A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness
directed by Seijun Suzuki
starring Yoko Shiraki, Yoshio Harada
Radiance Films
Any discussion of Seijun Suzuki’s A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness needs to start with what it is not. Contrary to some criticism, it is not an erotic “pink film” (although there is plenty of female nudity, undressing the actresses isn’t the point of the film), it is also not a sports movie, despite the main character being a professional golfer, and despite the Seijun Suzuki pedigree, it is not a hyper-stylized Yakuza movie. It is first and foremost Seijun Suzuki’s return to the director’s chair following a decade in purgatory. Blacklisted by the Japanese film studios after his firing from Nikkatsu, this is also a darkly satirical look at the nature of fame and how it warps reality for the famous and fans alike.
While brainstorming new promotional ideas, a fashion line lands on the notion of a sexy female golfer as the face (and body) of their company. They need a discovery, someone all their own, so they find young golfer Reiko (Yoko Shiraki) and set about to get her game in shape to win the Japanese ladies’ golf championship and launch their new campaign. She has the look and raw golf talent, though she has to train hard to overcome her lack of experience. She manages to win the tournament, and when she instantly becomes a star far beyond her athletic achievement, she is hurled into the media spotlight with her own TV show and a fancy new life complete with a big house in the suburbs and a big white Mercedes sedan. But all is not well in Reiko’s new life. Her younger brother, terribly isolated, has taken to living much of his days in an uncanny fantasy land. Reiko’s neighbors view her with contempt and scorn. When an unstable fan worms her way into the star’s life, Reiko’s fragile psyche quickly crumbles, resulting in tragedy.
A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness is a biting mass-media satire that, when viewed through the professional history of Seijun Suzuki, is nearly impossible to not also read as a takedown of the movie industry as well. It starts off lighthearted and innocent, in the vein of Yasuzō Masumura’s 1958 classic comedy Giants and Toys, about a spokesmodel creation run amuck, before taking a series of corkscrew turns, landing in far darker territory, prefiguring David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive. The film is also eerily prescient about current social media fame and the way it allows complete strangers into the most intimate and often mundane parts of people’s lives. Everyone in her orbit wants a piece of her figuratively and literally until Reiko is stripped of her humanity. As her mind unspools, so does the narrative logic of the film, until we are left with the delirious and tragic conclusion, knowing full well the nightmare machine is ready to devour another innocent victim.
In audio commentaries, there is a sweet spot between narrating the action on the screen and disregarding the action altogether. Samm Deighan, as usual, is terrific at navigating this in her commentary, which manages to get in a ton of context for the film and biographical info on cast and crew while taking full advantage of having the movie on the screen to illustrate visual elements and aid in creating a fuller understanding of the film.
