The Famous Sword Bijomaru

Meito Bijomaru (The Famous Sword Bijomaru) is a 1945 film by director and screenwriter Kenji Mizoguchi.

Kiyone Sakurai forges a sword for his benefactor, Kozaemon Onoda, but it shatters while Onoda is defending his lord. He's placed under house arrest for failing to protect the lord’s palanquin. Naito then tells Onoda that he can help restore his honor, if he's allowed to marry Onoda’s daughter, Sasae. When Onoda refuses, Naito kills him.

Sasae instructs Kiyone to forge another sword to avenge her father’s death. But Kiyone, overcome with guilt, commits suicide by seppuku.

His dying wish is that his soul be used in the making of a new sword. Eventually, the sword is completed, and it is Sasae (a woman!) who confronts Naito in a final, carefully choreographed scene, complete with pyrotechnics.

There's a great deal of cinematic beauty in the film, with striking framing and nighttime outdoor scenes, as well as shots of sparks flying while the swordsmiths hammer away at the forge. Mizoguchi’s long takes give us time to reflect on what's happened while also allowing us to absorb the mise-en-scène, which effectively helps shape both mood and meaning.

In one instance, we're shown two extended shots of a space enclosed by shoji screens hanging off their rails after a fight between authorities and ronin. The destruction remains, still and undisturbed, inviting contemplation. It’s hard not to see this as a possible reflection of Japan itself nearing the end of the war.

There're elements of propaganda as well. Considering the film was made in 1945, I expected these to be more overt, but they're not overly intrusive. The message surfaces more clearly in brief moments, like in statements about loyalty and devotion to the emperor such as:

By being born in this country, we follow the way of the subject, which is loyalty and self-sacrifice. This is nothing heroic. It is serving the emperor. The emperor encourages the young generations and allows rewards to mourning families. Such is the imperial government. One must not conspicuously brag. And certainly not when the deeds aren't amazing. One must restrain himself of any envy. And model his behavior on previous generations.

The sword serves as a symbol of strength and as a vessel for ancestral spirit, which, given the timing of the film, adds to its historical significance. The swordsmiths struggle repeatedly to forge an unbreakable blade, realizing they must rely not on outsiders but on their own resolve, their hearts, and their master’s spirit.

"We won't make it!" one cries, only to be rebuked: "Stop whining!" Then a translucent Sasae—her spirit—joins them at the forge. The message is unmistakable: only together, with heart and soul, can the Japanese spirit endure and transcend, and only then can it prevail.