映画の海で歩く

Thinking About Film Through the Sea Itself

There are many memorable sea scenes in films.

The final scenes of Truffaut's The 400 Blows and Fellini's La Strada come to mind right away, but when it comes to what meaning the sea holds within film, "thinking about the sea through film" feels far too vast a subject, with no clear place to start.

But if, conversely, "I think about film from the perspective of the sea," perhaps I can arrive at at least one discovery. As a starting point, what if I saw with my own eyes the sea that once appeared on screen, and walked the locations? That thought is what led me to write this serial essay.

Yuriage, Natori City, Miyagi Prefecture

I rented a car at the east exit of Sendai Station. Driving toward the coast for about thirty minutes, a large river came into view — the Natori River. Following the river straight toward the sea, I arrived at my destination for this trip: Yuriage.

Yuriage suffered severe damage from the tsunami caused by the Great East Japan Earthquake in 2011. Countless homes were swept away, and most of the area was designated a disaster hazard zone where people are no longer permitted to live.

I had heard that Yuriage's port was known for its morning market even before the earthquake. Even today, a market is held every Sunday and it draws large crowds. By coincidence, I happened to visit on a Sunday, and saw people grilling shellfish and fish over open flames and eating them on the spot.

This is a place that appears on screen in the film: Asako I&II, a 2018 work directed by Ryusuke Hamaguchi.

Asako, played by Erika Karata, falls in love with two men who share the same face — Baku and Ryohei. The film includes depictions of the Great East Japan Earthquake (3.11), and Asako and Ryohei, who live in Tokyo, travel repeatedly to the disaster-stricken area as volunteers. That very place is Yuriage.

After arriving in Yuriage, I had an early lunch at Kawamachi Terrace Yuriage, a riverside dining district built after the earthquake. There, I had the local specialty: a shirasu (whitebait) rice bowl.

The recommended option was the "two-kind topping" bowl. Wondering what that meant, I found it was a bowl topped with both boiled and raw shirasu. I enjoyed the contrasting textures of shirasu, and breaking the egg yolk on top added even more depth to the flavor. It was truly delicious.

Memories of Yuriage

After lunch, as I explored the surrounding area by car, I came across a place called "Memories of Yuriage" tucked in a corner near the morning market. It was a simple prefab building, but I was told it was a facility dedicated to preserving the memory of the earthquake, so I decided to go inside. The fact that it was named "Memories" rather than "Archive" or "Heritage Center" gave me the impression that it was somehow different from other earthquake-related facilities.

Guided by a staff member, I first watched footage from right after the earthquake in a room toward the back. I was struck all over again by the sight of houses being swept away by the tsunami. And although their voices weren't captured directly on screen, I felt as if I could hear, echoing in my mind, the anguished cries of people witnessing the horrific scene unfolding before them — it left my chest tight with grief.

After the footage ended, I spoke with a staff woman. Looking at photographs from before and after the earthquake together, I was able to hear directly from her how Yuriage had been transformed by the tsunami, and what she hoped this place could convey.

She had surely told the same story countless times to visitors before me. And yet her voice reached me as directly as if it were being spoken for the very first time. That fact moved me deeply. I realized that the tragedy caused by the earthquake was something no amount of time could ever make one grow accustomed to — that it must feel raw and immediate every single time it's told.

Because it was I, specifically, who was listening, and because her voice was directed at me alone, that story — surely repeated so many times before — became, in that moment, a singular, unrepeatable act.

The Breakwater from Asako I&II

Asako I&II contains a memorable sea scene. Baku, Asako's former lover who had vanished without a trace, returns to her while she is living happily with Ryohei. The two men, who share the same face, come face to face, and Asako takes Baku's hand — not her current lover's — and leaves.

Asako and Baku drive north. When Asako, who had fallen asleep, wakes up, they are in front of a breakwater along the coast. "I wanted to see the sea. But I can't see it at all," Baku says. His words point to a fact: the massive seawall built after the tsunami had transformed the landscape in the years "since."

Asako says, "I can't go any further than this." Baku simply replies, "I understand," and drives off without hesitation. Left alone, Asako climbs the breakwater. She is shown from the front, gazing straight out at the sea. The sound of the waves can be heard. Then she walks back along the top of the breakwater, retracing the path she came from.

Since this is one of the most important sea scenes in the film, I set the breakwater where Asako looks out at the sea as the precise destination for this visit to Yuriage. Showing the film on my iPhone to the staff at "Memories of Yuriage," I asked, "Do you know roughly where this is?" Even though the scene had no obvious landmarks, being locals, they were able to narrow down the general area.

Since I couldn't drive all the way there, I parked the rental car in the parking lot of the hotel where I was staying. My starting point was right where the breakwater came to an end. I climbed up onto the breakwater and simply walked for about thirty minutes.

Even so, I couldn't easily find a spot that matched the scene. What I used as a clue was disaster recovery housing. In the background of the film's frame, a small building constructed after the earthquake could be seen — and it was still visible from the breakwater today.

Another clue was the pattern on the breakwater's concrete blocks. The blocks along the stretch I had already walked had a different pattern from the one in the film. Believing the pattern would change somewhere along the way, I kept walking, and at a certain point, the blocks began to match the film. Sensing I might be getting close, I checked the frame through my phone's camera, looking at the disaster recovery housing in the distance. Judging by the angle and distance, this seemed to be roughly where the film had been shot.

But the area was now covered entirely in a pine forest, and at a glance, it looked nothing like the location in the film. That was probably because nearly ten years had passed since filming.

Still standing on the breakwater, I looked out at the sea. It was a clear day, and the waves shimmered white — but the sea in the film had been dimmer, the sea at dawn.

Shooting Head-On

Film critic Shigehiko Hasumi, in a conversation with director Ryusuke Hamaguchi ^*1, prefaces his question by saying, "I'm not trying to interrogate you," before asking, "Was that dark sea seen from atop the breakwater absolutely necessary as an image?

Hamaguchi responds, "I felt it was necessary. I felt that without it, I couldn't move on to what came next." Hasumi replies, "I thought the sea would appear somewhere, but I didn't expect it to be shot head-on."

In Ryusuke Hamaguchi's films, the act of "shooting head-on" carries significant weight. For example, the scenes inside the car in Drive My Car, and each of the three stories in the omnibus film Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, all contain crucial moments built around a face-on-shot-reverse-shot.

Standing atop the breakwater, Asako's gaze toward the sea is captured head-on, placing her in direct confrontation with the sea — and with the camera.

What exactly does "the sea" represent in Asako I&II? There is room for various interpretations, but if I were to venture one specific answer, I would say it is "the earthquake." In a separate interview ^*2, Hamaguchi was asked why he chose to depict the earthquake, and answered as follows:

"As it turned out, it was as a 'representative of the Other.' The otherness of another person isn't necessarily something we're conscious of in everyday life. But in situations where that otherness rises to the surface, the other takes on an undeniable presence as an other. ...When we're caught off guard by something we ourselves never anticipated, otherness suddenly surfaces. I think the clearest example of that is 'the earthquake.'"

Hamaguchi then continues, saying, "I am the Other, and the Other is precisely myself."

"You cannot erase the Other, which means that to live is really only possible in one way: 'to live together with the Other within oneself.' Whether that means 'accepting' it or 'fighting' it, I'm not sure — but I feel there is no other choice."

If the sea in Asako I&II appears as "the earthquake" — that is, as "the Other" (and also as "the self") — then perhaps that head-on shot at the breakwater wasn't only a scene of "her looking at the sea," but also one of "the sea looking at her."

There, in that moment, is a gaze looking back — from the sea, the "Other."

Living With the Other

At one point in the film, Asako has a line: "It's like I've been dreaming this whole time." True to the title Asako I&II — "whether asleep or awake" — she seems to have no clear boundary between reality and dream. Through the head-on-shot-reverse-shot with the sea, she breaks free from this state of being "asleep or awake." It is this moment that allows the film to move forward into its next development.

In Asako I&II, "waking up" means "living with the Other." By looking at the sea, and being looked back at by it, Asako confronts the earthquake — that is, "the Other." And the Other is also the self. Having looked at the sea atop the breakwater, Asako returns to Ryohei in order to "live with the Other within herself."

Is this, in the end, "acceptance," or is it "struggle"? In the final scene, where Asako and Ryohei stand side by side gazing at the river, the ambivalence at the heart of what it means for a person to "live with the Other" is laid bare.

A Balcony With a View of the Sea

That day, I stayed at a hotel by the coast. It was a new, beautifully built structure — which also meant, quite clearly, that it had been built after the earthquake. Thinking that homes and people's everyday lives had once existed right here, on this very spot where the hotel now stood, left me with a strangely complicated feeling.

The view from the room was spectacular, offering a full panorama of the sea. I stepped out onto the balcony and watched the sun sink below the horizon. Even as it grew dark, there were plenty of people around — someone fishing, young people setting off fireworks on the beach, others simply sitting on the breakwater, gazing out at the sea.

Since the earthquake, many people have become distanced from the sea. The breakwaters have made the sea — once so close — invisible, and silenced the sound of its waves. There are many areas where no one lives anymore. Yuriage is one of them.

The theme of this exhibition has been set as "The Future." The word future might sound like it's filled only with hope, but it actually contains both what is being forgotten and what continues to be remembered.

The sea has always been there. The waves that rush in and pull back keep repeating that same motion, endlessly. And yet each of those waves is also a movement that will never happen again in exactly the same way. Whether a wave is rushing in or pulling back, if you shift your perspective, no two are ever truly identical — every single one is a phenomenon that happens only once.

That night, eating fried sea squirt I'd bought at a local supermarket, I played Asako I&II on my iPad. On the very breakwater where I myself had been standing just a little while earlier, Asako was looking out at the sea.

I found myself thinking about the strange nature of film — the way it can repeat, again and again, something that happens only once.