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An Imperial Japanese Army regiment surrenders to British forces in Burma at the close World War II and finds harmony through song. A corporal, thought to be dead, disguises himself as a Buddhist monk and stumbles upon spiritual enlightenment. Magnificently shot in hushed black and white, Kon Ichikawa's The Burmese Harp is an eloquent meditation on beauty coexisting with death and remains one of Japanese cinema's most overwhelming antiwar statements, both tender and brutal in its grappling with Japan's wartime legacy. (Verleiher-Text)
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Once a soldier, always a soldier. Impossible to forgive, impossible to forget. This film does not distinguish between the victors and the defeated, nor does it try to understand, but to accept what happened. Only then will it be possible to move on. Words don’t say anything; the closing letter only summarises the conveyed message. A message that should be handed down from generation to generation (during the most important part, the camera focuses on the eternally flowing river rather than on the soldiers). What’s essential is conveyed through the playing of the harp, which will never sound the same to me as it did before. Watching The Burmese Harp means undertaking a difficult and sorrowful journey, but at its end…there is a bit of hope. No European or American would make such a film about war, but everyone will understand it. 90%
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The contemporary Japanese productions I watch contrast beautifully with these old, slow, thoughtful, and beautiful films. An army that sings songs and marches into battle, a man who decides that everyone deserves a burial worthy of a human being. Beautiful and yet poignant, even though it's set against the backdrop of war. Fascinating combinations that are so near and dear to the Japanese.
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Photo © Nikkatsu
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