July 14, 2024

Light & Matter: An Interview with Gakuryu Ishii

by Nel Dahl

In Gakuryu Ishii’s mercurial sci-fi feature film August in the Water (1995), an
accomplished young female diver has an accident during a tournament amidst eerily
prescient heat waves and an epidemic, which transforms not only her life and
perspective, but the very fabric of existence.
Screening for the first time since its North American premiere over 20 years ago, a
rare 35mm print of the film is playing at Japan Society, as part of their 2024 JAPAN
CUTS festival. To mark this occasion, I spoke with Ishii on the film’s inspirations, its
eerie electronic score, the di!cult shoot, and the film’s burgeoning cult status. We
also discussed his latest film, The Box Man (2024), which is an adaptation of Kobo
Abe’s tale of isolation and voyeurism, and his perspective on some highlights of his
unrealized projects.

What was the impetus for you to write and direct this film?

One of the main reasons I was drawn to this film was my fascination with the high
dive. I often found myself wondering if it was possible to capture the sheer beauty
and dynamism of this sport in a feature film. Unlike the colossal rockets that defy the
earth’s gravity and soar into space, a high dive is a feat performed by a human being,
a flesh-and-blood individual who launches into space, descends under the earth’s
gravity, lands in the water, rises to the surface, and resumes breathing. To me, this is
the most exquisite and awe-inspiring sport in the world.

The other reason is that when I was stuck in a situation where various film projects
were not going smoothly, I took a trip to Thailand and Indonesia, where I had always
wanted to visit. In Yogyakarta and Bali, my final destinations, I felt that something
fundamental to me, indispensable and absolute, exists here and now. It was very
similar to the vibrations emitted by the environment and colors that had always
existed, as a matter of course, in the back streets of the seedy urban corner where I
was born and raised, a corner of the city where it went unnoticed. I wondered if it
would be possible to create a film as a way to genuinely question, ‘What was the true
nature of this vibration?’

Another reason is that around the time I was trying to make this film, the Aum
Shinrikyo, a murderous cult in Japan, were causing severe incidents. In my previous
film, Angel Dust (1994), I sent out a warning about the critical atmosphere
surrounding Japan and Tokyo. I was shocked and hurt to see that it had become a
reality. I could no longer bear to watch bleak expressions, and I strongly felt that I
had to express myself through a film to purify people’s souls.
How did you and your team initially envision and develop the visuals? Was it
di!cult shooting the striking scenes with harsh weather, the underwater scenes,
or the scene with the lead actress wading into water at night?

Shooting this film was challenging. The people in my hometown, where the
production took place, had helped us free of charge, which meant a lot. I arrived
there with my family six months before the shoot, and the crew and the main cast
tackled it as if they were in a training camp. To my surprise, this was an
extraordinary summer, and just like the setting in the film, the entire city was in a
drought, and water for daily use had to be stopped and rationed. It finally rained on
the last day of the shoot. Both the rainbow and the rain clouds rushing in are real.

The rest of the ingenuity and details result from the steady e#orts and wisdom of the
crew. A good crew knows that the god of cinema resides in the details. The main
crew, led by the cameraman, were members I trusted completely, and I am very
grateful to them for their willingness to participate in this hard work.

How did you work with composer Hiroyuki Onogawa on this film to make its
distinctive score? In an interview, he discussed how you “always wrote a scenario
thinking about the soundtrack” and “used to think what tune could match the
particular lines.” Did your experience directing concert films and films about
musicians inform how you pair sound/music with the visuals for August in the
Water?

First of all, the music for this film is a collaboration between Hiroyuki Onogawa,
Kenjiro Matsuo, Hiroyuki Nagashima, and Tenzan Utagaki. Onogawa composed the
main theme, Matsuo’s music was used during the end credits, and Ugaki composed
the high dive scene. Since this was the first time Onogawa and Matsuo had
composed music for a film, the three of us spent several days, 24 hours a day—as if it
were a training camp—finishing the music to match the finished film. This was the
only time I had such an experience.

Between the production of Burst City (1982) and The Crazy Family (1984), I played in a
rock band and made a full-fledged studio album, which was beneficial for my film
directing. Everything in this world, in its smallest field unit, is made up of waves.
Naturally, it’s true for lights, environment, matter, and all movements and sounds.
All the elements that should be expressed in a film may have di#erent forms on the
surface. Still, they cannot have the power of collaboration as expression unless there
is a rule or structure that allows the waves of each element to resonate in
accordance with the theme of the work. If one felt that Onogawa’s music was
beautiful and synchronized with the images, it means that he was creating music
that resonated deeply with this film’s world.

At one point in the film a character says, “Humans do nothing for the earth.” The
film has a modern resonance through its many intensifying heat waves and the
mysterious epidemic that lacks proper response measures. Characters don’t take
Izumi seriously. This scenario seems contemporary in 2024, with climate change
regularly causing record-breaking heat waves and the recent global pandemic.
What do you think about this?

The phrase, “humans do nothing for the earth,” is not a statement made by Izumi,
but by her high school biology teacher. This is also my message.

The Ainu people, who were the original inhabitants of the northern part of Japan,
had a standard rule that if, for example, they caught three salmons, they would give
one third to God, one third to the bears they coexist with and who would return it to
the earth, and their share would be one third. I think we are forgetting the rules and
wisdom that are very important for us to live on this Earth we’ve been blessed with.

There are many thought-provoking films across genres that depict themes of
“ecological horror.” One film, Toshiharu Ikeda’s Mermaid Legend (1984), is playing
alongside August in the Water in Japan Society’s festival this year. Are there other
ecologically-themed movies that speak to what you touch on in this film and were
there any that provided inspiration to you?

There is no particular film that has influenced me. I think this film is a result of my
search for a way to build a cyberpunk sci-fi world that I really adore without
borrowing Western design (both visually and dramatically) and realize an original
world that only I can create. My first attempts at this were short films The Master of
Shiatsu (1989) and Heart of Stone (1993). I am, of course, interested in ancient
civilizations, petrography, cultural anthropology, shamanism, and inner space
science fiction, etc.

What was the initial reception like for this film? By contrast, have you felt that
moments like this screening selling out almost immediately signifies a new
growing interest in the film, especially from younger audiences?
Unfortunately, this film was not a hit in Japan and is little known outside of a few
ardent supporters. Therefore, it has not been possible to make another film like this,
except for a few small, personal, independent works.

However, I know that I have many enthusiastic followers worldwide. That is very
gratifying and encouraging to me. If the number increases and interest grows,
creating another film in this vein may become possible.

Your latest film The Box Man is based on Kobo Abe’s novel. Abe had granted
permission for you to adapt this. What was it like speaking with him and what did
you talk about? Did he mention what it was about your work that made him think
you were suitable to adapt his?

It was me who asked if I could adapt his novel The Box Man into a film and requested
to talk to him about the rights. Mr. Abe had already seen my directorial film The
Crazy Family and my arthouse music film, 1/2 Mensch (1986), and said both were
interesting when I met him for the first time. I think he liked my fresh sense of
imagery, vigorous dynamism, fusion of black humor and surrealistic satire of
modern society, and o$eat modernity. He said, “I’ll leave it to you to make it into a
movie.” The only thing he requested was, “If you adapt it into a movie, make it
entertaining,” which I didn’t expect. This was a huge responsibility for me, but also a
desirable one.

Back in the 90s when you were first working on this, what was it that made you
want to adapt this supposedly “unfilmable” novel out of his various works?

Because I liked The Box Man the best. The theme and essence of Abe’s expressive
activities are assembled with extreme precision, with a reversal of ideas, bizarrely
and mysteriously, in a simple setting. The fact that it is a love story with many twists
was also appealing. All of the previous film adaptations of Kobo Abe’s novels and
screenplays by Hiroshi Teshigahara, with the exception of Pitfall (1962), have the
same elements. The original story is full of ideas that can be made into an ambitious
film, even with the tight budget of Japanese cinema. It is an experimental novel that
can be interpreted di#erently by each reader, but I did not think it was an impossible
task to make a live-action film.

The initial adaptation slated in the 90s had its funding cut the day before shooting.
What reopened the possibility of this project for you? Are there aspects to this new
film you’ve made decades later that di"er from how you would’ve adapted it back
in the 90s? You’ve said, “I feel that we’re all box men now. Abe’s novel was a
prophetic book that anticipated the information society of today.” Can you
elaborate on the ways in which you see the contemporary relevance of this
character and this story?

When the project was abruptly canceled 27 years ago, I was very depressed, and it
took me about two years to recover. However, since I decided to resume the project,
I have never given up on the adaptation. As a result, it took me 27 years, during
which time I worked on the story and rewrote the script many times. So, I think the
structure of the drama, the details of the characters, and the specific tastes have
changed completely, but the fundamental themes have remained almost the same.
Ultimately, it was important to make the film an actual film about the present, not a
film about the past.

The protagonist abandons all self-identity and shuts himself into a cardboard box,
living in the blind spots of the city. Usually, he would be an outcast, but through a
hole in the box, he unilaterally peeks out at others and the world. With this minimal
act alone, the hierarchical position in society is reversed, and he gains superiority
mentally. This extremely cheap and delusional philosophical box-man character is a
terrific invention. People of all backgrounds live empowered lives, are subject to
society, and follow its rules by interacting with others in some way. Still, many
people are fundamentally annoyed by these boundaries, wanting to escape them.
The Box Man achieves this endless fantasy of liberation with a trashy cardboard box
and a peek-a-boo window. He willingly falls out of the social frame. During the day,
he blends in with the cityscape, and he dissolves into darkness at night. However,
this existence of triumphant absence becomes an object that increases the hatred
and malice of those who are aware of it and are jealous of it, and layers of dangers
and traps descend upon it. I thought this was an anthropological subject neither
Hollywood nor other countries can depict. Also, as an individual living in a corner of
a Japanese city who continues to struggle with the subconscious chaos of intense
introspection and eruption vectors, isolation, and coexistence, I am the only one
who can direct this film.

This film’s history shows your ongoing struggle to get films made because of
frustrating hurdles like funding. Another author, William Gibson, described a film
you almost made together as his “coolest project that never happened”. You almost
did a film with him starring Nick Cave, Peter Murphy, and Blixa Bargeld. Can you
elaborate on these? Are there other collaborations that you’ve wanted to do, or
would still be open to doing if the opportunity arises, as with the long-delayed The
Box Man?

I have worked with William Gibson on two film projects. One was The New Rose
Hotel, based on his novel, for which he also wrote the screenplay. This was adapted
into a film later on with a completely di#erent plot, but when Mr. Gibson approached
me, the plot was based entirely on the original story, and it was a cyberpunk story
set in a cyber scam in the canal-like area somewhere around Haneda in Tokyo. The
producer was someone I respected, but because I had no interest in the proposed
lead actor and wanted to work with Mr. Gibson on something original if I were to
collaborate with him, we decided to develop a new project, but sticking to the
cyberpunk theme. The project was tentatively titled Cyber Carboy, an electronic noir
action film set in Kowloon City in Hong Kong. Although I met with Mr. Gibson in
Hollywood and did location scouting there, the scale of the project was too large for
my ability and position at the time. Unfortunately, we could not raise enough funds,
and the project faded away.

I think it is probably the same for all ambitious Japanese directors. Still, especially in
my case, projects I planned to direct, and even those I printed the script for, very few
have been made into movies. This has been the case for a long time. I honestly
cannot keep track of films that did not happen due to financial problems. In Japan,
where government and fund support are almost nonexistent for films, ambitious
projects are made with minimal collaborative e#ort between producers, directors,
actors, and other important people. In Japan, magic is required if one wishes to
create an ambitious and exciting film to an extent and to make it a success.

I have tons of collaborations I would like to realize, but we must not get caught up in
the past or our delusions, and firmly focus on the solid reality in front of us and
move forward steadily without neglecting the necessary e#orts as an ordinary
person. Otherwise, time will fly by, and our lives will quickly fall apart.
 Nel Dahl is a writer inspired by horror and genre cinema.
She’s based in the Pacific Northwest with her Russian Blue
cat. [Twitter]
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FILM / INTERVIEW

August in the Water , featured , Gakuryu Ishii , interview , Japan Cuts , Japan
Society , Nel Dahl , The Box Man

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