For fans of Japanese cinema, Sabu needs no introduction. They will know him either from his incredible debut Dangan Runner (1996), Postman Blues (1997), Usagi Drop (2011) or his latest narrative My Blood & Bones in a Flowing Galaxy (2021). However, Sabu’s oeuvre is full of little gems waiting to be discovered.

One such gem, is Chasuke’s Journey, Sabu’s adaptation of his own novel Ten no Chasuke (2015). In this film, Sabu follows Chasuke (Kenichi Matsuyama), the head tea server of the heavenly plane tasked to serve tea to the scribes, people chosen by The man, the creator of all things who holds supreme command over all written signifiers, to write the lives of the people on earth, the scenarios that determine their acts, their signifiers, their life’s trajectory.

One day, however, one screenwriter, fearing what he writes is far too mundane, asks Chasuke’s advice to spice up his subject’s life trajectory. Chasuke gives him advice – “change the setting”, in full knowledge that a sudden change will affect the stories other screenwriters are in in the process of writing – subjects depend on the Other and take position in the societal field by forming a network of social bonds with others.

Chasuke holds a romantically-flavoured interest in the subject whose life is being written by Kansuke (-): Yuri (Ito Ohno), a mute subject who charmingly ‘speaks’ with her facial expressions and her gestures. However, his suggestion leads to an unexpected brutal outcome: a screenwriter, affected by Chasuke’s meddling, makes his main character murder Yuri while joy-riding. Kansuke, shocked by the event, pleads Chasuke to go to earth, meddle with the written scenarios, and save her. He tells him that Amesuke (-), the writer of the trajectory of Junichi Taneda (Ren Osugi), and Kasuke (-), the composer of the life path of Joe Hikomura (Yusuke Iseya), will help him with their written signifiers.   

Chasuke’s Journey is structured around the fantastical premise that the lives that unfold on earth are the result ofconflicts and rivalrous tension between the scribes in heaven. The screenwriters attack, defend, deflect, counter-attack with signifiers, creating chess-like-patterned relational drama on earth – certain screenwriters try to protect their subjects from harm caused by the other’s written signifiers, others create drama for their subjects for their own pleasure or, more importantly to appease The Man – More Avant Garde, and others do not hesitate in weaponizing their subjects to retaliate against the unwelcome signifiers written by others.

This interesting premise does not merely introduce the catalyst for the main character to go to the earthly place called Okinawa – to change Yuri’s tragic fate, but also succeeds in installing a frame that supports the fluid blend of genres Sabu aims to deliver and the emotions he seeks to evoke. Sabu puts his narrative skill on display and creates a narrative that, despite mixing various genre-elements together, succeeds in hitting all the right emotional notes – light-hearted moments to warm the heart, splurges of brutal violence for shock, down-to-earth drama that wretches the heart, and bouts of tensions that keeps the spectator on the edge of his seat.   

While the spectator might feel that Sabu introduces a radical system of determination – the subject is the plaything of the written inventions and fabrications of a screenwriter who is defined by his own preoccupations, he emphasizes quite early in Chasuke’s Journey that, despite the determining effect of the written signifiers, the subject maintains a certain freedom in how he responds to these predetermined life events. Chasuke informs the spectator that, despite Kansuke’s repeated attempts to put her into situations that force her to talk, Yuri has kept her refusal to speak standing.   

This subtle revelation begs the question: what allows the subject to retain a certain freedom to his own fate? Or, to reformulate the question somewhat more psychoanalytically, what enables the subject, in his encounter with a pre-written Other, to not become radically pre-written himself? The answer lies, at least in our reading, in the idea that the encounter between the subject and the Other produces a remainder called the unconscious. The ‘freedom’ of the subject is caused by the singular way he has subjectified the Other, the field of intersecting stories and all the events it produces. However, this ‘freedom’ also means that the subject can choose to meekly act in accordance with what, via the signifier, is prescribed for him – e.g. Joe’s rationalization of Kasuke’s intervention: “Somehow I just ain’t up for working”.     

The fact that the system of written fate is not fully determinative of the path of the subject is also highlighted by the fact that the intrusion of Chasuke – this strange element-of-desire unbound by the signifiers jotted down by the screenwriters – within the societal field sorts effects. His presence bends trajectories and can even alter written fate. Especially later in the narrative, when he puts his newly discovered angelic power to use, he proves to be veritable force that erases signifiers from the written scripts, undoes the unnecessary tragedies The Man rejoices in – rescuing Yuri is within the realm of the possible. Yet, what will the costs be of using his angelic power to erase the perverse enjoyment of the ‘upper’ class? Can he repel the counter-attack from heaven, of those frustrated scribes who are not pleased with his meddling?

The spectator must realize that Sabu utilizes Chasuke and his journey to re-affirm the simple critique against the god of the Catholics – If God is almighty why there is suffering. Sabu’s quirky answer is also quite shocking: suffering is omnipresent on earth because The Man demands it, because he wants to be entertained with originality (Zanshin). However, utilizing his main character, Sabu turns this fleeting critique into an anti-authoritarian statement: suffering should never serve as a source of gratification for those in and with power; masters should not enslave others for their own pleasure (General-note 2). This critique culminates, unsurprisingly, in the affirmation that we, as subjects, can alter the path of our own story. We can, by gambling on our own willpower, refuse the signifiers of ‘above’ us and impose our own on the scribes in the ‘upper’ regions.   

I will come to no surprise to the spectator familiar with Sabu’s work that Chasuke’s Journey is populated with interesting characters, characters who, each in their own way, support the emotional flow of the film – e.g. the failed actor turned antique dealer Takeda, boxer Joe, whose love for his deceased lover led him to open a ramen shop, and Heisuke’s main character Shin Tobita (Hiromasa Taguchi), the son of a pickpocketing mother who, thanks to one fateful encounter, could turn himself into a magician/celebrity. However, with Chasuke, Sabu does something different. Chasuke is defined by a certain vagueness – a blank-slate merely defined by his romantic interest in Yuki. For the spectator, Chasuke is, first and foremost, a passive presence – he is a narrator, a spectator, and, above all, an interpreter of the trajectories he glances at while serving tea in heaven. However, he fails to remain indifferent – Yuki has, with her presence, turned him into a courtly romanticist.

Sabu utilizes the contrast between Chasuke, a somewhat vaguely defined character, and his well-rounded quirky characters to underline the importance of the encounter and emphasize the subjective effects of actively partaking in the exchanging of signifiers and the concatenation of acts. Once in the societal field, he cannot remain the passive receiver/observer of the subjective tragedies, but must become an active ‘disruptive’ force within the network of written narratives as they are unfolding – a buddha-like transformation.     

Spectators who are familiar with Sabu’s work know that he is a master in creating engaging energetic visual compositions. With Chasuke’s Journey, Sabu reaffirms his skill and delivers a dynamic composition that does not only boast an inviting energetic visual rhythm, but also interweaves aesthetically pleasing moments of dynamism to visually satisfy the spectator’s gaze at every turn. The engaging visual flow that Sabo creates also allows the fluidly integrate evocative visual decorations (e.g. slow-motion, … etc.).

Sabu, however, does not only exploit camera-movement for stylistic and pace-related purposes, but also relies on dynamism to visually echo/emphasize Chasuke’s subjective stance (e.g. the disorientation that accompanies his arrival on earth). Sabu shows, in other words, that he grasps the fact that the filmic frame plays in important part in the signifying articulation – the frame guides the spectator’s interpretation – and the ability for the spectator to libidinally invest in a character (Cine-note 1). Sabu also seizes other moments within his composition – e.g. the teary eyed POV-shot – to re-affirm or strengthen the spectator’s investment in Chasuke’s journey.

Sabu creates a clear distinction between the physical world and the heavenly sphere via contrasting colour-schemes – natural versus yellowish – and by shifting lighting contrasts – low-key lighting elements versus a more diffuse lighting approach. Sabu makes this heavenly space his own by introducing visual elements that give it a truly Otherworldly Buddhistic flavour.

Chasuke’s Journey is the result of a director that plays to his strengths. Sabu, however, does not merely offer a more refined rehash of his past work, but leverages the familiar frame of the encounter to offer a fresh and deeply satisfying experience – you’ll laugh, you’ll tear up, you’ll flinch from shock, yet ultimately, you’ll feel heartened. Highly recommended.

Notes

Cine-note 1: The use of crude dynamism does not merely echo the inner disorientation of Chasuke, but also invites the spectator to partake in his disorientation. This visually induced moment of ‘empathy’ – this fleeing moment of false emotional equivalence – asks the spectator to invest some libido in the character as his journey. 

We would even argue that, despite the inviting nature of the composition, the ability of Sabu’s narrative to affect the spectator hinges on whether he takes this stylistic ‘bait’ or not.

Narra-note 1: Some spectators might wonder why Kansuke is unable to rewrite Yuki’s fate on the second scroll while Amesuke and Kasuke can guide their characters before her tragic fate comes to pass.

In our view, temporally speaking, the first and the second roll are continuous, but allows for future events to be jotted down. In this sense, our perpetrator made Yuki’s coming death explicit to screw Kansuke over for his unintended meddling, making him suffer as he cannot overwrite a fate accepted/received by The Man – what is written on the roll that is taken away must come to pass. 

General-note 1: Sabu plays with his audiences by fluidly interweaving tongue-in-the-cheek references to films like Titanic (1997) and Ghost (1990). Sabu even makes fleeting references to Gloria (1980) and to Chaplin’s City Lights (1931).

General-note 2: Chasuke’s journey can be said to be Sabu’s version of City Lights (1931).