Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters Page #2

Don't show it to anyone else.

They might agree.

Cough.

Enough.

Do you sometimes cough blood?

Yes, sir.

How long have you had a fever?

About six months, sir.

" Unfit for military service. "

" Incipient tuberculosis. "

Get dressed and go home.

Next.

I'd always dreamed

of dying on the battlefield.

So why did I lie?

Why did I exaggerate my illness?

My words were lies.

I was a coward.

I never really wanted to die.

Did you hear?

The war is over!

B- b-but the American bombers?

Where are the bombers?

The Golden Pavilion...

who'll set it free?

Did you steal this

from the temple?

Be careful.

You acolytes are

my girls' best customers.

I wonder why

they didn't bomb Kyoto.

That was your first time?

I thought so.

Don't worry.

You did fine.

Are you always so serious?

Didn't you enjoy it?

I hope you remember my name.

In a day or two

I'm going to be famous.

What's so funny?

You're such a terrible liar!

And you keep

such a straight face!

It's no lie!

I'll make headlines.

You're too much.

1- Art

Good morning.

It's a nice day.

Good morning, sensei.

You've read the letters?

You three must not

follow our example.

But we're ready to -

The letters are very clear.

No matter what happens,

make sure the general

does not commit seppuku.

This is our day...

not his.

Sensei, we've talked it over.

We want to die with you.

Why must we be left behind?

This is my final day.

I've said good-bye to my parents,

my girlfriend, everyone.

You...

must stay alive.

You must defend

our actions in court.

We want to be with you

to the end.

You refuse to obey orders?

Morita and I are going to do our duty.

You must do yours.

Understand?

Don't worry.

We'll meet again.

Everyone ready?

Let's go.

At the end of the war,

I felt left behind.

I thought I was

the symbol of my times -

a kamikaze for beauty.

But I'd only been

a boy who wrote bad poetry.

I quit my job at the Ministry of Finance

to become a writer.

I wrote Confessions of a Mask

in six months.

Thirst for Love

took five months.

Forbidden Colors took nine,

Sound of Waves four,

Modern Noh Dramas three,

The Temple

of the Golden Pavilion ten.

The rehearsals look great.

Easy for you to say.

Why worry?

You're already the youngest writer...

to publish

his Collected Works.

What good is it

if I'm not translated in the West?

Sound of Waves

was translated.

One book.

Four, five languages?

Six.

It's like a dream come true.

But it feels like being confined

to a hospital bed.

A luxurious hospital bed.

Can't I just have the bed?

Every night I return to my desk

precisely at midnight.

I thoroughly analyze why I am

attracted to a particular theme.

I drag everything

into my conscious mind.

I boil it into abstraction.

I am constantly calculating

until I sit down to write.

Only then can my unconscious

dreams take over.

Kyoko's House

Published 1959

Come, night! Come, Romeo!

Come, gentle night.

Osamu?

Who were you with last night?

I don't remember.

Who'd you sleep with?

What a thing

to say to your mother.

Besides...

he was too drunk to walk.

Nothing goes right

for me anymore.

You should see

the loan on this place.

I can't even buy lipstick.

My back gets worse and worse.

I could die

and nobody would care.

What's so funny?

I love how you exaggerate

your misery,

like some

cheap movie poster.

You even look the part -

like the madam

of a French brothel.

How would you know?

You've never left Tokyo.

Besides, I'm not exaggerating.

You're never here

when the loan sharks come.

Do me a favor, please.

Go see them.

I need six months more.

It's getting

so I can't sleep anymore.

I'm busy.

Doing what? Daydreaming?

Like you.

Theater?

Wait.

Got a role?

What do you think?

Would they look good in tights?

I guess so.

This nail polish sure chips easy.

These damn legs.

I pay too much attention

to my face,

but what about my body?

If only I were more muscular...

like a matador.

Then my whole body

could be my face.

That's not very realistic.

I'm going to take up

bodybuilding.

I mean it.

Oh no, you don't.

Then you'll have

more girls chasing you.

Who were you with last night?

Come on, tell me who.

Someone new?

All right, muscle man.

You are a weakling!

Cut it out.

I'll be your mirror.

This is your hair.

This is your face.

This is your breast.

See? Isn't this better

than a mirror?

My life is in many ways

like that of an actor.

I also wear a mask.

I play a role.

When he looks in the mirror,

the homosexual, like the actor,

sees what he fears most.:

the decay of the body.

What's this?

You're so flabby.

Ah, it's you.

What happened?

Suddenly you just...

Don't worry.

It's nothing.

Please tell me,

or I'll never calm down.

I'm calling from nearby.

I'll see you in 15 minutes.

Tell me.

I must know.

Both you and I have

a strong sense of aesthetics.

When you look in the mirror,

you see beauty.

I can't even look at myself.

So don't make jokes

like that again.

As the ship approached Hawaii,

I felt as if I'd emerged from a cave

and shook hands with the sun.

I'd always suffered

under a monstrous sensitivity.

What I lacked was health -

a healthy body, a physical presence.

Words had separated me

from my body.

The sun released me.

Greece cured my self-hatred

and awoke a will to health.

I saw that beauty and ethics

were one and the same.

Creating a beautiful work of art and

becoming beautiful oneself are identical.

I obtained physical health

after becoming an adult.

Such people are different

from those born healthy.

We feel we have the right

to be insensitive to trivial concerns.

The loss of self through sex

gives us little satisfaction.

Natsuo-chan!

Osamu!

Where have you been?

I've become a bodybuilder.

How about you?

Still painting?

Still at it.

You mean Natsuo Yamagata?

Landscapes?

I've seen some of them.

At least you don't attempt

to paint human bodies.

Forgive his bluntness.

Takei and I

were just talking about art.

And what did you decide?

I got interested because of the way

Michelangelo and Rodin

treated the human body.

The human body

is the work of art.

It doesn't need artists.

Okay, let's say you're right.

What good does

your sweating and grunting do?

Even the most beautiful body

is soon destroyed by age.

Where is beauty then?

Only art makes

human beauty endure.

You must devise

an artist's scheme to preserve it.

You must commit suicide

at the height of your beauty.

What have you been doing?

You promised we'd go to the theater.

You need money again?

No, that's not it.

Don't you notice anything new?

Just this awful shirt.

You call my taste gaudy.

Looks like blood.

No, it's not that.

I've put two inches

on my chest.

Bodybuilding.

You? Why?

Somebody even said my ass

looked like that

of a foreign sailor.

Here, feel my chest.

I can hardly pinch it.

Lady! Get us some lunch!

We only serve snacks.

Then go get some.

Until you pay back your loan,

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes