Feed Me…Your Woes and Joys

Without giving much of a thought, food is merely something edible during a hunger pang. Yet, throughout the journey of this particular class, food has transformed into something beyond mere sustenance for the body – it ties together mind, heart, and soul within the individual as well as within the community. Both subtle and conspicuous symbols that food embodies in the Momotaro readings and film as well as Tsuchimoto’s Minamata documentary become the unifying forces in each community’s struggle towards its universal goal.

Tsuchimoto’s documentary, Minamata: The Victims and Their World, seemingly placed more focus on the disease’s symptoms and propagating consequences as a result of being rejected from official governmental acknowledgement and aid, but the fact that food was one of the main mediums of transferring the disease unconsciously reoccurring detail. In a livelihood centered so profoundly around the sea and dependent on fishing, the heavy metal and acidic waste produced by the chemical plant located in Minamata contaminated the sea and thus directly damaged the seaside community’s diet. The individuals in the community became “the sufferers”, their rights stripped away by a selfishly constructed reparation contract, ultimately fueling “a war waged by we who hate war”. Social hierarchy and the pace of modernization were only some of the forces behind the injustice the Minamata victims felt, but they brought attention to how large of a role modern politics and economics played in the Minamata victims’ plight – the hypocrisy behind how “you make the sea unfit for bacteria and you talk of rapid economic growth”. Only after testing for some definite scientific proof through Cat No. 400 and years of petitioning and irreparable damages to families, individuals, and livelihoods was the community able to “arrive in the land where the blue and red ogres dwell” and fight on a somewhat more equal ground.

The gap in social classes is so wide that the Minamata victims didn’t even recognize the government as their own kind, instead characterizing them as ogres, an allusion to the beloved Japanese folktale of Momotaro. Iwaya Sazanami’s version of the folktale presents Momotaro as a gift from the gods and the fist of justice, not having actually endured the pain of having loved ones harmed by the ogres. In contrast, while the committee in the Minamata community takes on the role of righteousness, the individuals in the committee have all been in some way directly affected by the disease in their tight knit community. The traditional Momotaro folktale suggests the treasure that the ogres are hoarding is of monetary value, but the treasure the government “ogres” have stolen is priceless in the form of natural resources and livelihoods. Even though reparations were provided and no amount of reparations could ever heal the damages, for many, money was the least of their worries after losing part of what made them human – “mouths that can’t speak or taste, hands that can’t grasp, legs that can’t walk…because as far as life is concerned, there’s no difference between millionaires and paupers”.

Thus whereas food should be a form of nourishment, food takes a form of “poison” representative of poison to the body and poison to the environment in the case of the Minamata disease. In a similar manner, poison takes an alternate form in Seo Mitsuyo’s Momotaro’s Sea Eagles. The Bluto character from the Popeye the Sailor Man series takes the form of an ogre constantly surrounded by beer bottles. The beer bottles leave him rather incoherent to the viewer, exposing him as an incompetent leader in contrast to Momotaro’s demonstration of leadership and instruction back on the ship. His inability to formulate coherent words parallels the regression Minamata disease victims faced in no longer having the capability of controlling their central nervous systems, both of which are recognizable malicious aftereffects of food.

Though the foods under discussion so far are characterized as the “poison” type, interestingly enough, unity is still created from some sense of mutuality. In the Minamata case, the community strived toward retrieving its rights after suffering through the anguish of losing a loved one and birth defects that render an individual handicapped for a lifetime. Even though Bluto is the ogre, his “evil” character serves to unite Momotaro’s crew as well as the audience in an alliance against the mutual enemy.

Food is so highly valued for the Minamata people because they dwell off the sea, not needing too much of anything beyond the natural resources that it provides. Since Minamata Bay was plentiful of fish, fishing became almost like a competitive sport for the community as each fisherman had his or her own formula to creating bait. As one fisherman mentioned, “the secret’s in the bait”, and through this battle of secret recipes, the community show greater gratitude and respect to the food that they eat. In fact, as the documentary shows, food that is consumable to human beings are used as ingredients in the bait, such as butter and lard, suggesting that though of a different species, fish can be considered to be on the same level as humans. Thus, the food that feeds the fish are indirectly nourishing the human consumers. In that sense and as part of cultural and culinary habits, the Japanese tended to consume its fish raw, a likely disadvantage in the spread of the disease.

The value of food is no different for either the Momotaro stories or film. The overlap between the stories and film is most obviously linked through the millet dumplings, the substance that Momotaro offers to his followers in the Sazanami version of the folktale in return of loyalty. The mere idea of sharing food with one another builds a sense of friendship that is further explored in the film. In both the film and the stories, food is consumed prior to the battle, strengthening not only the figurative camaraderie amongst the members of the troop but also the literal physical energy in their bodies. Even though the troop is made of three types of animals, multiplied to a countless amount for battle, there is no sense of tension between the different types. The film presents how the same kinds work together, such as the manner with which the monkeys climb on top of each other to reach the airplane, as well as how different kinds cooperate, such as the effort with which the dog and monkey demonstrate in helping injured baby pheasant. These collaborative efforts highlight the theme of social class being nothing more than a social (and ultimately invisible) construct and the theme of unification that the Minamata community seems to lack. Although the Minamata community did unify against the government officials, it nonetheless faced and endured much fear and neglect through its own members in discovering that a neighbor or family member was infected. Whereas the Minamata community faced its own Japanese people, born and bred on the same land of the rising sun, Momotaro’s troops faced a fictitious enemy in the form of ogres.

In reference to how food takes the form of nutritional strength, the food presented in Momotaro takes a more obvious role and is in coherence with how we usually view food in our every day lives. As already mentioned previously, it provides both literal and figurative strength for the animals prior to battle. In addition, it takes the form of a good luck charm in the paper koinobori that hangs in the front of the airplane, serving to remind them of the goal at hand and to remind them that they are not fighting the battle alone. The millet dumplings were nothing more than a symbolism, as they were not physically presented in the film. Rather, there was simply the bag with the label of “millet dumplings”, and in its place was a toy airplane being given to the baby pheasant to propagandize how it, too, can join their forces. At the return of their journey and battle, celebration takes the form of more food and drinks in congratulations of a work well done and of a safe journey home, further unifying the troop that had been temporarily separated.

While food cannot be specifically classified as “good” or “evil”, a classification that is far too subjective to argue, food acts as a medium that brings a collaboration and unification of community. It is an essential part of survival, but its role has penetrated beyond the obvious, from suffering to friendship.

The Bushido Code: Loyalty and Honor above All

The consumer-dependent economy and culture today has become so engrained with cartoons directed at trapping the short attention span of children that it becomes difficult to imagine a world without. Yet, the objective less than a century ago was no different than it is today, hatched out of wartime politics and patriotism in the form of wartime propaganda. In Momotaro’s Sea Eagle, one of the earliest Japanese animations preserved today, director Mitsuyo Seo transforms the beloved traditional folktale of Momotaro and its subtle elements of food into a propagandized family feature relatable to the wartime effort prominent in Japanese society during that time period.

The monkey reaches into the millet dumpling pouch and pulls out a toy airplane.

Whereas Momotaro fights alongside his newfound acquaintances – a dog, a monkey, and a pheasant – to defeat the onis in the traditional tale, Momotaro is characterized as the leader behind the attack, the actual attack carried out by the armies of the three types of animals. Even so, Momotaro’s legacy lives on through the monkey that brings along the bag of millet dumplings, later used to gain another ally in the form of a parent pheasant and baby pheasant. Interesting enough, the millet dumplings do not actually take the form of food but rather the form of a toy airplane. But by showing the toy airplane as the only way to appease the lost and injured baby pheasant, Seo introduces the idea of feeding the youthful and ignorant mind, metaphorically paralleling the role of food in feeding the body.

The koinobori moves “upstream” prior to the attack and “downstream” during the attack.

Like most stereotypical wartime propaganda, the message received is meant to induce courage and strength for the sake of fulfilling one’s duty for his or her country. In that sense, the subtle yet still significant symbol of the koinobori or “carp streamer” hangs inside the airplane as a reminder for these warriors to remember their goal at hand. While the koinobori is made of paper and not actually edible as a food, it takes the shape of a koi fish, an organism with a mythical background in Asian beliefs. Originating from a Chinese legend and adopted into Japanese culture, the legend tells of a koi fish that relentlessly tries to swim upstream on a noble endeavor to obtain enlightenment, ultimately overcoming the obstacle and is transformed into a flying dragon. While the koinobori moves “upstream” and “downstream” according to the laws of physics and velocity, the film symbolically presents the “upstream” phase as it hangs on the inside of the plane prior to the attack and the “downstream” phase after successfully executing the attack. Despite the mythology behind the koi fish, Seo reminds the viewers that the Japanese aren’t invincible by burning the koinobori as one of the casualties faced in battle while the actual members in battle return in one piece, propagandizing against the negative image of the suicidal kamikaze warrior and promoting the extreme patriotic spirit that they carry.

The koinobori catches on fire as the burning plane begins its downfall.

By overlapping the legend of koi fish and the folktale of Momotaro, Seo provides a profound social commentary of the nobility in being part of the war effort that all Japanese people should take part in, no matter the struggles and obstacles that lie in the path. Furthermore, though this short film was created in 1943, it is interesting to note that koinobori today is traditionally flown on Children’s Day in Japan, even though the national holiday wasn’t officially named such until 1948. Though not explicitly stated in the film, the anthropomorphic characters are characterized as the youth of the Japanese society, as suggested by the probably unintentional reference to koinobori in addition to their childlike behavior and playfulness in conducting their tasks.
In coherence with the original Momotaro story, the heroes set off to Devil’s Island, immediately displaying the motif of good versus bad, as is typical in a fictional story. Even for those somehow unaware that the story is specifically about the bombing of Pearl Harbor, it becomes apparent through the cliché Hawaiian music that trails into the scene as the planes fly toward Devil’s Island, even though the film itself once again doesn’t explicitly define Devil’s Island as Hawaii. On the other hand, by explicitly naming the island “Devil’s Island”, it is easy for the viewer to assume that all the inhabitants of the island are devils and thus the enemy to the heroes. Even before actually coming into contact with the enemy, the classification of good and bad is already well subconsciously established in the viewer’s mind, enforcing the message intended by the propaganda. Only after this manipulation of the order of images does Seo introduce the enemy character, immediately recognizable to the public as America.

The Bluto-like character is surrounded by beer bottles.

Originating from the classic American cartoon, Popeye the Sailor Man, the same villain Bluto is characterized as the enemy in this Momotaro film. Even for those unfamiliar with the Popeye cartoon can detect his evil because not only is he fighting against the good (the animals), he is characterized with devil horns and numerous bottles of beer, both of which are defined as “bad” in the mindset of a child. His frustrated words are incoherent to the viewer, due either to alcohol or for intentional characterization, blatantly exposing him to be an incompetent leader in contrast to Momotaro’s leadership and clear instructions. Above all, he loses any possibility of honor and nobility when he lowers the US flag and shakes off all of the stars and stripes to make his white flag of defeat, ultimately revealing the overall Japanese mentality of accepting defeat.

Bluto shamelessly shakes off the patriotic stars and stripes of the American flag to concede to the white flag of defeat.

Through the well-defined line of good and bad, contrasting characters, and significance of food symbols, Seo creates a masterpiece of propaganda to the Japanese public of all age ranges, promoting both national pride and national participation. Withholding the gruesome details unavoidable in the war effort as is characteristic of propaganda, Seo romanticizes war as a glorious phenomenon in which no Japanese soldier is left behind, rooting this mentality into the youth of the time period.

A Taste like No Other

For some, food is nothing more than sustenance for life, driven by the pangs of hunger. But for others, food is a matter of enjoyment driven by personal preference, to the extremes of transforming the act of consumption into an endless quest to fill the mental emptiness created by gluttony. The extreme unveils its existence in Tanizaki Junichiro’s short story “The Gourmet Club” beyond the mere sense of sight, manipulating all five basic human senses to heighten the act of consuming food and create an experience that can be classified as “exotic”. The immediate definition of the term “exotic” usually has some relation to something foreign and rare, but Josée Johnston and Shyon Baumann take the discussion further through a culinary perspective in “The Culinary Other: Seeking Exoticism” by arguing how “exoticism” acts as an umbrella associated with the ideas of norm-breaking, foreign, ethnic, socially and geographically different and distant, and exciting. These conceptual ideas perpetuate themselves as criteria in Count G.’s subconscious as he journeys to discover his “orchestral cuisine”.

Overexposed to the flavors of Japanese cuisine, Count G. is immediately lured by Chinese cuisine, a craving conjured by the sound of the Chinese violin and by the subtle scent of shao-hsing rice wine. Upon discovering the Chechiang club in addition to being stirred by these two senses, he pictures the ethnic region as “a mystic realm of scenic beauty on the banks of Western lake” (112), painting an image of an unfamiliar yet alluring territory. Within the mysterious allure, however, there remains the sense that the region and the meal at hand are only somewhat socially and geographically distant. He shows some familiarity in being able to illustrate and recognize its characteristcs through past experience, paralleling an observation that people tend to “like [their] exoticism somewhat familiar, recognizable, controllable” (Johnston and Baumann, 114).

As expected in describing the food, there is emphasis on sight imagery in dramatizing the rarity of the meals, to the extent that the ignorant Count G. begs to “at least see what the meal’s like” (126).Yet ironically, it is revealed that the secret behind the exoticism is “gastronomical magic…tast[ing] with their eyes, their noses, their ears, and at times their skin…every part of them had to become a tongue” (131). In utilizing such descriptive textual imagery to stimulate the senses, Tanizaki intertwines Count G.’s fantasies with the reader’s while still leaving room for the reader to be the subject of his or her own figment of imagination. Although the idea of exoticism lies in the eye of the beholder, Tanizaki highlights the alliance formed over a mutual culinary fanaticism between the Chinese acquaintance and Count G., creating a sense of “equality to multiple ethnic cuisines” without leaving behind the “postcolonial ideologies of status and distinction” in the contrasting tension between epicures Mr. Chen and Count G (Johnston and Bauman, 125).

In “The Gourmet Club”, the fine line between interesting and unusual, overexposed and mainstream, is manipulated to generate an atypical experience, one completely dependent on the mind through the unification of the five senses. In essence, the food acts as the driving force in the epicurean quest for the fragments of “exoticism” defined in the article, dramatized through the descriptive imagery received by the five senses and the characters fueled by gluttony.

Connected by an Invisible Thread

            Itami Juzo’s Tampopo overlaps seemingly unrelated anecdotes that are undeniably connected by food, something universally relatable by all people, regardless of status or nationality. As a visual form of art, every scene that is shot exists for the director to deliver his message the way he wants it to be seen. Subliminally, the audience formulates opinions around the first and last images of the film on the basis of whether they were captivated from the very beginning and whether they were satisfied with their last two hours about how the plot finally unraveled and ultimately concluded. With that in mind, I chose to screenshot the very last image before the credits roll onto the screen.

Last scene: A mother sits in a park nursing her newborn.

            Even though the main plotline amongst the hodgepodge of stories is suggested to lie with Tampopo and the art of creating ramen, Juzo doesn’t simply end it with the success of her ramen shop that triggers her vagabond Sensei, Goro, to return to his own journey, his truck moving farther and farther away from the camera’s range of view. Instead, the film pans his camera over to the park where the woman is nursing her child. At first, it may not be comprehensible to a viewer as to why an additional scene seemingly unrelated to Tampopo’s life becomes the last visual they see before the end of the film. But we have to also remember that while Juzo does revolutionize the way films were made, not all characteristics of a typical film have been lost.

            Like how life is a cycle of birth and death, Tampopo parallels its cyclical manner, making Juzo’s messages about life only that much more powerful. Recall that the very first scene of the film was not of two truckers driving in the rain toward Tampopo’s shop. Rather, it was the profound movie theater scene that recreates the audience as another character in the film, breaking the barrier between the film and audience. Even though the beginning and ending were not substories that were apparently related, they still provide a sense of a cycle in weaving in and out of Tampopo’s life.

            Nevertheless, the substories not involving Tampopo as a character are still interestingly connected to her simply by her name “Tampopo”, literally translated into “Dandelion”. Similar to how a dandelion merely drifts in the wind until it can be planted, the film artistically drifts in and out of the lives of an assortment of characters representative of the different types of people in the world by carefully panning the camera to a new focus without disrupting any of the stories, just like the transition into this last scene as our figurative dandelion plants itself on a newborn being nursed by its mother’s milk. Like how the first scene teaches that every moment of life (symbolized by the movie) should be savored, the last scene presents food as an extension of oneself, both literally through the mother’s milk and figuratively through Tampopo’s determination to master her art to nurture the customers and life that she loves.