Features฀Issue25

Q
Forgotten Roots of
JAPANIMATION:
masters
z z of puppets h By Jasper Sharp

I N J ULY 2005, the 40th Karlovy Vary International Film

Jirí฀Trnka’s฀The฀Emperor’s฀Nightingale

Festival in the Czech Republic hosted a special retrospec-

tive of the works of Kihachirô Kawamoto. It was a fitting,
if perhaps a little belated tribute to a man who has been
at the forefront of his chosen medium of stop-motion
puppet animation (ningyô animêshon) for the better part
of the last half of the twentieth century. The director was
also in attendance for the international premier of his
latest work The Book of the Dead (Shisha no Sho) (2005). His
second only feature-length work, in terms of style, tech-
nique and spiritual concerns, it represents the crowning
achievement of an artistic vision that has been refined
and developed over a canon of eleven hauntingly beauti-
ful titles. From his playful debut, Breaking of Branches is
Forbidden (Hanaori) (1968) through the surreal cut-out
(kiri-gami) animation of The Trip (Tabi) (1973) to the be-
witching Dojoji Temple (Dôjôji) (1976) and House of Flame
(Kataku) (1979), Kawamoto’s films derive much of their
power from traditional Japanese folklore and aesthet-
ics and an overarching philosophy based in Buddhism.
Though something of a legend in certain circles, Ka-
wamoto’s name seemed unfamiliar to most in attendance
at the Czech retrospective, including many members of the
international film press. Screenings of his films outside
his home country have been rare, mainly limited to spe-
cialist animation festivals, while the typically unassuming
and retiring nature of the animator himself and a decline

keywords Kihachirô Kawamoto; stop-motion puppet animation/ningyô

animêshon; Jiirí Trnka; doll-making; Japanese puppet theatre/bunraku;
Tadahito Mochinaga; Tadanari Okamoto; the Puppet Anime Show; Buddhism

58฀|฀film฀international฀issue฀25
Features฀Japanimation
in his output in recent decades compared to his 1970s
heyday (in no small measure due to the time-consuming
nature of the stop-motion process) has effectively kept his
reputation shielded from recent generations of viewers.
Furthermore, the global appreciation of Japanese anima-
tion (or anime) since the late 1980s, particularly in the
English language, has been dominated by a discourse fix-
ated on mass-market products such as the films of Studio
Ghibli and the technological fantasies of figures like Kat-
suhito Ôtomo (Akira (1988)) and Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in
the Shell/Kôkaku Kidôtai (1995)). The term ‘anime’ is seldom
used to refer to animation constructed by methods other
than traditional two-dimensional pen-and-ink or, more re-
cently, computer-graphics methods. Put simply, animation
from Japan has been presented as being one thing and one
thing only, and those artists creating works that fall out-
side this perceived definition have been given short shrift
in western writing on the subject. All of this has been to
the cost of independent practitioners such as Kawamoto
and the many like him who have pursued animation as
an artistic endeavour rather than a commercial one.
Kawamoto’s role within the neglected history of Japa-
nese independent animation is highly significant. Not
only are his films highly regarded in their own right,
but since 1989 he has also been the director of the Japan
Animation Association (JAA), an organization devoted to
participating in a wider global culture of more artistically
motivated film-making while supporting the short work
of domestic animators. Prior to embarking on The Book of
the Dead, he had been responsible for overseeing produc-
tion on A Winter’s Day (Fuyu no Hi) (2003), which brought
together some 35 of the world’s leading artists in the field
to contribute a one- to two-minute visual interpretation
in their own style of a two-line couplet from a renku poem
by the renowned haiku poet Matsuo Basho (1644–94).
Presenting a myriad of approaches and techniques, from
claymation, charcoal sketches and collage animation to
more modern three-dimensional computer generated
imagery (CGI) methods, this extraordinary and ambi-
tious project serves as a stunning affirmation that Japan
still boasts some of the finest animation in the world, and
that it does so not only due to a rich visual tradition all of
its own, but through an openness to assimilate styles and
aesthetic approaches hailing from a broad and diverse
range of sources spread over the globe. Participants in
the project included Yuri Norstein and Alexandre Petrov
from Russia; Raoul Servais from Belgium; the Czech
Bretislav Pojar; Yôji Kuri; Kôji Yamamura, whose short Mt
Head (Atama Yama) was nominated for an Oscar in 2003;
Studio Ghibli’s Isao Takahata; and Kawamoto himself.
But it was several of the lesser-known artists who provided
the most welcome surprises: Reiko Yokosuka’s haunting
sinuous and swirling charcoal drawings; the humorous
simplicity of British Mark Baker’s wood-chopping skit,
and Tatsuo Shimamura’s stunning apocalyptic vision.
Karlovy Vary’s retrospective was particularly fitting then,
but the most touching aspect of this commemoration of a
life’s endeavour was the presence of Kawamoto himself.
It was by no means his first visit to the Czech Republic.
Indeed the event represented something of a return to
his roots. For this was the country where Kawamoto first
discovered and nurtured his inimitable style after travel-
ling to Prague in 1963 to study at the studios of Czech
puppet-master Jirí Trnka (1912–69). A inspirational force
in the field of stop-motion animation, Trnka’s dreamlike
and delicate renditions of stories such as Anton Chek-
hov’s The Story of the Bass Cello (Román s basou) (1949), Hans
Christian Andersen’s The Emperor’s Nightingale (Cisaruv
Slavík) (1949) and William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer
Night’s Dream (Sen Noci Svatojanske) (1959) still retain the
power to enrapture newcomers while exerting a nos-
talgic tug on the heartstrings of those viewers who first
encountered them as children. Indeed, it was The Emperor’s
Nightingale that had proved to be such a profound impact
on Kawamoto’s subsequent artistic course when he saw it
in a theatre in Tokyo in the early 1950s. In the late 1980s he
revisited Trnka Studios to acknowledge his early mentor’s
influence when he oversaw the co-production of Briar
Rose or The Sleeping Beauty (Ibarahime mata manemuri-hime).
Released in 1990, this 22-minute-long dark fantasy with
strong Freudian undercurrents was set in a fairytale never-
never land of castles and exuberant medieval pageants,
evoking the magic of the tales of the Brothers Grimm,
and indeed the works of the late Trnka himself. The story,
actually written by Kyôko Kishida, a popular film actress
best known in the West for her role in Hiroshi Teshigaha-
ra’s Woman in the Dunes (Suna no Onna) (1964), concerns a
young princess who upon reaching her fifteenth birthday
discovers a diary written by her dead mother when she was
the same age. The journal tells of a secret paramour who
dwelt deep in the forest surrounding the palace. Enter-
ing the woods during a heavy rainstorm, the princess has
a life-changing encounter with a handsome stranger.
Born 11 January 1925 in Tokyo, Kawamoto became en-
tranced by puppets and dolls from an early age. Although
the distinction between the two is blurred within the
Japanese word ningyô (a composite of the characters for
‘person’ and ‘shape’), Kawamoto is quick to point out
their fundamental difference: ‘Dolls are children’s toys, or
things you dress up and display. Puppets, or marionettes,
are things that act. This is a crucial difference. There’s no
such thing as doll animation.’ If a doll’s function is the
representation of the human form, the goal of puppetry,
as with other forms of animation, is to communicate what
we understand as human emotions through speech and,
more crucially, movement. Indeed, the very word ‘anima- Y
฀www.filmint.nu฀|฀59฀
Features฀Japanimation
Below฀The฀Book฀of฀the฀Dead

tion’ means giving psychic qualities – an ‘anima’, or a

soul – to an inanimate object. ‘Animateur’, the alternate
word for the puppeteer, highlights this aspiration.
After first being taught how to make a doll by his
grandmother before he even reached elementary-school
age, Kawamoto was soon devoting hours to honing his
craft independently, referring to books and magazines
containing the works of Junichi Nakahara (1913–83),
a major artist whose many talents outside of decora-
tive doll-making included illustration, fashion design
and song writing (Nakahara was also responsible for
launching the modern fashion magazine Himawari,
or ‘Sunflower’, and his pictures of young girls with
big, limpid eyes have had a profound influence on the
designs found in modern manga comics). The young
Kawamoto was also an avid moviegoer, and often took ‘...฀Kawamoto’s฀films฀
to making figurines of the popular stars of the day.
Japan has a rich tradition of both doll-making and derive฀much฀of฀their฀
puppet theatre stretching back into the heart of the Edo
Period (1603–1867). Once a year on 3 March, ornamental
power฀from฀traditional฀
figures known as hina ningyô are exhibited in the homes Japanese฀folklore฀and฀
aesthetics฀and฀an฀
of families with girls as part of the festival known as Hina
Matsuri or Girls’ Day. Passed down from generation to
generation and dressed in the fineries of the Emperor,
Empress and court attendants of the classical Heian Era
overarching฀philosophy฀
(794–1185), a period viewed as the apogee of refine-
ment and high culture in Japan, they are mounted on
based฀in฀Buddhism.’
elaborate platforms consisting of several tiers to form
the centrepieces of the rooms they are displayed in. out advantage for either of its terms … Bunraku does
Meanwhile, the traditional Japanese form of puppet not aim at ‘animating’ an inanimate object so as to
theatre known as bunraku features full-bodied near life-size make a piece of the body, a scrap of a man, ‘alive’,
and extremely lifelike characters which are manipulated while retaining its vocation as a ‘part’; it is not the
by as many as three separate puppeteers. One of the key simulation of the body that it seeks but, so to speak,
components of bunraku is its presentational style. Perform- its sensuous abstraction. (Barthes 1982: 48)
ances are accompanied by a combination of chanting and
shamisen playing known as jôruri, lending the form its al- Kawamoto’s stop-motion animation might be seen
ternative name of ningyô jôruri. All of the characters’ voices as a logical synthesis of these traditions. The consider-
emanate from a single gidayu chanter, disembodied from able craftsmanship and attention to detail involved in
the puppets in a position physically located away from creating the characters and their costumes has its basis
the stage. Equally crucial is the clearly visible participa- in the elaborate hina ningyô culture, while the sense of
tion of the puppet operators, often but not always dressed physicality and emotional expressiveness is much akin
in black. In this way, even though its characters may look to that of bunraku theatre, which along with the more
human and move like humans, the bunraku doll drama performance-based theatrical forms of Kabuki and Noh
presents neither an attempt at realism nor simulation, but theatre, has also informed the style and content of many
a spectacle distinct from both. As the illusion of a body an- of Kawamoto’s narratives. It would take many years for
imated by a single mind evaporates with the control of its Kawamoto to reconcile this difference between the two
form, speech and movement separated into three distinct distinct arts and find a suitable medium for imbuing
modules, we are forced to reassess what we actually mean his hand-crafted models with life yet eradicating all the
by giving an inanimate object an ‘anima’. Roland Barthes traces of the author that is made a part of the spectacle
wrote of the form in his 1970 study of Japan, Empire of Signs, of both bunraku and marionette, or string-puppet shows.
But as a childhood fan of the cartoons of Walt Disney, he
Concerned with a basic antimony, that of animate/in- was well aware of the potential of animation to com-
animate, bunraku jeopardizes it, eliminates it with- municate emotions that live-action cinema could not.

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In his early career Kawamoto had not even thought
about becoming an animator. He had not even really
thought about forging a living making dolls. His early
ambition was to become an architect, although the Pacific
War would put paid to this aspiration. After graduating
from college in 1944, he was immediately drafted into the
army, though fortunately remained stationed in Japan for
the final year of the conflict. Finding a job in the aftermath
of Japan’s defeat was no easy task, but through a friend
he was at school with, Yoshirô Muraki, he was fortunate
enough to land a job at Toho studios in 1946 as an as-
sistant in the art department. Muraki was to continue on
a successful career as both an art director and production
designer, working on many important films including
those of the legendary Akira Kurosawa, like Throne of Blood
(Kumo no Su Jô) (1957), Yojimbo (1961), Red Beard (Akahige)
(1965) and Ran (1985). Kawamoto was not so lucky how-
ever, though he did make his contribution to such works
as Teinosuke Kinugasa’s Actress (Joyû) (1947), Heinosuke
Gosha’s Ima Hitotabi no (1947) and Fumio Kamei and
Satsuo Yamamoto’s War and Peace (Sensô to Heiwa) (1947).
But by the end of the 1940s Toho was rocked by a series of
strikes, and many of those staff members who held strong
left-wing sentiments were purged from the studio under
the authority of the new US occupation. The Toho labour
struggles led directly to the formation of the company
Shintoho (literally meaning ‘New Toho’) in 1947, which
attracted a whole host of film-makers and actors from the
old studio who regrouped in order to continue their work.
Kawamoto, however, was not among them, and by 1950
he had been fired from Toho and effectively left jobless.
The four years spent working at a major studio had not
been wasted, however. In his capacity of assistant direc-
tor Kawamoto had become interested in every aspect of
film production, and his experience had a great deal of
bearing on his later work. For the power of Kawamoto’s
animation not only hinges on the designs and move-
ments of his puppet characters, but also on the worlds
they inhabit, through the design of sets and the cre-
ation of atmosphere by subtle lighting methods and
the use of painted glass mattes to create foregrounds
and backgrounds, and the immersion of the viewer in
these worlds through camera positioning and editing.
I learned a lot about making movies during this pe-
riod of time, such as how movies are made, how
sets are constructed and a lot of technical aspects.
The main difference between a regular animator and
myself is that I started from this film background.
Toho was a great school for me (Sharp 2004).
Following his firing, Kawamoto started making dolls
of popular western movie stars of the day, such as Audrey
Hepburn and Brigitte Bardot. Their photographs would
be published once a week in the Asahi Graph magazine in
the early 1950s, and Kawamoto was able to earn enough
to support himself through their sale during his spell of
unemployment. This brought him into contact with a
man named Tadasu Iizawa (1909–94), a playwright and
former journalist for the Asahi Shinbun newspaper, who
had first encountered stop-motion animation when he
saw The Magic Clock, or the Little Girl who Wanted to be a Prin-
cess, by Ladislav Starewicz, presumably around the same
time as another pivotal animator, Tadahito Mochinaga,
witnessed it when it screened in Tokyo in 1928. After see-
ing Kawamoto’s dolls in Asahi Graph magazine, Iizawa hit
upon the idea of making a series of puppet storybooks
(ningyô e-hon), with Kawamoto providing the puppets.
‘Even though these were really dolls, I call them pup-
pets because they were actors within the books’ (Sharp
2004). The series proved immensely popular with chil-
dren, and several have been issued in English-language
editions, including Farm Animals (My Favourite Things),
The House that Jack Built and Little Red Riding Hood. The
team involved included another former Toho employee,
Shigemi Hijekata (1915–86), who provided the designs
on which Kawamoto’s dolls were modelled, and Yujirô
Sumida who photographed the characters on the sets.
But more importantly, during this period Iizawa in-
troduced Kawamoto to Trnka’s work for the very first
time and it had a profound effect on him. Kawamoto
was 27 years old when Trnka’s feature-length combina-
tion of stop-motion and live action, The Emperor’s Night-
ingale (released in Japan as Kôtei no Uguisu) awakened
his latent passion for puppetry. ‘I only started thinking
about making animation after seeing Jirí Trnka’s work.
The reason why I was so into Trnka’s animation was
that he was able to tell a story in a poetic style through
the use of puppets’(Sharp 2004). He had seen noth-
ing like it before, and indeed nothing like it had ever
been made in Japan. But there was one Japanese char-
acter who had explored stop-motion animation tech-
niques before, though his pioneering experiments in
this medium had been undertaken outside of Japan.
Tadahito Mochinaga had entered the world of com-
mercial animation in 1938. Not surprisingly given the
political climate of the times, his early work was on
propagandist 2D cel animations aimed at winning over
the hearts and minds of younger viewers, like Ant Boy
(Ari-Chan) (1941) and Momotarô’s Sea Eagle (Momotarô
no Umi-washi) (1943), the longest and most technically
advanced work up until this point. During this time he
assisted Mitsuse Seo, but it seems his creative input was
considerable; Ant Boy, for example, made use of a four-
level multi-plane camera designed by Mochinaga himself.
Just prior to the end of the war, Mochinaga had left Y
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Features฀Japanimation
Tokyo for Manchuria, then a Japanese territory in China,
where he worked briefly for the Manchurian Motion Pic-
ture Association (Manshû Eiga Kyôkai, or Man’ei). After
Japan’s defeat, he remained for several years, as Man’ei
was taken over by the Chinese and renamed Tong Pei
(East North) Film Studios. In the turmoil leading up to the
establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949,
the studios would move location on several occasions,
though eventually its animation division was shifted to
Shanghai to become a part of the Shanghai Film Studios,
effectively signalling the birth of animation in China. The
division became an independent enterprise in its own
right in 1956, as the Shanghai Animation Film Studio.
Mochinaga returned to Japan following an eight-year
absence in 1953, having made a number of animated
shorts in Shanghai. Straight away he was drafted into
Iizawa’s enterprise, which was now considering mov-
ing on from the puppet storybooks that had proven so
popular to making animated films in the same vein as
Trnka’s. Kawamoto was certainly enthusiastic about this
prospect, but although he was more than qualified to
make the puppets with which to populate these films, he
had no experience or confidence at all when it came to
actually animating them. Mochinaga, on the other hand,
had. His first work, made in China in 1947, the 35-min-
ute political satire of the country’s then president Chiang
Kai-shek entitled The Emperor’s Dream, had been realized
using the stop-motion method. The combination of the
two men seemed perfect. Unfortunately the commer-
cial climate in Japan at the time was not so auspicious.
The year of Mochinaga’s return to his homeland coin-
cided with the arrival of television into people’s homes,
and a consequent demand in material to fill it. Stop-
motion animation was too time-consuming and costly
a medium to prove suitable to fill the empty airwaves,
unless its producers had a more sturdy form of financial
backing behind them. In 1950, Kawamoto’s puppet of a
jug-headed, beer-swilling figure known as Horoniga-kun
and his girlfriend Mitsuko-san had graced the promotion
posters of Asahi Beer. In 1953, the two characters made it
on to television screens in a series of two TV commercials
(referred to in Japan as ‘CM’). Though short and, accord-
ing to Kawamoto, fairly rudimentary, they represented
the first ever stop-motion animations produced in Japan.
The characters would have a long shelf life on Japanese
television throughout the 1950s, and thus it was through
Asahi’s patronage that Mochinaga and Kawamoto worked
together again (with Iizawa credited as director) on a more
ambitious project called Beer, Those were the Days… (Biiru
Mukashi Mukashi). Completed in 1956, this was a 12-min-
ute colour promotional film that also utilized animated
cellophane cut-out sequences realized by the leading
adherent of this form of animation in Japan, Noborô Ôfuji.
62฀|฀film฀international฀issue฀25
It was incredibly well received, ranking as the ninth best
short film in the prestigious film journal Kinema Junpô.
The Asahi promotional film might well have been the
first ever stop-motion animation produced in Japan to
be released into theatres, though Mochinaga himself
had just pipped it to the post with his own 18-minute
version of Princess Melon and the Changeling (Uriko-hime
to Amanjaku), released in January of the same year. The
story was drawn from a stage play written in the post-
war period and later adapted as a bunraku play for chil-
dren. The Amanjaku of the title originally referred to a
mystical water demon from folklore, but is now used
in everyday parlance to describe anyone that adopts
a contrary position to what others say or intend.
Mochinaga went on from these early successes to
found the Ningyô Eiga Seisaku-jo (Puppet Anima-
tion Film Studio), which produced a total of nine short
stop-motion animations for children between 1956 and
1979. For a while he was assisted by Kawamoto, whose
responsibilities naturally fell to creating the puppets.
Short works produced during this period included Five
Little Monkeys (Gohiki no Kozaru-tachi) (1956), The Magic
Drum (Fushiki na Taiko) (1957) and Kobutori (1958), based
on the traditional children’s tale Kobutori-jiisan about
an honest old man who dances with the tengu, mythi-
cal bird-like creatures with long proboscis-like noses, in
order to have them remove an unsightly lump from the
side of his face. One of these films, Sambo’s Tiger Conquest
(Chibi Kuro Sanbo no Tora Taiji) (1956), based on the rather
non-PC character Little Black Sambo created by Scottish
children’s writer Helen Bannerman (1862–1946), received
the Grand Prize in the Best Films for Children category
at the first ever Vancouver International Film Festival.
In 1958, Kawamoto and Mochinaga went their separate
ways. Mochinaga continued making stop-motion puppet
animations such as The Fox who Became a King (Ôsama ni
Natta Kitsune) (1959), and later worked (credited as Tad
Mochinaga) as the animation supervisor on a number of
US–Japanese co-productions with the American com-
pany Rankin-Bass (then known as Videocraft), following
an invitation from American producer/director Arthur J.
Ranking Jr., who had been impressed when he saw Sambo’s
Tiger Conquest at Vancouver. The animation work was un-
dertaken in Japan at the MOM Film Studio, founded for
exactly the purpose of these collaborations, and the films
included the Burl Ives-narrated Christmas classic Rudolph,
the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964), the part-animated homage
to Hans Christian Andersen The Daydreamer (1966) and the
Halloween favourite Mad Monster Party (1969). Retaining
his links with the staff of Shanghai Animation Film Stu-
dio, he later continued his career balancing work in Japan
and China, working in news film production for Beijing
Central Television between 1967 and 1978 and lecturing
Features฀Japanimation
at Beijing University from 1985 to 1986. He played a criti-
cal role in the establishment of the Hiroshima Animated
Film Festival, which began in 1985, and directed his final
work in 1992, The Boy and the Little Racoon (Shônen to Koda-
nuki). Mochinaga passed away on 1 April 1999, aged 80.
Meanwhile, in 1958 Kawamoto co-founded the Shiba
production company with Iizawa, with the goal of mak-
ing CMs for television and using this revenue to branch
out into more artistic productions. Unfortunately the
high turnover of demand (in their peak years, twelve
such films were being produced a month, for clients
including Asahi Beer, Seiko and Sony) meant there was
simply no time to explore other avenues. Within a few
years, Kawamoto had grown tired and frustrated by his
work at Shiba, and even subsidiary work creating pup-
pets for children’s TV shows failed to provide him with
much further stimulation. His ambition to produce
work within Japan that matched the artistry and ambi-
tion of Trnka’s seemed to have reached a dead end.
In a creative slough, in 1962 he wrote a letter to
his Czech idol explaining his situation and enquiring
about the possibility of studying at Trnka’s studios in
Prague. To his amazement, he received a response.
I sent him a letter and waited for over six months, and
then finally this lovely reply came back from him. I
couldn’t write such a nice letter as this even now. He
wrote that puppets are the one thing that transcend
nationality, race and religion. So he wrote that it would
be his pleasure to welcome me to Czechoslovakia to
Clockwise฀from฀top฀left฀Early฀frame฀for฀Kawamoto’s฀puppets฀in฀the฀form฀of฀Asahi฀Beer’s฀poster฀/฀Briar฀Rose฀
or฀The฀Sleeping฀Beauty฀/฀Jirí฀Trnka’s฀The฀Emperor’s฀Nightingale฀/฀Rudolph,฀the฀Red-Nosed฀Reindeer
study puppet animation under him (Sharp 2004).
On 11 March 1963, Kawamoto arrived in Prague where
he joined the production of Archangel Gabriel and Ms Goose
(Archandel Gabriel a Paní Husa) (1964), a 29-minute-long
work based on a story from Boccaccio’s Decameron.
Kawamoto’s period of study under Trnka in Prague
proved a life-changing experience for the director, who
was 38 years old at the time, and it was all the more
magical because of the exceptional circumstances
during which it occurred. In the period between the
end of the war and the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, oppor-
tunities for overseas travel for Japanese citizens were
incredibly limited. In order to get a passport, Kawa-
moto pretended to be a newspaper journalist, and with
Trnka’s letter of recommendation he was able to get a
visa fairly easily. It was Kawamoto’s first trip overseas.
It was totally different from Japan. For example, in the
evening it wasn’t lit up like Ginza in Tokyo, so it was re-
ally dark and people had to come right up to your face to
see who you were. That year it was a really bad winter all
over Europe. The wind was really strong and the electric-
ity situation was bad, it was always dark outside. There
was hardly any vegetables, nor anything to eat. So living
there was pretty tough. The reason why I was able to
survive was because the people were so great, especially
the people working in the studio. I’ve never forgotten
the kindness they showed me. I don’t think you see this
sort of kindness anywhere any more … That was a really Y
‘“Dolls฀are฀
children’s฀toys,฀
or฀things฀you฀
dress฀up฀and฀
display.฀Puppets,฀
or฀marionettes,฀
are฀things฀that฀
act.฀This฀is฀a฀
crucial฀difference.฀
There’s฀no฀such฀
thing฀as฀doll฀
animation.”’
฀www.filmint.nu฀|฀63฀
Features฀Japanimation
good period in my life, maybe the best (Sharp 2004).
Asian faces too, were something of a rarity in Prague
during the 1960s. Kawamoto recalls one occasion about
six months into his stay when one of the old women who
worked creating costumes at the studios expressed her
sympathy to Kawamoto about the then current Vietnam
War, mistakenly thinking that he was Vietnamese. Even
though Kawamoto had brought none of his works with
him, he was still treated with a great degree of respect by
the rest of the staff. Trnka himself was initially a fairly
aloof figure, and Kawamoto was clearly awestruck by
the experience of working so close to his idol. But after
several months Kawamoto had learnt enough Czech
to communicate with his mentor and co-workers.
Kawamoto’s apprenticeship in Prague was but one
solitary chapter in a life story as rich and wondrous as the
events that befall the wide-eyed heroine of his 1973 film
The Trip (Tabi), made in the cut-out (or kiri-gami) style. A
beautiful, dreamlike piece reminiscent in style and tone to
the films of Russian animator Andrei Khrkanovsky (for ex-
ample, There Lived Kozyavin (1966) and The Glass Harmonica
(1968)), The Trip follows a young girl’s physical and spiri-
tual journey from Narita Airport (portrayed in a series of
monochrome still photographs) to what appears to be the
cavernous space of an art gallery situated in an anonymous
western city, a bizarre dreamscape cluttered with elements
of such iconic surrealist works of art as those by Salvador
Dali, René Magritte, Paul Delvaux, Giorgio de Chirico and
M.C. Escher. After arriving she becomes lost in an impos-
sible maze of staircases, guided by a blind man wielding a
walking stick who leaps from the parapet of the tower they
finally emerge onto. She subsequently encounters a green-
faced gargoyle in a blue serge suit devouring foetuses,
is assailed by a vicious serpent and chased through a de-
serted street by faceless soldiers and tanks, before perhaps
finding salvation with a handsome, dark-skinned man.
The film ends with images of mandalas and her would-be
lover walking hand-in-hand with a saffron-robed monk
into Nirvana, accompanied by the low-pitched chant-
ing of Buddhist sutras, before she is whisked back to
the crowded cityscapes of Tokyo. Her outward appear-
ance is the same as when she departed, but her experi-
ences have left an indelible internal mark on her psyche.
On its most immediate level, resembling a voyage
into the Jungian subconscious, attempts at unveiling The
Trip’s real meaning will no doubt prove elusive to casual
western viewers. The citations of a work by the Chinese
poet Su Tong-Po (1037–1101) that bracket the piece hint
at its deeper Buddhist allegory. As Kawamoto explains,
The film is about the Life of Suffering. Buddha says that
life is suffering and there are four basic sufferings: birth,
64฀|฀film฀international฀issue฀25
disease, aging and dying. These are the four major suffer-
ings in a person’s life. There are a further four suffer-
ings that Buddha spoke about. These are having to meet
people you find annoying, being parted from a loved one,
not getting the things you desire, and the sufferings of
the mind and body. In order to get rid of those sufferings
one must achieve a state of satori, or enlightenment. This
is the theme of The Trip. All of the elements of the eight
sufferings are contained within the movie (Sharp 2004).
But more concretely, The Trip was Kawamoto’s reaction
to the Soviet Union’s invasion of Prague in the spring of
1968, in which a lot of Czechoslovakians had been killed.
Trnka himself died of natural causes shortly afterwards in
November 1969, aged only 57, and in the following year
Kawamoto returned to Prague to place a rose on his grave.
Trnka had sent Kawamoto off with several pieces of advice
that were to completely alter Kawamoto’s approach to his
art. These were that there were certain stories that could
only be realized using puppet animation, and that puppet
animation was fundamentally different in spirit to hand-
drawn animation. Clearly puppets’ faces lack the plasticity
of hand-drawn animation, and so the key to their emotive
power is contained within the physical manipulation of
their body parts rather than in the expressiveness of their
features. Their ability to connect with audiences therefore
rests on the subtlest of gestures and the realism of their
movements. He also urged Kawamoto to make films that
remained true to his own country’s culture and spirit.
Unfortunately, during the 1960s the animation sphere
in Japan was primarily made up of work aimed at children,
assembled using production-line methods to keep up with
the hungry demands of the audience. With the release
of Legend of the White Serpent (Hakujaden) in 1958, the first
ever animated colour feature film made in Japan, the Toei
Animation company had claimed the theatrical market for
cartoons as their own, following it up over the decades
with titles such as Journey to the West (Saiyûki) (1960),
Puss in Boots (Nagagutso o Haita Neko) (1969) and Animal
Treasure Island (Dôbutsu Takarajima) (1971) in an attempt
to claim a stake in an international market dominated
by Disney. On television the works of Osamu Tezuka’s
Mushi Pro company, which included Astro Boy (Tetsuwan
Atomu) (1963–66) and Kimba the White Lion (Janguru Taitei)
(1965–67), proved immensely popular and were widely
exported to overseas networks. There seemed little inter-
est in the attempts to court a more grown-up or highbrow
market for animation in Japan. Even such well-estab-
lished figures as Tezuka, who aside from creating such
iconic characters as Astro Boy had made a huge name for
himself by almost single-handedly creating the template
for the modern manga comic book, felt his efforts to
pursue a second alternate more artistic path thwarted in
Features฀Japanimation
Tadanari฀Okamoto฀(1932-1990)
‘...฀by฀the฀end฀of฀the฀
1940s,฀Toho฀was฀rocked฀
by฀a฀series฀of฀strikes,฀
and฀many฀of฀those฀
staff฀members฀who฀
held฀strong฀left-wing฀
sentiments฀were฀purged฀
from฀the฀studio฀under฀
the฀authority฀of฀the฀
new฀US฀occupation.’
this respect. His experimental hand-drawn animations
like Tale of a Street Corner (Aru Machi Kado no Monogatari)
(1962), Mermaid (Ningyo) (1964) and Pictures at an Exhibition
(Tenrankai no E) (1966) dazzled critics and those work-
ing in the industry, but he was less successful at securing
a larger mainstream audience. The successive failures
of his feature-length animations One Thousand and One
Arabian Nights (Sen ya Ichiya Monogatari) (1969), Cleopatra
(Kureopatora) (1970) and the boldly experimental Tragedy of
Belladonna (Kanashimi no Beradonna) (1973) ended up bank-
rupting his production company and Tezuka retreated for
a while back into his initial medium of drawing manga.
If Kawamoto’s spell in Prague had represented the
happiest years of his life, then he would later recall that
the period following his return to Tokyo would be his
worst. In the years following his return in 1964, he was
approaching the turbulent period in his life that the
Japanese refer to as yakudoshi (literally ‘years of misfor-
tune’). For men the years leading up to the age of 42 are
considered particularly critical, and potential bad luck
must be warded off by frequent visits to offer prayers
at Buddhist temples (for women, this age is 33). Kawa-
moto had a clear idea of what he wanted to achieve in his
animation but, lacking the means to do it, was forced to
return to Shiba Productions to make TV commercials.
However, he persisted through this harsh period and in
1968 began his first independent work, the 14-minute-
long The Breaking of Branches is Forbidden, taking up the
third floor of Iizawa’s house to construct his sets and
puppets and begin the laborious process of frame-by-
frame shooting in his spare time. The script was one of
three that Kawamoto had written while in Prague and had
shown to Trnka. It was based on a story drawn from the
comedic strain of Noh theatre known as Mibu-Noh, and
focused on the adventures of a young acolyte ordered by
the head monk to guard a blooming cherry-blossom tree
while he is away. The shaven-headed youngster is soon
seduced by the smell of sake wafting from the direction
of a samurai warrior and his attendant outside the temple
walls, who demand to revel beneath the blossoms within.
There are several key points of difference between
The Breaking of Branches is Forbidden and Kawamoto’s later
work. The first was that it was shot using 16mm rather
than 35mm film, giving it a grainier feel and paler, more
subdued colours. The second was that the story is relayed
without narration or onscreen text, but purely through
the movements and expressions of the characters (the
throbbing nose of the young monk after his first nip
of sake is particularly endearing). But more striking
are the designs of the puppets themselves, which have
a similar simplicity and basis in caricature to those of
Trnka’s animations. In subsequent films like The Demon
(Oni) (1972) and The House of Flame, Kawamoto’s charac-
ters seem more closely modelled on the hina dolls and
bunraku puppets. According to theatrical designer Miguel
Romero in his notes on his own website taken during
a sabbatical in 2000 to research international puppetry
in Asia and Europe during which he met Kawamoto,
The most distinguishing feature of his puppets is the
heads. Although smaller than his fist, the heads con-
vey an amazing degree of psychological subtlety and
depth. In demonstrating how he makes the heads, he
revealed his secret. He covers the papier maché heads
with kidskin. This gives the puppet’s skin an excep-
tional smoothness and translucent quality. Since
most of his puppets feature articulated eyes and
mouths, the total effect, while not necessarily realis-
tic, is very ‘lifelike’ in its total effect (Sharp 2004).
The traditional Japanese aesthetic would come further
to the fore in Kawamoto’s subsequent work. The Demon, Y
฀www.filmint.nu฀|฀65฀
Film
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Features฀Japanimation
Below฀On฀the฀set฀of฀The฀Book฀of฀the฀Dead

which tells the tale of two brothers who leave their aged
mother at home while they go out hunting deer only to
have a terrifying encounter deep in the forest, seems to
adhere more closely to the pared-down presentational
style that typifies both bunraku and the masked Noh
theatre, with its plain black backdrops and minimalist
designs. Based on a story contained within the 31-vol-
ume anthology containing over a thousand tales from the
Heian period, Konjaku Monogatari-shu (Tales of Times Now
Past), The Demon presents a terrifying picture of an old
hag caught between life and death and possessed with
an otherworldly desire to devour her own offspring.
The complexity of the imagery increased over the course
of his next few projects, with the events of the 19-minute
rendition of the Kabuki play Dojoji Temple (1976) unfold-
ing against a watercolour backdrop resembling the
yamato-e narrative picture scrolls of traditional Japanese
‘Following฀his฀firing,฀
art, with their flattened compositions and non-converg- Kawamoto฀started฀
ing parallels running to the horizon. The story concerns
a young monk tempted by a fair maiden, who trans- making฀dolls฀of฀popular฀
forms into a vicious sea serpent and pursues him until he
seeks refuge in a distant temple. The serpent encircles
western฀movie฀stars฀
the huge temple bell in which he hides, and the monk of฀the฀day,฀such฀as฀
Audrey฀Hepburn฀and฀
is reduced to ashes. Based on the Noh play Motomezuka
– the Seeker’s Mound, House of Flame depicts a traveller who,
while resting for the night outside in the countryside,
is approached by a beautiful ghostly maiden who tells
Brigitte฀Bardot.’
him a strange tale of how two rival suitors once vied for
her love. Unable to choose between them, she chose
death, only for her soul to remain in an infernal purga- At this point there enters another key figure in the his-
tory for eternity. In one of the most visually stunning tory of Japanese animation, Tadanari Okamoto (1932–90).
works from his oeuvre, Kawamoto combines some of the Inspired by the work of another Czech stop-motion pup-
most effective puppet animation of his career with more pet animator Karel Zeman (1910–89), Okamoto had en-
conventional 2D techniques, such as the painted matte tered the animation world in 1961 by way of Mochinaga’s
foregrounds of flames and water as the young maiden MOM Film Studio, before he founded his own company,
finds herself plunged into the very depths of hell itself. Echo Incorporated, in 1964. Similarly overlooked in the
Throughout the 1970s, Kawamoto doggedly pursued the West (although a number of retrospectives of his works
production of his own projects, reliant on his own income have been held in Japan, including one accompanied by an
to fund them. At this time he was fortunate to be employed exhibition of the artworks from his films held in Tokyo’s
making puppets for children’s TV shows for NHK. National Film Centre during the summer of 2004), Oka-
moto demonstrated a greater deal of versatility in his
I was working regularly on an educational TV se- stop-motion films compared with Kawamoto. Although
ries for children making live-action puppet anima- much of his work was pitched at children, from his
tions. During the time I made my finest animations, debut with A Wonderful Medicine (Fushigi na Kusuri) (1964)
such as Dojoji Temple, I had a lot of money coming in onwards he was constantly exploring new forms within
from the merchandising from the puppet characters the medium, seldom using the same methods twice.
I had made for these TV programs. They appeared The gaudy, bright, hallucinogenic world created in
on cups or clothing for example (Sharp 2004). Welcome, Alien (Yokoso Uchûjin) (1966) belied the simplic-
ity of its primitive blocky figures with its pastel-coloured
Nevertheless, though his films were eagerly accepted lighting and decorative Miró-like painted backdrop, while
and awarded prizes at foreign festivals such as the Annecy the hectic Operation Woodpecker (Kitsutsuki Keikaku) (1966),
International Animation Festival, finding venues in which with its scrawled childlike backgrounds and swarms of
to exhibit them in Japan proved highly problematic. birds rendered as stop-motion animated pieces of folded Y

฀www.filmint.nu฀|฀67฀
Features฀Japanimation
Below฀Kihachirô฀Kawamoto

paper, makes no attempt to lend any illusion of three-di-

mensional space. This technique of creating characters
out of origami-like constructions of folded stiff coloured
paper was used again in conjunction with other anima-
tion methods in the films Home, My Home (Hômu Mai
Hômu) (1970), a musical number featuring a fox and a
mole (burrowing through a ground made of crumpled
newspaper) in a competition to build the perfect dream
home, and its companion piece from the same year The
Flower and the Mole (Hana to Mogura), in which the ocean
of primary colours created by the flower-loving young
girl Hanako finds itself destroyed by the burrowing mole
– she reacts by enlisting the help of a group of secret
research scientists who construct a robotic adversary out
of a watering can, a drill bit and other assorted garden-
ing implements. Back When Grandpa was a Pirate (Ojii-chan
ga Kaizoku data Goro) (1968) and Monkey and Crab (Sarukani)
(1972) featured crudely hewn, highly tactile wooden carv-
ings of its main characters. The Magic Ballad (Okonjôruri)
‘In฀the฀period฀between฀
(1982), the story of an old woman befriended by a magi- the฀end฀of฀the฀war฀and฀
cal fox, used papier mâché puppets, and The Surly Donkey
(Roba Chotto Senta) (1983) utilized clay, while a number of the฀1964฀Tokyo฀Olympics,฀
films including Symphonic Variations (Shinfonikku Beriêshon)
(1976) and Who’s That? (Are wa Dare?) (1976) were made
opportunities฀for฀overseas฀
out of animated balls of wool. As he himself once said, travel฀for฀Japanese฀
‘I always believed in the unlimited expressive potential of citizens฀were฀incredibly฀
animation, ever since I started working in animation. That’s
why I never allowed myself to use the same style or method limited.฀In฀order฀to฀get฀
twice in a row in my films, but instead always forced myself
to look for new expressive means (Sharp 2004).
a฀passport,฀Kawamoto฀
There seems little at first to link the works of the two
pretended฀to฀be฀a฀
most important stop-motion animators working in Japan newspaper฀journalist...’
at the time: Kawamoto’s works were sombre, atmospheric
and meticulously realized; Okamoto’s were warm, good-
humoured and often accompanied entirely by songs rather balance between making the kind of artistic works he
than narration, leaving the visual elements to tell the story. wanted within these constraints … In my case, I made
Okamoto also made a good deal more of them, producing the kind of works I wanted to make. I didn’t really care
some 37 films independently as well as many TV commer- if it was commercially successful or not. As long as the
cials. According to Kawamoto, when they first started out work was great, I was satisfied with it (Sharp 2004).

…television still wasn’t so widespread, but there was
a distribution system for educational films, where the
films would be shown in schools all over the country. So
they would rent the prints to the schools and this was
enough to cover the costs of production. There were so
many animators working around that time, but Okamoto
was the only one who really managed to find himself in
such a comfortable financial situation. Okamoto knew
this distribution route really well, this system of sup-
ply and demand and all the people who worked within
this system. At the same time, he managed to find a nice
Nevertheless, the roots of these two men were remark-
ably similar. As well as both beginning their animation
careers under the tutelage of Mochinaga, Okamoto too
had embarked on something of a pilgrimage to Czecho-
slovakia shortly after founding Echo, to visit Bretislav
Pojar. And so it came about that the two men eventually
joined forces to find a way of exhibiting their works in
Tokyo and soon other cities across Japan. From 1972 to
1980, the two booked out independent venues and show-
cased their latest works together to a swelling legion of
grassroots devotees under the banner of the ‘Kawamoto +

68฀|฀film฀international฀issue฀25
Features฀Japanimation
Okamoto Puppet Anime Show’. Typically, in terms of run-
ning times, the first event was heavily weighted towards
the films of Okamoto; his Chikotan (1971), Monkey and
Crab and The Tree of Mochimochi (Mochimochi no Ki) (1972)
took up some 49 minutes of the programme, as opposed
to the 8 minutes represented by Kawamoto’s The Demon.
The Puppet Anime Show brought the two artists a
great deal of attention. They dominated the landscape of
independent animation during the decade, becoming over
the years the two most frequent winners of the Mainichi
Shinbun newspaper’s annual Noburô Ôfuji Award recog-
nizing excellence in animation. Named after one of the
earliest Japanese animators to gain international recogni-
tion, this award was first presented in 1962 to Tezuka for
his Tale of a Street Corner, and is focused on the more artistic
and innovative side of animation. Notable past winners
have included Yôji Kuri, Shigeru Tamura and both Isao
Takahata and Hayao Miyazaki from Studio Ghibli, with
Alexander Petrov’s adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s The
Old Man and the Sea in 1999 representing the only time it
was awarded to a non-Japanese artist. Okamoto received it
on no less than seven separate occasions, while Kawa-
moto won it five times (six, if we include A Winter’s Day in
2003). Significantly, the two actually shared it in 1991 for
The Restaurant of Many Orders (Chûmon no Ôi Ryôriten), a 19-
minute 2D textural work based on a story by the popular
author Kenji Miyazawa. When Okamoto succumbed to
cancer on 16 February 1990 at the age of 58, it was left to
his good friend Kawamoto to complete this production.
During the period when his films were being exhibited
as part of the Puppet Anime Show, Kawamoto did not only
produce puppet animations. For the surreal Anthropo-Cyni-
cal Farce (Kenju Giga) (1970) he combined stop-motion
animation with monochrome illustrations and photo-
graphs to present a curious allegory told by way of a dog
race held in a circus big top. The ringmaster fastens fish
to the dog’s collars and makes them run round in circles
before announcing to the audience that they themselves
are all no better than dogs. The enraged spectators mur-
der the ringmaster and the hitherto monochrome work
manifests its first splash of colour as a single red rose
sprouts from his blood. The austere A Poet’s Life (Shinjin No
Shôgai), which won the Ôfuji award in 1974, is based on
a short story by Kobo Abe (1924–93), a number of whose
works, such as Woman in the Dunes (Suna no Onna) (1964)
and The Face of Another (Tannin no Kao) (1966) were adapted
for the screen by Hiroshi Teshigahara in the 1960s. Its
tale of a young man dismissed from a clothing factory
after attempting to agitate his co-workers into strike ac-
tion while his mother falls asleep at the loom and weaves
herself into a jacket she is making and a bitterly harsh
chill descends over the town, presents a similarly cryptic
parable to that of Kobe’s (and Kawamoto’s) other stories.
As haunting and stylistically bold as these and The Trip are,
Kawamoto was not so happy with his kiri-gami animations.
Puppets make their own story, while with cut-out anima-
tion the story is created by the animator. With films like
A Poet’s Life (1974) I didn’t think the story was well suited
to puppet animation. I’m not actually a cut-out anima-
tor myself and I think the work is not so good. So after A
Poet’s Life, I decided not to do this anymore (Sharp 2004).
By the 1980s, Kawamoto’s reputation had soared, and
he was invited to make the puppets for the long-running
TV series of the Chinese literary epic The Romance of the
Three Kingdoms (Sangokushi) (1982–84) for NHK. Unlike
Kawamoto’s own work, the puppets were directly hand-
operated and filmed as a live-action marionette show,
giving the series a quaintly antiquated feel to the mod-
ern viewer. But the quality of the designs of the puppets
with all their individual costumes and features was as
remarkable as anything else he had done, and the show
brought Kawamoto’s work to a far wider-reaching audi-
ence than his own individual endeavours had. He would
later work in a similar capacity on The Tale of Heike (Heike
Monogatari) (1993–95), another TV series based on the
medieval historical saga charting the power struggles
between the rivalling Taira and Minamoto in the twelfth
century that brought a violent end to the Heian period.
Just prior to creating the vast cast of characters con-
tained within these two TV series, Kawamoto completed
work on his first feature-length animation Rennyo and
His Mother (Rennyo to Sono Haha) (1981), for which he was
joined by two of the most highly regarded men in their
respective fields within the world of Japanese film; the
experimental composer Tohru Takemitsu and screen-
writer Kaneto Shindô, who was himself the director of
such 1960s avant-garde classics as Naked Island (Hadaka
no Shima) (1960) and Onibaba (1964). The narrative was
taken from Kiyotaka Hirai’s fictionalized novel about the
historical character Rennyo Shonin (1415–99), the figure
responsible for the restoration of Shin Buddhism in Japan,
in particular the Honganji lineage, during a slump in its
fortunes during the Middle Ages. According to legend, his
motivation was a pivotal childhood incident at the age of
6 when his mother summoned him and informed him of
his destiny to revive the fortunes of the Honganji school to
which he was the next in line. She then mysteriously disap-
peared from the temple. Taking her words to heart, from a
background of great poverty and hardship, at the age of 16
he set out to spread the word across the land.
Grander in scale but simpler in design than Kawamoto’s
two astonishing previous works, Dojoji Temple and House of
Flame, Rennyo and His Mother showcases all of Kawamoto’s
strengths as a puppet designer, with the supporting cast Y
฀www.filmint.nu฀|฀69฀
Features฀Japanimation Below฀The฀Book฀of฀the฀
Dead:฀Princess฀Iratsume

of hundreds of figures, like Cabbage Patch Kids each

sporting a unique array of expressions and facial tics. The
film also boasts a masterful use of colour and lighting
effects, and some mesmerizing depictions of its charac-
ters travelling through majestically modelled landscapes
during the various animated episodes in Rennyo’s life,
punctuated with an intriguing integration of live action
footage of the actual real-life locations mentioned in
the original text. Though to some extent the narrated
stop-motion format struggles against the 93-minute
running time, the film stands as an impressive heritage
piece, a monument not only to Kawamoto’s technique
but to the full historical weight of Japanese Buddhist
history. Unfortunately screenings of the film are rare,
and there is no video release of this film even in Japan.
Ultimately perhaps Kawamoto’s films are best when
they deal with more succinct themes, such as his 1988
‘“...฀the฀world฀is฀now฀
production filmed at Shanghai Animation Film Studios,
To Shoot Without Shooting (Fusha no Sha) (1988). Though
confused฀and฀in฀panic,฀
based on a tale by a Japanese writer, Meijin-Den by Atsushi and฀there฀is฀war฀actually฀
Nakajima (1909–42), the film is set in an ancient Chinese
milieu, and adopts the clear narrative structure of a fable, happening฀for฀no฀reason.฀
this time about a young Chinese archer’s trials to reach
the pinnacle of his field. After learning to shoot a marked
I฀am฀trying฀to฀heal฀those฀
willow leaf from a tree at 100 paces in the blink of an eye, innocent฀people฀who฀
have฀died฀in฀recent฀wars.฀
he is dispatched on to his next mentor, whose methods
to teach him to lay down his bow and learn ‘to shoot
without shooting’ seem a little less orthodox. Realized
at the tail end of the Cold War, the moral behind this
That฀is฀one฀of฀the฀main฀
25-minute piece is not difficult to detect, but it is spelt
out explicitly in a message at the end of its final credits;
reasons฀I฀am฀making฀
‘The theme of the film is intended to suggest a pattern [The฀Book฀of฀the฀Dead]”.’
of human intelligence serving in the interest of peace.’
To Shoot Without Shooting is one of the many works
that evince Kawamoto’s strong Buddhist convictions, Motion Picture Company, because it is a story I am very
but notwithstanding his return to Prague for Briar Rose passionate about. This is fairly common in the industry.
and the two brief segments he directed himself for the Even directors like Akira Kurosawa had a lot of proj-
Winter’s Day project, the 1990s represented a relatively ects they wanted to make but couldn’t get the fund-
quiet decade for the film-maker. It seems Kawamoto was ing for. But now seems a better time than ever to work
saving himself for his second feature-length project and on this project, so I seized the chance (Sharp 2004).
the overall summation of his creative vision, The Book of
the Dead. As he said just prior to the film’s completion, Set during the Nara period (710–94), named after the
city which was at that time the administrative and eco-
It’s been a long-term dream of mine to realize this proj- nomic capital of the country, like Rennyo and His Mother,
ect. The main reason why I wanted to make this film is the story charts the origins of Buddhism in Japan. The
that the world is now confused and in panic, and there newly imported religion from China is immediately ad-
is war actually happening for no reason. I am trying to opted by the Nara nobility, in this story represented by
heal those innocent people who have died in recent wars. Princess Iratsume, a young woman of the Nanke branch of
That is one of the main reasons I am making this movie. the true-life Fujiwara family. Besieged by suitors, Iratsume
The theme is relieving the suffering of these people’s remains cloistered behind the stone walls of the Fujiwara
souls … I haven’t had the chance to make it before. I’ve house, diligently copying translated sutras deep into the
never had the money. But I was encouraged to work on night by the wavering light of a single oil flame. As she
this film by the producer, Junko Fukuma of the Sakura finishes copying down her thousandth sutra, she glances

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Features฀Japanimation
up through her window and sees a radiant light hovering
over the twin peaks of Mount Futagami on the horizon.
Believing it to be a divine vision of Buddha, she is drawn
from her room towards the glow and soon finds herself
trespassing upon the grounds of a remote temple forbid-
den to women. Discovered, she is made to remain in the
temple for a period of atonement and purification, during
which time she becomes haunted by the nocturnal appari-
tions of the ghost of Prince Otsu, violently executed many
years before. Iratsume’s beautiful presence gives rise to
earthly passions in Prince Otsu’s ghost, who mistakenly
believes her to be Mimimo no Toji, a woman whose face
was the last that he saw before his death. While Iratsume
still believes the white-skinned prince is the reincarna-
tion of Buddha, Otsu refuses to release his hold on the
material world until his love for Mimimo no Toji is con-
summated, and a tempestuous battle of wills unfolds.
From the opening moments of The Book of the Dead,
it is instantly possible to discern the phenomenal level
of craftsmanship and technical prowess accumulated
through years of diligent and painstaking experience that
constitute the magical appeal of Kawamoto’s art. From
the creation of atmosphere through a subtle control of
lighting and simulation of weather conditions, the level
of physical detail of the characters with the expressive-
ness of their features and the delicate rustling fabrics of
their gowns, and the delicate beauty of the background
landscapes like paintings on decorative fusuma slid-
ing screens, the film is a constant wonder to behold.
That such firmly-established popular actresses as Rie
Miyazawa and Kyôko Kishida offered their vocal talents to
the finished work, that the Tama University of Fine Arts in
Hachiôji loaned an entire campus building for over a year
to ensure its production, and that five of its seventy min-
utes are taken up with the credits of the literally hundreds
of private benefactors who donated their money to see
it realized is a testimony to Kawamoto’s current stand-
ing in Japan as a national ‘living treasure’. The Japanese
traditional performing arts such as the bunraku puppet
theatre all but relegated, like flies trapped in amber, to
the state of museum pieces under the threat of a vast in-
undation of western culture during the post-war period;
Buddhist philosophy falling prey to the new religion of
consumerism; the stifling of the individual creativity of the
skilled artisan in the face of the hordes of staff working on
computers in the streamlined, profit-driven mainstream
animation industry: all of these factors combine to make
Kawamoto’s achievement all the more remarkable.
If the message engrained with The Book of the Dead is one
of diligence, patience and devotion to one’s chosen path,
then these are all fitting tenets that have guided the insepa-
rable paths of Kawamoto’s life and career over decades
of exploring the range of possibilities offered working in
the outermost reaches of moving-image art, where the
screen represents the final solitary frontier between the
minds of viewer and creator. One wonders whether we
will ever see the likes of such an endeavour ever again. }
Contributor฀details
Jasper Sharp is a freelance writer and independent
researcher based in Bath, United Kingdom, and the
co-editor of the ‘Midnight Eye’ website, which is
dedicated to Japanese film. His book The Midnight Eye
Guide to New Japanese Film, jointly written with Tom
Mes, was published by Stone Bridge Press in 2003. As
well as curating the Japanese programme of London’s
Raindance Film Festival, his writings on film have ap-
peared in a number of publications all over the world,
including Variety, SFX, Film International and 3D World.
References฀and฀further฀reading
Barthes, Roland (1982), Empire of Signs,
New York: Hill and Wang.
Ettinger, Benjamin (2005), ‘Tadanari Okamoto:
The Heart of Animation’, Anime Pages Daily web-
site, http://www.pelleas.net/aniTOP/index.
php?p=183&more=1&c=1&tb=1&pb=1.
Updated 9 January 2005. Accessed 22 June 2006.
Kawamoto, Kihachiro (1994), Kihachiro Kawamoto:
Animation and Puppet Master, Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten.
Romero, Miguel, ‘Kihachiro Kawamoto, Puppet
Designer’, Miguel Romero’s homepage, http://
www-unix.oit.umass.edu/~mromero/sabbati-
cal/japan_03.html. Accessed 22 June 2006.
Sharp, Jasper (2004), ‘Interview with Kihachiro Kawa-
moto’, Midnight Eye website, http://www.midnight-
eye.com/interviews/kihachiro_kawamoto.shtml.
Updated 29 November 2004. Accessed 22 June 2006.
________ (2006), ‘Forgotten Roots of Ja-
panimation: In Praise of Shadows’, Film In-
ternational, 21 (4: 3), pp. 30–39.
Yokota, Masao (2003), ‘The Japanese Pup-
pet Animation Master: Kihachiro Kawamoto’,
Asian Cinema, Spring/Summer, pp. 28–43.
Japanese฀websites
A Winter’s Day homepage: www.fuyunohi.com/
Kihachirô Kawamoto’s homepage:
www.kihachiro.com/
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