SCANDAL: Akira Kurosawa's Critique of Sensationalist Press Within the Age of Fake New

SCANDAL - TOHO

Although Akira Kurosawa had already been domestically acknowledged as a young rising star of Japanese cinema following the acclaimed Drunken Angel, international audiences were introduced to his talent in 1950 with the release of Rashomon. Kurosawa’s career took off immediately thereafter which inadvertently led to some of his earlier works being completely overshadowed. Such was the fate of his other 1950 film, Scandal, which was released only a few short months ahead of Rashomon. It has been completely forgotten. Now, exactly seventy years after its premiere, Scandal seems ripe for rediscovery and reappraisal, especially because of its continuing striking relevance and eerie kind of prescience. 

This vehicle for Toshiro Mifune and Takashi Shimura, two long-standing collaborators of Kurosawa, was a bit of a knee-jerk reaction to the rise of predatory tabloid press in Japan. After all, in the aftermath of World War II and subsequent Allied occupation, the country was being introduced to Western culture in an unfettered and rabid manner. Of course, Kurosawa wasn’t the only artist lamenting this state of affairs. Yasujiro Ozu, Kurosawa’s senior was also fundamentally interested in Japan’s violent transition from a hermetic society, fond of its rich tradition, to become a Westernised powerhouse fuelled by carnivorous capitalism (Tokyo Story).

Kurosawa went a few steps further and openly protested against what he saw as uncontrolled demise of human morality. Together with Ryuzo Kikushima he penned Scandal. In short, this is a story about how an innocent encounter between a young painter (Mifune) and a famous singer (Yoshiko Yamaguchi) becomes twisted by the money-hungry and corrupt tabloid press, turning it into a scandalous affair. To clear his name and stop paparazzi from infringing on his privacy, Aoye hires a timid and morally malleable lawyer (Shimura) and seeks justice in court, thus putting on trial the warped idea that the press are  free to publish whatever they please with reckless abandon. 

Like many other Kurosawa films, Scandal can also be seen as a multidimensional conglomerate of themes and narrative angles. It marries the filmmaker’s neo-realistic anger carried over from his earlier works (One Wonderful Sunday, Drunken Angel) with a compelling righteousness of a courtroom procedural. His signature undertone of kind-hearted humanism shines through. In fact, if it is remembered at all, it is thanks to the complex moral quandary which takes centre stage in the latter half of the film and builds towards a powerful and almost overly saccharine climax of redemption. In consequence, the film’s alleged raison d’etre - Kurosawa’s objection to the utter lack of integrity on behalf of the press – was effectively sidelined. 

This aspect of the film is arguably the most important, especially when viewed from today’s perspective. That’s because Kurosawa’s scathing indictment of the tabloid press, encased in a parable about guilt, redemption and a triumph of human kindness, was well ahead of the curve. One must remember that Billy Wilder’s Ace In The Hole, a movie about a sensationalist reporter, was released one year after Scandal, yet the two are rarely compared. In fact, even Wilder’s film was quite early to the party because America was not ready for a serious discussion about the freedom of the press and their moral obligations to the society at large. 

These questions started percolating to the surface of public discourse after the Watergate scandal led to Richard Nixon’s resignation, vindicated the investigative journalism and – as a knock-on side product – encouraged sensationalist media in their morally bankrupt pursuits. This was reflected in the works of cinema at the time, such as Sidney Lumet’s Network or Sydney Pollack’s Absence Of Malice. In fact, the discussion about ethical obligations of the press continues to this day. The recently released Richard Jewell is a fascinating example of a film – based on a true story – serving as a symmetrical continuation of the same sentiments raised by Kurosawa nearly seven decades earlier! It goes to show not only that Kurosawa was absolutely on point at the time, but most importantly that his protest went completely unheeded and therefore collapsed to become an artefact of impotent artistic rage. 

This is partly an aforementioned side effect of the unexpected popularity of Rashomon. Not only did it elbow Scandal out of the limelight, but whenever the film was analysed, it was predominantly looked at as a signifier of Kurosawa’s developing artistic interests, the most important of which was humanism as an antidote to the post-war malaise. He was an uncharacteristically optimistic practitioner of cinematic neo-realism who stood in stark contrast to such heavyweights as Roberto Rossellini or Vittorio De Sica. Even though he dealt with sombre and serious themes, he would naturally gravitate to fundamentally uplifting resolutions. Scandal is no different. It specifically builds towards an utterly life-affirming climax, manufactured as it is. This is inherently fascinating, but it nonetheless draws the viewer’s attention away from what Kurosawa clearly wanted to be the film’s take-home message. 

Perhaps one could posit that he had himself to blame; he purposefully designed the film to be a thematic chimera that changes mid-stride and refocuses its final act around the lawyer’s redemptive transformation. However, it is ultimately incumbent on audiences and critics to remember Kurosawa’s intended message, which is still present within the film even during Takashi Shimura’s emotive final exposé. Therefore, this movie should not be remembered as a mere ‘minor Kurosawa’.  Nor should it be viewed as a stepping stone on his way to mastery in using complex moral quandaries as tools to illuminate the most fundamental traits of the human condition. After all, if Akira Kurosawa was alive today, he’d be just as incandescent with rage at the prevalence of fake news, sensationalist manipulation and the moral decay the public discourse has turned into. His message of dismay would be just as valid as it was in 1950! It is for this reason alone, although it is undoubtedly a flawed piece, that Scandal should be appraised and brought back to the conversation. Artistic merits aside, it was a poignant critique of the world at the time and it was a true misfortune it ended up brushed aside. Kurosawa was well ahead of his time and his movie would have probably resonated better with the paranoid audiences in the 1970s.  Given what the world looks like at this very moment, however, Scandal remains relevant seventy years after its initial release.