This clip combines the two halves of a humorous exchange between the Japanese delegation to Shanghai (in 1862) and their Chinese hosts, and features a Chinese comedic duo who was well-known in 1944. The comedy here hinges on the language barrier: the Japanese request tea, but cannot makes themselves understood by the Chinese waiters, who continue to misconstrue their guests’ request until, at last, they take “kore da” (this is it) to refer to gaoliang jiu (sorghum liquor). Needless to say, when the Japanese first partake of what they expect to be tea, they are in for a sputtering surprise. But just as the language barrier appears insurmountable, in walks a solution in the form of a Chinese woman (played by opera superstar Li Lihua, who didn’t really speak Japanese and apparently learned her lines phonetically) raised in Nagasaki, who overhears the Japanese gossiping about how beautiful she is. At the very moment Godai takes a sip of ‘tea’, she thanks them for their compliment in Japanese, making it unclear which surprise caused him to sputter more.
In this scene, two “Americans” (played by non-professional Russian actors) discuss in mustache-twirling glee the opportunity to make ‘those rascal Japs’ pay for their recent shelling of foreign ships in the straits of Shimonoseki (historically, this occurred in 1863, making the timeline of the film impossible, since Takasugi et al’s visit to Shanghai was in 1862). While their heavily accented English might be difficult to understand, it was quite a coup to manage to convince censors in 1944 to allow any use of the enemy’s language, and even more impressive to feature genuine Caucasians (unlike, for example, the more typical strategy employed in the 1943 film Ahen sensō, where Chinese and British alike are played by Japanese actors and speak only in Japanese throughout).
This speech by Bandō Tsumasaburō’s Takasugi on the importance of rallying as a nation earned Bandō some pointed criticism by contemporary critics, who apparently felt the speech lacked conviction or passion. Indeed, in late 1944 actors’ incentive to throw themselves into this sort of speech was perhaps waning, as the writing was already on the wall militarily for the Japanese empire. Sure enough, Bandō, director Inagaki Hiroshi and the other Japanese cast and crew members emerged from what could have been the embarrassing spectacle of having made an openly propagandistic film with their careers entirely unscathed (though Inagaki has almost nothing to say about this film in his memoirs despite it occupying quite a number of months of his life). The Chinese cast and crew members, however, generally suffered a lot more for their participation (see appendix A).
The character of Medhurst, a British Taiping and Japan sympathizer and an opponent of Britain’s rapacious imperialistic strategy in East Asia, is a conundrum. First of all, as Joshua Fogel has pointed out, the evident age of the character makes an identification with one of the historical Medhursts in Shanghai around this time impossible, meaning that the role was, in a sense, created for the film. As such, it stands to reason the filmmakers considered this role important (else why go to the effort of creating it?). But if we examine what Medhurst does and says in the film, it is clear he is meant to function as a conscience for Anglo-American imperialism. Perhaps it could be claimed that having even some among the enemy condemn the enemy’s policies is an effective propaganda tack, but it also greatly weakens the dehumanization which is the goal of any hate-the-enemy film, which is what this film is (or is supposed to be), given the melodramatic killings, gratuitous and cruel, of Chinese by the British shown later. So why include Medhurst at all? Perhaps he is also a voice of reason against Japanese wartime excesses, since his ethical stance is universal. Inclusion of this character, then, provides enough ambiguity about the film’s ‘real’ message to allow multiple audiences to appreciate it (the censors, for its flag-waving; secretly anti-war viewers, for its moments of humor or resistance a la Medhurst; Chinese viewers, for its inclusion of heroic virile characters; etc., etc.).
Here is another example of the infamous ‘ishin denshin’ (heart-to-heart communication, which has transcended language and thus language barriers). Even though they have an interpreter, the Taiping and the Japanese patriot here are speaking to each other, each in his own language, yet understanding each other perfectly. They clasp hands, in a powerful passing-of-the-torch moment, as Takasugi promises to keep the spirit of resistance against the white oppressors alive in Japan. This scene undoubtedly hurt the careers of several prominent individuals on the Chinese side after the war (see Appendix A), as it is probably the most openly propagandistic sequence in the entire film (complete with a superimposed flag at one point).
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