A samurai who time-travels to modern-day Japan has to learn to become a fake samurai in a TV period drama. You will love A SAMURAI IN TIME, a well-thought-out indie comedy that achieved huge success in Japan and is now circulating through international film festivals (you can see how “indie” this film is when you notice that the actor who played the main heroine is also credited as the assistant director). “It is pure entertainment anyone can enjoy!” That’s how I concluded in my vlog on my YouTube channel. But after experiencing the 44th Hawaiʻi International Film Festival (HIFF) as a whole, a different thought hit me: maybe this film is not as innocent as it appears.
Shinzaemon Takasaka, the protagonist, is a samurai in late 19th-century feudal Japan. If you watched SHŌGUN (also celebrated at HIFF this year), you’ll recognize that Shinzaemon lives at the end of the shōgun’s 300-year reign. It was a volatile time, triggered by American naval forces (similar to events in Hawaiʻi—depicted in the short film, KŪKINI at HIFF). The Japanese were split in half: the revolutionaries westernized their military and attempted to overthrow the Shōgun’s rule, while the conservatives (including Tom Cruise’s character in THE LAST SAMURAI) tried to preserve the traditional way of Japanese life. Shinzaemon belongs to the conservative side and is committed to defeating the revolutionaries and foreign powers.
Shinzaemon is a real Japanese, one might say, just as some said about Tom Cruise’s character (no worries, as a Japanese, I share that sentiment). However, this simple characterization is quickly challenged when he unwillingly time-travels to modern-day Japan. A thunder strikes him and transports him (Terminator-style, but wearing a kimono and carrying a real katana) to modern-day Japan. Even more, where he lands is a movie studio where Japanese period dramas are filmed. When Shinzaemon wakes up, he does not realize that he has time-traveled because the movie set looks exactly like the buildings of his time. But soon afterward, he hears “cut!” and a man in strange clothing yells at him that he is not acting according to the script. Shinzaemon realizes that something is wrong. He is in an unfamiliar land where unfamiliar people live. In modern-day Japan, Shinzaemon loses his identity as a real Japanese and becomes a stranger.
When A Samurai in Time is placed among the lineups of the HIFF program, this film cannot be just a simple comedy. HIFF has traditionally been a host to Asian American and Pacific Islanders (AAPI) as well as Asian films for international audiences. Many films and programs investigate the state of AAPI people in different areas. When you watch A Samurai In Time among other AAPI films at HIFF, this film turns into an investigation of Shinzaemon’s loss of identity and recovery. If Anderson Le, the HIFF art director, consciously included this film with this thought, kudos to his masterful programming.
Shinzaemon has to re-establish himself in modern-day Japan and acquire a new identity. At first, he is surprised by modern technology such as a TV and a vacuum cleaner. He is fascinated by how tasty white rice (in the samurai era, only the rich and nobles could afford white rice) and strawberry shortcakes are. With every bite, he cries over happiness. But as his acculturation process progresses, he takes off his kimono and wears jeans and a shirt. He changes his hairstyle. He begins to look like a “normal” Japanese man. Moreover, Shinzaemon decides to join a movie studio as a stuntman in a period drama to make a living. He exchanges his real katana for a dummy one. This process is comedic and ironic at the same time because a real samurai is becoming a “fake” TV samurai in modern-day Japan. As I watched Shinzaemon assimilate, I reflected upon my own experience as a Japanese person who moved to the US at the age of 20. I remember how I struggled to learn English, felt awkward greeting by hugging and kissing on the cheek (I never got used to it), and was confused about the “Drug-Free” zone (Why do they give away drugs for free?). Now as I reached the age of 41, the weight of my time in two countries began shifting to the US side. I am no longer a “real” Japanese. I am a “fake” Japanes on the US land.
Shinzaemon’s movie studio faces a financial crisis and is on the brink of foreclosure. To save the studio, its members rise to the challenge. For Shinzaemon, though he participates in this effort, his struggle lies elsewhere. He discovers what happened to his people. The revolutionaries took over Japan and their newly established government massacred Shinzaemon’s clan during the civil war. Shinzaemon is devastated by this tragic news and tormented by his own current “fake samurai” life. “What am I doing in here? I was supposed to die with them,” he cries. Shinzaemon is torn, much like a soldier who survived the war alone. The guilt torments him to the point it shames his effort to assimilate into the life of modern-day Japan. “How can I explain this to my people who fought bravely and were killed without honor?” he asks himself. He longs for what would have been his fate if he didn’t time-travel. Isn’t this the story of an immigrant who moved to the U.S. and, at the same time, who could not help but wonder what would have been if they had not moved?
Among many programs at HIFF, I attended a panel called “A New American Perspectives.” A new American, according to the Vilcek Foundation, one of the sponsors of HIFF, refers to people who moved to the US and contributed to the country through creative means. It’s another way of saying an immigrant or the first generation. In Hawaiʻi, the first-generation Japanese Americans are called “Issei.” Shinzaemon’s struggle articulates the new American’s experience. That is, first-generation immigrants are torn between their native land and their new land. They are not sure where they belong. They constantly question, “What am I doing in here?” “What would have happened if I hadn’t moved?” “What would I be like if I were with my people?” And I know very well that these are unanswerable questions because “my people” only live in my memory of the past.
Once we recognize Shinzaemon’s people’s tragic fate in the latter part of the film, the comedic moments of the earlier part take on a different tone. Each time Shinzaemon encounters modern-day items, he exclaims, “Japan has become a great country”. When he eats white rice balls, he becomes tearful, remarking that Japan has become a wonderful country because ordinary people can eat white rice. When he eats a strawberry shortcake, he is surprised to learn that anyone can enjoy this wonderfully sweet dessert any day they want. Although his happiness is genuine (and we all laugh in the theater), we now see the looming question behind his simple delight: “At what cost do we enjoy this luxury?” The answer lies in Japan’s westernization and industrialization as well as the series of bloodsheds—both in the civil war where Shinzaemon’s people perished and internationally in two World Wars. Once we realize this, eating white rice and strawberry shortcake becomes a literal guilty pleasure. But was it worth the cost? When I turn to myself, I can’t help but think, “At what cost am I here —watch, create, and enjoy films in the U.S.?” “Was it worth the cost?”
Out of desperation with his unsolvable what-if questions about his people in the past and his current life, Shinzaemon tries to find a way out. What Shinzaemon decides to do in the end is controversial, to say the least, but this is a result of the filmmakers’ sincere approach to Shinzaemon’s struggle. While the filmmakers could choose an easy path of a happy ending or a romantic ending, they took time to think through what Shinzaemon would really care to do in his situation and took the risk. There are no easy solutions for immigrants in real life. One day I might feel good about being in the US. The next day I might feel lonely and empty. And life goes on like this without a real ending. A Samurai in Time, when placed in HIFF, becomes a film about the immigrant experience. Now, do I sound like the Issei parents telling their Asian American children what they went through and how lucky they are? Well, maybe that’s not a bad move after all.
Dr. Sho Araiba is a Japanese behavior analyst by day and a YouTuber/filmmaker by night. On his YouTube channel, DR. SHO SHOW, he analyzes anime and movies using behavioral psychology. He grew up in Tokyo, studied in New York, and lives and works in Hawai’i.
The HIFF ONLINE CREATIVES & CRITICS IMMERSIVE (HOCCI) program supports sustainable film criticism in Hawai’i through mentorship and paid career opportunities for Hawai’i-based AANHPI critics. The mission of HOCCI is to broaden diversity in film criticism across the Pacific and use influencer branding strategies to spark career opportunities. The 2024 HOCCI is supported by Critical Minded, a grant-making and learning initiative that supports cultural critics of color in the United States.
