Commentary

Completely and hopelessly addicted
to Japanese chambara shows

by Don Cunningham

Okay, it's time to admit the truth. I am completely and hopelessly addicted to Japanese chambara shows.

A popular genre of both Japanese television and film, chambara is probably more properly referred to as jidai-geki (historical or period dramas). The common term, chambara is apparently based on the sound made by clashing samurai swords, a frequent occurrence in such shows.

How was I first attracted to such an unusual form of entertainment? Like so many others of my generation, the various martial arts movies and television shows which were quite popular during my childhood in the '60s fascinated me.

Yet, I first found Japanese television regular programming a bit intimidating. While on long-term business assignments during the early '80s, I found little worth watching each evening. The complex, fast-paced game shows, everyone speaking so fast that I could barely recognize a few familiar phrases, and the commercials for unrecognizable products were not very enjoyable. Therefore, I filled my spare hours with judo practice and sightseeing.

Confined to my bed one day with the flu and with little else to do, I switched on the hotel room television to sample daytime fare. It was here that I watched my first few chambara episodes.

Typically set in Japan's feudal Edo period (1603-1867), these fictional stories feature lots of samurai swordplay and simple plot themes whereby the evil are punished and the good are rewarded. Often jidai-geki characters are based on historical figures, but the plots are rarely accurate accounts. Costumes and even the period language often resemble the feudal era, but writers and directors frequently take liberties with many other historical details.

I was hooked from the very first show. Like the Western action series of my youth, these episodes were fairly easy to understand despite the language barrier. There was always some evil person, someone in trouble, and a hero who saved the day in the end. Although they didn't wear white cowboy hats, the good guys and the bad guys were always easy to identify.

Primarily intended as simple entertainment, I had no idea how my fascination with jidai-geki would eventually affect my entire life. It began as I imitated the actor's phrases during interactions with my co-workers. My fluency, although a bit outdated sometimes, increased dramatically.

Much of what I learned about Japanese history was a direct result of this growing obsession. After watching a jidai-geki movie featuring a character based on Sakamoto Ryoma, for example, I began reading everything I could find on this historical figure. The founder of Japan's first corporation, Ryoma played a pivotal role in unifying the southern clans which lead to the downfall of the Tokugawa shōgunate and ultimately the Meiji Restoration.

However, one show became the catalyst for many magazine articles, two books, and the collection which nearly fills my basement.

Feudal police officers are often popular characters in many jidai-geki broadcast daily on Japanese television. One of the most popular series was adapted for film and television from detective stories written by Nomura Kodo (1882~1963) and titled Zenigata Heiji Torimono-hikae. Set in the Edo period, the plots featured the adventures of an goyōkiki named Zenigata Heiji.

Basically a poor non-samurai assistant working for a dōshin named Sasano, Heiji resided in a rundown tenement in Edo. However, he had a remarkable ability to throw heavy coins with amazing accuracy to stun criminals until he could subdue and restrain them. Unlike his more swashbuckling chambara counterparts, though, Heiji demonstrated a deep-seated humanity, often feeling a degree of sympathy for the same criminals he so frequently encountered.

Heiji was obviously not a member of the samurai class. In fact, he seemed to resent those who were, especially if they occasionally abused their rank and power. Although he detested crime, Heiji did not hate criminals. This often gave him a sense of justice tempered with kindness and respect not commonly found in the more violent entertainment series.

Constantly fed on information and gossip by his tall and easy-going companion, Hachigoro, Heiji solved many of the crimes he faced based on his investigations and the application of intellect rather than by brute force. Never taking money or sometimes even any credit for his accomplishments, Heiji was often viewed as a failure by his superiors and acquaintances.

A hero of the common man, though, Heiji had his personal faults as well, drinking and smoking tobacco heavily in many episodes. Yet he rarely resorted to gratuitous swordplay, preferring to use either the coins or a strange-looking implement called a jutte to disarm opponents without bloodshed.

Like the coin-throwing skills, I initially believed the jutte was another fictional implement created by the show's writers. I was surprised, though, to find one in an antique store during one of my sightseeing walks.

I bought it immediately, although I had no idea how such a weird looking device was actually used. It seemed nearly impossible that such a unimpressive looking weapon could possibly be used to disarm an experienced swordsman armed with a deadly samurai sword. However, I took my new treasure to judo practice one night.

The judo dojo where I typically practiced was run by the local police judo champion and instructor. Other Kanagawa Prefecture police officers frequently attended the evening practice sessions. It was to some of my acquaintances from the Japanese police that I wanted to show my new treasure, an authentic jutte.

The off-duty officers immediately recognized the jutte, eagerly demonstrating the many different disarming and restraining techniques using this unique implement. Although modern Japanese police no longer carry a jutte, they have a similar spring-loaded baton called a keibo. The keibo is often employed in their practice of modern taiho-jutsu, "body restraining" or "arresting art," which is mandatory training for most of the regular police officers.

Since then, I have accumulated an impressive collection of antique jutte and other feudal police arresting implements. My research has resulted in authoring numerous magazine articles and even two books on the subject. I was even recently invited to teach an undergraduate course about Edo period martial arts at a local college.

My addiction to chambara shows doesn't end with Zenigata Heiji Torimono- hikae, though. There are numerous other jidai-geki which I found equally irresistible. I often trade taped copies of Rugrats, an animated series on Nickledeon, for some of the more popular series with a friend in Nagasaki.

One of my favorites is Mito Komon, which is also probably the longest running series in this genre. The main character is loosely based on Tokugawa Mitsukun, one of Tokugawa Ieyasu's grandsons and lord of the province of Mito (now Ibaraki prefecture). Born in 1628, he was a scholarly recluse best known for researching the Dai-Nipponshi, a history of ancient Japan. Late in his life, he adopted the literary name "Komon'' (Yellow Gate).

The stories are based on popular legends about his incognito roving around Ibaraki. Of course, in the series, he also puts right any wrongs whenever and wherever he finds them.

The plots of each episode are basically the same. Accompanied by his two faithful attendants, Kaku and Suke, as well as his servant Hachibei and sometimes a shadowy ninja-like character, Mito Komon wanders around the countryside, helping those he finds oppressed by corrupt officials or evil landlords. 

A violent struggle typically ensues near the end of each show, at which point one of his attendants flashes Komon's inro, a lacquered case bearing the Tokugawa crest, thus revealing his true identity and proclaiming: ''Koko ni owasu o-kata koso, mae no fuku-shōgun Mito Mitsukuni-kou ni araserareruzo.'' (Here before you is Lord Mitsukuni of Mito, uncle of the shōgun.)

Realizing they are facing someone who wields incredible power, the evildoers drop to their knees and begin to grovel. Suppressing their rage at being outdone, the show ends with Mito Komon always putting everything right once again and then continuing on his journey.

Another long running television series, Abarenbo Shōgun is much like most other chambara features. The show's hero is a cheerful and generous shōgun Yoshimune Tokugawa, who routinely disguises himself as Shinosuke Tokuda, the third son of a poor hatamoto (a bannerman retainer of the shōgun). In this disguise, he somehow mingles unnoticed with the public in the city of Edo.

Yoshimune frequents the Megumi fire station where the fire chief and his key officers are some of the few people who know the true identity of Shinosuke. In addition to the firemen of the station, he also employs a number of both male and female ninjas that guard and assist him in defeating and punishing those who do evil deeds.

Another interesting aspect is the particular style of swordsmanship that Yoshimune uses. In the violent climatic clashes where he deals out final justice, he is usually outnumbered by a large number of the evil foe's minions. Yet, Yoshimune usually turns his sword backwards so that he strikes with the back or non-sharpened edge. In this manner, he injures but rarely kills his opponents.

For the really hardcore addicts, there are also chambara movie series. One of my favorites is the series called Adventures of Nemuri Kyoshiro, set sometime during the term of the 11th Tokugawa shōgun, Tokugawa Ienari (1787-1837). Nemuri Kyoshiro is a ronin of mixed marriage with a very mysterious background and history. His mother Japanese, his father a foreigner, he has no past and apparently no hopes for the future.

Played by Ishikawa Raizo, "the son of the Black Mass" is a half-breed warrior in search of a perfect death, driven by his hatred of Christianity and of the society in which he lives. Nemuri Kyoshiro's trademark fighting technique is the Engetsu-Sappo, literally meaning "The Full Moon Cut." It is a technique in which he draws a circle with his sword -- his opponent is always slain by the time the circle is completed.

Although not very politically correct, another great chambara movie series is Hanzo the Razor. The title character, Hanzo Itami is a reasonably honest cop. Unfortunately, his boss, Chief Constable Onishi, is totally corrupt, which means Hanzo has no chances for promotion and often risks unemployment for his frequent indiscretions. The series, Hanzo the Razor is set in Edo sometime during the middle of the Tokugawa Era.

Assisted by his two okapikki, basically former criminals turned police assistants, Hanzo defies all authority and rules, dispensing his own unique style of justice for the downtrodden and common people.

My wife claims that I only watch this series because of the gratuitous sex that Hanzo frequently subjects his female suspects to during their interrogations. Despite the blatant sexual discrimination, the actual mysteries and intrigue included in the well-written plots and the great acting make the Hanzo the Razor movies one of the better chambara series

Overall, I found that most chambara episodes generally feature the same common themes. Justice eventually triumphs over evil. Honesty and truth are highly valued virtues. Protecting the weak and oppressed is portrayed as highly desirable traits. One thing I've learned from watching thousands of hours of chambara is that there are not that many differences in the human qualities we share despite our other vast cultural differences.

I am addicted to Japanese chambara shows. And I am not ashamed to admit it.

A part-time university lecturer and full-time graduate student, Don Cunningham has written two books on Edo period history. Both by Charles Tuttle Publishing, the first, Secret Weapons of Jujutsu, is currently in print and the second, Taiho-Jutsu: Law and order in feudal Japan, is scheduled to be released early next year.