The
devastation that the Tōhoku tsunami and its aftermath wreaked on the communities
on the Pacific coast of northeastern Honshu in March 2011 has been described by
many observers as resembling a war zone.
In his latest experimental short film, Soliton (2013), Isamu
Hirabayashi uses this motif as a metaphor to express the lingering trauma left
in the wake of the tsunami. Soliton had its international premiere this this week at the
Berlinale as part of its Generation
14plus Short Film programme.
Most of the
film is shot from the perspective of a man looking downwards as he walks over
uneven terrain. The man’s legs, garbed
in military camouflage, move at a slow, deliberate pace. The sound of his feet crunching as he walks
is interspersed with the sounds of gunfire, high-pitched buzzing, and
garbled radio noises that create the impression of a modern war zone. It is a disorientating and unusual
perspective. The lurching of the camera creates a sense of unease to the point
of near nausea.
Hirabayashi
denies us an establishing shot of the landscape for the first 7 minutes of this
12 minute film. Instead, he forces us to
examine the minutiae of the terrain to see the scars left by disaster: beach
interrupted by corrugated tin that may once have been a roof or shed of some kind,
concrete with rivulets worn into it by water, concrete interrupted by
vegetation, the earth cluttered with debris.
Finally, the man's leg is freeze framed and turned into an animation of dots
next to the formula for a soliton wave.
In the world
of mathematics and physics, a soliton is a self-reinforcing / non-dissipating
wave that was first observed by the Scottish civil engineer John Scott Russell
(learn more about solitons here and here)
in a canal. Although they are difficult
to observe in mid-ocean, many speculate that a tsunami wave is an example of a naturally
occurring soliton. For me,
Hirabayashi’s use of this scientific term for the title of his film brings up
many of the thoughts and feelings I had as I watched the Tōhoku tsunami footage
on March 11, 2011. When one lives in
coastal Japan, one is acutely aware of the theoretical threat of tsunami. There are markers of the levels that previous
tsunami reached, regular evacuation drills, tsunami and earthquake
resistant shelters, and man-made tsunami barriers. But knowing the scientific likelihood that a severe
tsunami may come during one’s lifetime is not the same as the reality of the experience of the event itself. Scientific knowledge
cannot prepare an individual or a community for its physical and psychological
impact. I found myself reacting viscerally to Hirabayashi’s film as it brought up the
shock I felt at the human impact of the tsunami on 3/11 all over again. There is this wonderfully contemplative shot
of the ocean as if looking down from the sky.
The deceptively calm-looking ocean gives no hint in that moment that when
the conditions are right it can wield an unimaginable, deadly force.
The man
continues to walk, through puddles and ragged earth, through thicker and thicker piles of
debris littered with the signs of lives destroyed including a lone tatami
mat, a single shoe, an open photo album, a child’s doll. The walk continues until the man encounters
the feet of a child in shoes with a heart pattern on them holding a stuffed toy
(the
Berlinale description of the film differs from the screener that I saw – I noticed
no black and white in the opening and they also describe the girl as being
barefoot). The man stops and places the shovel we did not see he was carrying
until now gently into the sand, suggesting that he is part of the recovery
effort.
In case any
spectators were uncertain as to the setting of this film, the closing credits
make it clear with a series of still images of buildings destroyed by the Tōhoku
tsunami. The text of the closing credits
are artfully shaped around these monuments to lives once lived. The images chosen for the closing credits reminded me
of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial (Genbaku Dome) – the skeletal remains of the Hiroshima
Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall destroyed by the A-bomb. These shells of buildings are poignant
symbols of humanity's frailty: for all of our technological advances, we have still so
much to learn. The emotional impact of Soliton’s imagery is heightened by the excellent music
of Takashi Watanabe – a long-time Hirabayashi
collaborator.
Many short
film fans will be familiar with Hirabayashi’s Noburo
Ofuji Award winning animation 663114
(2011), which tackled the long-term consequences to the environment due to the
nuclear disaster that came on the heels of the tsunami. Soliton
continues Hirabayashi’s consideration of the impact of these events but from a
new and unique point-of-view. Definitely
keep an eye out for Soliton at
international festivals in the coming year.
It is the kind of film that will affect you on more than one sensory
level. If you are unfamiliar with
Hirabayashi’s experimental work, I recommend checking out his YouTube channel. A Story Constructed of 17
Pieces of Space and 1 Maggot (2007) is a personal favourite of mine. 663114 appears on the DVD/BD L'Animation indépendante japonaise - Volume 1.
Catherine Munroe
Hotes 2014