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DIRECTED BY: Shūji Terayama
FEATURING: Goro Abashiri, Tarô Apollo, Shiro Demaemochi
PLOT: In an alternate Japan, kids take control, forming their own utopia—or dystopia.
WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: This is taboo-breaking cinema at its wildest, full of sexually depraved content that could easily pass as pedophilic. At the same time, it is a radical yet nuanced political allegory with a dreamlike, fragmentary narrative.
COMMENTS: Terayama is one of the most audacious representatives of the Japanese New Wave, a filmic movement associated with political critique and experimental formats. His cinema is highly transgressive, combining the absurd with an anti-authoritarian attitude foreshadowing punk. Emperor Tomato Ketchup is an exemplary example of and perhaps the most subversive moment in his filmography.
The plot revolves around a Japanese colony where children have taken control. Adults have been ostracized or enslaved. Kids, “freed from fixed views on childhood,” as they say, attempt, through orgies, to explore their sexuality.
Equating radical politics (kids taking control of the state) with sexual revolution, Ketchup is clearly a product of the sexually liberated late 1960s and early 1970s . However, goes a step further, deconstructing this seemingly noble revolution and underlining its grotesqueries to reveal it for what it really is: a new authoritarianism, and a re-appropriation of old patterns of thought and symbols. The mustache remains a symbol of power, however absurd that may seem when prepubescent kids rule.
The narrative unfolds through vignettes. Subplots emerge, but not a coherent story in the conventional sense. There is no dialogue, just a complex voiceover reciting excerpts from the revised constitution, poetic yet absurd terminology, and letters from a state official to its mother, a fugitive hiding for her life.
A holistic portrait of this violent state gradually forms, showcasing its inherent depravity. Through figures like the child-official, we see the archetype of the compromised opportunist, and understand the banality of evil. At the same time, violent or mildly sexually explicit scenes take place in the luxurious bedrooms of the new king—a boy around eight or ten years old—and in vacant industrial spaces that recall Nazi gas chambers. The parallels are as loud and clear as they can be.
As for the graphic scenes, let’s just say that even though they are mild, they still make for a difficult watch since they often suggest sexual behavior between minors. Two extended scenes—depicting homosexual foreplay between male teens and a small boy playing with nude adult women—could even pass as softcore erotica. If you could stomach the final segment in Dusan Makavejev‘s Sweet Movie, there is a high probability you can tolerate this. (Emperor Tomato Ketchup and Sweet Movie share a lot of common DNA, both ideologically—as revisionist takes on the sexual liberation of the 1970s—and aesthetically, as taboo-breaking spectacles.)
The soundtrack revels in ominous industrial ambience, but at the same time, ironically, occasionally incorporates sensual melodies and uplifting music. Heavy theatrical makeup and extravagant accessories complete the carnivalesque aesthetic.
Note that there are two versions of this film. The first was released immediately, in 1971, as a heavily cut 27-minute short film. The second is an extended reconstruction released in 1996, running around 70 minutes. The extended reconstruction was the subject of this review.
WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:
