Sisters of the Gion

Sisters of the Gion (祇園の姉妹) is a 1936 film by Kenji Mizoguchi that tells the story of two sisters working as geisha in the pleasure district of Gion, Kyoto.

Exploring a common theme of Japanese films of that era, Mizoguchi shows us a struggle to make ends meet, as the sisters have fallen on hard times and are both without a patron. The older sister has been trained as a geisha in the traditional way, and so believes her role entails always taking a backseat to men. The younger sister (pictured below), whose name is Omocha, has been educated in the Japanese school system and, with a more practical view, has entered the trade to make money rather than to sacrifice herself to the desires of men, as her sister has done.

Omocha means “toy” or “plaything” in Japanese and must have been given to the character with those connotations in mind, despite her defiance of what the word implies and of male dominance and female economic dependence. She manipulates men for personal gain, while her obsequious sister, Umekichi, serves them no matter how poor or lonely they may be.

Omocha tries to sway her sister toward her way of thinking, to see men for what they are: essentially subjugators who should be tricked or toyed with for money. She even dupes a clerk into giving her expensive material at no cost, which she uses to have a fine kimono made for her sister, who's currently without a patron and in need of the right kind of attire to attract one. In this sense Omocha is not entirely self-serving; she's also acting in the interest of women, or at least of her sister.

Mizoguchi’s films are highly regarded for their mise-en-scène and long takes, and Sisters of the Gion is no exception. There’s a beautifully dark shot of the bankrupt businessman Furusawa walking at night down a narrow street in Gion. The length of the take feels anachronistic; it was like I was watching a recent film attempting to recreate 1930s cinema. First a long-take medium profile shot, then a long-take wide shot of him moving down the street, eventually reaching a wonton stand (ワンタン スタンド).

Other scenes offer glimpses of Kyoto at the time, as well as interiors of homes and businesses, including an antique shop. Overall it’s a compelling story with beautiful, dark, and at times grainy imagery, a bunraku song about suicide, plenty of smoking with traditional kiseru pipes, a surprisingly violent misogynistic act of revenge, vendors calling out their wares in the streets, and, most importantly, an early Showa-era perspective on the suffering of geisha, and by extension women in general, and on the roles of women in Japanese society.