Tokyo University of the Arts Animation at Nippon Connection 2013

At Nippon Connection 2013, a selection of works by graduate students from the Tokyo University of the Arts (aka Geidai) animation programme was presented by NHK producer and current director of the Geidai Graduate School of Film and New Media, Professor Mitsuko Okamoto. 

Although Geidai itself is one of the oldest art schools in Japan, starting off as the Tokyo School of Fine Arts in 1887, the Graduate School of Film and New Media was established in Yokohama in 2005 with its Department of Animation forming in 2008.  Although the animation programme is only 5 years old, they have quickly established themselves as one of the top places in Japan to study animation as students there are given the opportunity to learn from some of the best in the business including world renowned animator Koji Yamamura (Franz Kafka’s A Country Doctor, Muybridge’s Strings) and i.Toon stop motion animator Yuichi Ito (Knyacki!, Winter Days).  Geidai’s students have already found acclaim at animation festivals around the world including Atsushi Wada (In a Pig’s Eye, The Great Rabbit), Saori Shiroki (MAGGOT, Woman Who Stole Fingers), and Ryo Okawara (Orchestra, A Wind Egg).

The Geidai graduate programme only accepts 16 students a year into its 2-year programme.  They have the lofty aim of developing a “new era of Japanese animation” and pride themselves on their dedication to new expression and experimental spirit.  They actively look for students who have originality, are highly motivated, and demonstrate strong themes in their work.  As it is a graduate programme, the students usually come with some animation experience under their belt.  In addition to honing their skills as animators, Prof. Okamoto uses her experience as a producer to teach the students about the business of filmmaking: how to present a plan, how to make a budget, how to create a workable schedule, how to promote one’s film, and so on.

The programme shown at Nippon Connection 2013 demonstrated Geidai’s wide range of styles from hand drawn to computer animation, from the sweet to the surreal.  In the coming weeks I hope to review some of my favourites for you including Aya Tsugehata’s stop motion animation Imamura Store and Ryo Okawara’s A Wind Egg which won the Lotte Reiniger Promotion Award at Stuttgart in June.

The programme that screened at NC2013:

Fully Cooked For You (Onishime otabe, Yuka IMABAYASHI, 2011, 3’44”)

Promise (Yakusoku, Aki KONO, 2011, 8‘27“)

A Wind Egg (Kara no tamago, Ryo OKAWARA, 2012, 10’30”)

The Tender March (Yasashii March, Wataru UEKUSA, 2011, 4’48”)

Imamura Store (Imamura shoten, Aya TSUGEHATA, 2011, 5’16”) read review

Specimens of Obsessions (Hyohon no to, Atsushi MAKINO, 2011, 12’08”)

Flower and Steam (Hana to yome, Eri KAWAGUCHI, 2012, 4’06”)

Maze King (Hakhyun KIM, 2013, 7’01”)

Recruit Rhapsody (Shukatsu kyosokyoku, Maho YOSHIDA, 2012, 7’27”)

Hide-and-Seek (Kakurenbo, Keiko SHIRAISHI, 2012, 7’51”)

Sunset Flower Blooming (Yugesho, Yuanyuan HU, 2012, 10’19”)

It's Time for Supper (Yoru gohan no jikoku, Saki MURAMOTO, 2013, 8’28”)

Some of these shorts and many more can be found on the Geidai University DVD collections for 2011, 2012, and 2013.

#nippon13 #nc2013

Catherine Munroe Hotes 2013

The National Anthem: Kimigayo (国歌 君か代, 1931)

In 2010 Kinokuniya released a DVD dedicated to the works of animation pioneer Noburo Ofuji (大藤信郎, 1990-61).  At 161 minutes, this is only a selected works of this early master of chiyogami and silhouette animation.  Many more of Ofuji’s films have been preserved and the animated short The National Anthem: Kimigayo (国歌 君か代/ Kokka Kimigayo, 1931) appears on Digital Meme’s Japanese Anime Classic Collection with subtitles in English, Chinese, and Korean.  This release of the film includes a soundtrack of Kimigayo performed by Joichi Yuasa.

The national anthem, Kimigayo, is believed to be one of the oldest – and lyrically among the shortest – national anthems still in use today.  At the time at which this animated short was made, it was the national anthem of the Empire of Japan (1867-1947).  As such, the film’s key motif is the chrysanthemum.  The emperor’s throne has been known as the Chrysanthemum Throne for centuries with the Imperial Seal of Japan being a yellow chrysanthemum.  One encounters the chrysanthemum regularly in Japan as it appears on everything from 50 yen coins to traditional cloth.

Ofuji depicts the chrysanthemum using his trademark chiyogami cutout animation style.  As he only had black and white film stock to work with in 1931, the result is not nearly as striking as his postwar films such as Whale (1952) and The Phantom Ship (1956), but his techniques are still very impressive in this film. 

The chrysanthemum chiyogami sequence is followed by a mysterious silhouette animation sequence bathed in mist which depicts the famous dripping spear scene from the Japanese creation myth.  The gods Izanagi and Izanami are said to have stood on a floating bridge of heaven and stirred in the sea with a spear.  The brine that dripped from the spear formed into the first island, followed by the other islands which created the Japanese archipelago (Kuniumi). 

The film appears to have been designed to accompany a performance or a recording of the national anthem. This is made clear by a sequence in the middle of the film where the song`s lyrics appear on the screen character by character in traditional Japanese writing order (up→down, right→left).  At this time, Ofuji was making many animated sing-along films for children including the chiyogami record talkies The Village Festival (1930), which employs a follow-the-bouncing ball technique, and Song of Spring (1931).

After the sing-along section, Ofuji returns to symbolic national symbols and stories.  In another beautiful silhouette animation sequence he depicts part of the legend of the sun goddess Amaterasu who, after a deadly attack on her property and attendants by her brother, hides inside the Ama-no-Iawato (heavenly rock cave) which causes the sun to be blocked out.  Ofuji depicts the moment when Amaterasu is persuaded to leave the cave, returning the sun to the world. 

 This is followed by a sequence depicting symbolism associated with Emperor Jimmu – the legendary first emperor of Japan.  Although the imperial house of Japan has traditionally claimed its descent from Jimmu in about 60 BC, most researchers see his tale as being based more in myth than in historical reality.  According to Shinto belief, Jimmu is said to be a direct descendant of the sun goddess Amaterasu.  In addition to the continuing to use the sun motif, this sequence adds symbolism associated with Jimmu: his emblematic long bow and the famous three-legged crow yatagarasu which is said to have been sent from heaven to guide Emperor Jimmu. 

I was struck by the similarity of the dark bird with spread wings to the eagle which is the national symbol of Germany.Of course, Japan and Germany were not yet military allies in 1931 – the National Socialists were not yet even in power; however, film was already being used as a medium to further nationalist ideology in both countries.  During the Meiji period, the government proclaimed 11 February 1966 as the foundation day of Japan and in the 1930s Kigensetsu (Era Day) was celebrated annually as the day that Jimmu ascended the throne.   This was halted for a time when Japan lost the war but since 1966, the date continues to be observed as National Foundation Day but with less fanfare than the overt nationalism of the 1930s and 40s.   According to the Japanese Movie Database, Ofuji’s Kimigayo was released on May 1^st, 1931.  Nationalist propaganda was pretty prevalent in Japan at this time because Japan during the run up to the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in September 1931.  

In a much more positive connection to Germany, this is the earliest film by Ofuji that I have seen where the influence of Lotte Reiniger (1899-1981) is obvious.  Reiniger started making silhouette animation shorts in the 1910s and her feature film The Adventures of Prince Achmed was released in 1926.  Her films were shown in Japan in the 1920s inspiring both Ofuji and another early animator Wagoro Arai (1907-94), to try their hand at silhouette animation.  The results are simply astonishing, with their films additionally demonstrating the influence of traditional Japanese traditions of kirigami /kiri-e (paper-cutting art) and silhouette/kage-e (影絵/shadow art).

The National Anthem: Kimigayo was made by Ofuji at his independent studio Chiyogami Eigasha. To learn more about Ofuji, check out my reviews of his other films and my ongoing series about the films awarded the prize named in his honour.          

Catherine Munroe Hotes 2013

Other Ofuji reviews:  Whale (1952), Song of Spring (1931), The Village Festival (1930)

Ofuji on DVD (JP only):

NIPPON NO ART ANIMATION OOFUJI NOBUROU

Animation

Taro’s Toy Train (太郎さんの汽車, 1929)

With so much of Japan’s early cinema history lost to natural disaster, war, and neglect, it is always such a delight to come across a rare film such as Taro’s Toy Train (太郎さんの汽車, 1929), that gives us a glimpse into just how sophisticated Japanese cinema was during the silent era.  Directed and written by Chuzo Aoji (青地忠三, 1885-1970) for the studio Yokohama Cinema Shokai (横浜シネマ商会), Taro’s Toy Train (also sometimes called Taro’s Steam Train in English) is a humorous 15 minute animated short with a snappy narrative and well executed animation sequences.

The opening scenes of the film are shot using live action.  Our hero, young Taro, leads a half dozen children in a game of train.  Wearing a uniform and conductor’s hat, Taro forms the engine of the train, with the children marching along behind him as if they are passengers on a train.  The edges of the train are marked out by ropes that the children hold in their hands.  After a tour through the family garden, Taro halts the train and serves his ‘passengers’ bento and tea. Even his mother, holding his young sibling, joins in the fun.

The game ends when Taro’s father arrives home from a business trip holding a large parcel in his arms.  Taro gives his friends a friendly salute to bid them farewell and greets his father.  Unwrapping the parcel, Taro is delighted to find that his father has bought him a model train set as a souvenir.  He sets out the train, complete with toy passengers and applauds enthusiastically as the electric train goes in circles on the track.  Taro’s parents allow him to stay up late, but eventually he must go to bed with his beloved new toy in its box next to him. 

Once Taro is asleep, the train and its track comes out of its box in a stop motion animation sequence.  This is one of the earliest examples of extant stop motion animation that I have come across from Japan.  It is executed expertly, which leads me to wonder if the filmmakers made other stop motion films before this one --- as so many films have been lost it may be difficult to find out for sure. 

 In the stop motion sequence, the train drives all over the duvet – using animation to bring to life the lively dreams of young Taro.  The stop motion acts as a transition sequence from live action to a drawn animation sequence which takes us into Taro’s dream.  The drawn animation was done by Yasuji Murata (村田安司, 1896-1966), who is considered an early anime pioneer responsible for such films as Animal Olympic Games (1928) and The Monkey Masamune (1930).

Like much of the popular animation from the 1910s and 1920s from Gertie the Dinosaur (1914) to Walt Disney’s Oswald the Lucky Rabbit films, the dream sequence employs simple black line drawing on a minimalist background.  In fact, it may even borrow the train theme from Oswald’s famous debut in Trolley Troubles (Disney, 1927), right down to Murata’s use of anthropomorphic animals.  

The first character we are introduced to in the drawn animation sequence is Taro himself in role of conductor.  This is made clear by the animated Taro saluting the “camera” in the same way as the live action Taro did when he bid his friends farewell.  Taro takes on a hero role in his dream:  the sympathetic and patient conductor who tries to sort out all the problems experienced by his passengers.  These problems occur in an amusing series of vignettes that make fun of how people can often behave rudely on trains.  We are introduced to a pig father and his sleepy brood who refuses move his satchel so an elderly goat can sit down, a pair of banana-eating hippos who throw their garbage on the floor causing a crane lady in a kimono to take a serious fall, the problems of waiting for a WC to become free on the train, and an overindulgent cow and horse who cause chaos on the line by throwing a sake bottle out the window and striking a monkey who works for the railway line.

This last vignette is actually a well-known idiom come to life:  gyuuinbashoku (牛飲馬食) which literally means “drinking like a cow and eating like a horse” and is equivalent to the English idiom “to pig out”.  The comedy of these farcical vignettes have withstood the test of time quite well – mainly because the film is without the military references which can make some prewar animation uncomfortable viewing – and I can imagine an audience of both young and old laughing at the kernel of truth in the visual gags.  Like the films of Buster Keaton, the comedy is in the absurdity of everyday life.  The drawn animation sequence climaxes with a fight breaking out between the monkeys and the cow and horse with Taro vainly trying to intervene. 

With a clever match-on-action, the director shifts (it looks like a dissolve, but the film is a bit broken up here so it’s hard to tell exactly how the edit was originally executed) from Taro wrestling with the animals to Taro wrestling with his blankets as he awakes from his dream.  The film ends with the boy beaming as he checks in the box to make sure his new train is still intact. 

Taro’s Toy Train is an impressive film for its use of three styles – live action, stop motion, and drawn animation.  I should add that the drawn animation sequence relies heavily on cut-outs for many of its effects.  This was quite common at the time, not only to save on drawing time but because the cost of celluloid was so expensive in Japan.  It also demonstrates that Chuzo Aoji had a very good sense of how to tell a story cinematically.  Aoji and his cinematographer Yukikiyo Ueno (上野行清) change camera angles and camera distance regularly in order to keep up the visual interest and many subtle visual clues (Taro’s salute, the use of continuity editing) help keep the narrative tight and well-paced.  It’s a gem of a film that can be found on Digital Meme’s Japanese Anime Classic Collection with subtitles in English, Chinese, and Korean.  This DVD release also includes a lively music score by Joichi Yuasa.

Catherine Munroe Hotes 2013