Throw Away your Books, Rally in the Streets [Sho o Suteyo Machi e Deyou]

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東京フィスト OST - Chu Ishikawa-Der Eisenrost

Tokyo Fist [Tokyo Ken]
Directed by: Shinya Tsukamoto
1994

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Whispering of the Gods #12

"For me, to be a true thinker is to express your thoughts, so whether by means of literature, other writings, theater or film, a thinker's message could be transmitted to a certain public. This can be done not only logically, but also emotionally and sensually. Striving to find the root of every work of art, is indeed a philosophical endeavor that might end up inciting further thought, but art itself already has that effect. Therefore, I don't like the world philosophy that much. Take for example this line-by-line close reading conducted by the structuralists. It is philosophical, but at the same time it could also be applied to literature and musical works too. The word structure itself in this context is irrelevant; what is to be understood here is the relations between human being and culture, the way our minds express themselves. Film in particular, by its nature, is a thought-provoking cultural product, as it encompasses a large variety of different means of expression - music, images, performance and narrative - a fact that makes it very intriguing. We can say that without thinking, one can't make a film. It might be changing these days, with people watching films as a hobby, as something purely pleasurable. Like for example what some people that are called eiga otaku are doing, focusing entirely on films, without grasping the larger picture. Of course I cannot say that it is all over with today's cinema, but that is certainly one bad factor in it today." - Yoshishige Yoshida (read full interview here).

Aesthetics of a Bullet [Teppodama no Bigaku]

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«For me, all of Itami Juzo is in “The Funeral”» - Yamazaki Tsutomu on Itami Juzo

(Tsutomu Yamazaki)

By Tsutomu Yamazaki (in Itami Juzo no Eiga, 2007)
Translated by Steve Schlossstein

I appeared in Itami Juzo’s first three pictures – The Funeral, Tampopo, and A Taxing Woman. But after we made The Quiet Life (Shizukana Seikatsu), I worked in no more of his films.
Which is not to say that I left Itami-san as a result of personal arguments or quarrels – not at all. As proof empirical of this, he still kept coming as a spectator to see me act on stage, and when we would go drinking together after one of my performances, he would often spend the night at my house or I at his. Itami would never gossip about me behind my back; he was not that sort of person.
But after Marusa no Onna (A Taxing Woman), I never appeared in any of his films again, even The Quiet Life, one of his last. I suppose that was because given his role as producer and director and mine as a performing actor, our interpretative approaches seemed to be increasingly in conflict. For myself, as a stage actor, I was used to creating or capturing the roles I played by “imagining” or “photographing” a character in my mind. In stage productions, you rely on your fellow actors for inspiration, too, in addition to the director and his staff. Like the weather, they’re always changing. Which is to say, you never know what the hell is going to happen. But conversely, as a result of all this unpredictable chaos on stage, as a dramatic actor you gradually realize that things you’re not really conscious of will happen too.
So as an actor, I came to expect this volatile “brew” and even looked forward to it. Even in the most scrupulously cared-for garden you will see weeds growing in the most unexpected places, and I think you should take pleasure in that unexpected growth. That’s always been a kind of symbolic ideal for me and for my acting: expect the unexpected.
But Itami-san was the kind of gardener who would plan scrupulously and fastidiously to plant a tree here, a shrub there, and a flowering plant over there. With absolutely no weeds! And he would work with all his might to follow that plan to perfection, in order to create his own kind of perfect garden. As a director, then, he would always oppose the slightest effort or even the most harmless interference with his plan.
For example, “Yama-san,” he would say to me, “in this next scene, I want you to laugh slightly, just enough to create the hint of a small crow’s foot at the corner of your eye.” This was the kind of micromanagement Itami-san tended to have as a director.
Even from my first starring role for him, in The Funeral, this tendency of his was apparent. It became even stronger and more dominant as he made his next two films, Tampopo and A Taxing Woman, in which I also starred. There was simply no place for weeds to grow at all in his garden. (Laughter.) As an actor, I found his technique increasingly suffocating and I think Itami-san himself gradually understood how I felt.
But you know, as one element in the relationship between actor and director, I don’t think that’s necessarily unusual or bad. Both have their preferences and predilections. Must have them. The best work often comes from this kind of creative tension between actor and director, tension between their opposing styles. Moreover, as a professional actor I don’t think you can ever have the kind of relationship where one actor’s performance in every one of his films is consistently good. Nor should all films be solely based on input from the actors. Creative tension is healthy. It’s inevitable.

(Ososhiki, 1984)

“Every bit of Itami was in his first film, The Funeral,” say people who knew him well. I personally feel the same way, and to this day I think it’s still my favorite work of his. Still, it was his film. When he had the idea for this story, he phoned me up and said, “I want to make a film. Could you help me do it together?” That’s when I decided to play the role he was offering me.
Up to that time, I had performed primarily as a stage actor and had never been in a film before. I was putting all of my energy into my stage work and I didn’t even hold the film industry in very high regard – never thought positively or constructively of it, really. Still, in response to Itami-san’s personal plea, I decided on the spur of the moment to collaborate with him.
I made the decision personally, as an accomplished actor, because I wanted to work with Itami-san on his first-ever film. In truth, just prior to his call, about a dozen thick tomes on film landed with a thud on my doorstep, sent over to me by Itami himself. I had to wonder if they were in fact a premonition, an omen of some sort issued by an oracle. (Laughter.) But I was impressed by his bizarre cleverness.
Shortly afterward, I remember receiving a highly original script for a new production called An Autumn of Sadness. It was a script about an apparent story that was no real story at all, but after I read the script through a couple of times I thought, “This could really be interesting.” It was just a hunch, nothing more. It was a “story” about a real event that happened in a real place that gave it a sense of “reality fiction” that was Itami’s own idea, and I thought it seemed pretty cool.
Thus the importance, I think, of using what happens spontaneously when you shoot a film. Since The Funeral was Itami-san’s first work as director, everybody working with him was at the point of really just fumbling or groping around, while as veterans on the set, I and some of the other experienced actors were wondering how this crew was going to deal with us while we were just standing around one day on the set waiting. Itami-san hoofed over to where I was standing to consult with me about what his staff should be doing for us veterans, as if he wanted to scold them all. His true spirit was revealed here because it became patently clear that whatever happened on the set, he wanted this movie to be successful. I remember quite clearly thinking about this afterward. He made a substantial effort every day to remind us that he was committed to making this film a success.
But – and not just limited to one occurrence of trying to keep our energy up – by the time we finished rehearsals and got around to shooting, we did so many takes every day that we constantly found ourselves nibbling or snacking so we wouldn’t collapse. Except for one person: Itami-san. The director was putting every bit of his energy into the effort and I could tell he was getting physically weaker by the day. He would say to us – “Hey – our bodies are not the key thing here” – or warn us, saying “No, no, if we’re making a film that’s this interesting, our stomachs just don’t get empty.” But it looked to me as if Itami-san had seriously charged himself with the task of not eating.
The most memorable impression I had was at the time of our first screening (preview). Itami-san was sitting right next to me. He was very nervous and worried about how the audience was going to react to the film. His face had turned as pale as rice paper – milky- blue, almost drained of color. And I was thinking, if this film doesn’t succeed – and we really had no clue at that point – my career would be finished! I’ll never work again! (Laughter.) But as the film rolled and the audience started to laugh, we both heaved a huge sigh of relief. By the way, I often had occasion to show Itami’s films to foreigners, and they laughed from beginning to end whenever I showed them The Funeral. From these types of experiences, I deduced that Itami-san’s “touch” or “feel” was really a lot closer to that of Westerners than it was even to us Japanese. I thought he had a very good feel for Western sensibilities deep in his own heart.
Itami-san started phoning me on Thursday or Friday every week after The Funeral was finally released. Our discussions were high-spirited and full of energy. “Come riding with me,” he would say. “I want to practice riding my motorcycle.” Me, I had no interest in motorbikes, so I naturally declined. But the following week, he would call and invite me again. “How about it?” he would ask. “Want to join me this week? Got the spirit yet?” (Laughter.)
This went on for about two months until he rode over to my place one day and I saw for the first time that his “motorcycle” was no real Harley – it was just a little scooter that any old lady might ride! “It’s really practical, Yama-san,” he said. “For making tight turns on the narrow roads in the city.” I thought, what a strange and marvelous character this guy was. But since Itami-san was only three years older than I [born in 1933, Yama in 1936], it was probably very natural for him to think of me as a “playmate.”
Next I produced a little stage play called Pizarro, written by the British playwright Peter Schaffer [who also wrote Equus and Amadeus]. It was a story of brutality, greed, and lust, centered on the 16th century Spanish conqueror of the Incas in Peru. [Released in 1970 as a German film with the title The Royal Hunt of the Sun, starring Robert Shaw and Christopher Plummer.] It ran for about a month at the Parco Theatre in Tokyo in July 1985. I showed the script to Itami-san and asked him to translate it into Japanese. It was about that time that we had started meeting together more frequently.
After he finished translating the Schaffer script for me, he would come to the theatre nearly every other day to watch me working on the stage. We had a long series of conversations together, often eating and drinking late into the night. On one such occasion, he suddenly said to me, “Yama-san, I have four new films I want to do! One is a story just about eating. [This eventually became Tampopo.] One is about money [that became A Taxing Woman]. One is about criminals [A Taxing Woman II], and one is a tough urban adventure [Minbo no Onna, The Art of Japanese Extortion].
I told him we could probably find a British producer to combine all four of these stories into one. “We could have a criminal antagonist eating onigiri [sticky rice balls] while climbing a mountain and losing his wallet,” I joked, not too keen on his ideas. But he was really eager to do the four films separately. And sure enough, the first of this quartet that we made was Tampopo. And because these were his own ideas, I had no doubt he had already started drafting the other three scripts.

(Marusa no Onna, 1987)

When we were shooting Tampopo, Itami-san had a virtual kitchen built right next to the set, complete with a woman who was the food coordinator for the project. When we would break from shooting, he would call her into the “kitchen” and have her make ramen [noodles, a key component of the story] for us. Itami-san would puff out his chest with pride and say, “These are our noodles!” Of course, when we resumed shooting we had to eat all our own ramen, and it was too late to complain about them if they weren’t perfect. And I remember vividly, right after downing a bowlful of ramen during one take, I had to do a big fight scene!
Because Itami-san was so intensely focused on the whole process of making this film, you could say he was the “real deal” – honmono [viz. peerless]. If you ask me what makes a stage play work, I think that focus on process is the most difficult of all. Timing (and audience reaction) are much different with stage plays than with film, so when you’re “fighting” on stage, you really don’t fight. But Itami-san didn’t quite get the fight timing right in this film. He would say to me, in the manner of a martial arts coach, “Since [the actor] Yasuoka is your adversary in the story, you should just go ahead and slug him!”
In our next film together, Marusa on Onna (A Taxing Woman), the lead character, a yakuza [mafia] fraudster I played named Gondo, was lame. He walked with a limp. That wasn’t actually written into Itami’s script. I added it to the character myself. In the stage production of Pizarro that I did earlier, my character had a limp. When I first tried to incorporate the same element into Gondo’s character, Itami-san was furious – because he hadn’t written it into the script himself! But he relented when he saw how well Gondo’s limp meshed with the music – it really was a perfect fit. He liked it then, and told me to keep it. But when we got to the money-counting scene, when Gondo reveals how many billions of yen he has stashed away through his various frauds, I did that little spontaneous dance for joy almost without thinking because Gondo was so fabulously rich and it just seemed natural for me as a stage actor to do that. That little dance step subsequently became somewhat popular with young Japanese as a kind of “jazz dance.” (Laughter.)
But I am a “practice-less” actor – I prefer to act spontaneously rather than to rehearse relentlessly every little tic my character may have on stage. Itami-san recognized this when we shot The Funeral, telling the cast to practice in front of a mirror the moves that came so naturally to me as a stage actor. Itami-san himself wrote this up in his notes to the film [subsequently published as Diary of The Funeral], but I don’t think he really practiced it seriously as a director himself.
At that time, Itami-san would sometimes say to me, “Good, good! Keep it, we’ll use it when we shoot!” But on other occasions he would often say, “No, no, Yama-san! I don’t think you should do that.” He also invited a real dance instructor to his house to show us how we should move during a scene [The Funeral was shot on location at Itami’s home], and the guy was really good. So we incorporated much of what he taught us and made some really memorable scenes as a result. But I think my creation of Gondo’s character in Marusa, particularly incorporating the limp and borrowing from Itami’s dance instructor, helped Itami develop the reputation as a really successful director.
Well, whatever you say, the job of a film director is really hard. As an artist, he’s not just drawing with a pencil, he has to “paint” with a motion picture camera. And he’s got twice as many “pencils” in the form of all the people he’s got to work with. Looking at his own wonderful pencil sketches in two of his diaries – Tedium in Europe and It’s the Women! – they never even come close to imitating (the complexity or beauty of) what he has done with film.
Once Itami-san was asked by the editors of a popular magazine to read a draft manuscript for one of their articles. He agreed to look at it but said at the time that “this thing called a manuscript, you know, if you don’t create a ‘hook’ in the first 200 kanji [ideographs] to catch and hold your readers, they’ll get bored, give up and go away.” And I said to him, “You know, it’s exactly the same with acting and film. Even with serious drama, you’ve got to have a little variation – like humor [what we call comic relief] – mixed in with it in order to relax the tension. Otherwise you will lose your audience and won’t be able to hold them.” When I said this, he concurred with a stubborn nod.
On the other hand, there were occasions when he would ask for my opinion or comments on one of his scripts. Take The Invalid, for example [released as The Last Dance]. Itami-san called me one day, having just finished writing the screenplay in longhand and asked me to look it over. Those were the days when he was fully candid with me – taking me into his confidence – and he thought that the dialogue spoken by the doctor to the dying patient in an effort to persuade him to abandon the thought of dying somehow just didn’t work. [Itami had himself just completed a long period of hospitalization after a yakuza gang had attacked him with knives.] The dialogue wasn’t right; it didn’t satisfy him. He said it wasn’t persuasive, that he just couldn’t write the words that captured the logic of a dying patient’s spirit. That was the real Itami – he was that kind of a person, always troubled or worried if something wasn’t exactly right – and that memory of him lives with me to this day.
I no longer remember the reason why Itami’s film Shizukana Seikatsu (The Quiet Life) came out – I wasn’t in it – but when I read the script I said, “Right.” (Naruhodo.) It was powerfully written, I remember thinking at the time. By the way, as background, Itami was as usual convinced that he himself really couldn’t write skillfully enough, and that would become one of his peculiar personality traits.
But he would often say, “Well, if Yama-san thinks it’s ok, then it must be ok.” He was not being sarcastic or cynical. So I guess in a way I helped him write a little more freely and less encumbered because of the frequent feedback he sought from me.
Still, whenever there was a scene with a long speech (by one of the characters), it would reveal the true Itami because the acting in such a scene was trifling if not non-existent! (Laughter.) I remember such occasions well. But they were some of my most pleasant interactions with Itami as we worked out our differences together. What was really super about him was that he not only talked the talk, he actually walked the walk [genko-itchi, agreement of speech and conduct].
Whether it’s a stage play or a film, if a production doesn’t resonate with the audience – in effect, become a “social event”– then we really can’t say it’s successful. By that definition, all three of Itami-san’s first films – The Funeral, Tampopo, and A Taxing Woman – were not only successful, they became true catchwords, all of them. They all became truly “real” events.
When Itami was still in his thirties, I think he was already aware of this. His sentiments were already down on paper, in his various diaries. His personal musings gave birth to many of the scenes in his films and we all learned a lot from them. But for me, as an actor, I was really nothing more than an empty vessel into which Itami was able to pour his ideas. That was an essential part of his true greatness.
Whether he was riding a scooter or writing scripts or cooking in his kitchen, Itami-san was a man of passion, and his passions distinguished him, put him head-and-shoulders above his peers. I was proud to have been one of his “empty vessels.” He put his whole body and soul [zenshin-zenrei] into his work. His work was incredibly beautiful and his films were the real fruits of his success.

(Juzo Itami, 1933-1997)

Whispering of the Gods #11

"My goal is to create an exaggerated depiction featuring only the ideas and passions of living human beings. In Japanese society, which is essentially regimented, freedom and the individual do not exist. The theme of Japanese film is the emotions of the Japanese people, who have no choice but to live according to the norms of that society . . . After experiencing Europe for two years, I wanted to portray the type of beautifully vital, strong people I came to know there." - Yasuzo Masumura

Pitfall [Otoshiana]

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Hear the Wind Sing [Kaze no Uta o Kike]

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ATG: The Art Theatre Guild Pamphlet Project

We are trying to complete all the ATG Issues. If you have any of the missing ones and want to share, e-mail me at Eigagogo@gmail.com. I must thank to Robert Nishimura who has many issues in his posession and is willing to share them with us! Follow the thread at ADC too. Here is the complete list (in English and Japanese) of the ATG Art Theatre Guild pamphlets. Each issue has reviews, interviews, and full scenarios for each title released by ATG.

[English Titles]
No.01 - Mother Joan of the Angels (Jerzy Kawalerowicz)
No.02 - Testament of Orpheus (Jean Cocteau)
No.03 – Pitfall (Hiroshi Teshigahara)
No.04 – 2 Cents Worth of Hope, Renato Castellani
No.05 – Torment, Alf Sjöberg
No.06 - Umberto D., Vittorio De Sica
No.07 - Wild Strawberries, Ingmar Bergman
No.08 - Alexander Nevsky, Sergei M. Eisenstein
No.09 – All My Children (Miyoji Ieki)
No.10 - Night Train, Jerzy Kawalerowicz
No.11 - Love at Twenty, François Truffaut
No.12 - Cleo From 5 to 7, Agnes Varda
No.13 - Innocent Sorcerers, Andrzej Wajda
No.14 - Shoot the Piano Player, François Truffaut
No.15 - Andrei Rublev, Andrei Tarkovsky
No.16 - She and He (Susumu Hani)
No.17 - The Seventh Seal, Ingmar Bergman
No.18 - Electra, Michael Cacoyyanis
No.19 - The Girl Friends, Michelangelo Antonioni
No.20 - Ivan the Terrible, Sergei M. Eisenstein
No.21 - That Kind of Woman, Sidney Lumet
No.22 - Last Year at Marienbad, Alain Resnais
No.23 – Through a Glass Darkly, Ingmar Bergman
No.24 - The Long Absence, Henri Colpi
No.25 - Viridiana, Luis Buñuel
No.26 - Pasazerka, Andrzej Munk
No.27 - The Unmailed Letter, Mikhail Kalatozov
No.28 - Shadows, John Cassavetes
No.29 - Resurrection, Mikhail Shveitser
No.30 - Advise and Consent, Otto Preminger
No.31 - This Sporting Life, Lindsay Anderson
No.32 - The Presence of a Clown, Ingmar Bergman
No.33 - The Lady with the Little Dog, Iosif Kheifits
No.34 - The Real End of the Great War, Jerzy Kawarlerowicz
No.35 - 8½, Federico Fellini
No.36 - The Organizer, Mario Monicelli
No.37 - The Guns of August, Nathan Crawling
No.38 - Silence Has No Wings (Kazuo Kuroki)
No.39 - The Sun Shines Bright, John Ford
No.40 - Diary of a Chambermaid, Luis Buñuel
No.41 - Citizen Kane, Orson Welles
No.42 - King & Country, Joseph Rosie
No.43 - A Lesson in Love, Ingmar Bergman
No.44 - Pather Panchali, Satyajit Ray
No.45 - Juliette of the Spirits, Federico Fellini
No.46 - Bell’ Antonio, Mauro Bolognini
No.47 - Band of Ninja, Ôshima Nagisa
No.48 - The Moment of Truth, Francesco Rosi
No.49 - The Loved One, Tony Richardson
No.50 - Pierrot le Fou, Jean Luc Godard
No.51 - The River of Betrayal is Heavy, Mori Hiroshi
No.52 - Battleship Potemkin, Sergei M. Eisenstein
No.53 - La Guerra est Finie, Alain Resnais
No.54 - Fahrenheit 451, François Truffaut
No.55 - Death By Hanging, Ôshima Nagisa
No.56 - The Servant, Joseph Rosie
No.57 - Loin du Vietnam, Alain Resnais
No.58 - Nanami: Inferno of First Love, Susumu Hani
No.59 - Masculin Feminin, Jean Luc Godard
No.60 - Hitler…Connais Pas, Bertrand Briey
No.61 - Diamonds of the Night, Jan Nemec
No.62 - Nikudan, Okamoto Kihachi
No.63 – Sade/Muller, Peter Brook
No.64 - La Petit Solidat, Jean Luc Godard
No.65 - Diary of a Shinjuku Thief, Ôshima Nagisa
No.66 - Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, Sergei Paradjanov
No.67 - Who are you, Polly Maggoo?, William Klein
No.68 - Double Suicide, Shinoda Masahiro
No.69 - Boy, Ôshima Nagisa
No.70 - Funeral Parade of Roses, Matsumoto Toshio
No.71 - Weekend, Jean Luc Godard
No.72 - The Trial of Joan of Arc, Robert Bresson
No.73 - October, Sergei M. Eisenstein
No.74 - Apart from Life, Kei Kumai
No.75 - Eros + Massacre, Yoshida Yoshishige
No.76 - Au Hasard Balthazar, Robert Bresson
No.77 - Alphaville, Jean Luc Godard
No.78 - The Man Who Left His Will on Film, Ôshima Nagisa
No.79 - Mujo, Jissoji Akio
No.80 - Heroic Purgatory, Yoshida Yoshishige
No.81 - Antonio Das Mortes, Rocha Glauber
No.82 - Aparajito, Satyajit Ray
No.83 - Evil Spirits of Japan (Kazuo Kuroki)
No.84 - Demons (Toshio Matsumoto)
No.85 - Cul-de-sac, Roman Polanski
No.86 - Throw Away Your Books, Rally in the Streets (Shuji Terayama)
No.87 - The Ceremony (Nagisa Oshima)
No.88 - Wild Strawberries, Ingmar Bergman
No.89 - Mandala (Akio Jissoji)
No.90 - Lost Lovers (Kunio Shimizu, Sôichirô Tahara)
No.91 - Confessions Among Actresses (Kiju Yoshida)
No.92 - The Boys in the Band, William Friedkin
No.93 - Ecstasy of Angels (Koji Wakamatsu)
No.94 - The Iron Crown (Kaneto Shindo)
No.95 - Poem, Jissojii Akio
No.96 - Summer Sister, Ôshima Nagisa
No.97 - Aido:Slave of Love, Susumu Hani
No.98 - The Music, Masumura Yasushi
No.99 - Eulogy (Kaneto Shindô)
No.100 - Aesthetics of a Bullet (Sadao Nakajima)
No.101 - The Wanderers (Kon Ichikawa)
No.102 - Coup d’Etat, Yoshida Yoshishige
No.103 - Play It Again, Sam, Woody Allen
No.104 - The Liberation of LB Jones, William Wyler
No.105 - The Heart, Kaneto Shindô
No.106 - Jongara, Saitô Kôichi
No.107 - Muriel, Alain Resnais
No.108 - Himiko, Shinoda Masahiro
No.109 - The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, Luis Buñuel
No.110 - Carol, Jin Tatsumura
No.111 - The Assassination of Ryoma (Kazuo Kuroki)
No.112 - Life of a Court Lady (Akio Jissoji)
No.113 - Death in the Country, Terayama Shûji
No.114 - Human Bullet, Okamoto Kihachi
No.115 - Kenji Mizoguchi: The Life of a Filmmaker, Kaneto Shindo
No.116 - Love Affair, Yoshida Kenji
No.117 - Demons, Matsumoto Toshio
No.118 - Death at an Old Mansion, Takabayashi Yoichi
No.119 - Preparation for a Festival (Kazuo Kuroki)
No.120 - Variations, Nakahira Yasushi
No.121 - Dead Horizon, Juro Kara
No.122 - The Golden Pavilion, Takabayashi Yoichi
No.123 - The Youth Killer (Kazuhiko Hasegawa)
No.124 - The Japanese Belly Button (Eizo Sugawa)
No.125 - Furenzoku Satsujin Jiken, Sone Chûsei
No.126 - Eros Eterna (Koji Wakamatsu)
No.127 - Kuroki Taro: Love and Adventure, Morisaki Azuma
No.128 - Double Suicide at Nishizin, Takabayashi Yôichi
No.129 - Winter Song, Yamaguchi Seiichirô
No.130 - Puppets Under Starry Skies, Hashiura Houjin
No.131 - Nuclear War, Kuroki Kazuo
No.132 - Sado, Higashi Yôichi
No.133 - Double Suicide at Sonezaki, Masumura Yasushi
No.134 - Disqualified Person, Yoshidome Hiroshi
No.135 - Farewell to the Summer Light, Yoshida Kenji
No.136 - Mahiru Nari, Gotô Kôichi
No.137 - Youth PART II (Koyu Ohara)
No.138 - The Strangling (Kaneto Shindo)
No.139 - Keiko, Claude Gagnon
No.140 - No More Easy Life, Higashi Yôichi
No.141 - The Sound of the Tidal Sea, Hashiura Houjin
No.142 - Disciples of Hippocrates, Ômori Kazuki
No.143 - Mr. Mrs. Miss Lonely (Tatsumi Kumashiro)
No.144 - Zigeunerweisen, Suzuki Kiyoshi
No.145 - Empire of Kids, Izutsu Kazuyuki
No.146 - Distant Thunder, Negishi Yoshitarou
No.147 - Hear the Wind Sing (Kazuki Ohmori)
No.148 - At This Late Date, The Charleston (Kihachi Okamoto)
No.149 - Lonely Hearts Club Band in September (Shunichi Nagasaki)
No.150 - Tatoo Ari (Banmei Takahashi)
No.151 - Mysterious Story: The Living Koheiji, Nakagawa Nobuo
No.152 - Kidnapping Blues, Asai Makoto
No.153 - The Family Game (Yoshimitsu Morita)
No.154 - The Deserted City (Nobuhiko Obayashi)
No.155 - Honeymoon, Hashiura Houjin
No.156 - Exchange Students, Ôbayashi Nobuhiko
No.157 - Mermaid Legend (Toshiharu Ikeda)
No.158 - The Crazy Family (Sogo Ishii)
No.159 - Farewell to the Ark (Shuji Terayama)
No.160 - Until the Party Declares Itself Dead, I Live with Flowers, Morisaki Azuma
No.161 - Did You See the Barefoot God? (Kim Soo-Gil)
No.162 - Snow Mountain, Ôbayashi Nobuhiko
No.163 - Remembrance (Takehiro Nakajima)
No.164 - A Sandcastle Model Family Home, Suzuki Junichi


[Japanese Titles]
No.01「尼僧ヨアンナ」イエジー・カワレロウィッチ
No.02「オルフェの遺言」ジャン・コクトー
No.03「おとし穴」勅使河原　宏
No.04「２ペンスの希望」レナート・カステラーニ
No.05「もだえ」アルフ・シェーベリイ
No.06「ウンベルト・D」ヴィットリオ・デ・シーカ
No.07「野いちご」イングマール・ベルイマン
No.08「アレクサンドル・ネフスキー」セルゲイ・M・エイゼンシュテイン
No.09「みんなわが子」家城　巳代治
No.10「夜行列車」イエジー・カワレロウィッチ
No.11「二十歳の恋」フランソワ・トリュフォー
No.12「5時から7時までのクレオ」アニエス・バルダ
No.13「夜の終わりに」アンジェイ・ワイダ
No.14「ピアニストを撃て」フランソワ・トリュフォー
No.15「僕の村は戦場だった」アンドレイ・タルコフスキー
No.16「彼女と彼」羽仁　進
No.17「第七の封印 」イングマール・ベルイマン
No.18「イレクトラ」マイケル・カコヤニス
No.19「女ともたち」多賀祥介編
No.20「イワン雷帝」セルゲイ・M・エイゼンシュテイン
No.21「私はそんな女」シドニー・ルメット
No.22「去年マリエンバートで」アラン・ルネ
No.2３「鏡の中にある如く」イングマール・ベルイマン
No.24「かくも長き不在」アンリ・コルピ
No.25「ビリディアナ」ブーヌエル
No.26「パサジェルカ」アンジェイ・ムンク
No.27「送られなかった手紙」ミハイル・カラトーゾフ
No.28「アメリカの影」ジョン・カサヴェテス
No.29「復活」ミハイル・シバイツェル
No.30「野望の系列」オットー・プレミンジャー
No.31「孤独の報酬」リンゼイ・アンダースン
No.32「道化師の夜」イングマール・ベルイマン
No.33「小犬をつれた貴婦人」ヨシフ・ヘイフィツ
No.34「戦争の真の終り」イェジー・カワレロウイッチ
No.35「8 1/2」フェデリコ・フェリーニ
No.36「明日を生きる」マリオ・モニチェリ
No.37「八月の砲声」ネイザン・クロール
No.38「とべない沈黙」黒木和雄
No.39「太陽は光り輝く」ジョン・フォード
No.40「小間使の日記」ルイス・ブニュエル
No.41「市民ケーン」オーソンウェルズ
No.42「銃殺」ジョセフ・ロージー
No.43「愛のレッスン」イングマール・ベルイマン
No.44「大地のうた」サタジットライ
No.45「魂のジュリエッタ」フェリーニ
No.46「汚れなき抱擁」ボロニーニ/カルディナーレ
No.47「忍者武芸帳」白土三平　
No.48「真実の瞬間」フランチェスコ・ロージ
No.49「ラブド・ワン」トニー・リチャードスン
No.50「気狂ピエロ」ジャン・リュック・ゴダール
No.51「河　あの裏切りが重く」森弘太
No.52「戦艦ポチョムキン」エイゼンシュテイン
No.53「戦争は終わった」アラン・レネ
No.54「華氏４５１」フランソワ・トリュフォー
No.55「絞死刑」大島渚
No.56「召使」ジョセフロージー
No.57「ベトナムから遠く離れて」アラン・レネ
No.58「初恋・地獄篇」羽仁進
No.59「男性・女性」ジャン・リュック・ゴダール
No.60「ヒットラーなんか知らないよ」
No.61「夜のダイヤモンド」ヤン・ニェメッツ
No.62「肉弾」岡本　喜八
No.63「マルキ・ド・サドの〜迫害と演出」
No.64「小さな兵隊」ジャン・リュック・ゴダール
No.65「新宿泥棒日記」大島渚/横尾忠則
No.66「火の馬」ミハイルコシュビンスキー
No.67「ポリーマグーお前は誰だ」クライン
No.68「心中天網島」篠田正浩
No.69「少年」大島渚
No.70「薔薇の葬列」松本俊夫
No.71「ウイークエンド」ジャン・リュック・ゴダール
No.72「ジャンヌダルク裁判」ロベールブレッソン
No.73「十月」セルゲイ・M・エイゼンシュテイン
No.74「地の群れ」熊井啓
No.75「エロス＋虐殺」吉田喜重
No.76「バルタザールどこへ行く」ロベールブレッソ
No.77「アルファヴィル」ジャン・リュック・ゴダール
No.78「東京戦争戦後秘話」大島渚
No.79「無常」実相寺　昭雄
No.80「煉獄エロイカ」吉田喜重
No.81「アントニオ・ダス・モルテス」グラウベル・ローシャ
No.82「大河のうた」サタジットライ
No.83「日本の悪霊」黒木和雄
No.84「修羅」松本俊夫
No.85「袋小路」ロマンポランスキー
No.86「書を捨てよ町へ出よう」寺山修司
No.87「儀式」大島渚
No.88「野いちご」イングマール・ベルイマン
No.89「曼荼羅」実相寺　昭雄
No.90「あらかじめ失われた恋人たちよ」田原総一朗
No.91「告白的女優論」吉田喜重
No.92「真夜中のパーティ」ウイリアム・フリードキン
No.93「天使の恍惚」若松孝二
No.94「鉄輪」新藤兼人
No.95「歌」実相寺昭雄
No.96「夏の妹」大島渚
No.97「午前中の時間割り」羽仁進
No.98「音楽」増村保造
No.99「讃歌」新藤　兼人
No.100「鉄砲玉の美学」中島貞夫
No.101「股旅」市川崑
No.102「戒厳令」吉田喜重
No.103「ボギー！俺も男だ」ウディ・アレン
No.104「L.B.ジョーンズの解放」ウィリアム・ワイラー
No.105「心」新藤　兼人
No.106「津軽じょんがら節」斉藤　耕一
No.107「ミュリエル」アラン・ルネ
No.108「銅鐸銅鏡」篠田正浩
No.109「ブルジョワジーの密かな愉しみ」ルイス・ブニュエル
No.110「キャロル」龍村　仁
No.111「竜馬暗殺」黒木和雄
No.112「あさき夢みし」実相寺昭雄
No.113「田園に死す」寺山修司
No.114「吶喊」岡本喜八
No.115「ある映画監督の生涯」新藤兼人
No.116「鴎よ、きらめく海をみたかめぐり逢い」吉田憲二
No.117「鬼の詩」村野鐵太郎
No.118「本陣殺人事件」高林陽一
No.119「祭りの準備」黒木　和雄
No.120「変奏曲」中平　康
No.121「任侠外伝　玄界灘」唐十郎
No.122「金閣寺」高林陽一
No.123「青春の殺人者」長谷川和彦
No.124「日本人のへそ」須川栄三
No.125「不連続殺人事件」曽根中生
No.126「聖母観音大菩薩」若松孝二
No.127「黒木太郎の愛と冒険」森崎東
No.128「西陣心中」高林陽一
No.129「北村透谷　わが冬の歌」山口清一郎
No.130「星空のマリオネット」橋浦方人
No.131「原子力戦争」黒木和雄
No.132「サード」東陽一
No.133「曾根崎心中」増村保造
No.134「新・人間失格」吉留絋平
No.135「君はいま光のなかに」吉田憲二
No.136「正午なり」後藤幸一
No.137「青春PART�」小原宏裕
No.138「絞殺」新藤兼人
No.139「Keiko」クロード・ガニオン
No.140「もう頬づえはつかない」東陽一
No.141「海潮音」橋浦方人
No.142「ヒポクラテスたち」大森一樹
No.143「ミスター・ミセス・ミス・ロンリー」神代辰巳
No.144「ツィゴイネルワイゼン」鈴木清順
No.145「ガキ帝国」井筒和幸
No.146「遠雷」根岸吉太郎
No.147「風の歌を聴け」大森一樹
No.148「近頃なぜかチャールストン」岡本喜八
No.149「九月の冗談クラブバンド」長崎俊一
No.150「TATTOO[刺青]あり」高橋伴明
No.151「生きている小平次」中川信夫
No.152「キッドナップ・ブルース」浅井慎平
No.153「家族ゲーム」森田芳光
No.154「廃市」大林宣彦
No.155「蜜月」橋浦方人
No.156「転校生」大林宣彦
No.157「人魚伝説」池田俊春
No.158「逆噴射家族」石井聰亙
No.159「さらば箱舟」寺山修司
No.160「生きてるうちが花なのよ死んだらそれまでよ党宣言」森崎東
No.161「君は裸足の神を見たか」金秀吉/今村昌平
No.162「野ゆき山ゆき海べゆき」大林宣彦
No.163「郷愁」中島丈博
No.164「砂の上のロビンソン」すずき　じゅんいち

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