Wednesday, August 28, 2019

English translation of Shukan Kinyobi review of 'Shinbun Kisha'

I decided to translate an article from my current favourite magazine, the liberal, left-wing weekly, Shukan Kinyobi. It's a review of the movie Shinbun Kisha, and an interview with the director, Fujii Michihito.The original can be found in the 28 June 2019 edition. Written by Saka Kiyokazu.
Apologies to the magazine and author for any inaccuracies.


Interview with ‘Shinbun Kisha’ director, Fujii Michihito


Cabinet interference; bureaucrats’ ‘sontaku’,[1] rape suspicion; doctoring of official documents

Portrayal of today’s conflict between government and media
 Amidst the heated debate about freedom of the media and government pressure, one movie is having a not insignificant impact on not only the cinema scene but also the media industry. It’s called ‘Shinbun Kisha’. The conflict between a newspaper reporter intent on delivering a scoop that exposes the dark side of the state and the government that uses every possible measure to defend itself, and the appearance of a bureaucrat who wavers over the boundary of justice between the two, is portrayed in a breath-taking way. Herein lies a dramatic human drama. It is quiet but forceful.

The director is the up-and-coming Fujii Michihito, well known for a style that is rich in emotional expression and entertainment. However, in the beginning he declined (to direct it). ‘I was interested in the kind of politics that was reflected in my day-to- living, but I didn’t think deeply about politics; nor was I in the habit of reading the daily newspapers. In other words, I was politically apathetic (and this is why I declined it at first).’

However, Kawamura Mitsunobu, the producer of movies replete with social commentary, such as ‘Kazoku no Kuni’ and ‘Aa, Koya’, thought, ‘It’s for that very reason that [Fujii] should shoot the film’ and he insisted that the 32 yr old Fujii, as a member of the ‘generation that doesn’t read the newspaper’ be the director. In response to Kawamura’s offer of the idea that ‘I want to make a movie that deals with how an individual might live their lives while coping with group peer pressure’, Fujii was forward looking: ‘It doesn’t matter what others think if me, for once I want to do something as if my life depended on it.’  

In fact, movies that Fujii has directed, such as ‘Oh, Father’ and ‘Hikari to Chi’ contain a penetrating view of the contradictions within society, and the adversarial ghost of the criticism of these films lingers on. For Fujii, deep down, something else co-existed alongside his entrenched apathy towards politics and the media.  

Before filming, Fujii met with people in many different capacities, including journalists and Ministry of Foreign Affairs bureaucrats. This made him reflect, ‘I was scared at how little I knew’. ‘I was appalled at the things we didn’t try to know, and at the amount of information we have at our hands which, despite living in an era where we are free to sift through it all, we never questioned the significance of that. I began to think about the credibility of the news or information that until then I had only been skim-reading.’

Suspicion about establishment of new university   
Yoshioka Erika (Shim Eun-kyung) is a newspaper journalist who springs to action after receiving an anonymous tip-off indicating a suspicious establishment of a new university. Sugihara Takumi (Matsuzaka Tori) is a junior bureaucrat who entered the Ministry of Foreign Affairs with high ideals and is now on secondment to the Cabinet Information Research Office, where he is ordered by his boss to play the role of spin doctor, creating scandals about those who get in the way of the government. These two characters’ fates are brought together after a tragedy involving a Cabinet Office official who was Sugihara’s superior at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Director Fujii says, ‘I didn’t want to make a smug film that blended documentary with fiction’. Consequently, the material in the original that was closer to ‘non-fiction’ was re-written for the final product. Says Fujii, ‘The most important thing is not to portray reality using real names, but to create a movie that can discuss with viewers how an individual within a group can square up to that group. I argued that, in that case, it should be fiction. I wanted to create a film where viewers would put themselves in the shoes of a journalist or bureaucrat and (directly) question their emotions.  I wanted it to be a movie that sought out the two protagonists’ feelings evoked by the events rather than the actual events taking place.’  
The battle between the Cabinet Information Research Office and the media is cutthroat. Fujii once heard a bureaucrat say, ‘The only way to respond to someone being attacked is to attack’, a phrase that does not problematize Cabinet Information Research Office leaks such as those that manipulate public opinion. ‘Bureaucrats and journalists probably have opposing views of right and wrong. Their existence is mutually exclusive, but their respective commitment to the ideas of ‘for the people’ and ‘communicating the truth’ is, I believe unwavering.’

A sense of distance from journalists 
A bit about the two actors who play the protagonists. Shim Eun-kyung is a talented Korean actress who has been noted for her roles in several Korean films, and who, as of this year, has been active in a string of stage and screen productions. Matsuzaka Tori is an actor whose development as an actor has been conspicuous; his competence is well noted as a result of his representation of diverse characters, ranging from a kind, good hearted young man to an outlaw with a dark secret. Against a backdrop of a complicated past, with her sensitive expressions, Shim shows us what’s going on inside. Meanwhile, Matsuzaka acts with a depth of expression as Sugihara becomes torn between two conflicting ideas of what is right. Director Fujii’s stage management elevates both of them to their highest capacity.

In the first half, the activities of the journalists working at the newspaper are filmed in the shaky camera style, giving a sense of instability. ‘In fact, I deliberately filmed that section from afar with a telephoto lens. It was a bit provocative, but I wanted to show how wide the gulf is between journalists and the audience.’ The story progresses and with each step the journalists take towards the truth, that ‘sense of distance’ changes. ‘It is precisely because it is this type of production that I wanted to take great care with elements such as the sense of distance and the visual technique. I would be pleased if the viewers understood that the director’s message is that we are attempting to bring [the journalists], who seemed so far away, closer.’

The conception of the idea for this movie can be traced to the book ‘Shinbun Kisha’, by the Tokyo Shinbun reporter, Mochizuki Isoko, who has continued asking questions in spite of backlash and blatant obstacles she encountered from government representatives during Chief Cabinet Secretary press conferences.  Scenes such as television footage of round-table discussions between Mochizuki and others, including former Ministry of Education Vice Minister Maekawa Kihei; and recent real-life events, such as excessive Cabinet Office interference, bureaucratic sontaku, official document falsification and rape suspicions are dotted throughout the movie, creating a vivid impression that it is intrinsically connected to ‘precisely now’. One can see glimpses of these even during the fiction sections that are constructed as universal human dramas, and this ‘insistence on sticking to the here and now’ further elevates the entertainment value of the film. This is because while there are movies around the world that depict historic clashes between government and media, there are hardly any that depict the ‘on the edge of now’ events happening in the here and now. Fujii is full of expectations, ‘I have never seen a Japanese movie like this. I’m looking forward to seeing how it’s received by the audience.’   

‘When in a group situation, sometimes you end up twisting your beliefs as a consequence of reading the mood and pre-judging other people’s thoughts. I think contemporary Japanese society, and in particular, my generation, is especially good at this, but I wanted to challenge that. I want each individual to think seriously about how they can go about changing their own lives.’

Fujii Michihito bioblurb:
Born in 1986. Filmmaker, film director, screenwriter. Co-founded ‘BABEL LABEL’ with filmmaker Shima Kentaro. Nihon University College of Art, cinema department, director course graduate. Mentored by screenwriter Aoki Kenji. Debuted with Isaka Kotaro’s ‘Oh Father’. Has also worked on advertisements, such as those for Pocket Monster, and American Express. Netflix original ‘Bushido no Gurume’ and ‘100man en no Onnatachi’ released in 2017. ‘Ao no Kaerimichi’ and ‘Day and Night’ released in 2018 and 2019 respectively.

‘Shimbun Kisha’ info
© 2019 ‘Shimbun Kisha’ filmpartners
Director: Fujii Michihito
Original draft: Mochizuki Isoko ‘Shimbun Kisha’ (Kakukawa Shinsho), Kawamura Mitsunobu
Featuring: Shim Eun-kyung, Matsuzaka Tori, Honda Tsubasa, Okayama Amane, Nishida Naomi, Takahashi Kazuya, Kitamura Yukiya, Tanaka Tetsuji
2019, Japan, 113 minutes.



[1] Sontaku was the 2017 ‘Word of the Year’.  It refers to the practice of anticipating another person’s feelings or thoughts even before that person is themselves aware of them. It was word of the year due to its apparent adoption by those in political and bureaucratic positions to avoid ruffling the feathers of superiors and thus enable the illegal activities of those superiors.  (Not in original, added by translator.)


新聞記者


国家を批判する日本の政治的映画?是非見逃してはいけないと思った。一ヶ月程前に日本政治を激しく批判する「主戦場」を見たけれど監督が日系人だった上、映画でなく、ドキュメンタリだった。このような批判する映画が上映するとうれしい。現在、靖国神社にある遊就館で上映している日本会議取材の「忘れられない」のような映画に対して対抗勢力があるから。「忘れられない」はドキュメンタリとして作られているにもかかわらず題名と大きく違って、第二次世界大戦争で行われたことをたくさん()れている(、、、、)ようで、むしろフィクションとして考えた方が正解かもしれない。

一方で「新聞記者」はフィクションでありながらノンフィクションと思われてもおかしくないほどリアルに描かれているのである。政権とメディアのせめぎ合いの話でまさしく今の政治状況を描いた映画。

メインのストーリーは伊藤しおり記者が安部総理と仲のいい山口敬之記者に対してレイプ犯罪を訴えた事件を元に報道に大きく取れ上げられるレイプ疑惑の話などの実際に行われている出来事を背景にして描かれる。そのレイプ被害者を演じる女性は伊藤さんに似ている女優さんをしたりすることまで等、気骨かつ現在的な感覚が初めから観客を引き込む。

2人の主役は新聞記者の吉岡エリカと若手官僚杉原たくみであり腐敗臭い外務省計画大学の情報を知っている杉原の外務省の元上司神崎が自殺した時に二人がぶつけ合う。吉岡に新しい大学について情報が匿名に漏らす。その糸口を追求することに決心し、神崎が光っている威圧的な国会議事堂が真正面の建物から飛び降りた時、吉岡はそこにある意義を把握し、真実追及でついに杉原と出会う。まだ理想を奪われていない若い杉原は外務省から内閣府情報調査室(内調)に出向中。苦しそうな仕事に覆われている。政権の邪魔になる人の名前を汚すために公文章の改竄等この手もあの手も政権を防護する手掛けに任務させられている。これに迷いながら神崎の死の打撃を受けることで良心の呵責を感じ、吉岡と一緒に正義を追求することに決心した。

吉岡の勤務先は東京新聞に基づいた「東都新聞」であり、同僚は、上司を含め比較的に鮮やかではない男性ばかり。吉岡は実人の望月衣塑子記者を元にした役柄。望月記者は政治家に鋭い質問を投げることだけで「難しい記者」として知られ、望月執筆の「新聞記者」が映画のプロデューサー河村の着想の出発点となった。でも吉岡の役柄は日本人ではなく、日本人父と韓国母でアメリカ育ちである。これは信じ難い。なぜかというと二つの理由がある:まずはアメリカで生まれ育った人は日本で新聞記者として働く言語力があるはずがない。吉岡のなまった日本語からでもそれが目に見えた。二つ目に、英語で話してるシーンは一つだけだったが、とても英語圏生まれ育ちとは思わない片言の英語だった。吉岡の役柄のこれ以上に気になる点があった。それは、なぜ日本人女性ではなく、外国人女性にしたかが不思議。プロデューサーは日本国家があまりにも固くて外圧なしでは何も変わらないという政治的主張をしているのかと解釈できる。確かに吉岡は韓国人だけではなく、アメリカ育ちの本当に意味でのグローバルの人である。しかし、この描き方は望月自身が日本人であること及び「組織内」にでも制度を変えようとしている人がいるという事実を否定しているのではないか。そうしたら、強い日本人女性は映画にそんなに描きにくいのかという質問が浮き浮かぶ。確かに吉岡意外の女性役柄はとんでもなく酷かった。杉原の妻は子供化され、完全に自己犠牲な生活を送っていて夫と子どものために人生を送っているまるで女性の風刺画だった。「政治的批判的」な映画を作る人が描く日本女性はこれでいいだろうか?一緒に見た親友の意見では、自分が所属している組織の底のない汚職に直面する時に沸いてくる入り混じった複雑な感情の中で杉原が感じさせられる「守らなきゃいけない」責任感を強化するために妻はわざとそういう風に描かれたそうである。妻たち(神崎の妻も)の役柄があれだけ卑屈そうに描かれている理由は別として、日本女性はこのような役柄が引き続き現れるのは悲惨である。

概ねの演技はそれほどではなかった。あいにく日本の映画によく見るこわばった、大げさな演技だった。これに対し、撮影術はよかた。省庁の部屋の青く染めた空気は悪意が伝わってきた。それに、「東都新聞」の暗くて散らかっている内装が気骨でリアルな感覚だった。私は半蔵門に住んでいて、時には国会図書館に行ったりするので馴染みの建物と道が映画で見られて少しワクワクした。永田町・霞ヶ関あたりのイチョウの葉っぱがきれいで、秋に撮影することが正解だったと思う。

最後に一言。演出とは違って、国会議事堂が常にライトアップしていない。夜になると暗闇に覆われて不吉な形だけが見えるときも多い。先日の夜にジョギングに出かけたらちょうど電気が消える瞬間を見た。映画の最後の台詞はまさしく意義深かった(全滅されてしまった杉原への助言):「この国の民主主義は形だけでいい」。

Shinbun Kisha


A Japanese political drama critical of the state? For me, this was a must-see movie. The previous month I had watched Shusenjo (Shusenjo: The Main Battleground Of Comfort Women Issue), also fiercely critical of the Japanese state, but made by a Japanese- American, and also, not a fictional account, but a documentary. I welcome critical movies like this—they function as a counter-balance to things like the Nippon Kaigi Wasurerarenai, which is currently showing hourly at the Yushukan (the museum in the grounds of Yasukuni Jinja) at the moment. Wasurerarenai, pitched as a documentary, might be better characterised as fiction, given the narrative it weaves—a narrative that, contrary to the title of the film, seems to forget a lot of what occurred during World War 2.

Shinbun Kisha, on the other hand, is fiction, but might as well be a true story. It depicts the conflict between the government and the media in a gritty and realistic manner. Indeed, the story occurs against a backdrop of real-life events, including a headline-making rape narrative, obviously modelled on the 2018 alleged rape of journalist Ito Shiori by journalist and Prime Minister Abe supporter Yamaguchi Noriyuki, to the point where the rape victim actress even resembled Ito Shiori. It is this gritty real-life feel about it that draws the audience in right from the beginning.

The plot revolves around two young protagonists—newspaper reporter Yoshioka Erika and Ministry of Foreign Affairs bureaucrat Sugihara Takumi. Their worlds collide when Sugihara’s colleague and friend Kanzaki commits suicide harbouring a dark secret about the corrupt underpinnings of the creation of a new university by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Information about the development of a new university is leaked to Yoshioka. She decides to chase the lead and after (in a scene potent with symbolism) Kanzaki jumps to his death off a tall building right in front of the lit-up and overbearing National Diet building, she follows her nose, eventually bumping into Sugihara. Still young enough to be idealistic, Sugihara struggles in this secondment to the Cabinet Information Research Office, where he is put to work reinforcing the protective wall surrounding the government—doctoring official documents and squashing anyone who attempts to expose weaknesses. His conscious reaches crisis point when his friend dies, triggering him to seek out the truth with Yoshioka.

Yoshioka works for ‘Toto Shinbun’, a fictional Tokyo Shimbun and is surrounded by comparatively weak and bland male colleagues, including her boss. Her character is loosely based on the journalist Mochitsuki Isoko, who has gained a reputation for being ‘difficult’ simply because she asks politicians challenging questions, and whose book ‘Shinbun Kisha’ planted the seed for the creation of the movie inside producer Kawamura Mitsunobu’s brain. Yoshioka, however, is not ethnically Japanese. She was born and raised in the US to a Japanese father and Korean mother. The presentation of this was implausible for two reasons. The first was, if she was born and raised in the US, I would struggle to believe her Japanese language skills would be adequate to work as a journalist (and her accented spoken Japanese supports this doubt). Secondly, the one time she spoke English when she bumped into a former colleague of her late father, her English was not that of someone born and raised in the US. More interesting though, is the decision to make this role a Korean woman instead of a Japanese woman. I might interpret this as a political statement by the producer about the rigidity of the Japanese state—a rigidity that, without foreign intervention, does not waver. Not only is she Korean, she is from the US—a true global citizen. But this depiction denies the reality that Mochizuki is in fact Japanese, proving that there are people ‘within the system’ trying to change the system. This then leaves me wondering if casting strong Japanese women in movies is too difficult. Certainly I was appalled by the depiction of the only other women in the movie. Sugihara’s wife was a caricature of a women—infantilised and portrayed as utterly self-sacrificing, completely undemanding and living only for her husband and unborn and then new-born child. Is this really the best a director of a ‘politically critical’ movie can do? A friend suggested that Sugihara’s wife was deliberately depicted as babyish and lacking independence so as to further intensify the ‘protection’ imperative of Sugihara that contributed to his internal struggle that takes place when confronted with the depths of corruption within the institution for which he works. Regardless of the reason the wives (the wife of Kanzaki as well) were depicted so obsequiously, I’m sad for Japanese women that this kind of depiction of women continues unabated on Japanese screens.

The acting was pretty average—wooden and exaggerated. This is par for the course in Japanese movies, and a regular disappointment. I really enjoyed the cinematography though. The blue lighting in the ministry offices made for a strong sinister effect and the dark, cluttered newspaper reporting room had a gritty and realistic feel about it. I live in Hanzomon and go to the Diet library now and then and seeing familiar streets and buildings on screen was a real buzz for me. It was a great idea to shoot during Autumn as the Ginko leaves in that neighbourhood are beautiful.

Contrary to what is shown in the film, the National Diet building is not always lit up. At night it is often shrouded in darkness, only its foreboding outline visible. The other night I was out jogging and I witnessed the exact moment the lights went out. It was very apt that the final line of the movie was (uttered as advice for the by-now crushed Sugihara) ‘This country’s democracy is just for show, and it’s for the best’.