Gate of Flesh

Suzuki is the master! He has made the greatest examples of 60's low budget exploitation cinema. The way he uses a different color to represent each of the prostitutes almost makes them appear like demons in that underground lair of theirs. But who is the real monster of the film? The occupying Americans who use the prostitutes? The prostitutes themselves? Or is it the hate filled ex-soldier (played by the great Joe Shishido!) who controls the women?

An exploitation film with a brain. We see nude women tastefully lit, kinky violence - women beating other women and the low life of Tokyo outdoing each other in even more dastardly acts of treachery and heartless thuggery. The intelligence comes with the strong impact of the women dressing in vibrant red, purple, yellow and green to reflect their characters. Having the prostitutes live in a building that is an analogy for post-war Japan is even smarter. The building is bombed out, its occupants desperate, many have lost family in the war and for some the sight of people burned to death has made them individually heartless, desperate and mad. The fact that most of them live in the basement indicates that they have plummeted into the depths of hell. For cinema goers in Japan in 1964, just enjoying the fruits of the boom years for their rebuilt economy and also a new found pride and respectability, this must have been a sobering but also satisfying reminder of where they had been and how far they had come.

This film proves that good directors are able to make first-rate films in spite of very modest budgets if they have the desire and creativity necessary to succeed. Essentially, this movie concerns the plight of a small number of prostitutes who are trying to survive in post-World War II Tokyo during the American occupation. With food, medicine, shelter and employment in scarce supply those without any resources became like animals just trying to stay alive. So 5 or 6 young prostitutes take refuge in a bombed out basement and agree to live by a very strict code which forbids, among other things, sex without payment. Those who fail to comply are tortured and then thrown back onto the cold streets without any means of protection or support. At any rate, things are going well for this small group until a war-weary Japanese soldier arrives suffering from a gunshot wound. Now, rather than giving away the entire plot I will just say that the director, Seijun Suzuki, uses various techniques (like different colors to differentiate the women) to create something quite impressive out of almost nothing. Just be advised that there is some nudity and violence that wasn't usual for this period in time. But even here he uses symbolism in many cases so that it doesn't seem crass or vulgar. In short, this is a picture that I recommend to those who can appreciate artistry and ingenuity and don't depend on special effects and CGI for their film entertainment. But it's not for the squeamish.

Born on May 24, 1923, Seijun Suzuki was a trade school drop-out and a soldier before studying film at Kamakura academy. After graduating in 1948, he was employed at Ofuna Studio as an assistant director. He began his full-fledged directing career at Nikkatsu in 1954, where he subsequently made 40 films. Most of these were quickie crime thrillers which were akin to Hollywood B-movies. Within the constricting confines of the mercenary studio system, Suzuki was nonetheless able to find his own unique creative sensibility.

His earliest films bear a renegade, sensual flair and a vibrant visual style unsurpassed by more recent work in both the West and Asia. Working in Cinemascope, he used the widescreen frame to full effect, composing intricate shots which seem almost three dimensional, due to somewhat elaborate staging and the novel device of using dissolves to show characters and action on the opposite side of the room or space to which the main camera is pointing.

GATE OF FLESH (1964) exemplifies this. One of Suzuki's most atypical films, it tells the tale of a pimp-less group of hellcat prostitutes trying to survive in the chaotic, crime-ridden arena of post-war Tokyo. Living by a strict code, any of their number can be severely physically punished for sleeping with a man for free. Puffy-cheeked Suzuki regular Jo Shishido plays Shintaro Ibuki, a macho renegade former soldier who deals on the black market and comes to lord it over the band of women. Captivating each of them, he causes a rift among them in which the young novice hooker Maya suffers the most, as she is totally enamored of him. The film is intensely visceral, outrageous, and risque, even today. It must have been positively explosive in 1964, with its sweating, erotically-driven characters, fairly explicit depictions of sex, and savage scenes in which naked women are tied up and whipped by other women. The aggressive sensuality is further enhanced by the Fujicolor processing, which accentuates the reds and greens.

Due to his interpid nonconformism, Suzuki was fired from Nikkatsu in 1968. Amid shake-ups and financial problems at the studio, the suits decided to jettison him for making "incomprehensible" films. This prompted a massive movement on his behalf organized by his fans of time, who were mostly college students. With their support, as well as that of the Director's Guild of Japan, Suzuki filed a court case for wrongful dismissal. He won the case, but the resulting furor got him blacklisted out of the studio system, and Suzuki was only able to resume making feature films in 1977, albeit independently.

Seijun Suzuki's wide screen portrait of post-war Tokyo shows a ruined city reverted back to a primitive state of barbarity, where the only law among the society of pimps, thieves and prostitutes is Survival of the Fittest. Be forewarned: although it may be tame by today's permissive standards the film is still overtly violent, in both content and style. The garish color scheme alone is often more shocking than the animal philosophy of the gang of hookers, whose punishment for compassion among their ranks is an enthusiastic whipping. Suzuki never was the most subtle filmmaker, and the crass, uncensored vitality displayed here approaches low exploitation even while it probes with subtle insight the psychology of a vanquished nation.