There are many ways to describe Carmen Comes Home (Japanese: カルメン故郷に帰る), but the most appropriate would be to call it a film built on contradictions. It is bawdy yet elegant, hilarious yet melancholy, dignified yet playful, and simple but always consistently striking. Keisuke Kinoshita was a director who had a strong grasp on his craft, to the point where nearly every project he made was a massive departure from the one that preceded it. He was an artist in the truest sense of the term, and while his better-known peers were focused on refining their particular style and approach to cinema, Kinoshita was actively rejecting such practices. Carmen Comes Homes is not necessarily his best film – it’s a hilarious comedy with a lot of heart, but it stands in the shadow of a few much more established productions from this particular decade. However, it is almost undeniable that this is not only one of his most entertaining works, but a film that has stood the test of time as a comedy produced in the aftermath of the Second World War, a mere six years after the conflict wrought irreparable damage on the country – and underlying this very exuberant humour is a sense of aching sadness that not even Kinoshita at his most irreverent can escape. Faithful to its premise, and filled to the brim with the kind of unique energy one simply struggles to find in other contemporary works, Carmen Comes Home is a tremendous achievement that pushes boundaries that didn’t even exist in Japanese cinema at the time, defining an entire generation of filmmakers that would spring up in later years, taking the cue of a director who truly engaged with his audiences on both a narrative and spiritual level.

Make no mistake, despite lingering in the shadows, the theme of the post-war era isn’t a major aspect of the plot, so the idea of it dampening the very entertaining proceedings is unfounded. Kinoshita was an experimental filmmaker at a time when such descriptions were more commonly found in discussions surrounding underground filmmaking that was as opaque as it was difficult to understand. Kinoshita takes arguably the most popular form of filmmaking at the time – the community-based comedy – and spins together a mesmerizing story of a young stripper from Tokyo returning home for the weekend, the majority of villagers happy to have a local celebrity make in town, but the titular character’s own family being more hesitant. It’s a premise as simple as it is effective in portraying a different kind of social commentary, one that has less to do with broadly academic perceptions of the clash between modernity and tradition, and more just a channel through which the director can tell a captivating tale about two different mindsets coming into collision. This is a deeply subversive film – despite having been made in 1951, both the production value (the stunning cinematography, shot by Hiroyuki Kusuda in gorgeous Fujicolor), and the thematic content, hint that Kinoshita was profoundly forward-thinking, choosing to take a few well-placed risks, rather than adhering to rules that may have made the film more conventional, but at the expense of the joy that comes when he realized his own lightly perverse vision that gives Carmen Comes Home such an enticing, satirical edge.

Tradition has always been a very potent them in Japanese cinema, especially towards the middle of the 20th century, where the shift from strict adherence to the well-maintained customs, to the more open-minded progress that came about as a result of the nation’s efforts to rebuild after the war. This is the foundation for Carmen Comes Home in its deep and insightful exploration of the lives of these characters. Undeniably, Kinoshita was playing a dangerous game with the subject matter – as tame as it may appear from a contemporary perspective, Japanese society in the early 1950s was not quite ready for a film centred on a provocative, hyper-sexual exotic dancer, especially not when the plot culminates in her promise of a live nude performance, to which the majority of villagers are extremely enticed. However, without this scintillating and vaguely scandalous approach, Carmen Comes Home would not have been nearly as successful, since the best kinds of satires are those that don’t only challenge, but provoke in deep and meaningful ways. Kinoshita was not afraid of the consequences, as evident by the film’s often unflinching approach to sexuality – and while it may not be the delicate, earnest exploration of the change in mentalities surrounding cultural standards that were prominent in the works of the likes of Ozu and Naruse, this film doesn’t deviate from making its own impression through directly addressing some deeper commentary, while never losing sight of the fact that it is very much a comedy, and is adjusted narratively and tonally to fit in with the director’s strange but captivating vision.

Hideko Takamine – the mere mention of her name should be more than enough to justify this film’s existence and value as an important part of cinematic history. One of the most gifted, layered actresses of any generation, she brought a sense of spirited dedication to every one of her projects. Perhaps better known for her more serious, dramatic work, Takamine was clearly adept at humour, as made abundantly clear in Carmen Comes Home, a film clearly designed around her talents as an actress, working to showcase her unique sense of humour, as well as her seemingly undying commitment to any role. The character of Carmen is one that would’ve been a blessing for absolutely any actress – she’s foul-mouthed, free-spirited and sewn from the most unconventional fabric. In the hands of a lesser performer, she’d have been a caricature, but under the careful guidance of Takamine, who beautifully interprets Kinoshita’s character, she’s absolutely unforgettable. Much of Carmen Comes Home is designed around recreating the feeling of old Hollywood musicals, colourful and extravagant pieces that traverse worlds separate from those in reality – and much like these films, it was built on the effortless charisma of its star. Takamine shines bright in this film, commanding the screen and reminding us of all the reasons why she was one of the most important performers of her generation, especially since it showcases a wildly different side to the actress, who turns in a spirited but deeply moving performance as a young woman trying to establish an identity for herself, while staying true to her roots, which informs much of the conflict that exists at the heart of this film.

Once you step into the world of Carmen Comes Home, there isn’t much chance of escape – not that anyone would ever yearn to leave this wonderful setting. The filmmaking is just gorgeous – Kinoshita wastes no time in establishing a beautiful landscape, the combination of on-location production and artistic integrity leading to an absolutely stunning representation of pastoral Japan, where we’re visitors to a quaint village undergoing quite a shake-up in terms of their values on the arrival of one of their prodigal daughters, who returns home and brings with her a new set of scandalous traditions that challenge the community’s previously well-maintained beliefs. It’s a charming film, filled to the brim with the kind of irreverent and touching humour that makes these stories all the more captivating. The fact that it is anchored by one of the finest actresses of her generation, in what is very clearly one of her best performances (one that challenges her to step out of her own comfort zone and deliver a strong and spirited portrayal of a very complex woman) only sweetens the experience. This story told with the kind of razor-sharp precision that we don’t come across very often, Carmen Comes Home is just a delight from beginning to end, a deep and insightful comedy that provokes as much thought as it does elicit laughter – and the gorgeous filmmaking only helps immerse us into this world, and keeps us there for an indefinite amount of time, which is nothing short of an absolute pleasure.