Tag Archives: Religious Studies

Essay Wednesday: The Dichotomy of Order and Chaos in Ugestu and Double Suicide

Older Japanese movies are a bit of an interest for me. As much as I love current Japanese horror movies, there is always room in my heart for the classic movies, filled with substance. A few years ago, while completing my undergraduate studies, I had the immense pleasure of partaking in an Asian film class. Each week we would meet for our 3 hour class, and settle in to watch yet another amazing film. While not all of them were right up my alley, they all got me thinking about films and their connectedness to life. We had the benefit of having each film paired up with another, which were thematically relevant (Princess Mononoke and Pom Poko, environmental cautions linked with spiritual concerns; Pulse and Ringu, technology as a means to destruction, etc.). One of my favourite pairing was the classic Ugetsu (1953, Kenji Mizoguchi), and Double Suicide ( 1969,  Masahiro Shinoda).Here we saw how deviation from the right path, how favouring self over duty and responsibility, led to complete destruction.

Ugestu was based upon the Ugetsu Monogatari, a series of short stories written by Ueda Akinari written in 1776. Taking the tales, it created a period drama which reflected real concerns at the time, while twisting it with a sad and meaningful ghost story.  I don’t want to go into too much detail, as I do go into it more in the essay below. Needless to say, this is still one of my favourite movies, and I would recommend that you watch it if you have the chance. Similarly, Double Suicide is based on a much older work, The Lovers Suicide at Amijima, a play written by Monzaemon Chikamitsu in 1721.

 

Double Suicide 1969, M.  Shinoda

Ugetsu, 1953 K. Mizoguchi

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dichotomy of Order and Chaos in Ugetsu and Double Suicide

When a director chooses to adapt a literary or theatrical piece through the medium of film there can be no question that it is done with a specific purpose in mind. This is especially true for the film adaptations of period pieces done by Kenji Mizoguchi and Masahiro Shinoda. Both directors have made bold stylistic choice; they enhance and highlight the conflicting ideas of life and death, and the concerns related to Japanese concepts of the afterlife. By doing this, Shinoda and Mizoguchi emphasize the dichotomy between order and chaos, by utilizing the common concerns and issues of ninjo and giri in the life of the everyday person during times of conflict. Both films play on the idea of familial duty versus personal desire. While both are based on prior works, their respective directors make it clear that such struggles are not limited to the time in which they were originally addressed. Mizoguchi and Shinoda found the core themes of both works, and uniquely approached the common issues of order and chaos through a clever juxtaposition of death, the afterlife, and supernatural elements in order to make a strong impression on a contemporary audience.

The Kurogo, or puppeteers, guide the action

Double Suicide, or Shinju Ten no Amijima (1969), is an adaptation of a popular 18th century bunraku play. Shinoda uses a heavily stylistic approach in order to draw attention to the dichotomy between order and chaos, as well as life and death. There is no outright use of the supernatural in this case; instead, Shinoda has embraced an approach based heavily on Brechtian verfremdungseffekt,1 as well as puppet theory later studied and popularized by the likes of Western theatrical theorist Gordon Craig. In Craig’s opinion, the puppet is the most articulate performer, what he calls “an echo of some noble and beautiful art of a past civilization.”2 Craig proposes that the actor should be completely replaced by the puppet, as the puppet is capable of collapsing character and being into a single entity, and thus become the perfect artistic medium.3 Shinoda goes beyond this, and instead of collapsing the characters into the puppet completely, he superimposes the identity of a puppet onto his human actors; by doing this he plays on the universally understood idea of the puppet as a symbol of death, accentuating the Brechtian alienation by using a troupe of puppeteers, or kurogo,to guide the main characters through the story. Though the cast is human and able to move of their own accord, the kurogo control the main character’s major action and decisions throughout the course of the film according to Keiko McDonald, they are meant to be a personification of fate,4 marching the character towards their death and their duty. In all of these stylistic choices, the thin line between life and death is crossed repeatedly; when the main character acts according to giri (obligation or moral duty), chaos vanishes and the kurogo do not intercede. However, when ninjo (emotion or personal desire) reigns, the kurogo are in control, leading the characters from life to death, and blurring the line between the two. Shinoda draws on this most heavily in the final moments of his adaptation, depicting his ninjo controlled characters running across a series of bridges,meant to delineate life from death, and duty from pleasure.

Traditional Onna-men, Noh Mask

 

Lady Wakasa

 

 

 

 

 

 

In contrast, Ugestu Monogatari extensively utilizes the supernatural in order to establish how ninjo and giri affect the relationship between order and chaos in relation to death. Early death was common during the time period in which the original tales composing Ugetsu were recorded, when there was major spiritual and social concern in regards familial duty to the dead.5 As such, the dichotomy between order and chaos is heavily present in Mizoguchi’s use of the supernatural to frame these concerns. Death and the supernatural are once again linked with the idea of giri and ninjo; Lady Wakasa represents ninjo,6 and the concern of dieing before duty can be fulfilled. As such, she is the force for chaos in this film. Conversely, Miyagi is representative of giri,7 primarily concerned with fulfilling her duty and later honoured by her surviving family. This clearly shows that Miyagi is the force for order in this tale. Once again, Keiko McDonald provides a reading of the director’s implementation of the supernatural in order to create vivid contrasts between chaos and order. Mizoguchi utilizes strict aesthetics, reminiscent of Noh theatre, to delineate the supernatural from the mundane; in the case of Lady Wakasa, her movement style and facial expressions are what separate her from the living characters.8

By blurring the lines between life and death, and allowing the afterlife to linger in the physical world, Mizoguchi is making a commentary on the social role of the family, and how duty and giri must be followed in order for the world to reside separate from the yurei and ninjo which arise as a result of conflict and neglected responsibility. However, both order and chaos are represented by death and the supernatural. Instead of relying on the living and the dead to delineate order from chaos, the director has put the emphasis on the manner of death and the treatment in the afterlife, thus showing the audience that while life and death commonly believed as separate, they are actually inextricably linked. In turn, order cannot exist without chaos, or else it becomes meaningless; conflict arises when one chooses to amass wealth instead of caring for personal relationships and duties; Mizoguchi stresses that the line between duty and personal desire is easy to mistake, when desire is supported with faulty reason.

Both Shinoda and Mizoguchi strove to bring to light the common issues concerning the dichotomy of order and chaos; to do this they both adapted period pieces which addressed common social and spiritual issues, and sought to relay their meaning through the use of death, the afterlife, and the supernatural. Shinoda sought to look at the ideas of ninjo and giri in relation to death and the afterlife with his adaptable of Shunji Ten no Amijima; his work succeeded by relying on theatrical aesthetics, and his Brechtian approach in order to reinforce the idea of death as both the ultimate commitment to giri and also the complete victory of ninjo. Mizoguchi used the supernatural in Ugetsu Monogatari to pursue the idea of giri and ninjo, and how it is up to the living to ensure that they fulfill their duty as family in order to ensure that order is maintained in the afterlife; without the living pursuing the path of giri, the dead are forced to remain between worlds, unable to be released from their own desires.

Work Cited

Craig, Gordon. “The Actor and the Über-marionette.” Theatre Theory Theatre. Ed. Daniel Gerould. New York: Applause Theatre and Cinema Books, 2000. pp. 394-401.

McDonald, Keiko I. “Double Suicide: Domestic Tragedies, Classical and Modern.” Japanese Classical Theatre in Japanese Classical Theatre in Films. London and Toronto: Associated University Presses, 1994. pp. 208–223.

McDonald, Keiko I . “Ugetsu: Why Is It a Masterpiece?” Ugetsu: Kenji Mizoguchi, Director. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1993. pp. 3–16.

1Keiko L McDonald, “Double Suicide: Domestic Tragedies, Classical and Modern”in Japanese Classical Theatre in Japanese Classical Theatre in Films (London and Toronto: Associated University Presses, 1994), 214-215.

2Gordon Craig, “The Actor and the Über-marionette.”in Theatre Theory Theatre. Ed. Daniel Gerould (New York: Applause Theatre and Cinema Books, 2000), 396.

3Ibid., 394-396.

4Keiko I. McDonald, Double Suicide: Domestic Tragedies, Classical and Modern”in Japanese Classical Theatre in Japanese Classical Theatre in Films (London and Toronto: Associated University Presses, 1994 214-215.

5Keiko I McDonald, Ugetsu: Why Is It a Masterpiece?” in Ugetsu: Kenji Mizoguchi, Director (New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1993), 9.

6Ibid., 9.

7Ibid., 8-9

8Ibid., 12-13.

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The Tragic Tale of Lady Oiwa and Adapting the Onryō for a Contemporary audience

UPDATE: It has recently come to my attention that this article has been added to a recommended reading list by  a couple of education programs, in relation to Drama and performance. If you are coming here from those sites and you have any questions, or if you are the library resources staff updating the links, please feel free to contact me at negrych @ gmail dot com. I always love talking with students and educators.

As a student, and as a Japanese historian, I have always been intrigued by the role that folklore and storytelling has played in Japanese culture. This is especially true when it comes to the Japanese traditional ghost story and contemporary Japanese horror; something about them always seems more rich, somehow, than our own North American tradition. Japan has always had a rich literary, theatrical, and cinematic relationship with its ghosts and its tales of horror; from Noh and Kabuki to the popular film and literature traditions of today, many of Japan’s traditional ghosts and spirits have been re-invented within the confines of our contemporary cultural understandings to reflect the shift in cultural and social perceptions of horror, tragedy, and the macabre. Fears of being set back on the karmic cycle have been largely replaced by fears of rampant technological advances (something which I investigated in-depth, and continue to be fascinated with), and key literary figures have been reshaped; where once the kuchi-sake-onna, or slit-mouthed woman, used to hold a fan to her face when meeting strangers, now she is depicted as wearing a medical face mask. However, one figure which remains a cultural constant is that of the onyrō, or vengeful spirit, a woman who was so wronged in life that she returned to torment those who caused her suffering. But how have the rampant and face-paced cultural and social changes reflected on the manifestation of these figures in popular culture? That is what I seek to explore in the following essay, which focuses on two popular manifestations of the Japanese onyrō.

The Tragic Tale of Lady Oiwa

One of my favourite stories is that of Lady Oiwa; I was introduced a few years ago to this particular folktale/kabuki play by a religious studies professor. Here was a folktale, a creation of history and popular culture so popular that it has inspired multiple recreations. Within it, a figure so tragic and so powerful that any who participate in a staging of her story, and especially those cast as lady Oiwa, would seek the place of her burial (which may or may not actually exist) to ask for her blessing to retell the story, or suffer their own tragedy (there is a series of accounts that tell of the misfortune that befell those who tried to stage the Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan play without first asking her permission and blessing, and were met with a string of ‘Macbeth’ like bad luck). It is a tale of tragedy, betrayal, vengeance, and the problems that dishonourable behaviour can cause.

The ghost of oiwa

For those of you who have never encountered the tragic tale of Lady Oiwa and the Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan, the story goes a little something like this: There was a masterless samurai (Iemon)who had fallen on hard times, forced to make his living as an umbrella maker (historically true during the Edo period, when many samurai lost their livelihood due to the widespread peace created by unifying the country under Tokugawa Ieyasu.)  Oiwa was frail and weak after giving birth to her son, and was unable to help Iemon with the household; nevertheless, she did what any proper wife could do, she looked after their son and made sure that she was beautiful whenever Iemon came home, brushing her long silken black hair and being as dutiful a wife as she could be under the circumstances. However, because of Iemon’s failure, Oiwa’s father approaches him, and suggests that he dissolve the marriage bonds and allow Oiwa to return to her own family. Enraged, Iemon murders Oiwa’s father. There is more to this, a second story, wherein another man, Takuetsu,  accidentally murders his former master (in a tragic case of mistaken identity), and he and Iemon conspire to make it look like the second murdered man was the one who killed Oiwa’s father, and thus Iemon has succeeded in avenging that death and can continue to live as an honourable man, instead of the failure he has become.

Now, Iemon was a handsome fellow, and in his journeys he had caught the eye of a local lady of means, Oume, the grand-daughter of a prominent and successful man. In a scheme to separate Iemon from the more beautiful Oiwa, this woman and her family conspire to destroy Oiwa’s beauty; they do so by sending her poison disguised a facial cream, which immediately scars Oiwa’s beautiful face and causes her beautiful hair to come out in bloddy clumps. As a result Iemon, seeing his wife’s disfigurement, conspires to invalidate the marriage by having  Takuetsu rape Oiwa. In a strange break from his previously dishonourable behaviour, Takuetsu cannot bring himself to commit the act; instead, he forces Oiwa to look at her own reflection. Seeing what she has become, she grabs Iemon’s rusty and disused katana and tries to leave the home in order to avenge the wrong that has been committed against her, only to accidentally slit her own throat in the struggle. As a result, she dies cursing Iemon and those who conspired against her with her last breath. Coming home, Iemon wants to cover the death of his wife and hide the crimes committed against her, tries to hide it. Some versions of the story go on to say that the baby is also killed, and to cover his ‘new wife’, Iemon nails Oiwa and a servant to a door and tosses them in a river, declaiming them for having an affair.

With Oiwa out of the way, Iemon and Oume get hitched and plan to live happily ever after, or as happily as two despicable murdering individuals can plan to live. What all stories agree upon is that, after her death, Oiwa’s ghost returns to haunt Iemon, causing him to have horrible visions and resulting in him murdering Ouma and her grandfather. Did I mention that Iemon’s happy new union did not even manage to survive its first night? No matter how Iemon tries to escape, Oiwa always finds him, emerging from lanterns, long black hair matted, one side of her face horribly disfigured, and carrying their dead child. Eventually Iemon winds up at a monastery in an attempt to escape her vengeance, but even there Oiwa cannot be stopped, and eventually drives Iemon to madness and his death.

Adapting the Onryō:

The Evolution of the Edo Period Tale Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan in Hideo Nakata’s Adaptation of Ringu

When it comes to popular and enduring icons of onryō in Japanese kaidan, there is no idiom more accurate than the popular ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ From the early 19th century’s Lady Oiwa from the kabuki play Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan (東海道四谷怪談, 1825)1 to present day Sadako from Ringu (リング, 1998),2 no figure evokes more trepidation, fear, and anxiety than that of the vengeful female ghost, known in Japan as the onryō. However, over time there have been changes made to the nature of the behaviour and depiction of the onryō and the way in which vengeance is administered. At the same time, many aspects remain unchanged, and these are indicative of the deeper cultural concern with the kaidan. These differences and similarities are seen when examining Lady Oiwa, and Sadako Yamamura in Hideo Nakata’s Ringu, a film adapted from the first novel of Koji Suzuki’s Ring Cycle series. Both of these tales gained widespread fame and attention, and thus ignited interest in the Japanese tale of the vengeful ghost across generations.3 These meeting and divergence points make it possible for the onryō to have as much of an impact in contemporary settings and for a contemporary audience as in earlier incarnations.

 

Lady OiwaGregory Barrett notes that in Japanese tales of revenge, the one seeking vengeance is typically a woman who has been wronged in some way.4 Despite the time between the original Kabuki play and Ringu, there is very little alteration in the nature of onryō‘s appearance and gender, save for a shift in age from adult to child. Furthermore, Lady Oiwa and Sadako are similarly dressed in flowing white garments, a colour understood to represent death in many Asian cultures; both women also have long black hair, and possess a physical beauty at odds with their manifestations as onryō. It is interesting that Sadako and Oiwa share in the loss of their hair, and the disfigurement of their faces.5 In most incarnations of Yotsuya Kaidan, the journey to vengeance begins which Lady Oiwa losing her hair; because she has been poisoned, when Oiwa attempts to prepare herself to act dutifully as Iemon’s wife “handfuls of raven black hair fell from her head.”6 Likewise, when Sadako’s body is found in the well beneath the cabin, her hair is still intact after a 40 years. However, as Reiko handles Sadako’s corpse Sadako’s hair peels away from the skull, leaving only putrefied flesh and bone. Yet, when Sadako’s spirit appears to exact her vengeance, her hair is still there, obscuring everything except a single protruding eye. This serves to make Sadako an unsettling figure of the unknown.

The second most notable similarity lays in the form of their betrayal. In both cases, there is a heavy association with water; after Oiwa’s body is found Iemon discards it, in order to escape his guilt. To so this “a wooden door was found and [Iemon] nailed a corpse on either side . . . cold-bloodedly, [Iemon] heaved the wooden door into the river.”7 Like Oiwa, Sadako is committed to a watery grave, trapped there and deprived on spiritual pacification which is due to the dead. Furthermore, both women were betrayed by those who were supposed to support and protect them; Iemon is a neglectful husband to Oiwa. He fails to take his responsibilities as husband seriously, instead choosing wealth and beauty over honour. This is furthered by the fact that Iemon is responsible for the murder of Oiwa’s father, which he committed in order to keep Oiwa as his wife.8

In Ringu, Sadako’s mother, Shizuko, commits suicide after being humiliated by reporters during a public display of her clairvoyant powers, jumping into the crater of Mt. Mihara; it was Shizuko’s ability to accurately predict the eruptions of Mt. Mihara that brought her to the attention of Dr. Ikuma, whose desire to display her psychic powers ultimately led Shizuko to take her own life. This same event also brought out Sadako’s powers, causing her to kill one of the reporters who claimed her mother’s powers to be fraudulent. After this, Dr. Ikuma becomes Sadako’s guardian; due to his fear of her, born from her own destructive supernatural powers, Ikuma throws her into a well, hoping that she will disappear forever, and becomes the catalyst for the creation of Sadako’s onryō.9 The film does not do much to establish Ikuma’s role in Sadako’s life, only that he abandoned his responsibility and was one of the catalysts for Sadako’s change into an onryō after her slow and gruesome death.

There are many differences between the Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan and the adaptation of Ringu, reflecting the changes that have occurred in order to keep tales of vengeance and onryō appealing and unsettling. The most important of these changes occurs in the nature of the targets of the onryō‘s vengeance. While Lady Oiwa is a vengeful spirit who “would only torment the guilty and leave the innocent alone,”10 In contrast, Sadako is indiscriminate and takes after all those who come contact with the site of her betrayal, as she felt she had been betrayed by everyone with whom she had ever had contact with. This is a return to earlier Noh conventions, where ghosts bare vague grudges,11 and take their anger out on any bystander.12 In opposition, Lady Oiwa is focused on bringing pain and death only to those who were involved in her downfall and betrayal. Sadako’s unlimited anger is for the benefit of the audience, allowing them to experience fear and anxiety similar to older kaidan audiences. This also stops the audience from seeing Sadako as an avenging hero, and instead makes her a true threat in the minds of the audience.

Sadako from 1999's manga adaptation. Art by Misao Inagaki

Sadako from 1999’s
manga adaptation. Art by Misao Inagaki

The second difference between Oiwa and Sadako exists in the very nature of their character; while Oiwa has a voice, and is given means to express her feelings, Sadako is a silent haunter, with no voice or opinion. Not once is Sadako’s voice heard, and never is anything more than a ring of light seen from her point-of-view; in essence, she is the unknown. While flashbacks inform the audience of her history, all Sadako is given is a pattern of actions propelled by her unyielding thirst for retribution. This pattern serves to set her further apart from Lady Oiwa; Sadako is guilty of sinful actions, while Oiwa is sinless.13 The movie implies that Sadako is the product of a fantastical birth; there is speculation made throughout the film that Shizuko was lured down to the ocean by some unknown creature and the result of that relationship was Sadako who, as a result of this union, possessed psychic powers beyond that of her mother.14 The only blood on Lady Oiwa’s hands is her own,15 and suicide was glorified as an act of redemption.16 Sadako, on the other hand, has taken life other than her own; during a flashback, it is insinuated that she was responsible for the death of a reporter, and it is from this point that others truly begin to fear her abilities. Once again, this difference instills unease and fear in the audience, on a level reminiscent of the way Lady Oiwa’s onryō would have made the kabuki audience feel.

Sadako is almost a complete unknown in the film adaptation of Ringu, while Lady Oiwa is the polar opposite in almost all incarnations of Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan. The similarities that remain between them are the sake of convention, a reminder that at one time it was believed that such an avenger was given power for the sole sake of exacting vengeance for wrongs committed against them. The differences are created in order to evoke a similar feeling for the audience, one which leaves them uneasy and frightened. With modern society quickly becoming desensitized to violence and horror, the psychological Japanese film must adapt in order to instill the same anxiety as such onryō and kaidan instilled in the past. Ringu must also be evaluated as an adaptation in order to truly understand the evolution of kaidan; the film adaptation of Ringu and its depiction of Sadako is a completely different beast from what Koji Suzuki created in his novel. It is no secret that author Koji Suzuki’s novel is a much more in-depth study of modern adaptation of the Kaidan conventions, the evolution of the onryō as a vengeful spirit, and as a product of widespread cultural change.


 Footnotes:

1 This is the date for the first public performance of Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan; however, the play itself is based on events which occurred in the 17th Century.
2 The original tale, Ring, was a novel written by Koji Suzuki in 1991. Subsequently it was adapted into a television film in 1995 (Ring: Kanzenban), a feature horror film in 1998 (Ringu) directed by Hideo Nakata, and finally into English (The Ring) in 2002. Additionally, it has spawned a series of sequels in the franchise.
3 Ringu‘s success is apparent in the fact that it has been adapted multiple times, in a variety of forms, and over a variety of cultures (American and South Korean). Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan‘s popularity is apparent due to the many adaptations and re-tellings it has been subjected to over the years since its initial debut as a Kabuki play; this includes customary visits to Lady Oiwa’s grave marker prior to any new adaptations being staged, multiple film and anime versions, and her popularity among figures of ghosts and women in ukiyo-e prints.
4 Gregory Barrett, “Vengeful Spirit” in Archetypes in Japanese Film: The Sociopolitical and Religious Significance of the Principal Heroes and Heroines (Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University Press, 1989), 7.
5 In the case of Sadako, one never sees more of her face than a single, bloodshot eye, while Lady Oiwa is characterized by heavy scarring and disfigurement, a result of the poison she unknowingly ingested.
6 Arendie Herwig, “A Ghost at Yotsuya on the Tokaido” in Heroes of the Kabuki Stage: An Introduction to Kabuki with Retellings of Famous Plays Illustrated by Woodblock Prints (Amsterdam: Hotei Publishing, 2004), 298.
7 Ibid.
8 Ibid., 297.
9 Here is where the film adaptations really differs from the novel; in the novel Dr. Ikuma becomes quite ill and is committed to a sanatorium, where he convinces a young doctor that his daughter, Sadako, must be killed because of her power. This leads the young doctor to pursue Sadako and, when subjected to her powers, to strangle her and throw her down a near-by well. However, when she was thrown down the well she was still alive, and her death came slowly as she tried to claw her way out. This death is what gave birth to the onryō, who had been wronged or abandoned by every individual with whom she had come in contact.
10 Barrett, 97.
11 Ibid., 99.
12 Ibid., 97.
13 Ibid., 101.
14 Again, this varies greatly from the novel; originally Sadako was the daughter of Shizuko and Dr. Ikuma, conceived during an illicit extra-martial affair.
15 Herwig, 298.
16 Edmond Rochedieu, Le Shintoïsme ( Paris: Cercle du Bibliophile, 1968), 184.

Works Cited

Barrett, Gregory. “Vengeful Spirit.” Archetypes in Japanese Film: The Sociopolitical and Religious Significance of the Principal Heroes and Heroines. Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University Press, 1989. pp. 97–117.

Herwig, Arendie. “A Ghost Story at Yotsuya on the Tōkaidō.” Heroes of the Kabuki Stage: An Introduction to Kabuki with Retellings of Famous Plays Illustrated by Woodblock Prints. Amsterdam: Hotei Publishing, 2004. pp. 297–299

Rochedieu, Edmond. Le Shintoisme. Paris: Cercle du Bibliophile, 1968.

 

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On the serious side (well, maybe)

I realize that aside from my conference reflection more than a year ago and my piece of Mononoke-hime, I have done very little to give anyone a sense of my academic background. Certainly, I am a ‘historian-in-training’, an academic at heart, and a creative mess. However, that really doesn’t open the floor up for discussion, as it leave too much to the wind. What have I worked on and researched in the past? How have I engaged with cultural history on a level of serious academic contemplation? What topics draw my interest. Well, as a start to this new week, I thought I world provide a list of titles of papers I have completed. Some, which are sort, I have thought of posting to my blog at one point (as I did the Mononoke piece); others I have presented at conferences, or thought of submitting them for possible publication.

Below I have divided them by area (History, Religious Studies, English Literature, Theatre, and then Misc.), but they are in no chronological order. While I will likely not share the entirety of the work, I am more than willing to talk about the process of research and writing, and of course discussion centring around the topics themselves.

the_muses_labeled

History and Cultural Studies

  • The Postwar Apocalypse in Japan: The Unique Anxieties Reflected by Akira and Gojira
  • Shame and Destruction: How the Japanese Military Leaders Delayed Admitting the Truth of the Ianjo of World War II
  • The Survival of a Fragile World: The Geisha Through Modernization
  • The Importance of the Cultural Gift: Mishima and Japanese Modernization
  • Stonehenge: A multifunctional neolithic Megalith
  • The Sixties Sexual Revolution on Broadway: Androgyny and Female Sexuality in Hair and Cabaret
  • The Questionable Universality of Balibar’s The Nation Form
  • The Byzantine Empire During the Early 10th-11th Century: The Bulgarians and Internal Strife
  • The Fatalistic Pilgrimage in Japan: Aokigahara-jukai and the Translocation of Mount Fuji’s Sacred Identity
  • In the Midst of Horror: Japanese pre-modern Ghost stories and the Modern J-Horror- A Research Proposal
  • Medical Observations and Methods of Treatment in Hippocratian Greece
  • Xenophobia and the ‘Enemy Alien’: The Injustice of the Canadian Internment Camps of World War I
  • Jonathan Spence: The Voice of Modern Chinese History in the West
  • The Nation of the Family in Eat, Drink, Man, Woman by Ang Lee
  • Folktales and Superstition During the Late Heian and Kamakura Periods: Reflection of Moral and Cultural Behaviour
  • Prostitution in Roman Society: Female Prostitution as Social Support
  • The Stigma of Shell-shock and the Disabled Soldier: European Soldiers and the Perception of Psychological Disability

Religious Studies

  • Buddhism and the Modern Ghost in Eiji Otsuka’s Manga The Kurosagi Corpse Delivery Service
  • The Visuals of Religious Subjectivity in Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter . . . and Spring
  • The Dichotomy of Order and Chaos in Ugetsu and Double Suicide
  • Moro and the Shishigami in Miyazaki’s Temporal War Epic Mononoke-hime
  • Children, Nature, and Spiritual Play in Miyazaki’s Spirited Away
  • Elements of Buddhist Teaching and Though in Takahashi Rumiko’s Character Miroku
  • The Fictional Journeys of Rama and Monkey: A Mirror of the Internal Spiritual Journey
  • Myth, Folklore, and the Folk Tale: Their Relevance in the Practice of Shinto

Theatre Arts/Studies/Dramaturgy and Art History

  • The Inorganic Puppet: A Symbol of Life and Death
  • The Puppet in History and the Theories of Craig
  • The Sexual Politics Behind the Shrew: Marowitz’s The Shrew and Junger’s 10 Things I Hate About You
  • The Intermingling of Ritual and Carnival: The Castle of Perseverance and the Medieval Tournament
  • Zeus and Bacchus: The Gods in Statue

English Literature and Classical Studies

  • “I Am No Lady”: George R.R. Martin’s Brienne of Tarth as a Unique Female Warrior
  • The Mad Wives of  Bronte and Stetson
  • The Desired Influence: The Women of Epic and Their Social Significance
  • The Importance of Nestor in The Iliad
  • Mirror, Mirror: The Mirroring of Frankenstein and the Creature
  • Women and War: Sparta, Athens, and Rome
  • The Ghost Story as told by Gaskell and Wharton
  • Artistotle’s Doctrine of the Mean: The Understandable and Achievable Goal
  • The Rebirth and Adaptation of Greek Myth in Xena Warrior Princess

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Moro and the Shishigami in Miyazaki’s Temporal War Epic Mononoke-hime

Art used with permission of artist: Sugar-H

Art used with permission of artist: Sugar-H

 

Moro and the Shishigami in Miyazaki’s Temporal War Epic Mononoke-hime

Copyright ©2012-2017, M. Negrych

In modern history, Japan has experienced a set of dynamic shifts in identity. The Meiji Restoration (1868) saw an internal thrust for modernization, and the resulting issues and social anxieties which emerged in the aftermath of the Pacific War persist into the present. With modernization there came the negotiation of the Japanese relationship with nature and its sacred past; was it possible to modernize the nation while still preserving the sacred environment? Hayao Miyazaki, one of Japan’s most loved and exported directors,1 negotiates this question in his whimsical and romantic style with Mononoke-hime (1997); the modern and the ancestral are in a proverbial battle royale, with nothing but a young man left to try and find a means to ensure the survival of both. Miyazaki creates a masterpiece which pits the past and the present against one another, with characters who are neither completely good nor absolutely evil, and the fate of a whole country rests on the shoulders of the youth.

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February 21, 2013 · 6:36 pm