Female Representation in Contemporary Japanese Cinema: Challenging a
Patriarchal System of Rewards and Punishments
Sarah Chovanec
24 June 2016
MA Media: Film Studies
University of Amsterdam
Thesis supervisor: Dr. Abraham Geil
Second reader: Dr. Maryn Wilkinson
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION ... 1
1. JAPANESE FEMINISM AND SOCIETY ... 8
1.1 GENDERED SOCIETY IN JAPAN...8 1.2. WHAT IS JAPANESE FEMINISM? ... 10 1.2.1. Feminist Developments Since Ūman Ribu ...10 1.2.2. Japanese Versus Western Feminisms ...12 1.2.3. Japanese Feminist Concerns...14 2. MEMORIES OF MATSUKO... 18 2.1. INTRODUCTION... 18 2.2. MATSUKO’S FEMININITY... 19 2.3. PATRIARCHAL RULES... 21 2.4. CHALLENGING A PATRIARCHAL MENTALITY... 22 2.5. DISCUSSION... 24 3. 100 YEN LOVE... 29 3.1. INTRODUCTION... 29 3.2. ICHIKO’S FEMALE PASSIVITY... 30 3.3. ICHIKO’S RELATIONSHIP TO MEN... 31 3.4. CHALLENGING PATRIARCHAL BOUNDARIES... 32 3.5. DISCUSSION... 34 4. NANAYO ... 38 4.1. INTRODUCTION... 38 4.2. MULTILAYERED GENDER IDENTITIES... 41 4.2.1. Matriarchal system of rewards and punishments...42 4.3. THWARTING HETEROSEXUAL PATRIARCHAL EXPECTATIONS... 44 4.4. DISCUSSION... 46 CONCLUSION ... 50 BIBLIOGRAPHY... 54
Acknowledgements
I would like to express my sincere gratitude to my supervisor Dr. Abraham Geil for his constructive feedback and wonderful support throughout my research and writing process. I also thank the University of Amsterdam for their resources and Maryam Alaoui for helping me find further resources. I greatly appreciate Kim Dang’s help in watching the films with me to make notes about the use of women’s language and other translations (although I unfortunately had to leave out most of the work we did in the thesis’ final version). I am deeply thankful to Dr. Aya Ezawa from the University of Leiden for taking time to discuss Japanese feminism and society with me. Although I would have loved to take more time to discuss this topic, our conversation was very insightful. Finally, I would like to especially thank my boyfriend Freek Gielis for his continuous support and my father Dan Rome for his invaluable feedback, ideas, and encouragement.
Abstract
This research paper contributes to the young field of Japanese feminist film studies by examining how a feminist critique of contemporary Japanese cinema exposes assumptions of female behaviour created by a patriarchal system of rewards and punishments. A flexible framework that combines Western and Japanese feminist interpretations of the films helps to compare and contrast Western and Japanese cultures, as well as to provide unique, insightful conclusions about female representation. The first chapter contextualises the thesis with an overview about Japanese society and Japanese feminism. The following three chapters provide an in-depth analysis of these three films respectively: Tetsuya Nakashima’s Memories of Matsuko (2006), Masaharu Take’s 100
Yen Love (2014), and Naomi Kawase’s Nanayo (2008). Each film reveals that female leads
are in a punishable, outsider position according to patriarchal norms. Each of them more radically challenges a patriarchal system of rewards and punishments than the previous one. In Memories of Matsuko, a self-sacrificial heroine highlights contrasts between Western and Japanese feminist cultures, while praising a woman’s feminine qualities of unconditional love and care. 100 Yen Love also shows a difference in Western and Japanese values, while offering alternative, non-gendered ways in which women can be accepted into society. Nanayo uses a radically different female lens to complicate gender identity and suggest that gender is ultimately unimportant in human relationships.
INTRODUCTION
Japan has one of the lowest levels of gender equality in the developed world, ranked 101 out of 145 countries according to the Global Gender Gap Report in 2015 (World Economic Forum). The report assesses that Japanese women only have 60% of the same economic participation and
opportunities as men do. Health care and educational attainment are ranked much higher with 98% - 99% gender equality respectively, but there is much progress to be done in regards to the respect towards and awareness of women’s bodies and freedom of choice. Even though Japan is the world’s third largest economy, progress is slow. With the rise of Japan’s women’s liberation movement in the 1970s, significant changes have been made for Japanese women in a number of areas, especially in legal reform for women’s economic and sexual rights. Social awareness of gender-based issues and a fundamental change in mentality are slower to come. Media representations of men and women are a crucial factor in influencing public opinion, yet this is a heavily neglected field of criticism in Japan. Film offers rich, multilayered reflections about societal norms and deviations, making them ideal for cultural analysis.
I argue that the field of Japanese feminist film studies should be more strongly established to open up a critical space for gender representations. My research therefore focuses on how a feminist critique of contemporary Japanese cinema exposes assumptions of female behaviour created by a patriarchal system of rewards and punishments. I specifically examine how this patriarchal mechanism limits women’s freedom of choice and identity. Within a patriarchy, rewards and punishments are an invisible form of policing gender roles, and a feminist critique helps to identify and question these invisible rules. I specifically choose to focus on a rewards and punishments dynamic because it is an underlying theme that all of my film case studies share, and it helps to answer important feminist-driven questions like what the female characters’ limitations are and what makes them likeable as heroines. For reasons I will explain further below, I will analyse the following three films: Tetsuya Nakashima’s1 Memories of Matsuko (2006), Masaharu Take’s 100 Yen Love (2014), and Naomi Kawase’s Nanayo (2008).
Japanese feminist film studies is underdeveloped for two main reasons. One explanation is that gender studies in Japan is still very new, as it only became academically mainstream in the mid-1990s. Japanese scholars seem to have missed the momentum of feminist film theory in the 1970s-80s in North America and Europe, and many of the developments in this field continue to be ignored.
The second reason, which ties into the first, is that theoretical film studies is marginalised in Japanese academics, especially since the government regrettably does not financially support such a “non-useful” field of study (Miyao 1). The government does, however, support the commodification of film. Although contemporary Japanese cinema does not have as much international fame as it did during its classical period in the 1950s and ‘60s2, some argue that in recent years “Japanese film appears to be booming again in the domestic market as well as in international film festivals” (Miyao 1).
Regardless of Japanese cinema’s success rating, there is interest particularly among Japanese feminists to critically engage with media representations. Such interest has been evident since the 1970s, when the International Women’s Year Action Group met with the NHK (Japan Broadcasting Corporation) in 1975 and demanded that greater attention be paid to gender representations in media. Specifically, they argued that “women and men should be shown in more diverse roles in dramatic productions” and that “these productions should portray the situation of working mothers and should also show men in domestic roles” (Mackie 193). These concerns are just as relevant today. However, “many of the most innovative Japanese directors of the 1990s seem relatively uninterested in the representation of women, so the topic remains rather incompletely explored” (Encyclopedia of
Contemporary Japanese Culture). This also remains largely true in the 21st century, although my film corpus may be considered as exceptions because I specifically chose films with female leads.
Interestingly, most of the film audience in Japan is female, estimated in 2009 to comprise about 70% of moviegoers (Bingham 58). This seems to make feminist film critique even more important because of its potential influence on how women perceive themselves.
So far I have been frequently mentioning the term “feminism”, but what exactly is it? Feminism is a broad term that comprises of various movements and ideologies that oppose
2 This excludes Japan’s anime industry, which has been highly successful since its boom in the
discriminating systems. It promotes self-awareness and aims to protect human rights particularly in regards to gender and sexuality, although it may also deal with other identity-related issues such as class, race, and culture. Feminism involves constant change as it adapts to specific times, cultures, and spatial contexts. Not only does it differ culturally and ideologically, but its particular meaning and purpose varies per individual. Feminism’s development from the micro-level is remarked on by Chiyo Saitō, the founding editor of Agora3: “The most basic foundation of feminism is each woman’s own emotions and perceptions” (Buckley 266).
This research is worthwhile for anyone studying feminism, Japanese culture, and/or film. On a feminist and cultural level, there is often a misunderstanding between Western (Anglo-American and European) and Japanese feminisms. This gap only hinders an effective collaboration and progression of different feminist ideas, so it is my goal to address their similarities and differences and to be aware of them throughout my analyses. As I will elaborate on in the first chapter, these differences are primarily cultural-based, hence why this study is also significant culturally. Film scholars should take equal interest in this research, as it shows examples of how cinematic techniques such as camera movement, lighting and editing suggest what is “normal” versus “different” and “good” versus “bad”. These techniques, in addition to the film’s narrative and how characters speak and dress, all play a crucial role in shaping a character’s identity.
I closely analyse three films produced in the past decade: Tetsuya Nakashima’s Memories of
Matsuko (2006), Masaharu Take’s 100 Yen Love (2014), and Naomi Kawase’s Nanayo (2008). Their
contemporariness focuses on what are current Japanese attitudes towards women and their representations. Each narrative revolves around a woman protagonist, which makes them more suitable for studying female representations. I dedicate a separate chapter for each film analysis, each addressing the following issues: (1) the woman’s goals in the narrative and whether she achieve them, (2) how the woman’s gendered identity is shaped by formal cinematic techniques, (3) how her identity is shaped by patriarchal expectations, (4) how a society rewards or punishes the woman when she complies with or rejects patriarchal expectations, and (5) how the film supports or challenges patriarchal boundaries.
My thesis’ principal aim is to critique the “invisible” patriarchal rules that are created by rewards and punishments present within films and their narrative structures. In order to identify and critique what is invisible, one must identify what is considered “normal”, for the more normal an idea or an action is, the more invisible it is to a society or an individual. If something is to be considered remarkable, than it must deviate from the norm. This is why in my scene analyses I will pay special attention to what I, perhaps prompted by the films’ techniques, consider remarkable. As is inevitably common in feminist criticism, my comments on the films will be based on my personal reactions, which will relate to my knowledge and experiences as a woman and as a Westerner. A Japanese man or woman may or may not sympathise with my criticisms. However, this is where the most
interesting feminist debates begin – what are a heroine’s greatest virtues, at what point can a woman considered to be helpless or subjugated to her gendered position, and how may a patriarchy’s
boundaries be pushed or broken? I hope that by the end of this paper the reader will feel encouraged to critically engage with such questions relating to the patriarchal shaping of women’s behaviour through a system of rewards and punishments, either within or outside a Japanese context.
The challenge for this research is to find an appropriate methodology with which to study Japanese film from a feminist perspective, since there is not yet a strong academic framework for this young field. This thesis at least closely engages with Japanese feminist perspectives, since this takes into account the locally specific context and ideologies. In supporting the claim that there is no single, universal type of woman and that gender identities are often rigid social constructions, I also take a poststructuralist feminist stance. I avoid using more specific feminist approaches because I want to remain open to how different perspectives may lead to different interpretations. I do not adopt a Marxist feminist stance, for example, because this assumes that capitalism is the source of women’s disempowerment and downplays patriarchal gender binaries. I also do not use
psychoanalytic feminism as my main method because it is a Western, binary-driven criticism against heterosexual, patriarchal oppression. As I will explain in the first chapter, Japanese feminists prefer to examine how gendered power relations are negotiated, rather than stating how they oppose each other. I therefore use a more flexible, broad framework in which I blend Japanese cultural
considerations with my own Western preconceptions. Only after each of my analyses do I briefly suggest ways in which the film’s themes can be related to pre-existing feminist film discussions, which should be considered for further research.
My American and European background inevitably results in my Western approach to Japanese feminist film studies. The biggest drawback is that I may miss some cultural references in the films and that the English subtitles may not capture certain subtleties in the Japanese dialogue. However, film is always a subjective experience, and my case is no different. My Western preconceptions about gender reversely act as a strength because my knowledge of both Western and Japanese cultures can lead to unique insights.
This thesis is divided into four main chapters. The first offers the reader a deeper understanding of Japan’s social and cultural contexts related to key feminist issues. It also elaborates on what Japanese feminism is and how it compares with Western feminism. Sandra Buckley’s Broken
Silence: Voices of Japanese Feminism (1997) contributes the most to this chapter. This is the only
English-translated book that discusses Japanese feminism through interviews4 with and excerpts by 11 different Japanese feminists. The book shows that not only are there similarities and differences between Japanese feminism and Western feminism, but also within Japanese feminism itself5. Two decades after its publication, Broken Silence is a little outdated, not so much in the ideals expressed but in the social progress that has been made since the interviews. To compensate, there are other recent sources that offer an updated account of Japanese gender politics. These include most notably Tomomi Yamaguchi’s article “‘Gender Free’ Feminism in Japan” (2014), which gives insight into the Japanese conservative government’s influence on feminism over the past two decades, and Robin LeBlanc’s article “The Politics of Gender in Japan” (2011), which in addition to offering extensive knowledge about contemporary Japanese gender politics also argues that Japanese women often have the power to negotiate their gender identity within a respected hierarchical, patriarchal society. This claim rejects a common stereotype among Westerners that Japanese women are too passive and submissive. The first chapter therefore introduces ways in which women’s identities are fluid and multilayered on both societal and individual levels. This is an important theme throughout my film analyses that suggests how rigid patriarchal expectations can be bent.
The subsequent three chapters comprise of in-depth film analyses in the following order: Memories
of Matsuko (2006), 100 Yen Love (2014), and Nanayo (2008). None of these films’ plot are about
4 Buckley led these interviews from 1988 to 1991.
5 There are of course many differences within Western feminism, but describing this is well
beyond this thesis’ scope. In comparing Japanese and Western feminisms, I make only general observations.
gender identity per se, but the fact they their leading protagonists are women offers meaningful insight into common and different ways of representing women. Although I initially searched for Japanese films that have a housewife and/or mother as the main protagonist, in other words
stereotypical female roles in Japanese society, I could hardly find examples6. What I noticed in these three films and more7 is that instead of the women adapting to a stereotypical domestic role, they struggle as misfits. Each protagonist approaches her own role in different ways: in Memories of
Matsuko, she desperately tries to find a role for herself throughout her adulthood, in 100 Yen Love,
she is purposeless until maltreatment motivates her to fight, and in Nanayo, she has no specific role and instead “floats” through the film. By examining the patriarchal mechanism of rewards and punishments, it becomes clear that each protagonist is set outside a safe, “normal” position and is thus automatically in a punishing situation. Their struggle is to therefore negotiate their identity and agency as rejected, punished individuals.
Memories of Matsuko, the second chapter, revolves around the lifelong abuse of a woman called
Matsuko. She is ultimately considered a self-sacrificial heroine because of her unconditional love and care. This film is narrated through a strong patriarchal lens that a Western feminist interpretation would criticise since Matsuko has no autonomy. Considering a Japanese feminist perspective, however, there may be some valorisation in Matsuko’s self-sacrificial qualities because her devotion helps a male character and the audience understand how unjust patriarchal expectations can be and that mutual respect is needed. Memories of Matsuko offers insight into how men have more
command and influence over women in a patriarchal system of rewards and punishments.
The third chapter, 100 Yen Love, further explores the relationship between men and women, to which I relate to Simone de Beauvoir’s ideas about women as “the second sex”. Although Memories of
Matsuko and 100 Yen Love are similar in that they strongly suggest ways in which women are
defined in patriarchal terms, they differ in that 100 Yen Love’s protagonist Ichiko fights against her patriarchal maltreatment instead of continuing to love it. Indeed, Ichiko is not even introduced as someone who seeks patriarchal attention.
6 An exception is Daihachi Yoshida’s Pale Moon (2014), in which the protagonist is a housewife.
Unfortunately I could not access a copy with an English translation.
The third chapter also introduces the relevance of Timothy Iles’ book The Crisis of Identity in
Contemporary Japanese Film (2008). Iles is one of the few experts on contemporary8 Japanese cinema. In his book he studies the relationship between Japanese film and the formation of Japanese identities, dedicating one of his chapters to gender identity. He argues that most Japanese films deny female empowerment, which “is a frustrating reminder of the limits gender can place on an
individual’s ability to think of him- or herself into roles different from what society traditionally may have reserved for men or women” (Iles 24). 100 Yen Love, however, is an exception to this. In terms of identity in general, Iles argues that identity crises in film stem from the consequences of Japan’s rapid urbanisation, changing family values, and social alienation. Japan’s modernisation particularly towards the end of the 20th century has resulted in unstable social relationships and identities in Japan today.
The fourth chapter focuses on Nanayo, which further emphasises the unstable relationships and ambiguous identities that Iles writes about. Nanayo radically challenges a patriarchal system of rewards and punishments by replacing this system with a more matriarchal, or at least female, lens. This chapter focuses on the film’s tensions between Japan and Thailand and its breakdown of boundaries between men and women. Examining these themes reveals how the film complicates gender by making it multilayered and fluid. This chapter argues that while gender exists and can be used to describe relationships beyond the individual level (in this case, on a transnational level), gender is also unimportant in creating relationships (either in terms of individuals or nations). Female representation is therefore not only about gender and women’s relationship to men, but also about other aspects of identity, such as their national and economic backgrounds.
Finally, the arguments from these chapters are accumulated in this thesis’ final conclusions to
reiterate some important ideas and to point out new ones. These conclusions contribute to the field of Japanese feminist film studies and suggest ideas for further research.
1. JAPANESE FEMINISM AND SOCIETY
1.1 Gendered Society in Japan
Throughout its history, Japan has maintained a rather strict gendered division of labour.
Ideologically, traditional expectations are that women are to become “‘good wives and wise mothers’ who organise other aspects of their lives around their central engagement in nurturing the family” (LeBlanc 117). Meanwhile, men are to become “the pillars of the household” or “breadwinners”, which means to financially support the family and therefore focus on “meeting the needs of his employers” (LeBlanc 117). Since Japan’s industrialisation in the late 19th century, and even more so after the Second World War, this ideology has meant that men are labelled as “salarymen” and women as “housewives”. These labels remain today even though the current reality of the labour force is far from black and white. Since 1984, “working women outnumbered full-time housewives” (Mackie 187). Sociologist Yoshio Sugimoto claims, “the Japanese economy would not function without the female workers who, in 2007, constituted 41.5 percent of the total paid workforce” (Sugimoto 163). Moreover, in recent years more women have been achieving postsecondary education, having fewer or no children, and marrying at a later age, if at all. Such trends suggest women’s discord with a system that does not give them the flexibility of both maintaining a career and supporting a family (LeBlanc 120).
However, even though there are more women doing paid labour, many women, particularly from affluent middle-class families, still prefer their domestic roles. This is largely because they have more time and freedom to partake in social activities, especially after their children reach school age. In Women’s Language, Men’s Language (1979), Sachiko Ide argues a common view that housewives have a lot of power and respect within the household:
Japanese women generally regard their current status in very positive terms. One major reason for this is the fact that they have control over their husband’s salaries. In most Japanese salaried homes the husband hands over his paycheck untouched. The high value attached to the function of running the household means that, while women are officially isolated from worldly affairs, in reality
they have considerable power and responsibility. At least within the exclusive domain of the household, women have total control over men. (qtd. in Buckley 63)
She continues, “these women don’t attempt to concern themselves with the same things as men or to pursue the same social roles. They are content to enjoy life as ‘amateurs’, free of any desire to pursue a career and its related responsibilities” (qtd. in Buckley 63).
The idea that housewives hold more power than men in the household persists today, although it is now a more debated issue than it was in the 1970s and ‘80s. A decade after Ide’s publication, Lawyer Fumiko Kanazumi attempts to debunk this myth in her interview with Sandra Buckley. She argues that although housewives may have some influence at home, they certainly do not have complete authority. More specifically, housewives withdraw money from the bank and make the financial decisions, but Kanazumi points out that husbands have “the power to stop the deposits or override the wife’s financial decisions” (Buckley 73).9
While the extent of control and respect that a woman has within the domestic sphere remains arbitrary, what is undoubtedly clear is that Japan’s restrictive social and economic structures severely limit individual desires to explore non-traditional roles. Most working women are in the tertiary sector, such as in the sales, service, finance, and restaurant sectors (Sugimoto 163). If they are also married, then they usually work part-time due to tax and other economic reasons, and their work is rarely as respected as that of full-time salarymen (Mackie 9). Moreover, their incomes only
supplement their husband’s income, and it is therefore difficult for wives to be economically
independent (Sugimoto 166). In other words, women are limited to only certain occupations and are expected to devote their lives to the family and household. Any deviation from these expectations is largely frowned upon by society.
9 See Goldstein-Gidoni 104-105 to read how the same debate about women’s domestic authority
1.2. What is Japanese Feminism?
1.2.1. Feminist Developments Since Ūman Ribu
As is the case with feminism in general, Japanese feminism is not reducible to a set of particular theories. Rather, it is an eclectic mix of opinions and activities focused on protecting women’s rights, specifically within or closely related to Japan. Feminist movements have been active in Japan since around the 1870s, although the most recent wave began a century later known as ūman ribu, or “Women’s Lib” (Mackie 2). Activists in the 1970s were mostly disillusioned by Japanese capitalism, distressed by the New Left’s sexism, and in need of redefining the relationship between Japanese and other East Asian women (Mackie 4). Many progressive legal reforms were made since then,
especially in the 1980s such as the Equal Employment Opportunity Law (EEOL) of 1985. This law aims to protect Japanese citizens from gender discrimination in the labour market and thereby encourages equal job opportunities for both men and women, although its effectiveness is a different matter.
In the 1990s, institutional establishments of gender equality increased, such as the Office of Gender Equality and the Council for Gender Equality in Japan’s government. In some academic institutions, a women’s studies programme was initiated in the mid-1990s, especially with the help of sociology professor Chizuko Ueno10. Ueno explains that Japan’s academic institutionalisation of gender studies was in a relatively late stage because Japanese feminism “has never been guided by theory” (Buckley 283). She therefore argues that the challenge for academic feminists is to catch up with the activists’ work (Buckley 283). Japanese feminism is hence more about political actions and raising awareness about women’s freedom of choice than about philosophical and theoretical
implications of defining autonomy, the Other, sex versus gender, and other terms that are more frequently debated in Western feminism.
Since particularly the 1990s, there has been a growing sense of impassivity amongst Japan’s female population, which shows either active or unconscious support of Japan’s conservative government, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP). If there is an active support, then it is because the
10 Ueno is not only a prominent feminist academic, but is also often internationally recognised as
a “spokesperson for Japanese women and feminists both within Japan and internationally” (Buckley 272).
LDP’s policies largely favour affluent, middle-class, and urban families, including housewives. However, already noticing this emerging passiveness in the late 1980s, feminist poet Rumiko Kōra calls the conservative complacency among women a “dreadful” situation (Buckley 117). She argues that “complacency is not the same thing as satisfaction” and that the conservative swing can be partly explained by poor voter turnout due to voter apathy (Buckley 119). She continues, “I think the
fundamental problem is that individuals in Japan don’t have any real sense of their own worth. They don’t value their life as independent from the whole – the society” (Buckley 119). In other words, the conservative trend among women (which still exists today) is not an accurate reflection of what many of them may need or want. Toyoko Nakanishi11 also comments on how women suppress their needs and wants in order to main a “luxurious” lifestyle, which supports Kōra’s argument that complacency does not mean satisfaction:
I don’t believe that any of these women would answer that she is satisfied if you asked her about her husband’s long working hours, his drinking habits or golf weekends, his awareness of her sexual needs, the double standard that tolerates his extramarital relations but not hers... What surprises me is not their level of satisfaction with their present way of life, but the extent to which they must suppress their self-expression in order to sustain that way of life. Their identity is drawn from satisfying other people’s needs – their parents’, then their husband’s and children’s, and finally their husband’s parents’ in their old age (and sometimes their own parents as well). (Buckley 197)
In the 21st century, it seems that the conservative government has done more to shut down feminist ideals and rapid progression than to support it. In Tomomi Yamaguchi’s article explaining one of the last big feminist debates about the term “gender free”, he describes how the LDP fought against the over-liberalising term. “Gender free” was intended to mean “freedom from compulsory gender roles”, but conservatives soon broadened its meaning to be something threatening to social stability (Yamaguchi 541-2). The LDP’s gender-equality ordinance in 2002 summarised the party’s reflection on gender roles: “We must not unilaterally dismiss the idea that there is innate masculinity and innate femininity, but rather recognise the distinctive qualities of each sex... We must not dismiss
11 Nakanishi is the owner and co-founder of The Shokado Women’s Bookstore in Kyoto, Japan’s
the role of the full-time housewife, but rather help and support housewives who are the ones supporting the family with mutual cooperation between men and women” (Yamaguchi 560).
Even more recently, current Prime Minister Shinzō Abe has been in open support for what he calls “womenomics”, in other words a campaign to promote the “active participation of women in society” (Yamaguchi 571). Although this might seem to be favourable to feminists, Abe’s politics are criticised in that they are more of a practical approach to economic problems, such as Japan’s aging population, alarmingly low birth rates, and a diminishing labour force, rather than a moral concern for women’s rights. Thus, while it seems on the surface that the LDP supports women’s rights, social attitudes towards gender are actually slow to progress.
1.2.2. Japanese Versus Western Feminisms
There are five major differences between Japanese and Western feminisms, which, as mentioned in this thesis’ introduction, are based primarily on cultural differences. It is crucial to understand from these differences that discussing feminism in a Japanese context requires, as Ide explains, “the adaption, not adoption, of Western theory” (Buckley 43).
The first main difference is that Japanese society has always prioritised community values over individualistic ones, while most Western societies emphasise individuality. This means that, as Ide puts it, the Japanese identify themselves primarily through their social role, for example “a young married woman identifies herself more as a mother and wife than as a separate individual” (Buckley 63).
A Japanese woman’s preference to be called a housewife (even if she works) can also be explained by Japanese society’s positive representations of domestic labour. The value of domestic labour is a second difference between Japanese and Western cultures. While in Japan women are expected to take care of the home and family, in the U.S. the term “housewife” is met with mixed, sometimes derisive, attitude.
A third difference is the value of boseiai, or “maternal love”. Although maternal love is certainly cherished in Western culture, there is a distinct, stronger sense to boseiai in Japan that can pervade both private and public spheres:
Within this system men are always little boys. They are dependent on their mothers until they marry, and then the wife takes up the boseiai role in relation to the husband, and later toward her children. This role is the fundamental thread of all social interaction in Japan, and Woman is at the center of it, in a position not of weakness or power but of influence. (Buckley 42)
Both the high value of domestic labour and the deep attachment to motherhood in Japan show just how important the terms “wife” and “mother” are to a Japanese woman’s identity.
The above description of boseiai also demonstrates a fourth difference. Rather than using labels such as “power” and “authority”, most Japanese feminists discuss power relations in terms of
negotiation and influence. While many Western feminists speak of disempowered women subjugated to patriarchal authority, Ide argues that such notions don’t have to be so black and white: “There is a willingness to recognise power as something that is in process or negotiation, something that shifts levels and balance from context to context rather than remaining static” (Buckley 42).
Finally, women’s language and gender roles are strongly interconnected in most, if not all, cultures. In Japan, however, there are more in-depth discussions on gendered language than there is in Western feminist discourse. This is probably because Japanese speech is more explicitly gendered than American and European languages.
To expand on what women’s speech means within Japanese society, Ide explains in her book
Women’s Language, Men’s Language (1979) that even when a man and woman of equal social status
speak to each other, “the woman is expected to adopt the more humble stance and resort to the formal form”12 (qtd. in Buckley 48). She also writes that the “the ideal woman is one who adjusts her own
12 An example of how gendered speech is ingrained into Japanese language is the first person
opinions to those of others, who gracefully accepts all ideas that are put to her, and who doesn’t exhibit the confidence to hold a strong personal view of life”13 (qtd. in Buckley 60). In Japan, women’s language is “very often associated with certain feminine demeanors, roles, and attributes, such as being soft-spoken, polite, hesitant, empathetic, gentle, and nonassertive. In addition, women’s language is often represented as having a higher pitch”14 (Inoue 2). Ide explains that there is a debate both within and outside of Japan concerning how (dis)empowering women’s language is. On one hand, some argue that gendered language should be eliminated because it is “inherently
discriminatory”15 (Buckley 40). On the other hand, some believe that women’s language should be protected and nurtured, but to also free it from male dominance16 (Buckley 40). Ide comments in her book that these opposing viewpoints are actually “two sides of the same coin” (qtd. in Buckley 64). Chiyo Saitō similarly believes that while women’s language is not harmful, its negative connotations such as “too emotional” are (Buckley 256). Saitō argues that “men should have more freedom to express themselves emotionally, to voice their feelings, just as women should have the freedom to be straightforward and firm when they choose to do so” (Buckley 256). Although women’s language in Japan remains a controversial issue, it plays an undeniable role in shaping gender identity.
1.2.3. Japanese Feminist Concerns
In this sub-section, I highlight five of the most common concerns that Japanese feminists share: gender identity, a gendered division of labour, sexuality, domestic abuse, and identity diversity. An overview of these issues offers a clearer impression of what Japanese feminism is in terms of its ongoing debates.
Gender identity is one of the most fundamental, yet also one of the most divided, issues that Japanese feminists discuss. What does it mean to be male or female and to what extent are there differences between them? Are these differences intrinsic and should they be celebrated or rejected?
atakushi, watashi, and atashi. Masculine first person pronouns (such as ore and boku) are derived
differently from watashi and are thus less formal. See Buckley 48-63 for more examples.
13 Note that women’s language is more about how women should ideally present themselves,
rather than being an accurate reflection of how women really speak (Inoue 4).
14 However, linguists have observed in the mid-1990s that women’s voices now have a lower
pitch on average due to changes in their social status (Inoue 3).
15 Ide refers to Dale Spender as an example. Yayoi Aoki also supports this view. 16 Ide refers to Hélène Cixous as a supporter of this view.
There are no unanimous answers to such questions, although many Japanese do agree that men and women are different and that this should be appreciated. Many feminists raise the issue that female identity itself is underappreciated or seen as too weak. Many Japanese feminists are therefore
supporters of difference feminism, which argues that men and women think and act in different ways and that their differences should be equally respected, but not necessarily equally treated17.
Japanese difference feminism sometimes has essentialist implications. Ecological feminist and scholar Yayoi Aoki, for example, promotes the “feminine principle”. She advocates an inherent connection between women and feminine values and behaviours such as nurture and gentleness. Aoki uses this principle to argue that Japanese society must embrace femininity’s natural, maternal nurture and care.
Non-essentialist Japanese feminists, however, argue that there are differences between men and women, but that these are not inherent. Ueno, for example, strongly disregards Aoki’s “feminine principle” because its essentialist implications would gravely restrict female identity even further. Feminine identity, according to Ueno, is something that a woman develops over time and that can manifest itself in multitudinous forms. She also argues that the main goal for Japanese women “is not to be like men but to value what it means to be a woman” (Buckley 280). In other words, men and women are typically different, but because there are so many possibilities in which they can develop, they should not be restricted to only certain social roles. Kōra also argues that femininity is too often limitedly defined. While it is true that their qualities usually include “softness, gentleness, [and] emotiveness”, women are “also often angry, laughing, fighting” and can be associated with “vitality, synthesism, continuity, and egalitarianism” (Buckley 110). These viewpoints respect differences between genders, but also value differences within genders.
A minority of feminists, especially those from the LGBT community, have an entirely different perspective because they call for the complete break down of gender binaries (Yamaguchi 555). As the backlash against the “gender free” debate demonstrated, this idea has little support under a conservative government because conservatives regard it as an attack on the traditional gender roles that are fundamental to Japanese culture and society (Yamaguchi 562).
17 This differs from the “separate-but-equal” feminist ideal that men and women are different, but
Japan’s gendered division of labour is another major issue for feminists. There have been heated debates about domestic labour since 1955 (Mackie 133). Many women struggle to achieve a reasonable balance between work and family life and are often constrained by strict gender roles. Japanese feminists such as Kōra argue that motherhood is a “primary dimension of a woman’s life but not to the exclusion of non-domestic work in the paid labour force” (Buckley 103). Aoki adds to this claim by arguing that Japan cannot “achieve any real liberation for women until we have some vision of an alternative lifestyle, some other ways of existing, not just between man and woman but between humans and the environment” (Buckley 15). Similarly, Ueno also insists upon a
re-evaluation of the maternal role, clarifying the need for some kind of fundamental restructuring of Japanese society in order for any real change to be made to Japan’s division of labour.
A woman’s control and expression of her sexuality is just as much of a hot topic for feminists as rigid gender roles are, and it has been debated for at least as long. Japanese feminists often argue that the state has more control over a woman’s body than she does, for example in terms of
reproductive rights and childcare (Buckley 82). “State controls and social practices around sexuality bracket off a woman’s reproductive organs as sacred space, fetishising motherhood, and intensifying a gendered culture in which men and women play out strictly divided gender roles” (LeBlanc 118). In this case, a woman is considered either as an unsexualised mother or a sexualised object. The idea that a body belongs to oneself seems to be little more than a feminist ideal in contemporary Japan (Buckley 82).
Somewhat related to the issue of expressing sexual needs and desires is the problem of domestic abuse. “A nationwide government survey conducted by the Cabinet Office in 2005 indicates that 27 percent of women experienced physical violence from their husbands or partners” (Sugimoto 178). A major consequence of physical violence is psychological abuse, especially when it comes to blaming people. In previous decades, blame for domestic abuse or other crimes would never be placed on the family institution itself (Buckley 78). Instead, women, particularly in their roles as mothers or teachers, would often admit that something is their fault (Buckley 78). “It is the woman who is declared sick, rather than her environment” (Buckley 165). However, as feminist Yoshiko Miya remarks, Japanese society has in the past few decades been more willing to focus on the family unit (Buckley 167). Regardless of this, Miya laments, “All to often, the goal is the restoration of a
‘happy family’, which can usually be achieved only by totally denying the anorexic’s right to self-determination. In order to be declared ‘well’, she is required to return to the family structure, either in its original or in some altered and ‘improved’ form, and act ‘normally’” (Buckley 167). Although Miya specifically discusses the problems of anorexic teenage girls, this situation may apply to almost any psychologically worn-out woman. As Kanazumi would argue, this only strengthens the need to encourage women’s self-respect and confidence.
Largely due to an increasing national awareness of globalisation in the 1980s, as well as emerging schools of thought like postmodernity and postcoloniality, Japanese feminists began gaining a deeper understanding of diversity. Feminists argued that change should focus not only on gender inequality, but also on other sources of inequality like class, race, and ethnicity. While this concern is widely shared within the feminist community, the methods are more debatable. Yayori Matsui, former senior editor of national newspaper Asahi Shimbun, strongly fought for women’s rights throughout East-Asia, stressing the need to recognise the diversity and complexity of women’s lives on a global scale, especially due to Japan’s economic and social impact on its poorer, nearby neighbours. Writer Yoshiko Miya, however, argues that protecting women’s diversity on a local scale more effectively leads to progress than on a macro scale. Yet, despite efforts made so far on global and local levels, stereotyped identities and the idea of a homogeneous Japanese society persists even today.
In the following chapters, the feminist issues surrounding femininity, life beyond the domestic household, sexual desires, domestic abuse, and economic diversity are all discussed in relation to the films’ audiovisual, creative components. They are examined specifically in terms of how the
patriarchal mechanism of rewards and punishments shapes different women’s identities and whether the films challenge underlying patriarchal assumptions.
2. MEMORIES OF MATSUKO
2.1. Introduction
Tetsuya Nakashima’s 2006 film Memories of Matsuko (Kiraware Matsuko no Isshō or “The Life of
Hated Matsuko”) is a fictional account of a quirky, abused, and intensely loving woman called
Matsuko (1948 – 2001). Nakashima uses a fantastical film style that includes a variety of exaggerated colours, comical sound effects, and computer animated birds, flowers, and glitter. These effects strongly contrast with the film’s dark themes such as domestic abuse, prostitution, and depression, providing an ironic and emotionally rich form of storytelling18.
A teenage boy, Shō, is sent by his father to clean up the home of his hitherto unknown murdered aunt. According to his father, his aunt lived a “meaningless life”. When Shō goes to her home and speaks with people who knew her, he becomes increasingly fascinated by his aunt’s fantastic, yet tragic, life story. The audience watches Matsuko’s diverse life chapters as a teacher, a prostitute, a social outcast, a murderer, a prisoner, a hairdresser, and a lover to various men. Matsuko’s ultimate goal is to find reciprocated love. It is no coincidence that Matsuko’s name means “waiting child”, implying that she waits for patriarchal affection.
I closely examine how patriarchal expectations ruin Matsuko’s teacher career. This particular life chapter begins her tragic story and establishes her characterisation and femininity. I specifically analyse what shapes her femininity and how her female character is praised and challenged through the mechanism of patriarchal rewards and punishments.
From a Western feminist perspective, Memories of Matsuko is a misogynist film because Matsuko’s happiness is defined by men. A radical feminist would advocate the patriarchy’s downfall to
eliminate the idea that women need men to be successful and complete. However, considering traditional Japanese cultural values about motherly love and self-sacrifice reveals a different
18 In an interview with Mini Mini Movie, Nakashima explains that he chose this lively style for a
tragic story because it would not only please the distributors to have a happier film, but it would also keep the audience engaged in an otherwise dark film. The interview can be found at
interpretation. Care is a strong and admirable feminine trait that Matsuko has, but that most men take for granted. The biggest tragedy is that when a man called Ryu finally realises this, Matsuko is already dead. This is a tragedy because we realise it is possible for men to love and respect Matsuko, but it is already too late. Rather than seeing Matsuko as a mere patriarchal victim, a Japanese feminist perspective would more likely applaud her loving nature, criticise men’s lack of respect, and
encourage a realisation of women’s worth within a patriarchy. In other words, the main difference is that from a Japanese perspective, gender differences are natural and the patriarchy itself is not despicable, but rather men should respect women to reduce their struggles. Overall, it is Matsuko’s self-sacrificial nature that makes her a heroine in Japanese society, and this acts as a double-edged sword that gives both feminist and anti-feminist messages to various audiences.
2.2. Matsuko’s Femininity
In the first scene of her teacher role, Matsuko is introduced as a popular middle school teacher with a beautiful singing voice. This is at least according to the detective of her murder case, whose words segue into a shot of Matsuko directing a choir of female students in a large classroom. The shot begins with showing a white butterfly flying through the window and then pans to the right to show it flutter by while Matsuko is revealed directing the choir. The shot has a strong blue tint and is almost flooded by the light shining from outside. The colour and the lighting, together with the music, create a very calm and angelic atmosphere, while the shot’s composition makes Matsuko the centerpiece of this atmosphere and angelic lighting (Fig. 1). The shot cross fades into a couple other middle shots of Matsuko, including one of her directing and another of her teaching with a book (Fig. 2). Matsuko is brightly lit from above or behind in both of these latter shots, giving her a radiant and heavenly appeal. These shots also feature a brightly lit vase of flowers on the side or in the background, which is a common feature in most shots of Matsuko throughout the film. The flowers, calm atmosphere, smooth editing transitions, and beautiful singing all help to establish Matsuko’s feminine appeal. Her femininity seems to therefore include gentleness, beauty, artistic talent, and intellect (briefly implied through her teaching in figure 2), with gentleness and beauty being the most heavily emphasised.
More of Matsuko’s feminine character is revealed in the next scene when she and the other teachers meet to discuss a theft at an inn during a class trip. It is one of Matsuko’s students Ryu who is accused of stealing money from the inn. In response, Matsuko uses exaggerated body language and
jumps from her seat to defend Ryu, demonstrating that she is energetic, trusting, and keen to protect her students. Almost immediately after, she looks as if she is about to cry when the head teacher scolds her, which demonstrates her emotional frailty (Fig. 3). It also becomes clear that Matsuko is considerate of other’s feelings, such as when she speaks in private with Ryu to ask him to confess. In this scene, she uses polite language and encourages him to confess without scolding or explicitly blaming him. Her emotional tenderness and politeness can certainly be read as feminine traits, while her dutiful response to protect her students can also be read as a patriarchal expectation for her to care for and protect her children.
As demonstrated in these scenes, Matsuko is conventionally feminine in the sense that she is polite, beautiful, caring, and emotionally sensitive. However, there is one particular characteristic that makes her different from a stereotypically refined woman: she is naive. By naive I mean to describe her absentmindedness, gullibility, and inability to think ahead or analyse her situation carefully. From the scenes discussed above, Matsuko’s naiveté is shown when she unhesitatingly jumps up in front of her head teacher to defend Ryu and is then scolded for being too rash. Her energy and naiveté in this scene are a sharp contrast to her gracefulness when she sings in the previous shots, which shocks the audience about her eccentric character. She is also gullible when she confronts Ryu and he reverses his guiltiness by accusing Matsuko of blaming and not trusting him. Ryu aggressively ends their conversation by effortlessly pushing her onto the ground and then storming out of the room (Fig. 4). Importantly, it is not that being naive is unfeminine, but rather it causes Matsuko to appear eccentric because she acts unsophisticatedly when pressured.
Matsuko’s naiveté and eccentricity are significant parts of her character for two main reasons. On one hand, this characterisation leads her to be a unique individual who has a story, a motivation, and an interesting personality. In other words, it makes her worthy of being a female lead in a film. This implies that in order to be an interesting protagonist in a film, the lead must deviate from the norm in some way. As the scene of Matsuko singing suggests, patriarchal assumptions in this film include defining femininity as beauty, care, and humbleness. Therefore, in Matsuko’s case, her eccentricity is a deviation from the patriarchal norm because she is not a conventionally refined, poised woman. This is best represented by a silly face she often makes, which can be described as her facial “trademark” (Fig. 5). Her trademark begins when she realises as a child that it is the only thing she can do to make her father laugh and pay attention to her. It thus acts as a symbol of her desire for
patriarchal affection, literally and figuratively. When she grows older, Matsuko explains that she unconsciously makes that face when she feels pressured or uncomfortable. She accidentally makes this face twice when her co-worker and the school principal (both men) scold her, which ultimately leads to her getting fired. Because Matsuko is different, she is pushed into an “outside” status from gender norms, meaning that she is more likely to be punished within a patriarchal system. Indeed, after Matsuko loses her respectable, “normal” job, she is eventually forced into prostitution, which she succeeds in. However, despite her success in this societal outcast role, Matsuko suffers a lot of physical and psychological abuse in her personal life, which can be interpreted as her patriarchal “punishments” for being different.
The second reason, and also related to the first, why Matsuko’s naiveté is an important aspect of her characterisation is because it prevents her from carefully analysing her situations, leading men to often take advantage of her. This is based on the underlying patriarchal structure that is clear throughout the film. In the following section I will elaborate on how Matsuko is being taken advantage of according to deeply engrained, unexposed patriarchal rules.
2.3. Patriarchal Rules
By definition, a patriarchy is a system in which men have more power than women. This also means that men have an advantage over women because men can be demanding, assertive, and have their wishes fulfilled without facing serious consequences. This system is undeniably present in Memories
of Matsuko. Matsuko is the only female character with a role in the school-related scenes and she is
constantly subjugated to the demands of her male superiors and to the whims of her male student. It is doubtful that the same dynamic would exist if Matsuko were to deal with female superiors or students, unless those females were to adopt certain masculine qualities such as authority, assertiveness, and physical strength.
Matsuko is victimised in two main ways when she is a teacher. The first man who takes advantage of her is the head teacher, who talks to her in private at the inn to discuss the recent theft. The head teacher tells her to take the public blame for Ryu’s crime, to which Matsuko unsettlingly agrees. The head teacher then demands that Matsuko show him her breasts in order to prove how apologetic she is. Although she is confused and begins to question him at first, he shouts at her to do it quickly and,
panicked, she lifts up her shirt to expose her bare breasts (Fig. 6). This further demonstrates Matsuko’s naiveté, as well as a lack of control over her own body and desires.
Ryu is the second person to take advantage of Matsuko. When Matsuko asks Ryu a second time to confess, she does so begging on her knees with a lowered head, which in Japan is the lowest and most humble bow one could take. The shot’s composition shows how dominant the male student is over the female teacher (Fig. 7). This hierarchical dynamic is not due to professional reasons, as it is between Matsuko and the head teacher, but for gender-based reasons. Ryu acts tough and dominant because as a male in a patriarchy, he is able to demonstrate these traits and act according to his whims. Matsuko is therefore a patriarchal victim because of men’s privileges and because she is regarded as an outsider according to patriarchal assumptions about femininity.
It should be noted that there are no women who take advantage of her – the only other women that have a prominent role in the film are Matsuko’s younger, bed-ridden sister, who unconditionally loves Matsuko even though Matsuko blames her for taking away her father’s affection, and Matsuko’s female friend Megumi, who also loves her and treats her as an equal. The relationships between females in the film are therefore very different from Matsuko’s relationships with men, where men always have a hierarchical advantage over her.
2.4. Challenging a Patriarchal Mentality
Despite Matsuko beginning her adult life as a patriarchal victim, this is at least partially turned around by the end of the film. The biggest way in which the film offers a reflection on patriarchal expectations is the relationship between Matsuko and Ryu. After becoming an adult, Ryu confesses to Matsuko that he has always loved her, even when he was a student. It then becomes apparent that as a student he plays around with her because he wants her attention. When adult Ryu finally realises the harsh trials that Matsuko undergoes because of his actions as a young man, Ryu humbles himself and apologises deeply to her. This is the first time that a man lowers his own position to Matsuko, suggesting that, even if only subconsciously, Ryu understands how patriarchal privileges are unfair and that it is not right to take advantage of women as he did to Matsuko. After coming to terms with the past, the two characters enter a romantic and sexual relationship with each other. However, Ryu
soon resorts back to his dominating attitude, physically abusing Matsuko whenever he feels upset. Clearly, such deeply engrained patriarchal attitudes do not disappear overnight.
Matsuko nonetheless puts up with the abuse without fighting back because she wants to continue to be loved by Ryu and doesn’t want to be alone. As she narrates in the film, “I lived for Ryu and did as he wished... I kept dreaming of a bright future with whim... It was sheer bliss”. As she narrates this, shots are shown of her endangering herself in yakuza19 business, since Ryu works for the yakuza and involves her in some of their affairs, and of her escaping from the back of their apartment and
consequently twisting her ankle to avoid getting killed by the yakuza. While the juxtaposition is shocking, the gentleness with which Matsuko narrates and the slow, dramatic love song that she sings in the background implies a sense of awe. Matsuko’s friend Megumi also expresses her awe for Matsuko when she said that she would gladly go to Hell or anywhere else with Ryu because “that is [her] happiness”. Megumi admits later that Matsuko looked beautiful, implying that she was
admirable because she expressed her desire so adamantly. Matsuko is therefore not simply being subservient to a man’s desires, but rather it is also her strong desire to be with him, even if it means being abused.
It is only after Matsuko’s death and Ryu’s learning about God (according to Christian faith) that Ryu comes to worship Matsuko, although at the time he does not realise she is dead. Ryu relates her to God because she continuously gives and forgives without expecting anything in return. This virtue of self-sacrifice is also phrased twice in the film, “A person’s life isn’t valued by what one receives, but by what one gives”. Contrary to Shō’s father’s opinion, Matsuko did not lead a meaningless life after all.
It is worth remarking on the cultural significance of Matsuko’s self-sacrificing character. Self-sacrifice is a common virtue for conventional Japanese heroines. This ideal can be traced back to “Uguisu no Sato” (“The Bush Warbler’s Home”), which is considered to be “one of the most representative of Japanese folktales” (Davies and Ikeno 171). This story features a typical Japanese tragic heroine who must endure grief (Davies and Ikeno 173). “A woman’s sadness... is an important element in the Japanese sense of beauty. This feeling is called aware, and when the Japanese see a woman in grief bearing it with patience, they feel this sense of aware” (Davies and Ikeno 173). This
aware relates to the scene described above about Matsuko’s patience with her relationship to Ryu
despite her suffering. From this perspective, Matsuko’s self-sacrificing character causes her to be ultimately rewarded with reverence because she endures so much punishment. She is therefore no longer just a poor patriarchal victim, but she becomes a heroine by opening a man’s eyes to her victimisation.
2.5. Discussion
It is clear that Memories of Matsuko has an underlying patriarchal structure that significantly
influences Matsuko’s life. The patriarchy seems to be a system that encourages people to act against their own interests, such as when Ryu abuses Matsuko even though he loves her and when Matsuko chases after male affection even if she is heavily abused. Matsuko is never aware that patriarchal norms are what cause her victimisation. When Matsuko feels that something is unfair, she
occasionally screams out “why”, yet she never receives an answer. Rather than blaming men or the patriarchal system, she either fails to comprehend the situation or she blames herself. After all, since she actively seeks patriarchal affection, then it is doubtful that she would show contempt against the very thing she desires. Ryu, however, realises that he is at least partly at fault for her suffering, and through this realisation he begins to understand how a patriarchal system can be unjust.
What Ryu may not realise is that there is also a larger patriarchal system of rewards and punishments at work. It is not just a matter of men choosing to take advantage of women because they are
dominant and want to. A patriarchy, like any system, defines what is “normal” and what is not. Anything that is normal is either unremarkable or is rewarded for being considered “good”. Anything that deviates from the norm, such as Matsuko’s quirky personality, is in some way punished. In Matsuko’s case, she is punished by being fired from her teacher role and being forced into less respectable roles such as prostitution.
A radical Western feminist approach would straightforwardly identify Matsuko as a poor patriarchal victim who is punished for loving men without regard for her own welfare. She lives in a man’s world and is complacent with it because she cannot see outside of the unjust system. From this perspective, Matsuko’s self-sacrificial acts are a form of masochism.
However, broadening the analysis to include an understanding of specific traditional culture values reveals different ways of interpreting Matsuko’s character. Yes, she often acts against her own welfare, but suffering is by definition part of self-sacrifice. Rather than considering her to be poor and masochistic, she should be admired for her good virtues, namely her unconditional love and caring nature. She is a tragic heroine, but this is all the more reason to feel compassion, or aware. This deep appreciation of her good, feminine virtues is what changes the mindset of a man who once abused his rights and powers as a man. In the larger scheme of things, what is important from a Japanese perspective is not to abolish hierarchical order, but to establish harmonic cooperation within the system. Matsuko’s self-sacrifice is indeed a double-edged sword, but it is an important one that can help us to reflect on the reasons for her self-sacrifice, on which traits make her heroic, and on the relationships between men and women.
Fig. 1. Matsuko directing a choir
Fig. 2. Matsuko teaching
Fig. 4. Ryu throws Matsuko onto a futon
Fig. 5. Matsuko’s facial “trademark”
3. 100 YEN LOVE
3.1. Introduction
Masaharu Take’s film 100 Yen Love (Hyakuen no Koi, 2014) is a stark contrast to Memories of
Matsuko because the protagonist chooses to fight against her suffering rather than bearing it
with patience. Ichiko20 Saitou, a 32-year-old jobless woman, loafs around her parents’ home until a big fight with her sister, who incessantly nags about Ichiko’s laziness. Fed up, Ichiko starts an independent life and works at a 100 yen shop. She has a brief relationship with Yuuji Kanou, a man who frequently quits various mundane jobs and activities because he refuses to work hard. This includes boxing, which Ichiko takes up after a co-worker rapes her; she fully commits after Kanou leaves her. Her hurtful experiences with men, her lousy job, and her training in boxing all contribute to Ichiko’s character change. Ichiko rejects gender norms, resisting the patriarchal system of rewards and punishments, and instead dedicates herself to her ‘self’. Rather than fitting into society as a conventional woman, society accepts her for displaying a non-gendered Japanese virtue: the ganbaru attitude. Ganbaru is a highly esteemed aspect of Japanese culture that means “to do one’s best;” to persevere.
100 Yen Love delivers feminist messages for both Western and Japanese audiences
because the female lead rejects oppressive patriarchal expectations and chooses a pursuit outside of gender norms. More importantly, society accepts and respects her decision to do so. The film does not attack the patriarchy itself; instead, it suggests how struggling women can be successful within a patriarchal system without adhering to rigid gender binaries and
expectations. I therefore examine how patriarchal expectations influence Ichiko’s sexual and gendered experiences, then how she is punished via rape and infidelity by not fitting into a “normal” Japanese housewife or mother role, and finally her fight against these punishments via boxing.
20 Like Matsuko, Ichiko’s name also ends with ko (子), which means child. While ko is a
common ending in Japanese female names, its diminutive meaning is significant. Both women are the patriarchy’s children and while Matsuko is a devoted child, Ichiko is a rebellious one.
Simone de Beauvoir’s description of women as “the second sex” in a patriarchal order relates to the film’s patriarchal assumption that men define womanhood, including Ichiko’s. De Beauvoir explains in The Second Sex (1949) that women are the “Other” because they are characterised in opposition to men, the “Self”. This means that while men may impose their will in whatever way, women are subordinated to this will. While Ichiko is initially punished for conflicting with male expectations as “the second sex”, she subverts the gender norm by being active and claiming agency. This does not mean she overthrows male authority, but rather that she fights for her equal right to define herself.
3.2. Ichiko’s Female Passivity
Ichiko is portrayed as highly unfeminine in the opening scene, which includes close-ups of her slouched position, dry feet, and dry, fizzy hair with grown out roots. She also smokes, drinks soda out of litre bottles, and wears overly large T-shirts and baggy pants, if not her pyjamas (Fig. 8). She clearly does not look after her health or hygiene. One close-up shows her scratching her back like an ape and is taken from behind at a slightly low angle to emphasise her waist fat (Fig. 9). Not only is she slovenly, but she also loafs around her parents’ house and is dependent on their income, indicating her passivity. Rather than working, she plays a boxing video game with her young
nephew, beating him with “156 straight wins”, showing how often she plays games. Moreover, when she speaks she often mumbles and hardly uses polite, or other forms, of feminine speech. Her lack of charm and hygiene, her laziness, and her otaku-like21 lifestyle all suggest that she is more masculine than feminine. This criticism against her unattractiveness is, of course, based on patriarchal
assumptions that women should be neat, reserved, and physically beautiful.
Despite Ichiko’s masculine characteristics, the film plays with the fact that she is still a woman and that this cannot be easily ignored. While picking her nose and yawning at her family’s breakfast table (Fig. 10), Ichiko argues that she “threw away [her] womanhood”, expressing that she does not care to act feminine and find a boyfriend. Her sister responds that she has not thrown away her womanhood because she simply cannot, implying that she could only lose it by losing her virginity.
21 Otaku refers to enthusiasts about anime, manga, computers, and video games. They prefer to
stay at home and avoid social contact. It is mostly associated with Japanese men or boys and is often derogatory.
