In the canon of remarkable Japanese filmmakers who were active during what is often considered the Golden Age of Japanese cinema, one name is not mentioned as much as it should be – Teinosuke Kinugasa worked for decades as one of the most reliably fascinating and skilled directors, crafting a series of exceptional films known for both strong stories and a firm artistic vision. His roots lay in the silent era, with the incredibly influential A Page of Madness, which remains a very important film in terms of both early Japanese cinema, and experimental filmmaking as a whole. However, his crowning achievement is often considered to be Gate of Hell (Japanese: 地獄門), a brilliant period drama set during the Heiji Era (one of about half a dozen brief eras that existed during the reign of Emperor Nijō), and which follows the exploits of a young samurai who grows infatuated with a married woman, and who sets out to win her heart by any means necessary, which proves to be a far more difficult endeavour than he imagined, not only due to the social principles that prevent them from any burgeoning romance but also a series of obstacles that stand in his way and present themselves as beyond intimidating. One of the most visually distinct and narratively-complex films produced in Japan at the time, Gate of Hell is an extraordinary achievement, a film that contains many layers that are both exciting and remarkably endearing, proving to have something for absolutely every taste, whether one aligns more with the artistic side or the historical aspects that the director seamlessly applies to every element of the film, creating an offbeat but still extremely moving period drama that blurs genres as much as it it does artistic styles, creating a multifaceted, complex work of art that has withstood the test of time better than many films produced in the country at the time, and which possesses a depth that many may not expect based on a brief cursory glance of this film and its overarching narrative.

The first port of call for a film like Gate of Hell is naturally going to be amongst those who style themselves as history aficionados, whether professionally or just as a mere pastime. Kinugasa possessed many tremendous skills, but his work was always clear about the milieux in which they were set, and there was significant attention to detail that drove many of them, enough to draw the audience in with the promise of at least a partially intriguing story that is steeped heavily within reality. It is important to understand the context in which this film was made – the dust had only just begun to settle in the aftermath of the Second World War, and while this film is not t all reflective of the conflict and its devastating impact in a direct way, it does join a steadily-growing canon of films focused around leaping back centuries into the past and examining Japanese history, for the dual purpose of both providing unique insights into the culture and its roots and also honouring the traditions that were in danger of going extinct as Japan tried to rebuild after one of the most destructive periods in world history. Not actually based on true events or anything related to legitimate folklore, but still constructed as if it was a story of days of yore being carefully pieced together by historians, Gate of Hell offers quite intriguing insights into Japan’s cultural and military history, taking us back to the 12th century and examining the intricate social structure and the philosophical conventions that propelled many moral ideals and concepts of the era. Naturally, we can’t ever be sure of how realistic the content of the film is, since it is far too divorced from our knowledge to even be entirely accurate, but this is easily overcome by the director’s unique approach to the storytelling process, which frames the entire film as a work of culturally-constructed mythology that is being methodically presented to us in the same way as any culture driven by a strong oral tradition would deliver these stories.

As is the case with any historical drama about exploring the past and the people who occupied it, Gate of Hell employs a method in which the characters are prioritized, but in a way where they aren’t seen as fully-formed, complex individuals, but rather archetypes designed to fit into a particular narrative. This is an incredibly dramatic film by design, and we soon discover that striving for realism was nothing but something in which the director was particularly interested, and instead, he chose to pursue a more unique style of storytelling, which extended to his cast. The film is anchored by Kazuo Hasegawa as the samurai, a complex protagonist who fills the role of the archetypal dashing hero, but has some complexities that make him a lot more nuanced than we would expect at the start. He’s sharply contrasted by Machiko Kyō, who plays the femme fatale who catalyzes nearly every major development in the film, and who also fills a very clear stock role, but does so in a way that seems earnest and authentic, and like it is heading towards some profound deeper meaning, which only begins to manifest in the final few moments when all the themes come together into a harsh and terrifying, but also deeply poetic, dramatic climax in which the story comes to its bittersweet conclusion. The rest of the cast is filled out by fantastic character actors, who occupy bit parts that are mostly quite small but still leave a major impression, particularly in how every character in the film contributes to the overall atmosphere, which is built on developing the story through the lens of different characters. It gives Gates of Hell the sense of being a great literary adaptation, a highly dramatic tragedy plucked from the hallowed pages of Japanese folklore, but being entirely derived from the ingenious director’s boundless imagination.

However, Gate of Hell is not restricted to these elements, and even if someone isn’t particularly enamoured with the characterization or finds the historical context too dull to invest any interest in, there are still many merits that can pander to those who may not necessarily be intrigued by its premise. In many ways, the visual component of this film has vastly eclipsed its more narrative-driven elements, with many citing this as one of the most stunningly beautiful films ever produced, and a major step forward for Japanese cinema. Carmen Comes Home was the first colour film made in Japan, but it was Gate of Hell that allowed it to become mainstream, with its release internationally bringing an entirely new faction of the global audience to these stories. Its reputation is by no means hyperbolic – this film is absolutely beautiful, with Kinugasa seemingly on the verge of inventing entirely new colours and visual compositions to complement the film. Gate of Hell tells a relatively conventional story that was mostly quite common for a lot of historical dramas produced in Japan at the time, but the reason it stands out is its devil-may-care approach to the visual component. The focus is on evoking a classical kind of theatricality, as if we are transported back a couple of centuries to a small playhouse, and allowed to witness the magic of operatic theatre occurring around us. Everything in Gate of Hell is slightly exaggerated than usual – the colours are brighter, the sets bigger and the sense of dramatic tension extremely heightened, which all aligns perfectly with the director’s vision, which is fresh, invigorating and truly quite remarkable, a great achievement for a relatively simple premise that benefits from such precise attention to detail and the willingness to take such extraordinarily bold risks in terms of both its storyline and how it manifests on screen.

Recommending a film like Gate of Hell is a daunting process – we can’t quite depend on the promise of it being an insightful and layered portrayal of Japanese history, since it is an entirely fictional story. We also can’t claim it to be stunningly beautiful, since while it is gorgeous, its impact comes in how heightened and over-the-top every aspect of the film is, with even the smallest composition being exaggerated to the point of bordering on excess (but where the director is too skilled to allow it veer too far into this territory), and thus potentially alienating those who seek a more traditional kind of beauty. Instead, perhaps the only truly meaningful way to recommend Gate of Hell is by looking at it holistically – it is a beautifully made film that consists of bright colours and an unconventional story. It is sometimes quite unhinged, and there are moments when the previously well-defined boundaries of genre begin to blur into something quite difficult to make out in its entirety, which is all part of the incredible appeal of this film, which is a far more intriguing project than it seems to be on the surface. Kinugasa was a brilliant filmmaker, and considering he essentially predates many more prominent Japanese filmmakers (who owe a debt to him for his unique style of direction and how it opened doors for entire generations of talents), but whose impeccable work speaks for itself, Gate of Hell is one of his most prominent and intriguing, both in terms of style and substance – very rarely do we find directors so committed to the pursuit of both in tandem, but this is simply one of the many ways in which he redefines the cinematic form and makes it his own, even if only in a small way.