanese fi lm cul- ture with fanfare as soon as it came out in Weimar Germany. 38 Th e fi lm was eventually released at Hogakuza in September 1928. Tokyo March ’s phantom ride from the automo- bile was designed similar to Berlin , and we continue to such scenes in existing versions.
Th e crowd on the pavement (Figure 6.2), the Maru Building (Figure 6.3), and the Asakusa street scene also survive (Figure 6.4).
Modernist poet and fi lm critic Kitagawa Fuyuhiko brilliantly commented on this city symphony sequence in a 1929 article. Kitagawa started by pointing to the
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similarity between Berlin and the opening sequences of three recent Japanese fi lms, including Tokyo March , “in descriptions of the machine, the engine, the crowd, public transportation, architecture, speed, and money.” 39 He lauded Berlin as fol- lows: “Th is is the camera. Nothing other than the camera could represent a modern, capitalist metropolis like this. Indeed, because the camera is a product of a scientifi c
figure 6.2 Th e pavement during in the rush hour, Tokyo March .
figure 6.1 Phantom ride from an automobile, Tokyo March .
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civilization, it brings its ability to full when directed toward a scientifi c civiliza- tion.” 40 Moreover, Kitagawa refused to censure the Japanese fi lmmakers for imitating the German fi lmmaker. He argued: “To the contrary, I consider that capitalism has ceased to make any marked diff erence between the physiognomy [ sobo ] of Berlin and that of Tokyo; in other words, to represent these two metropolises that look like each
figure 6.3 Th e Maru Building, Tokyo March .
figure 6.4 A busy street in Asakusa, Tokyo March .
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other, the fi lmmakers were naturally compelled to have recourse to similar styles.” 41 Both in Tokyo and Berlin, the camera’s eye is most suited to registering speed and motion—industrial-capitalist modernity’s assault on the human sensoria from which it was born.
Although to this day Berlin maintains high critical acclaim precisely because of this surface inscription of industrial modernity, the same characteristics triggered skepti- cism about its politics among perceptive contemporary critics. Siegfried Kracauer, in his Frankfurter Zeitung fi lm review, wrote:
But does it convey the reality of Berlin? No: it is just as blind to reality as any other feature fi lm, and this is due to its lack of a political stance. Instead of penetrating its enormous object in a way that would betray a true understanding of its social, economic, and political structure, and instead of observing it with human concern or even tackling it from a particular vantage point in order to resolutely take it apart, Ruttmann leaves the thousands of details unconnected, one next to the other, inserting at most some arbitrarily conceived transitions that are meaningless. 42
I have not discovered any Japanese translation of this review in contemporary fi lm jour- nals. Nevertheless, the Tokyo March scriptwriter Kimura’s comment on Berlin sounds a bit like Kracauer. Kimura, a great admirer of Ruttmann and Karl Myer (script), worries that, as Berlin lacks clarity of expressions, the fi lmmakers’ “subtle” (English in original) intentions might well escape undiscerning viewers. By clarity ( meikakusa / meiryosa ), Kimura seems to mean ideological explicitness. He states: “Since no clear ideology appears from the morning through the night, the fi lm [ Berlin ] clearly falls into the ‘unre- liability of a non-ideological person’ [ mushisosha no tayorinasa ].” 43 In other words, Kimura also found Ruttmann’s Berlin lacking in “a political stance” or “a particular van- tage point.” Kimura-Mizoguchi’s little song fi lm Tokyo March should be taken seriously as explicit and unsubtle proletariatization—politicalization and popularization—of Ruttmann’s symphony.
In Kimura’s published script, the overt juxtaposition and comparison of the bour- geoisie and the proletariat run through the song sequence, aggressively combin- ing documentary footage and staged shots. 44 For example, the Persian cat on a fur rug is juxtaposed and thereby contrasted with the horse at an anti-cruelty society.
Kimura-Mizoguchi obviously owes Ruttmann for this idea. Both animals engage in the same movement of licking, making the eff ect of montage even clearer. Yet, this sort of juxtaposition continues in the narrative sequence that emphasizes the dispar- ity between Michiyo’s life and Sayuri’s, overtly creating a lurid contrast between rich and poor through the images of silk stockings and well-worn socks, and between the chandelier at the Imperial Hotel and the sooty lamp at the factory. Th us, whereas in the Ruttmann fi lm, as Nora L. Alter points out, the use of animals leads to class divi- sion being “generalized as a law of nature,” 45 Mizoguchi and Kimura insist on sociopo- litical dimensions and thereby take an unmistakable ideological stance. Kracauer, if he had a chance to see it, might have chided this montage for turning social reality into a
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fashionable fi lm idiom; yet, within the historical and fi lm-historical contexts of 1929 Japan, the style and fashion themselves were highly politicized through links to Soviet montage theory.