was sitting on my balcony ledge smoking a cig, and felt almost so slightly the vibrations on the ground set off by a motorcycle driving by down the street below… almost forgetting how nice it is to be in the present… and in the present i am sitting on a tarmac

Pinku Eiga: Sustainability of the Japan Film Industry’s Monstrous Offspring

On August 2008, a gallery in Melbourne showcased a series of erotic film promotional posters from Japan spanning from the 60s to 80s. These colourful and intricately designed posters gave Melbournians a glance at the pinku eiga (pink film), a genre of feature film in Japan whose main draw is its softcore pornographic content.  Fast forward to 2009: for the first time, the Melbourne International Film Festival showcased a series of Japanese film under the title ‘Eros + Massacre’, of which many were produced by pink film studios in the 60s and 70s. The exhibition of these posters and films brings forth an alternate history of Japanese cinema, one populated with flirtations with pornography, misogyny and violence. This is deeply contrasting to the dominant articulated moods of Japan national cinema as represented by auteurs such as Ozu and Kurosawa. However, in Japan’s domestic context, the pink film industry is an extensive and common phenomenon that functions as a cog within the wider film industry.

Sharp defines the pink film as “an independently-produced movie, shot on 35mm film by professional or semi-professional casts and crews, whose main lure is its sexual content” (2008, p. 9). While many pink films, especially in its earlier developmental stage, are produced by independent studios, the term independent should be used carefully as the industry itself rose from the dynamics of the major studios, which also appropriated this genre into mainstream production. In this essay, I shall explore the pink film industry to discuss the industrial and cultural dynamics that resulted in its existence, spurred its development, hindered its growth, and the manoeuvres initiated to ensure its sustainability. I shall not simply fixate my discussion on the sustainability of the pink film industry, but illustrate how its functions sustain the wider film industry. This historical analysis will lead to a summary of the current pink film industry in Japan and its entrance into the global arena. To end off, I shall discuss if it is worth sustaining this industry within its current dynamics.

The industrial circumstances that resulted in the formation of the pink film industry are commonly attributed to the crisis in the film industry as a result of the rise in television technology and viewership in the 60s. As Sharp states, “By 1965, the new technology had infiltrated 60% of the nation’s homes, a figure that would rise to 95% by 1970” (2008, p. 45). This in turn was met with a decline in cinema attendance, in which 1,014 million in 1960 plunged to 373 million in 1965 and 174 million in 1975 (ibid). This is in high contrast to the 1950s, commonly termed as the golden age of Japanese cinema, in which “1.13 billion people went to the movies” (Domenig, 2004, par. 11).

In terms of the quality of image and experience, it could be said that cinematic technology has an advantage, as large screens and sound systems enable more engaging viewership. However, a difference between television and cinema is that the latter is a more social experience. Following this statement, it becomes contingent to position the impact of television within the cultural development in Japan that gradually integrates itself within capitalistic flows. As the Japanese become more infused into capitalistic logic, the collective consciousness demands a higher degree of privatisation, of which television steps in. Williams positions television as an “inferior kind of cinema,” but also acknowledges that “most people have adapted to this inferior visual medium, in an unusual kind of preference for an inferior immediate technology, because of the social complex—and especially that of the privatised home—within which broadcasting, as a system, is operative” (1990, p. 22).

Within this climate, major studios went into crisis while many independent studios sprung out to capitalise on the business environment. Thus, it could be said that a crisis in sustainability in the major film studios resulted in a deterritorialisation that enables smaller companies to sustain itself. The first documented pink film, Flesh Market (Kobayashi, 1962), was released by Okura Eiga, which was formed by Shintoho’s former president after the major company’s collapse in 1961. This film was profitable due to its no-frills budget and its transgressive appeal, in which much publicity was generated when its screening was interrupted by the Metropolitan Police, resulting in the circulation new less offensive print. Its success spurred the emergence of an array of independent studios that dedicated their output into a similar format.

Soon after, the output of pink film increased: “Twenty four such films were produced in 1963; sixty five in 1964; and two hundred and thirteen in its peak year of 1965, after which the figure dropped off slightly” (Sharp, 2008, p. 47). Prominent pink film production companies within this decade were Aoi Eiga, Roppo Eiga, World Eiga, KPC, Hoei etc. There were also many unregistered production companies that directors set up “because pink film distributors will not sign contracts with individuals, and in fact are financed by the distributors, not by the company itself” (ibid, p. 53).

In its earlier stages, pink films were “released to standard cinemas to fill up shortfalls in theatre schedules due to the waning output of the majors” (Sharp, 2008, p. 53). This is a rupture in the vertical integration of the studio system, in which the waning output from the major production companies enabled independent productions to seep into the distribution and exhibition circuit. Soon, these independent companies begun to develop their own system of distribution and exhibition. While these systems were developed in response to the dominance of the majors’ vertical intergration, they were nevertheless informed by its approaches, with the difference being that a larger number of companies were consolidated for its efforts. For example Okura brought together a network of contractor cinemas to form the OP chain, which distributed the film of Aoi Eiga, Roppo Eiga, World Eiga etc. As the OP chain became more centralised, another independent production company, Kokuei, formed the dokuritsu chen, or ‘independent chain’, “which distributed its own films along with those of Nichiei and the new Shintoho” (ibid, p. 53). Soon, the solidification of the pink film circuit resulted in the establishment of specialised adult film theatres, in which hour long pink films are shown in triple bills.

Film censorship in Japan is also a major factor in the emergence and conventions of the pink film industry. It is useful to compare the industry with other exploitation film markets overseas. Katz defines exploitation films as “Films made with little or no attention to quality or artistic merit but with an eye to a quick profit, usually via high-pressure sales and promotion techniques emphasizing some sensational aspect of the product” (1979, p. 396). In particular, the sensational aspects of these film products are often that of violence and sex. It pushes the boundaries, much in an outlandish manner, that guide the current standards of decency. The emergence of such genres were often a result of relaxed censorship laws. For example, the establishment of a film ratings system in Hong Kong in 1988, which included a ‘Category III’ rating for adult films, resulted in a rapid proliferation of softcore pornographic exploitation films such as the Sex and Zen cycle. Similarly in Australia, the introduction of the R rating in 1971 resulted in a wave of exploitation cinema that is commonly known as Ozploitation. In Japan, pink films fall under the R-18 category which restricted viewing to adults over 18 years of age. Thus, this is a cultural deterritorialisation, in which the western liberalisation of sexuality seeped into Japan’s collective consciousness, resulting in the proliferation of libidinal sexual representations in the media.

It is a common statement that independent studios, being less tied to the general market, are at the forefronts of innovation that is indeed necessary for sustaining the film industry. This is the case for the pink film phenomenon, in which the innovation of the participating studios involves receptivity towards the liberalisation of sexuality within the occident. As Anderson and Ritchie state, “coupled with the drop in movie attendance,” the sexual freedom witnessed via “international trends in the 1960” which spurred these directors to treat “sexual themes and scenes with increasing directness,” resulted and “encouraged the development of another new genre, the pink film” (1982, p. 454). Thus, in fully exploiting the R-18 category, the pioneers of pink film could be considered entrepeneurs in its most basely transgressive connotations.

Nevertheless, Erin, the committee that oversees the mostly self-censorship regulatory aspects of the Japan film industry, maintains a strict censorship code that guides even the R-18 category. There are explicit rules such as the zero-tolerance for any displays of pubic hair and genitals. In a way, together with the generic production requirements, censorship requirements worked to create a distinct signature to the pink film. As Macias notes, “The possibility of arrests and lawsuits led to the mastering of techniques that would come to define Japanese adult films: careful camera placement and elaborate shot composition in order to cover up the naughty bits, or optically ‘fogging’ selected portions of the screen (2001, p. 174-175). Furthermore, despite censorship requirements, pink films directors were still able to construct transgressive sexual thematics within its narratives. As Tuck states, “It was under these hybrid conditions that Japanese filmmakers found themselves, encouraged to explore sexual themes while remaining severely restricted in what they could show” (Winter 2007, p. 49). This is indeed one of the qualities of pink films that gives it its distinct appeal.

While television was a cause for the rise of the pink film industry, many pink film directors, nonetheless, begun their careers within the more commercially viable television industry. Television “provided a stable income for fledging filmmakers, but it was an anonymous form of filmmaking and was viewed as a poor second-best to earning a living making ‘real’ movies” (Sharp, 2008, p. 51). Thus, the pink film format functioned as a platform in which aspiring directors were able to make films that are exhibited theatrically, a mark of maturity in their filmmaking careers. Within this trajectory, it is noted that cinema is taken as a more serious and definite art form within the film production industry. Both industries are heavily informed by an economic rationale, but within the pink film format, directors have a greater capacity to fulfil their personal visions even though they were being constrained by certain formulaic content, budget and productivity guidelines that ensure profitability. Harritz states:

The director had full control over the movie, as long as he maintained the following requirements; that the movie 1) had to feature an abundance of sex scenes, 2) had to have an average length of about 60 minutes, 3) had to be shot in 4-6 days on 16 mm or 35 mm and, most importantly, had to be made on a budget of approximately 35.000 $. (2006, par. 16)

In regards to the first point, it could be said that sex as innovation gives way to sex as industrial constraint. Nevertheless, the gaps within these sexual sequences, and indeed, the sexual sequences themselves, considering the creative potentialities in depicting sexuality, becomes an empty canvas for auteuristic input. Thus, the pink film format becomes a means for directors to sustain their creative practice. For directors such as Koji Wakamatsu, who runs Wakamatsu Pro, the pink film format was a means to sustain the possibilities of political critique, to ignite a subversive revolutionary machine. While this is evident in explicit ways within the non-sexual parts of his films, sexuality itself is also invested with revolution through a double sided articulation: on one part it is meant to titillate, while on the other side, its liberalisation becomes synonymous with the political becoming of the subject. In Wakamatsu’s own words: “All in all you can say that our films were underground films with a sexy touch” (cited in Sharp, 2008, p. 79).

Within the late 60s and through the 70s, the major studios acknowledged the commercial viability of the pink film format, and begun appropriating its conventions into their production practices. On 1971, the major studio, Nikkatsu, begun its prolific production of pink films that have been coined as Roman Porno. This term is “derive[d] from the French term roman pornographique (erotic novels),” a strategic representation that “give[s] it a more highbrow cachet against its cheap-jack independent rivals” (Sharp, Dec 4, 2008, par. 6). Within its 17 years of output from 1971 to 1988, 850 titles were released, in which 710 were made directly under Nikkatsu while the others were sub-contract productions by independent studios such as Shishi Pro and ENK (Sharp, 2008, p. 123). Toei, another major studio, also followed this trend by releasing its series of Pinky Violence films in 1971. Even Shochiku who had until then carved an image of wholesomeness in the industry, set up a subsidiary called Tokatsu for the production of pink films. Thus, the pink film format became a means for the sustainability of the Japan Film Industry that was still recuperating from the drop in attendance numbers as a result of the rise in televisual technologies. However, in sustaining themselves, the major studios reterritorialised on the independent pink film studios and their distribution circuits that were booming in the 60s.

Nevertheless, it is the efforts of the majors that enabled a greater legitimacy to the pink film and enabled this format to resonate with the public. Its prominance in the Japan film industry led to various developments that parallels that of the general film market. Sharp states that within the early 70s, on top of a “self-contained distribution network,” there were many “fan publications such as the magazine Seijin Eiga,” as well as “its own star system of pinup girls such as Kazuko Shirakawa, Naomi Tani and Miki Hayashi” (Dec 4, 2008, par. 5). It could be said that at this point, the pink film industry, which has its roots as an economically motivated turn to sexploitation, a sexualised monstrous development that is inherently linked to the sustainability of the wider film industry, emerged into full view and legitamacy, much like the audiences’ delight in witnessing godzilla’s rampage in the city. This is a period in which pink films amounted to the bulk of film output produced within the Japanese film industry with an average of 70% share of the domestic film market (2002, par. 19).

However, it must also be noted that its prominance enabled it to be interwined with the mainstream cannon of cinematic developments and appraisal, much as a result of the quality of many of these productions. Pink films and their directors, scriptwriters and cast members have won awards within the mainstream community. For example, Tatsumi Kumashiro Ichijo’s Wet Lust (1972) won the best director and scripwriter award at the 1972 Kinema Junpo Awards, and Junko Miyashita won the Best Actresss category at the 1979 Hochi Film Award.

Audiences became more stratified and targeted as the general audience of the golden age of Japanese Cinema dispersed. Pink film became recognised as a format that could guarantee a particular audience base. Kitagawa noted that in the 70s, university students who “were drifting into stagnation after the failure of their social movement” were attracted to pink films as it enabled them to sublimate their desires for freedom of expression (Cited in Kyodo, April 26, 2006, par. 9). The fact that the bulk of pink film audiences were male brings us to another point, that its thematic formulas are based on a psychologically predetermined male fantasy of men inflicting violent acts on unchastised women. Richie emphasises that the pink film taps into a primitive and odepidal fantasy:

Naturally, the eroduction is, like all pornographic productions, masturbatory cinema. The audience is not thinking about women, it is thinking about itself. Watching the most elemental of fantasies being acted out, it is caught, trapped in its own elemental and hence infantile nature (1992, p. 169)

In Richie’s trajectory, the sustainability of the pink film is not based on its aesthetic and cinematic value, but capitalises on a misogynistic male fantasy, hence ensuring a continuous male patronage. It is not certain if this is a delebirate applied stragegy to sustain a male audience or if it simply corresponds to the directors’ implicit unconcious desires, considering that all the known pink film directors are male. There are many appraisals of pink films that reverse Richie’s analysis in almost direct dialectical fashion. For example, Brierly insists that in Roman Porn “films are invariably more sympathetic and sensitive to the female characters, portraying the males in distinctly unflattering terms” (Dec 2, 2007, par. 4). But one can’t begin to imagine how a female audience base might build up, considering the dire and sleazy conditions of the specialized pink film theatres in Japan. It is only more recently, with more respectable exhibitions outside such theatres, and the video/DVD market, in which a female audience base begun to develop. Curiously, in 2008, a women only pink film festival that toured around Korea reversed the male dominated exhibition environment of pink film theatres.

In the 70s and early 80s, economic competition was harnessed as the major studios’ strove to tap into the pink film audience base. In recognising that sexuality is the main draw to the pink film, these studios stuck to the same formula, but begun to diversify the thematics of sexuality. In other words, they continued to transgress cultural boundaries with sexuality as their line of flight. Sado-masochism and many countless depictions and simulations of sexuality begun to appear in pink films. For example, what is termed as Toei’s pinky violence series actually included sub-genres such as ‘Girl Boss’ films,  ‘Women in Prison’ films etc. It must also be noted that with Nakamura’s Beautiful Mystery (1983), a sub-genre of pink films that explored homosexuality came into prominence to target gay consumers. Therefore, within this period, in order to sustain their individual market shares, the major studios begin to diversify the pink film genre and stratify their audience base even further.

In the 80s, the entrance of video cassette recorder technology resulted in the development of the Adult Video (AV) industry, which greatly threatened the sustainability of the pink film industry. In its earlier stages, pink film studios such as Toei and Shin Toho tapped into this new market by simply transferring pink films into shortened versions. Thus, in the beginning, it was not so much a threat as both fields were intermingled as a response to VCR technology.

However, Tadashi Yoyogi, a pink film director, soon recognised the differentiated potential AV had in comparison with pink films, and took advantage of the new mobile and low cost video equipment to spearhead what became to define AV: “the documentary-style exploration of the hidden sex life of Japan by employing real sex and non-professional performers” (Schonherr, 2006, par. 7).  By 1982, the AV industry had on average a equal share of the market with the pink film industry, and would continue to grow over the years to become the dominant form of adult entertainment in Japan (Weisser and Weisser, 1988, p. 29). Nikkatsu attempted to sustain their production of Roman Porno in various ways. It tried to enter the AV market with a ‘Harder than Pink” series,  utilised prominent AV actresses in their productions and focused on more transgressive subgenres such as their S&M series that proved successful in the past. However, they were not able to retain a profitable market share, and with the government introducing stricter censorship laws for theatrical films, they decided to close their Roman Porno line in 1988 (ibid).

In the present, there are only 5 pink film production companies “remaining (Kokuei, Shintoho, Xces, OP and ENK) and the number of venues around 10% of its heyday in the early 70s” (Sharp, n.d., par. 9).While the pink film industry never returned to the production levels of its heydays of the 60s and 70s, it still managed to sustain itself despite the growing competition of the AV market. In terms of product differenciation, it could be said that pink films’ narrative driven eroticism sets it apart from the more ‘in-your-face’ sexual displays of AV. The screenings of the uncensored version of Oshima’s The Realm of the Senses, after the ban was lifted when he won the court case, did not achieve the wide response that was witnessed in the earlier release of the censored version. Cazdyn explains that “the censored and uncensored versions are really two different films, and the uncensored version can never fulfil the expectations that the censored version produced” (2002, p. 194). Similiarly, in comparison to AV, pink films have the extra potential to engage the audience with narrative driven expectations because it does not bare all its fantasies towards an absolute visibility.

Another reason for its sustainability is the entrance of prominent pink film auteurs in the 90s. Kokuei, an active pink film production studio, segregated the works of Kazuhiro Sano, Hisayasu Sato, Toshiki Sato and Takahisa Zeze, under the label of Shitenno (Four Devils), from more generalised pink film fare. What these directors share in common is their focus on better technical production, avant-garde sensibilities, a reintroduction of socio-political thematics and their personal creative visions. In the 21^st century, another cluster of pink film directors are promoted as the Shichifukujin (Seven Lucky Gods).

The films of these auteurs were exhibited, on top of the specialised pink film theatres, in more respectable arthouse venues and environments such as the prestegious Athenee Francais Cultural Centre in Tokyo, and also through the muliplicity of media channels such as satellite and cable TV. The industry also begun to tap into the global field through screenings at international film festivals, a move that also rejuvinated earlier titles of the pink film industry through the curation of pink film retrospectives and historical snapshots of the industry. Internet technology also resulted in a growing international fanbase of websites and forums that elevated the pink film into cult status. Pink films are also disseminated on dvd through an array of companies such as Pink Eiga that releases pink films in the United States.

A more current pink film that was sucessful in the international circuit is Meike’s The Glamorous Life of Sachiko Hanai (2003). It was exhibited in film festivals such as The Singapore Film Festival and San Francisco International Film Festival, and was subsequently released on DVD through Palm Pictures, the company who bought the American distribution rights for the film. However, it must be noted that this film is made specifically with the international arthouse market in mind. It is a remake of an earlier film, by the same director, titled Horny Home Tutor: Teacher’s Love Juice which was released in the domestic market. Thus, tapping into the global market involves a certain recontextualisation of the pink film format.

The present pink film industry functions through a double-sided operation. Efforts in sustainability are located within its penetration of the arthouse and international markets. On the other hand, the domestic environment of specialised pink film theatres is stagnant. Sharp questions the livelihood of the aging proprietors of specialised pink film theatres:

“Once this generation steps aside, it is going to be incredibly difficult to hand over the white elephant that the local seijin eiga theatre has become to any potential entrepreneurs believing there might still be profits in the theatrical sex film” (2008, p. 338)

If the number of theatrical venues decreases, so will the production companies. While the pink film solidified into a genre due to its specific production requirements in response to the fluctuations of the Japan film industry, it is also gradually becoming a genre that is uprooted from its industrial circumstances. As such, it becomes problematic to talk about the sustainability of the pink film industry, much like it seems absurd to talk about sustaining Westerns and Film Noir in an industrial sense. The pink film format gave us many cinematic jems in its historical course. But many of these films are critically recieved because the creativity inherent in these productions sets them apart from general pink film conventions. It is more useful to treat the pink film format as a platform towards greater cinematic achievements. For example, Yojiro Takita, the director responsible for the Molester Train cycle of pink films, went on to make Departures (2008), which received Best Foreign Film of the Year at the 2009 Academy Awards. What is fascinating about the pink film industry, is that it is in itself a sustainability effort on the part of the Japan film industry. While serving its purpose, it also deconstructed and expanded itself to bring forth potentialities in the cinematic arts.

References

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