Mother Mary, Mama Bear, and the Mother of Ultraman (Part One)

From the Meiji Restoration in 1869 through World War II, Shintō was the official religion of Japan. Catholic missionaries entered Japan way back in the 1500’s, but even today, only 1.5% of the Japanese population is Christian while 70.5% are Shintō and 67.2% are Buddhist. (For Westerners who aren’t familiar with these belief systems, it’s possible to be Shintō and Buddhist simultaneously.) 



The roots of Shintō began in the 6th century BCE, so its tendrils run deep through Japanese culture. From what I understand, there was a season in which nationalism was tied deeply to Shinto beliefs—though I do not know how similar or different that period was to the dastardly evangelical nationalism we are experiencing in America of late. I have read that this system was shaken in the 1950’s and that the 1960’s were a time of great transition for Japanese culture.


Still, I was shocked to discover that Eiji Tsubaraya, originator of the Ultraman series, was Catholic. It’s just not what I expected to read about someone born in Fukushima in 1901.

However, the more I thought about it, it began to make sense. While Westerners watching Ultraman might first notice Shintō and Buddhist influence, certain aspects of Christian thought—and particularly Catholic thought—also reveal themselves in the original series. 



Hold that thought for a bit, though. I'll come back to it in another part of this series.

Sadly, Eiji Tsubaraya died in 1970, and his son Hajime (born in 1931) took over direction of Ultraman. However, Hajime only lived three years beyond his father’s death. So, Eizo Yamagiwa is listed as the director for the Ultraman Taro series,

I don’t know much about Hajime Tsubaraya, but I have a bit of a crush on both Eiji Tsubaraya and Eizo Yamagiwa. (I’m struggling to find a copy of Eizo Yamagiwa’s film The End of Love, but what I’ve read about it has greatly piqued my curiosity, so I’m hoping it’s possible. If you stumble into this blog and know where I can find it, I'd love to know.)

This linked interview shares a bit about Yamagiwa's life and heart for film. It’s worth your time.

 

 

 

 

 

 (This is a low-res version of a wonderful photo taken by Brett Homenick. You can see more pictures taken by Mr. Homenick within the interview link.)

In relation to the Taro series, however, I was particularly struck by trauma Yamagiwa experienced as a child. As a small boy, he was uprooted and sent from Tokyo to a different part of Japan where he experienced the strictness of old traditions. Junior high school involved a military sort of hierarchy, and as the years passed, he began to feel the hopelessness of wartime settle. He describes the impact of a return visit to Tokyo in 1945:


“There was an air raid while I was back. It was a B-29 air raid, and they were flying through the sky at night. I saw the B-29s dropping bombs, and there were a lot of fires. This incident made me feel as a child that my only option was to become a soldier and die for the country. Even as a child, I felt this, and I was exasperated. I had lost all hope.”

After the war was over, it took a while for Yamagiwa to experience a sense of peace again. His first real sense that things were now different didn’t emerge from an announcement, but freedom from having to wear long pieces of cloth around his ankles, a manner of dress that imitated the attire of soldiers.

 Yamagiwa said:

“So, when I walked, I could feel the wind coming in from under my pant legs, and I could hear the pant legs making sounds when I walked. That’s when I felt the war had ended and that my life had been saved. It was because I didn’t have to wear puttees anymore.”


This is the child who became the adult director of the Ultraman series that was written specifically for little ones. Taro’s predecessor, Return of Ultraman, was directed more toward adults. But with Taro, Yamagiwa’s goal was reaching the souls of children. And the surreal nature of the series was intentional. In fact, Yamagiwa said that the series was based on Baron Munchausen:

“an old fairy tale about a baron who was always boasting. His stories were interesting, but you could never be sure if they were true. So the scriptwriters came up with stories that were strange, but at the same time you weren’t sure if they were true. We wanted to leave the viewer thinking that maybe it was true. But the question was, how could we do this? So that’s what we worked on.”


 (to be continued.)