Pale Flower (1964)
Genre films tend to contain defining characteristics that guide the narrative in a particular direction, and for film noir, particularly in the dealings of yakuza, that includes a composed aura. A suave demeanor, simultaneously cool but really just masking ruffians in disguise. Masahiro Shinoda's Pale Flower follows the same rules of old-school gang nature, dressed stylishly to kill at a moment's notice. There is a disquieting mood about the film that doubles as hypnotic and foreboding. It all starts with Muraki (Ryo Ikebe), a man fresh out of prison for murder, stumbling around places he hasn't seen in a long time and noting that nothing has changed. At least not visibly, because alliances have been formed between warring gangs to stave off a common enemy. Muraki spends the majority of the runtime in silent reflection, clearly ruminating on the nature of his emotions and expectedly struggling to be honest given his lifestyle. Pale Flower opens with brief commentary about Japan, having Muraki criticize the Japanese cultural hivemind, pretending to look alive as they're immersed in monotonous routines, caged from free will. It emanates nihilism, perfectly setting the stage to contrast the boredom of life, soon discovered in Muraki's encounter with Saeko (Mariko Kaga), a mysterious woman addicted to seeking out thrills.
Saeko is the centerpiece of Shinoda's fatalistic purview on chasing stimulation of the soul. We're talking about highly expensive thrills as we witness Saeko wagering thick stacks of yen on a traditional card matching game known as tehonbiki. Muraki first notices her after returning to an old hideout and learns she showed up out of nowhere and has been making a killing. Kaga's pretty face juxtaposes Saeko's innate tendencies—a sense of unrest—with the stasis in her life. She becomes the opposing factor against the opening scene, challenging the Japanese status quo, and it pertains to the yakuza lifestyle because Muraki's misgivings about life's purpose are realized through him sort of mentoring Saeko. She's a daredevil, searching for even bigger stakes when the pleasure wanes. Not only does she ask Muraki to help her find wealthier gamblers, but she's also unhinged, suppressing the sensations of fear and danger. Pale Flower is often set at night, and under the cover of the dark, emotions run wild. At one point, Saeko is speeding down a freeway in an impromptu race because anything that plays with one's safety, financial or physical, is temporary escapism.
It's intriguing how little we know contextually throughout the narrative, and Shinoda's intentional simplification does wonders for the looming air of death. Moody genre films like Pale Flower thrive in a subliminal space of brooding thought and silent acting, as is the case here. In the beautifully shot gambling sequences, men of high status sitting in a rectangle are dealt hands that they must match with a hidden card. The threatening stares across the room are intense, and it wouldn't be shocking to see arguments escalate to violence when millions are lost in seconds, but that doesn't occur. All of the intimidation remains at just that, and as we trudge through the deafening silence, the end of the round leads to amusement and laughter. These gambling parlor scenes highlight the gentle chiaroscuro of white space among jet black suits and silhouettes. DP Masao Kusugi meticulously frames each angle with stark lighting and shifts focus to various parts of the room, subtly foreshadowing the role of a character we never interact with. The sound design is particularly instrumental in the overall engagement of watching stone-faced regulars of the underworld, combing the clicking of tiles and different rhythms into an avant-garde score.
Pale Flower is ultimately about Muraki coming to terms with himself and, partly, his age. This isn't outwardly denoted thematically, but it's clear that his presence has become that of a veteran, and having served a sentence, he's a veteran fall guy. Growing old severely narrows his options, not to mention he's much more in tune with the meaninglessness of things we do to feel something. Having killed a man, he can naturally hold his own in a fight. However, Shinoda shies away from combat-oriented action here, instead opting for an elusive assassination sequence and emphasizing the speed at which a hit can be settled without much resistance. The film is shadowy at every corner, employing an excellent cerebral dream segment, and while we can grasp the holistic idea behind Saeko's foolish adventures and Muraki's amusement, the nihilistic pathos remains malleable. Characters are alienated beneath the seductive playfulness of a young enigmatic gambler cracking Muraki's hardened stoicism. Shinoda embodies the Japanese New Wave with Pale Flower, giving shades of existentialism to gangster romance. A bleak stroll through the darkness of finding liberation in self-destruction.