The legendary Japanese detective Kosuke Kindaichi meets his creator Seishi Yokomizo in the sitting room of the author's residence in Yoshino city in 1956. It is a moment worth preserving in a photo album; thankfully, for us, it is also the way in which Kon Ichikawa chooses to begin the last of his 1970s adaptations of Kosuke Kindaichi novels. The movie in question? 1979's The House of Hanging on Hospital Slope (Byoinzaka no Kubikukuri no Ie).
In Ichikawa's large directorial oeuvre, his films based on the Kindaichi novels occupy a special place in the hearts of mystery lovers. In the 1970s, he adapted five novels, a mix of top- and second-tier works of Yokomizo: Inugami-ke no ichizoku (1976), Akuma no temari-uta and Gokumontō (both 1977), Joōbachi (1978), and Byoinzaka no Kubikukuri no Ie (1979). Later, he would go on to film Yatsuhaka-mura (1996), and, in what turned out to be his last film, a remake of Inugami-ke no ichizoku (2006) with the original cast.
Ichikawa is widely credited for developing probably the first authentically Japanese iteration of Kindaichi for the big screen. Earlier movies—such as Gokumontō (1949), Yurei Otoko (1954), Kyuketsuga (1956), and even Honjin Satsujin Jiken (1975)—reimagined the persona of Kindaichi more along the lines of American sleuths, replete with western attire and, in the cases of Yurei Otoko and Kyuketsuga, a focus on more thriller-ish elements (gunshot exchanges and more). However, when Ichikawa debuted Kōji Ishizaka in the role of Kindaichi for Inugami-ke no ichizoku, the previous trappings were all discarded. Instead, Ichikawa brought to life the Kindaichi Yokomizo had characterised in The Inugami Curse: "mid-thirties, slightly built, with an unruly mop of hair, and wearing an unfashionable serge kimono and wide-legged, pleated hakama trousers, both very wrinkled and worn ..."
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| The appearance of the great detective: Kōji Ishizaka as Kosuke Kindaichi in Inugami-ke no ichizoku (1976) |
The shift towards a more faithful visualisation and characterisation of Kindaichi clearly worked wonders, for a 'Yokomizo boom' soon followed. Ichikawa's Kindaichi films from the '70s are all beautiful productions—rich in atmosphere, full of shots that capture Japanese landscapes and scenes in telling but languid detail, and above all, narrating stories of crime and detection deeply embedded in Japanese culture, values, and lore. The formula was a winning one—and Yokomizo's willingness and flexibility in acceding to Ichikawa making subtle changes to his stories further add to the value of these films, helping them transcend the level of being merely faithful adaptations to becoming films that can be enjoyed on their own merits. It is to Yokomizo's and Ichikawa's credit that, barring a few exceptions, most Kindaichi adaptations for TV and the big screen ever since have retained Kindaichi's presentation with kimono and hakama trousers, while making alterations to the plots of the novels, resulting in innumerable permutations and combinations that still continue to feel fresh and instructive for new audiences.
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| The masked man in Ichikawa's Inugami-ke no ichizoku. The portrayal has become a mainstay in Japanese mystery fiction, endlessly replicated and parodied |
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After a career spent solving some of the most convoluted, heart-rending cases in Japan, Kindaichi decides to go to USA once again. But, first he heads over to author Yokomizo's house to say his farewell. While conversing, he comes to know of the Honjo photography studio, which later becomes central to the events of the film. As he needs to have a passport, Kindaichi visits the studio to have his picture taken. Here, he learns about the abandoned premises of the erstwhile Hogen family hospital and residence on the Hospital Hill—the location that becomes the site of the first horrific incident.
A jazzy interlude follows, in which a band called The Angry Pirates perform in an American army base camp in the city. In the middle of the performance, however, the trumpeter and the drummer mysteriously disappear, with the latter returning with a bleeding wound on his eye. The trumpeter remains nowhere to be seen. The scene shifts back to the studio where Kindaichi takes on a case on the studio owner Tokubei's request. Apparently, someone had tried to drop large wind chimes (fūrin) on the owner, the chimes being hung on the ceiling of the large hall one entered as they stepped inside the burned-out building. As soon as Kindaichi leaves the studio after being asked to collect his photo in three days, in walks a young woman with a strange request. Paying money in advance, the woman asks Tokubei's son Naokichi to capture pictures for a wedding shoot at the abandoned Hogen building that night. At night, Naokichi meets none other than the trumpeter of The Angry Pirates—a bearded, boorish man now in traditional Japanese wedding attire—and heads over to the building with his pinhole camera and other apparatus. But, something seems to be off about the entire situation—the bride at the venue seems to be a dead match for the woman who requested the shoot, and seems drugged and zoned off—eyes glazed, the body swaying from side to side and supported by the man's arms. And, every time Naokichi tries to make changes to the setting—for instance, removing the wind chimes or fixing the crooked lapels on the bride's wedding kimono—he is soundly rebuked by the bridegroom. Thus concludes one of the strangest photoshoots in Naokichi's career.
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| Kosuke Kindaichi meets his creator, Seishi Yokomizo |
Two days later, when the wedding photos are developed, old Tokubei mentions to his son that the bride in the picture completely resembles the Hogens' girl, Yukari. That evening, when Kindaichi visits the studio to collect his passport photo, Naokichi shows him the wedding photo and narrates the events of that night, also adding that all the festive arrangements and decorations were gone by the following morning. He also tells Kindaichi that the reason the building is called the House of Hanging is because a woman hanged herself in the house the year after World War II had ended. Just at that moment, the studio assistant Mokutarō answers a call from that mysterious client asking to deliver the photos at that abandoned building, and to also take photos of the wind chimes. Kindaichi, Naokichi, Tokubei and Mokutarō visit the building where they are met by a horrendous sight: the chimes that hung over the wedded couple the previous night are replaced by the severed head of the bridegroom, the bearded man himself. In the midst of this shocking discovery, Mokutarō gives chase to a figure lurking in the darkness who bolts out of the building, and restrains him after a physical battle to bring an end to the proceedings of the day.
Just like the vibrant jazz beats heard in The Angry Pirates' performance, the opening half hour of The House of Hanging on Hospital Hill is marked by a chaotic energy and pace. Things happen in rapid succession leaving one with barely any time to process all that's happening. And yet, there is a slapstick nature to all these events: Ichikawa clearly makes fun of the conventions of the same works he brought to life on the screen. For instance, when Yokomizo's on-screen niece Tae interrupts the conversation between the author and his creation, she says that she remembers a character from Yokomizo's books who, just like Kindaichi, disappears whenever a tough case comes calling. To this, Yokomizo says he does not remember including such a character in his works. These subtle and entertaining winks and nudges abound in the film, but there is also a lot of humour that is driven by the manners and actions of the characters. Early on, Mokutarō commits the cardinal sin of nearly dropping backdrop curtains on to Kindaichi's head, with the result that Naokichi berates Mokutarō as a baka (fool) whenever the latter tries to act clever. Similarly, the exaggerated expressions and actions of the police detective Todoriki (actually a long-time friend of Kindaichi in the books, who appears in this movie idly wondering whether he had heard of a famous detective like Kindaichi before) and his assistant Bando, whenever they are confronted by a puzzling situation, serve to add much levity to what turns out to be a very dark and tragic story.
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| The infamous wedding photo |
Like other Kindaichi offerings, World War II looms in the background of The House of Hanging on Hospital Slope. However, the way it is integrated in the plot is somewhat different to what we see in other works such as Gokumontō. In fact, the way in which the war is invoked has more in common with Akimitsu Takagi's depiction of the effects of the war in The Tattoo Murder Case: in both cases, characters ruminate on the illogical nature of the destruction wrought—with some buildings completely destroyed and others miraculously standing.
The investigation takes the detectives and viewers to some delightfully offbeat locations (such as a shed in an abandoned mine/quarry) that show tell-tale signs of the war, but the roots of the affair itself go back several generations prior to the war. Kindaichi tales are complicated affairs frequently featuring convoluted family trees, and this movie is no exception even though it apparently simplifies the book's plot to a large extent. Even untangling the relationship between the Yamauchis and the Hogens, the two major families portrayed in the family, is a laborious task. It helps that this is treated quite humorously to an extent—in one portion, Kindaichi, speaking for the audience, states that even he cannot make head or tail of the respective family histories, to which Mokutarō, who becomes sort of a sidekick to Kindaichi over the course of the film, shows a family tree he has drawn on a notebook.
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| The fulfilment of a complicated revenge |
With its focus on family relationships and misguided revenge, The House of Hanging on Hospital Slope therefore feels familiar to other works in the Kindaichi oeuvre, and features a mish-mash of tropes (impersonation, mistaken identity, role reversal, and more) seen in this universe. The use of framing devices, however, feels quite fresh in this movie. Such devices are seen in previous stories as well—for instance, the nursery rhyme song in Akuma no temari-uta, or the haikus in Gokumontō—but here, two devices are used: one traditional, the other modern. On the one hand, we have the wind chimes (fūrin); on the other, we have photography itself. The use of the wind chime is somewhat akin to the use of the haikus in Gokumontō—they are portents both of happiness and doom. For the Yamauchis, the sound of the chimes once indicated a period of family bonding and contentment; for the Hogens, the same chimes unveil a long-buried secret that ultimately leads the family to completely fall apart. This secret is also preserved in another form: photographs. In fact, the way the act of photography is used in this film—to oppress and blackmail certain characters, and at the same time, to selfishly enable the perpetrators to dream of becoming rich by moving beyond the profession of photography—constitutes a running theme throughout the film. Ultimately, a matriarch's instinct to protect and preserve whatever remains ends up dismantling three structures that served as symbols and victims of the perverted, awful, terrifying, and morally debasing influence of patriarchy: the Hogens, the Yamauchis, and the Honjos. In the end, Kindaichi does break the curse wrought by photography on the Hogens and the Yamauchis by breaking the incriminating glass negatives—but only when it's too late.
It was probably inevitable, but the gravity of the narrative leads Kindaichi's solo investigation to be a sombre one. His retracing of a singular chime to its point of origin leads us through some beautiful landscape, and some vivid footage of the manual process of making chimes, but what we find at the end of the arduous journey defined by challenges (such as family records being destroyed in the war), makes for depressing viewing that even the great detective's genteel mannerisms cannot assuage. The whodunnit aspect is solved at this point, but what follows is more desperation on the part of the culprit, followed by a long, sappy denouement where the culprit themselves come to realise the full implications of the secret, and the truth about their role in a previous tragedy. In the end, the future and the past of the house of Hogen are entrusted to a 'newcomer' and a rickshaw-puller—a popular Yokomizo treatment that is also seen in works such as Gokumontō and Akuma ga kitarite fue o fuku. It is this part that makes for the toughest viewing, because Ichikawa completely strips the narrative of any semblance of humour, with even the bumbling police detectives showing some urgency without committing goof-ups. Even though the acting is captivating, with the actors showing the breadth of their repertoire, this tonal shift (replete with operatic music) to showcase a more humane aspect is a bit extreme—it makes the narrative overlong and deprives it of its snappiness.
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| Kindaichi after solving the wind chime murder case. This is probably the last time we see the great detective in Japan |
As a swansong to the entire Kindaichi series, The House of Hanging on Hospital Slope is tinged with nostalgia, and reminds viewers of all the elements that made these stories special and engrossing. While superior examples are there, Ichikawa's adaptation of this work remains a melodious, beautiful production spotlighting, for one final time, Kindaichi in all his glory and vulnerability, while also portraying its female characters, most of whom go through untold misery and tragedy and have to fight for their redemption in their own ways, in a sympathetic, humane light, giving them agency and allowing them to find their own voices.
In the epilogue, Mokutarō meets Yokomizo and Tae in the author's study, Kindaichi himself being absent. When Mokutarō wonders if Kindaichi will ever return, Tae informs him that Kindaichi has disappeared and gone away to San Francisco. It is wishful thinking, of course, but one expects that Kindaichi went to San Francisco in pursuit of some equally complicated cases, the chronicles of which remain unrecorded with Yokomizo's death in 1981. As Yokomizo tells Kindaichi in the beginning, "People are the same all over."
