Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters is probably one of the greatest experiences I’ve had with cinema to-date. In terms of its visceral and absolutely beautiful set design, cinematography, and screenwriting especially, it was a mesmerizing thing to witness it. Although this will be more of an essay than an analysis, I will also attempt to uncover a few deeper meanings as well. Don’t worry, it’ll be kept short-ish.

NOT YOUR TYPICAL BIOPIC:

Instead of showing the boring rise-and-fall story of Mishima, it’s far more complex than that. I’d describe it as more of his journey from a young boy with an overprotective, sheltering mother to the philosophical, radical General. It’s not necessarily a success story, and that’s one of the many things I cherish about this movie. The film plays out more as a tragedy linking art with beauty, bodily features and violence. What I find ironic about his life is the fact that when Mishima was young and in World War II, he claimed that he wanted to fight in this war and win for the Emperor of Japan. However, to stop further service in the military, he lied, or at least exaggerated about an illness.

THE CONTRADICTIONS OF MISHIMA’S LIFE:

The entire first section is Mishima as a younger man attempting to link art with beauty. The novel in which this part of the film was based on is about a stuttering young boy who is obsessed with the idea of beauty. However, in an act of pure insanity and rage, he ends up destroying what he called beautiful, the Golden Pavilion. Similar to when he defected from the war, this is a very ironic story. From a man to call something beautiful and obsess over it only to destroy it is very contradictory, and lays the groundwork for the rest. His entire life is kind of a contradiction. In the span of it, he enacts masculine ideals such as bodybuilding and the obsession over militaristic values or the need to become a warrior poet. On the other hand, he’s a closeted homosexual who carries an extremely fragile ego when it comes to looks. It is utterly contrary to the other half of his life.

THE NEED FOR BODILY PERFECTION:

To be more specific, Mishima’s desire to have the perfect body aesthetically is palpable. You can feel his need to be beautiful, above everyone else. This is especially depicted in book two, Kyoko’s House. This section of the film asks a few interesting philosophical questions, such as should you kill yourself in your prime to preserve beauty? This relates to if the human body can really be art if it isn’t natural beauty. The concept of being otherworldly and gorgeous is one of Mishima’s main motivations. The structure of this movie effortlessly gives life to four major components in this man’s life. Beauty, art, action and the harmony of pen and sword. In the next chapter, he becomes convinced that action is the answer to art.

MEANING OF THE FOUR CHAPTERS:

Part one, or as I mentioned, The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, is principally about a man’s obsessive quest for beauty through this structure that he happened to come across. It’s also about recognizing your problems and coming to terms with them. In Mishima’s case, it’s his stuttering. Part two, Kyoko’s House, is about a man who’s quest for bodily perfection almost leads him to suicide. It also happens to be the most philosophical one, asking questions about whether a human body can really be art without death at its prime. Part three, Runaway Horses, can be seen as a study in brutality and violence, or how action can relate to art. It’s about a young army cadet who forms his own group of assassins, who are all ambitious to purge Japan of all its corruption and evil. Although the police eventually break up this cell of criminals, the cadet does end up escaping, killing a business man, and preparing his own death. And finally, part four, Harmony of Pen and Sword, sort of enacts that message of how death is the only way a human body can become art. Preserving it at its peak beauty. In this story, Mishima and a team of men from his own private army set a political coup at the headquarters of the Japanese army in Tokyo. They easily break into a General’s office, bind him, and demand a polite audience so that Mishima can give his speech about the corrupt ways of modernism. However, it’s a complete failure, and Mishima interprets this as words will never mean beauty. Only death. This is why I think he commits suicide at the end, both because it’s a Japanese ritual, and the fact that he believes the philosophy from Kyoko’s House.

IN CONCLUSION:

Regardless of finding the hidden meanings in this movie, every basic aspect is also done masterfully. Used famously in The Truman Show, Phillip Glass’ score has risen to the ranks of one of my favorite soundtracks of all-time. It’s apt, triumphant and ethereal all at the same time. I also adored the use of traditional theatrical set pieces. It’s not only incredibly unique and special, but it is also used very effectively to depict the four novels without getting mired in convoluted storytelling. Overall, although it is a simple task to call this pretentious without totally investing your self into the world of Paul Schrader, this is an utterly unique, thought-provoking, philosophical, well-acted, gorgeously-shot, directed and composed cinematic masterpiece of epic proportions.