Ishiro Honda. Steve Ryfle
to do such things [because of the poststrike slowdown], although in a way, this should be the norm. So once we started filming, there were no moments of hesitation, we were able to just keep moving forward.”5 Honda became a familiar face to the locals, who shared stories and granted him access not usually afforded to outsiders.
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This verse appears onscreen after the opening credits of The Blue Pearl:
Ama divers and pearls
Ise-Shima, washed by the Japan Current
Hidden here are several tragic stories
About the lives of the ama divers and pearls
Set in a rustic, seaside village, The Blue Pearl is about a young diver, Noe (Yukiko Shimazaki, later of Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai), who falls in love with the town’s new lighthouse attendant and schoolteacher, Nishida (Ryo Ikebe), freshly transplanted from Tokyo. Nishida’s arrival, and his outsider ways—he dresses in city clothes, is a gifted artist, has no patience for superstitions and feudal traditions, and smokes citified cigarettes—stir Noe’s desire to leave behind an unwanted arranged marriage and a hard life of diving. The couple is scorned by the locals and split apart by the meddlesome Riu (Yuriko Hamada), a flirtatious ex-ama diver. Riu returns from two years in occupied Tokyo as a changed, liberated woman wearing American clothes, sunglasses, a primped face, and painted nails.
The film’s second half is both physically and psychologically darker, as rains pelt the coast and Noe’s happiness turns to torment. Noe’s parents forbid her to see Nishida, and Riu attempts to seduce him in Noe’s absence, spreading rumors that she’s carrying Nishida’s bastard child. The two women settle the score by diving to retrieve the legendary pearl of the Dai nichi ido well. Folklore says the pearl brings true love, but the locals fear the gem is cursed and should be left untouched. At the sea bottom, Riu reaches for the pearl, but her hand is caught in the rocks and she drowns, while Noe nearly dies trying to save her. Guilt-ridden, scorned by villagers who believe she killed her nemesis, and haunted by the ghostly cries of Riu calling from the sea, a distraught Noe walks alone on the moonlit sand. The film concludes as Noe wades into the waves, following the disembodied, haunting voice to her death.
Honda’s screenplay differed from the original novella in a few significant ways. Honda made the main character, Noe, more sympathetic by omitting an abortion and a scene where she attempts to stab archrival Riu to death underwater. He added the legend of the pearl and the sacred well and other local folklore, much of which he learned during his location-hunting tour of the area.
Honda recalled adapting the story: “Legend has it that whenever an ama gets too close to [the Dai nichi ido well], she dies. This well is all that remains after an old shrine sank underwater a long time ago. The ama divers fear this legend, and unless there is a significant reward, they will not dare go near it. Also, it is not permitted for them to wed outsiders. This is because the ama support the local economy, and the entire village would suffer if they left.”6
Directing native ama divers as extras in The Blue Pearl.Courtesy of Honda Film Inc.
The Blue Pearl introduces themes Honda would revisit often in his non–science fiction films, chiefly that of the outsider who challenges the status quo. Nishida’s arrival in the little village triggers conflicts mirroring Japan’s universal postwar identity crises: old traditions versus modern thinking; doubts about arranged marriage and feudalistic customs; a generational gulf between conservative adults and liberated youths; the emergence of assertive, independent-minded women; pastoral virtue versus urban decay. Casting its shadow over all is Japan’s class structure, officially abolished by the Meiji government in 1873, but still the unspoken rule. Its obligations are understood, its rules unbendable. The ama divers are expected to support the village through a lifetime of hard labor. Noe and Riu, who dream of leaving the bubble, both pay with their lives.
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Since the 1890s, Japan has been harvesting its world-renowned pearls, three-quarters of which are still collected by the women divers of Ise-Shima. Honda provides a window into the daily life and culture of the ama: their daily chatter and gossiping, their friendly competition to collect the most oysters, and the rigors and routines of their work. But the most intimate moments of ama life are captured during the underwater sequences, when all the chattering stops and the women are truly in their element. Cinematographer Tadashi Iimura records the balletic athleticism of the dives, performed by actual divers with the underwater camera system created for Ise-Shima, this time with longer takes and more camera agility.
This image has been redacted from the digital edition. Please refer to the print edition to see the image.
The Blue Pearl. © Toho Co., Ltd.
Because The Blue Pearl was promoted as Japan’s first feature film with underwater photography, journalists were on location to document the logistical challenges. A writer for Lucky magazine described the filming of the climactic underwater conflict between the divers:
“[Cameraman] Iimura … all dressed up in his diving gear, puts a portable camera into a metallic body that acts as a special waterproofing device. With it under his arms, he dives into the water from the pontoon. [Honda] and his assistant director both watch from the boat using glass scopes. There are two professional divers underwater to assist the cameraman. The battling Riu and Noe are of course real ama divers, doubling for the actresses.”
Because of a miscommunication between the cameraman and the crew in the boat, Iimura was mistakenly pulled out of the water before the shot was finished.
“[To avoid repeating this mistake] … they created ‘underwater telegramming.’ [Honda] writes on Kent paper in red pencil, ‘shoot towards the right,’ and an ama takes that and dives underwater. Upon receiving the message, the cameraman waves towards the water’s surface, signaling, ‘Roger.’ This is how filming continued smoothly.”7
The Blue Pearl shows Honda striving for a balance between a documentarian’s desire for authenticity and a storyteller’s need to connect emotionally. In an early scene, Honda incorporates formal documentary technique as Fujiki (Takashi Shimura), the elder lighthouse man, explains the life and culture of the ama for the benefit of newcomer Nishida and, by extension, for the audience. Over a montage of ama plunging into the sea, Shimura’s narration describes kachido style diving, in which young women dive from the shoreline and work in groups, and funedo style, wherein more experienced ama dive from boats to greater depths, working with a male partner, usually a husband, who pulls them to safety if danger arises. Honda deftly illustrates one fascinating detail of ama life without ever mentioning it. When the divers surface, a piercing, high-pitched whistle is heard; though unexplained, this is the sound ama make when emptying air from their lungs after a long dive. The documentary approach emphasizes Ise-Shima’s natural beauty, and Honda adds another layer of authenticity by casting local children who speak a regional dialect as Nishida’s pupils and local adults as background extras, and by including a harvest festival with dancers in indigenous costumes.
Even with all its nonfiction-style trappings, The Blue Pearl is a melodrama and Honda does not hesitate to use sound, imagery, and a brilliant score by Tadashi Hattori, one of Japanese cinema’s more prolific composers, to punctuate emotion. The director’s inexperience is betrayed when Noe and Nishida declare their love during a raging rainstorm, an overused cinematic and literary harbinger of doom. In a moment taken from Yamada’s novella, a bird slams into the lighthouse window and dies, telegraphing the lovers’ fate.
Other moments are more effective, particularly the race to find the legendary pearl at the sea bottom. Then there is the final, haunting scene, as Noe walks along the beach with the moon and stars illuminating the rocky shore and the water’s glistening surface, achieved with effective day-for-night photography. Led by the distant, imagined cry of Riu’s