The third outing for Kobo Abe and Hiroshi Teshigahara, The Face of Another, marks the adaptation of one of Abe’s most dense and fascinating works. Hot on the heels of Woman in the Dunes, itself one of the most faithful and thought provoking literary adaptations ever to hit the screen, expectations were understandably high. But Abe’s novel sees him at his most scientific and existential, and thusly its cinematic incarnation marks an understandable, but substantial dumbing down of its source material.

The film version of The Face of Another tells the tale of a factory worker, Okuyama (Tatsuya Nakadai, Kill!), who suffers a terrible industrial accident, horribly scarring his face. Although wrapped in clean white bandages, he finds the degree and simple fact of the damage has rendered him an alien in his own world, his wife no longer willing to look at him, and his employer no longer wanting him in the office. In an effort to reclaim his dignity, and in turn restore his connection with society, he seeks the help of a psychiatrist and prosthesis specialist (Mikijiro Hija, Princess Raccoon) in the creation of a mask, a fully convincing second face. The realization of the mask brings about a second chance for Okuyama, and with it substantial questions as to the nature of the self, society, love, and morality.

In adapting The Face of Another for the screen, screen writer/author Kobo Abe made a number of modifications to the story. Much of the novel is silent, presented as a series of notebooks relating the internal monologues and musings of its main character, a scientist who suffers a terrible laboratory accident. To help guard against two hours of a silent protagonist accompanied by overdubbed narration, in the film he is split into two characters, that of the industrial worker, and his psychiatrist/prosthetics wunderkind (The novel mentions the doctor, but really in nothing more than a passing fashion). The introduction of the psychiatrist as a supporting character allows for a respectable chunk of these meditations to serve as dialog, however, the characters take on a decidedly different tone. For example, in the novel the main character, being a scientist, questions his every action and motivation thereof both before and after the fact. What is making him behave this way? Is it his new face? Is it the lack of a real face? What is making him act out and say the hurtful things he does? This inner monologue is sadly not present in the film, and as such, when Okuyama utters mean and spiteful things he comes across as more a cad (and a rather chatty one at that) than a tragic figure, thus making Okuyama ever the more difficult for the audience to identify with.

In its exploration of the mask the book touches on everything from racial discrimination and stereotypes, to the question of whether a person’s face or their personal character determines their role in society. Or, does a society hold sway over the personality and actions of the person? Say, for example the various personae reserved for family and close friends, versus those reserved for work and education. There’s also a rather lengthy discourse on physiognomy and the four types of faces found in human society, in particular Aggressive/Attractive versus Kindly/Weak, as in the book it is left up to Okuyama to determine exactly what kind of mask he wishes to create for himself, rather than to simply take a mold of a randomly selected individual, as is the case in the film. However, the themes mentioned above are not totally abandoned in the film, being discussed in character dialogs throughout, albeit fleetingly.

Conversely, the film seems more focused on the morality issues brought about by the donning of the mask. When wearing a mask, a person is often freed from inhibitions. If the mask is convincing enough, inevitably one’s attention turns toward actions of a dubious nature. In Okuyama’s case, this issue turns to the seduction of his wife, and temptations brought about by his associations with other females in the film. Finding himself looking suddenly incredibly handsome, and with his own wife having rejected him for the past few months, what exactly should he do? And what moral wrong is involved in taking what is already “rightly his”? But these ventures lack the sense of scientific experimentation that is very much present in the book, more seduce and conquer than a systematic study of what makes us who we are.

My above criticisms have been pretty strong, but that’s not to say the film doesn’t do quite a few things right. Admittedly, a cinematic tale of stringent scientific exploration of the human condition would leave most general audiences lulled to sleep in their seats. Furthermore, to really delve into the material explored in the book would require a mini-series rather than a simple two hour film. Much of the information that is conveyed is distilled into elegant teaser dialog sequences. Quite a number of them, for example, Okuyama and his Wife’s discussion of the female’s makeup habits as a mask to hide their shame, a woman being worthless without a mask of makeup, feature some rather tantalizing and profound concepts thrown out for further discussion or meditation by the audience members. There’s also the nature of the film’s criticism of WWII, far more direct than that of the book (in its most subtle, evidenced only in the mention of the Okuyama’s keloid scars, which afflicted much of the Hiroshima blast’s burn victims.), with an ever-so brief sub-story of a similarly scarred woman helping mentally deranged WWII veterans. In execution, it’s actually quite nice, driving home its message far quicker than the book.

And, yes, being the third entry in the Criterion Teshigahara box set, you might be concerned with the actual visual and directorial style of the film. The Face of Another meets Teshigahara at his most adventurous. Face sees Teshigahara playing with aspect ratio, camera placement, and movement. While Abe’s novel conveyed a very dark and mysterious Japan city life, Teshigahara’s world is flooded with bright white. Okuyama’s bandages, the cityscapes the characters inhabit, the bright, hot sunlight, all appear enhanced with some metaphysical bleach. The usual surrealist touches, overlays, fluid wipes, and the like mentioned before, are all here, but Teshigahara goes even further, in his use of X-Ray photography, surrealist sculpture, and painterly compositions. The Psychiatrist’s office, created by noted architect, Arata Isozaki, provides quite a bit of the film’s visual flair, and is easily one of the most fascinating physical creations I’ve seen in any film. It’s beautiful, strange, and dangerous in a fashion much matching the tone of the narrative.

And of course, there’s the acting. Tatsuya Nakadai, as usual, is wonderful. Being that he usually plays relatively virtuous characters, it’s bit of a treat to see him succumb to his id with Okuyama. Mikijiro Hija, with whom Nakadai shares quite a bit of screentime, does similarly well, providing a believable logical corollary for Okuyama’s impulse. And the film features a number of cameos for the Waldo crowd. Kiyoko Kishida, the homely Woman in the Dunes, makes an appearance as the Psychiatrist’s assistant. Hisashi Igawa, Pitfall’s Miner, makes an appearance as the man who sells his face to Okuyama. And as a treat for readers, Kobo Abe himself, complete with puffball hair and round, thick-rim glasses, makes an appearance in the film’s bar sequence.

In closing, in terms of its narrative treatment, The Face of Another is probably the least of Teshigahara’s first three films. However, its sheer visual style and exceedingly competent performances help elevate it above its faults (if ever so slightly), preserving its place in classic 1960’s Japanese cinema. It’s definitely worth a look, however I strongly urge you to pick up the original book.

The DVD.

As with Pitfall and Woman in the Dunes, Criteron’s high definition restoration (1.33:1 aspect ratio, for the most part) of Face of Another is near flawless. I say near, because when compared to the others there’s a slight bit of muddiness present in a couple of sequences. This could be due to a number of things, including Teshigahara’s playing with different film stocks, and in that sense, would not be a fault of the restoration process itself. Still, the transfer is exemplary, with crisp whites and black blacks, making this a relatively small issue. The audio is similarly clean, presented in a digital mono track. It was strong, clear — I had no qualms with it.

As with Pitfall and Woman, the extras for Face of Another include a trailer for the film, and another lengthy audio essay by critic and festival programmer James Quandt. Again, Quandt focuses briefly on the source material, and launches into a lengthy exploration of the film’s visual style and symbolism. My previous criticisms apply to this one as well, with Quandt relying too much on visual over narrative insights, and attributing certain message conveyances to Teshigahara rather than Abe. However, I do appreciate his findings, many of which I would not notice on my own without multiple viewings of the film. Again, this track is interesting, and breezes by in spite of its twenty-five minute runtime.

All in all, a nice disc for a beautiful, subtly flawed film. Face may be the least in the set of Hiroshi Teshigahara films, but it’s definitely worth a look.

Three Films by Hiroshi Teshigahara hits DVD July 10th, 2007.

About the Author

Chris Nelson has been a film fanatic since age six. A former film and English major, he is now a Software Engineer and contract Technical Writer living in the Silicon Valley.

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