A couple of Buddhist pilgrims encounter a woman. What follows is a Shakespearian tragedy of sorts detailing the wrath of a woman scorned. The actual story can be traced to the 11th century. The tale is therefore somewhat primitive and something even foreign audiences will find familiar. This does not significantly detract from the film. In this respect, the story’s simplicity complements its form of presentation. There is, it soon becomes apparent, a certain power to this simplicity.
The puppets are the creations of master puppeteer and animator Kihachirō Kawamoto. They are beautifully crafted and costumed. Of course, being puppets they also exude a certain fragility. Moreover, being puppets and with the animation mainly consisting of stop motion, these characters are unable to change their facial expressions beyond closing their eyelids.
Rather, emotion is conveyed via delicate yet surprisingly evocative movements. The raising of an arm. A wilt in posture. The slightest action, deliberately considered and precisely executed, is capable of communicating so much. There isn’t any dialogue either, but none is necessary. You can see their anger, their dejection and their fear. You can hear them breathing.
Shifts in camera angles and focus or sudden changes in lighting can place further emphasis on particular moments. Admittedly, some of these, as well as other visual effects like gaussian blurs, are a little tacky. Music is an especially important component. The soundtrack is fittingly comprised of traditional Japanese instruments. For the most part it is slow, rhythmic and contemplative, befitting of the story’s tone. When the plot intensifies, it becomes restless and cacophonic.
The cumulative effect of all these complementary and, again, simple elements is a hauntingly beautiful film. Its quaintness is charming, and combined with its incorporation of traditional theatrical mediums and subject matter, reinforces the film’s mythic or folkloric quality. This is obviously a product of bygone eras, but its continued effectiveness is testament to its timelessness and quiet artistry. Without so much as an eyebrow twitch or a single word being uttered, the puppets in Dojoji Temple manage to say so much.
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