The Art of Censorship in Postwar Japan

Chapter 3 Dirt for Politics’ Sake: The Black Snow Trial (1965–1969)

ChAPtEr 3 Dirt for politics’ sake The Black Snow Trial (1965–1969) As the first postwar censorship proceedings against a film, the Black Snow trial established a revised template that took into account both the existence of a self-regulatory body like Eirin for film and the inherent differences between the media of literature and film. Although Eirin itself was not ultimately charged, the case against Black Snow marked an unprecedented attack on the authority of the self-regulatory organization. When director Takechi (or Kawaguchi, his legal name) Tetsuji and the distributor chief at Nikkatsu, Murakami Satoru, were officially charged on December 25, 1965, the film in question no longer existed.The charges were based on a version that had previewed three times at the Tokyo Shinjuku Theater on June 5 for an audience of just 2,711 spectators, including a disgruntled member of the Police Safety Division who initially brought the film to the authorities’ attention. This original version was retroactively pulled and reinspected after Eirin head Takahashi saw it and declared it “just too horrid” (amari ni mo hidoi).1 After an additional eight-and-a-half minutes from fourteen scenes and sound in two places were cut, the film was rereleased nationally on June 9.2 Because of Eirin’s twofold censorship of the film, the evidence had to be reconstructed for the trial, prompting one commentator to dub it an “unprecedented, peculiar trial where the complete piece of evidence was nonexistent.”3 The lower court trial ran for just under a year, from late July 1966 through mid-July of the following year, when both defendants were found not guilty, a ruling that was upheld by the High Court on September 17, 1969. The lower court determined that the film was not obscene and that 86 Pinks, Pornos, and Politics the defendants were not culpable because the film had passed Eirin. The High Court, in contrast, judged the film obscene but ruled to acquit on the basis of Eirin’s seal of approval. Both verdicts depended on the judges’ interpretations of three things: the place of politics and pornography in Black Snow specifically, and in the medium of film more generally; the differences between filmic and literary media; and, most centrally, the role of Eirin. Black Snow, a politically and sexually explicit film about prostitutes set on the outskirts of a U.S. military base in Tokyo, engendered fierce debate about these issues. The film itself lodges a pointed critique of sexual and political censorship that sheds light on the oft-obscured connection between the two noted by legal scholar Okudaira Yasuhiro. The fact that this critique was lodged in the context of a low-budget Pink Film suggests that Takechi indeed took to heart Okudaira’s plea to embrace the “stench” and “derogatory ring” of obscenity. This trial illuminates the complex relationship between regulating sex and regulating politics, and also between state censorship and Eirin censorship . As we will see, the contentious preproduction censorship negotiations between Takechi and Eirin influenced both the production of the film itself and its postproduction censorship trial by the state. This case offers a unique glimpse into Eirin’s role because of the wealth of available archival materials, including the original script, Eirin’s initial objections at the level of script check, as well as Takechi’s responses and revisions. What the Black Snow trial illustrates is the degree to which the existence of industry and state censorship could condition the production of a film and its reception in both artistic and legal spheres. A renegade Director, pink films, and the self-regulatory eirin Unlike the strong show of support for the defense in the Chatterley trial, the controversial outsider director-defendant in this first film trial rankled , rather than galvanized, most of his fellow artists. Takechi managed to antagonize the moral guardians, the industry and state censors, and the film industry alike. Over forty years later, Eirin employee Endō Tatsuo was clearly still riled by Takechi’s antics, criticizing him for “dragging Eirin into a trial” and unfavorably contrasting him even with the notoriously contrarian director Ōshima, whom he praised as “the gentleman who even while frequently protesting Eirin’s inspections and never one to lose in a heated debate, never failed to support Eirin.”4 After the police investigation of Black Snow began, even Takechi’s sympathetic colleague, film critic Satō Dirt for Politics’ Sake 87...