Way down in the lower depths of
Jailhouse 41 (it’s not actually called that in the movie), the eponymous
Scorpion (aka Matsu, played by Meiko Kaji) lies chained, subject to the
sadistic whims of the cycloptic warden Gorda (Fumio Watanabe). After enduring humiliations from both guards
and fellow inmates alike, Matsu and six other prisoners make good their
escape. But their flight to freedom will
prove more harrowing than their stay in the penitentiary.
Meiko Kaji is one of those
cultural icons revered more for their looks (i.e. the act of looking, not their
physical traits, though she is also a striking beauty) than any thespian
skills. This isn’t to say she can’t act,
but from what I’ve see, she’s rarely called upon to do more than clench her jaw
and glare. And she does both
spectacularly well. Here in Shunya Ito’s
Female Prisoner Scorpion: Jailhouse 41
(the second entry in this influential series), the entirety of her performance
is physical. She doesn’t speak at all
until near the film’s end, and then it’s only two lines of dialogue. Nonetheless, we know exactly what’s going on
in her head at all times (it helps a bit that this generally boils down to
three emotions: hatred, suspicion, and pity).
This is Matsu’s strength. She
doesn’t mince words because there’s nothing left to be said. The ultimate pragmatist, Matsu sees the world
for what it is – a merciless, misogynistic shit hole – and deals with it in the
same way that it has dealt with her. All
of this is reflected in her eyes.
Speaking of eyes and reflections,
Jailhouse 41 is rife with them, and
not only from Kaji. Gorda’s dead, false
eye attempts to consume and violate Matsu’s soul. His eye, Matsu’s eyes, and Oba’s eyes (the
contagonist or secondary antagonist, if you wish, played by Kayoko Shiraishi)
all give off the same look throughout the film but with different
meanings. Matsu’s deadpan stare is a
retreat into herself, a fortification against the external world, and a coiled
trap waiting to be sprung. Her fellow
prisoners misread her limp inactivity as acquiescence and apathy, when, in
fact, it is anything but. Gorda’s eye is
a metaphoric monster and the ugliness inside the male psyche, the male id
unleashed. He’s a lecher and a brute,
not above using his status and his staff to destroy the women in his
charge. When first we meet him, he’s one
year into his attempt to drive Matsu insane (it can be argued that he’s wasting
his time, because she already is, in a sense).
The blacked-out lens of his glasses reveals for the audience the cruelty
and alienation in the man, as we espy the horrors he subjects others to in it. His false eye, when it’s finally popped out
of his head, presents not just a victory but also a portal to an alternate
reality, a looking glass world where the events of the narrative never took
place (and if you think about it, this shot is similar to the first shots of
the film which focus on Matsu’s eyes, and the entire film can be seen as a pure
dream/nightmare sequence from her perspective).
Finally, Oba’s gaze is pure bestial fury (she’s even honest enough to
admit this – “I know I’m a beast!”). She
hates everyone and everything, a nihilist preferring the solitude of her rage
to what sisterhood she may form with the other escapees. Everyone is an enemy, because they’re different
from her, and she’s paranoid enough to believe that this matters (not without
some reason). This comes through crystal
clear in her baleful gaze (often cast from under her eyebrows).
These three viewpoints form a
worldview of how these women (all seven of them, but, by extension, all women)
are seen and treated. In one of several
fantasy sequences, the crimes of the escapees are described. The women kneel, dressed in matching outfits
(like their batik prison uniforms, this unifies them) before a field of
blackness. The camera glides past each
as a narrator (in, I’m guessing here, Noh Theatre style) sings of their
sins. While they are all guilty of their
individual crimes, it is stressed that all of these women were driven to commit
them by men. This tableau is presided
over by an old woman. She was found,
alone and deranged and clutching a knife in a death grip, in an abandoned
village. She, too, has been cast off by
the world of men, and it has destroyed her.
She is a portent of what will happen to all of the protagonists, but it’s
Matsu who refuses to accept this fate.
Later, we see a reenactment of Oba’s crime. In it, the local villagers surround her, net
her, and beat her. Oba transforms into
each of the escapees, tormented by the people who put she and them in this
position. Again, it’s Matsu who stands
up defiant, the ideal of feminine individuality in the film.
Jailhouse 41 is as gorgeous and carefully crafted as any film from
Japan at this time (it does bear some stylistic clichés of the era, but they
fit for the nightmare quality of the picture) while being as enthralling as any
exploitation movie made. For as sleazy
as it is, however, the tone is grim.
This isn’t light fare, though it certainly has heightened moments. Its exploitation elements are more
condemnatory than titillating. The film
is designed to provoke some thought, not erections (or at least I found nothing
sexy here). What I did find was
excellent filmmaking for any level of budget or genre constraints.
This will likely be the only film
from the Arrow bluray box set that I review.
This is not because I don’t like the others in the series (they’re all
fantastic in their own ways), but they do tend toward a certain formula (this
one being the exception) which would make further reviews redundant. Then again, who knows? Maybe I’ll come back and want to dip my toes
and pen in these waters somewhere down the road. Anyway, the set is outstanding, packed with
the usual quality supplements in which Arrow excels. There has been talk about the color timing on
these films, and I have to say that the level of blue in this film is
noticeable, but I also feel that it adds to the atmosphere of the piece. I also know that Arrow stated that this
coloring is due to the level of restoration they performed on the original
materials, so if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.
MVT: Ito displays a deft
hand, stylishly and narratively.
Make or Break: The scene
where the prisoners are punished for an attempted riot proves their breaking
point, and it may be the viewer’s, as well.
Score: 8/10
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