Isao Takahata's 'Animation in the 12th Century'

The perspective of Yasuo Otsuka.

The late Shunsaku Tamiya of Tamiya Corporation introduced an anecdote about animator Yasuo Otsuka in his book.
It was during the development of the 'Military Miniature Series'—figures of crew members and soldiers that could be combined with 1/35 scale tank plastic models.

Mr. Tamiya was very surprised by Mr. Otsuka's perspective and praised it highly.
I believe these keywords, 'the moment two frames before' and 'the little bit is important,' are also extremely important when viewing works of art.

Viewing art from an animator's perspective.

For example, this is a portrait of 'Elisabeth of Austria,' housed in the Louvre as a masterpiece by the 16th-century French painter François Clouet.

It is a work painted in a 'perfect pose' while 'standing still' to show the dignified figure of the French queen at the time.

A hundred years later, here is a work painted in the Netherlands that captures the 'slight twist of the body' and the 'moment two frames before.'

It is the famous 'Girl with a Pearl Earring,' and perhaps the reason Vermeer was innovative and has been re-evaluated in modern times lies precisely in the fact that he created his work with this perspective that 'adds a sense of reality.'

Depicting 'movement' on a flat surface.

It is said that Vermeer used a 'camera obscura,' a device that projects scenes onto a flat surface. It is a device that projects the visible world onto a flat plane.
Needless to say, the world is not flat, but a three-dimensional space with depth. Before that, to turn the three-dimensional scene spreading out before one's eyes into a flat surface, one had no choice but to compose it in one's head. However, with a camera obscura, even a scene that is moving around can be rendered in real-time on a flat surface. What a shock that must have been for a painter.

Before that, the final completed form was already assumed, and the subject was asked to take a 'perfect pose' so that a still image could be drawn. But once a tool existed to capture moving subjects on a flat surface, the opposite became possible.

In other words, regardless of what kind of picture is being drawn, the moving person was already there before that. There is a changing world, and the person drawing the picture is the one chasing after it.

What is 'temporal visual art'?

A pictorial expression that includes the passage of time within it.
Isao Takahata calls this 'temporal visual art' in this book. It was already born in 12th-century Japan, five hundred years before Vermeer. Of course, there was no camera obscura. Mr. Takahata seeks the reason for its birth in the ambiguity of the boundaries between sound, text, and painting.

It is not just about the current prosperity of anime and manga. He also cites the absence of iconology, the freedom of onomatopoeia, and Noh and Kyogen, where spoken narrative and visual performance coexist, as grounds for this.
As the ultimate example of this, and as the source closest to current anime and manga, Mr. Takahata deciphers 12th-century picture scrolls in this book.

Picture scrolls and video share basic knowledge.

Before entering the main text, there is an explanation of how to read picture scrolls and the basics of camera work. Since picture scrolls are scrolled from left to right, what the viewer can control is basically just the size of the screen being revealed and the speed of the scrolling. Sometimes, one can stop to look closely.

Regarding camera work, only the horizontal movement of the camera is explained here. But even with just that, it is shown that an incredibly wide variety of expressions is possible: the left side where characters and buildings appear, the right side where they are rolled up and disappear, whether they are in the foreground or background, and which way they are facing.
Just as the expressionless faces of Noh or Ningyo Joruri puppets show various expressions depending on the direction they are facing.

So, how exactly is the direction—which can only be described as camerawork—carried out within the picture scrolls? Beyond that, what other various depictions and effects are there that are anime-like, manga-like, or theatrical and cinematic?
These are carefully picked out and explained in detail from national treasures such as the 'Legends of Mount Shigi,' 'Scroll of the Great Counselor Ban,' 'Scroll of Prince Hikohohodemi,' and 'Scrolls of Frolicking Animals and Humans.'

The wealthy man's party, which should have been advancing from the right, appears from the left.

The chapter on the 'Legends of Mount Shigi' has the most volume.
I will leave the content for you to look up on sites like Wikipedia.

In the first half of the 'Scroll of the Flying Storehouse,' a storehouse flies away from the wealthy man's mansion, and his party chases after it, arriving at Myoren's hermitage in the mountains. In the second half, rice bales fly in a line from Myoren's hermitage toward the wealthy man's mansion.
In other words, the direction of movement is completely reversed between the first and second halves. How is that expressed in a picture scroll that is unrolled in the same direction?

It begins with the scene where a mysterious bowl pops out of the wealthy man's storehouse.

As you unroll the scroll, you see the wealthy man of Yamazaki and his party, along with cheering onlookers, chasing after something in a panic. As you continue to unroll it with curiosity about what they are chasing, you see the bowl from earlier flying through the sky, with the storehouse perched on top of it.

As you keep unrolling, the wealthy man's party, who were so panicked before, have completely calmed down. They seem more filled with a sense of wonder than surprise, following along as they look up at the storehouse and the bowl floating beneath it.

After a long shot of a mountain range is inserted to transition the scene, the bowl is shown resting calmly on the veranda of the hermitage as if nothing had happened, and Myoren appears, pointing at it and asking something.

As you unroll further, the wealthy man and his party are pleading toward where Myoren is asking his question... and here, Mr. Takahata poses a question:
'Why is the wealthy man, who should have come from the right, now on the left side?'

The line of rice bales, which should have been advancing from the right, appears from the left.

The same thing is repeated.
When one of the bales is placed in the bowl at Myoren's instruction, it flies up and heads toward the wealthy man's house. The other bales follow, flying off in a line.

Just like when the storehouse and the wealthy man's party departed earlier, the line of rice bales departing from Myoren's hermitage is moving from right to left.

Once again, a long shot of a mountain range is inserted to transition the scene. As you unroll it, the screen shows the wealthy man's house in the exact same composition as the very beginning.

The rice bales fly in along the same route the storehouse took, but in the exact opposite direction, and the people at the wealthy man's mansion are surprised again. However, it is still mysterious.
'Why do the rice bales, which should have flown from right to left, fly in from left to right?'

Why is it that we so easily accept that the direction of both the wealthy man's party and the line of rice bales changes midway through?

'Now, let's look at the summoning process of the Sword-Wielding Guardian Child once more!'

The 'Scroll of Engi Kaji' features that 'Sword-Wielding Guardian Child'!

Everyone loves this picture of him flying in with the robes of his sword clattering and whooshing by. However, there is actually a scene before this where he has already arrived at the Emperor's palace. The way he gently descends in front of the eaves of the Seiryoden is the exact opposite of a sense of speed; it is a soft feeling that seems appropriate for a scene bringing peace.
Is there a scene of him flying in after the scene of his arrival?
It feels strange that it goes back into the past.

Mr. Takahata's thoughts were difficult, and I didn't understand them at first, so I thought about them in various ways. Is there anything similar to the expression of encouraging one to think about the source of power by going back in time? As a result, I thought of the transformation process in Toei's 'Space Sheriff Series'.

In other words, the 'Electronic Vaporization' of 'Space Sheriff Gavan', the 'Red Irradiation' of 'Space Sheriff Sharivan', and the 'Sintering' of 'Space Sheriff Shaider'.
After they transform, there is always a narration that says, 'Let's watch it again,' and the transformation scene is repeated.

By going back in time and tracing the Red Irradiation process, the 'manliness, strength, kindness, power, courage, and brilliance' of Space Sheriff Sharivan are conveyed to the children. It feels... similar, I think.

Is it something like this... I'm not sure.

Close-ups and long shots.

Old manga used to depict the character's entire body, and there was a horizon in the background. Like Suiho Tagawa's 'Norakuro' or Machiko Hasegawa's 'Sazae-san'. It feels like watching a play on stage.

After Osamu Tezuka brought cinematic camera work into manga, it gradually decreased, and I think Hideo Azuma was about the last one to actively use such compositions... Osamu Tezuka himself used a composition in 'Phoenix: Hōō Chapter' that looks like the stage was filmed with a fixed camera, but by this time, this technique was already being called 'experimental'.

Perhaps the biggest change from such theatrical drawing to cinematic drawing is the introduction of close-ups, where the face is drawn to fill the frame, and long shots, where the camera pulls back to capture a wide background with characters placed like beans.

In picture scrolls, the characters are indeed drawn in full body, and if you look only at that, it might seem like there are no close-ups or long shots, but such direction is properly implemented.

The 'Nun's Scroll' of the 'Legends of Mount Shigi' is a story about Myoren's elderly sister visiting Mount Shigi.
At first, she is accompanied by attendants and welcomed in villages, and that situation is depicted with a size and detail that clearly shows her expressions and the gestures of her fingers.
However, as the journey drags on, the attendants leave, she is left alone, and by the time she crosses the mountain, she is exhausted, tormented by anxiety and loneliness, and becomes the size of a bean, as if she might disappear at any moment.

She prays at the Great Buddha Hall of Todai-ji Temple and sleeps... The shrunken nun is depicted as even smaller by comparison with the size of the Great Buddha and the Great Buddha Hall.

Finally, she reaches the hermitage on Mount Shigi and manages to meet Myoren, and the nun returns to her original size, a figure whose human-like expressions are clearly conveyed.

Upwind and downwind of the burning Otenmon Gate.

The 'Ban Dainagon Ekotoba' is a picture scroll that deals with the burning of the Otenmon Gate.
It is famous for its depiction of the police and onlookers rushing to the burning Otenmon Gate, and its depiction of the intense flames.

As you unroll the scroll, as if chasing the people and horses running and tumbling in various ways, a crowd appears, huddled as if pushed back by something.
Looking up, the crowd sees black smoke and then crimson flames. Sparks and heat were blocking their way.
As if downwind, the held-back people are leaning back from the heat. They are turning their faces away or covering them with their sleeves to avoid even a little bit of the sparks, smoke, and heat. Their robust onlooker spirit from just a moment ago seems to have been broken, and they are trembling with anxiety and fear. They are fearfully following the path of the flying sparks with their eyes.

The other side is the inside of the palace, so there are many officials and the like. Moreover, since they are upwind, they don't seem to be in a desperate situation. They are chatting while watching. While the people downwind are running around in a panic, these people seem to be dazed.

It is not just a contrast between downwind and upwind, or commoners and officials; this story, which began with a flashy uproar, converges here for a moment. There is an atmosphere of an ending like that. From the beginning of the picture scroll to this point, it should be depicting a scene that is actually happening at the same time, but for some reason, time... or rather, the progression of the story has been born.

The world of screen direction is just too profound...

Following this, a mystery-style story unfolds regarding who set fire to the Otenmon Gate. In the world of the nobility, a false accusation is orchestrated through a power struggle, and the truth is revealed, triggered by a fight between children in the world of the common people.
Mr. Takahata deciphers the directorial techniques used to depict this story, which takes many twists and turns.

As the book progresses, the directorial techniques and concepts of camera work become increasingly sophisticated. As a result, theories even emerge that overturn the established views that have been held regarding the 'Ban Dainagon Ekotoba' until now.

After this, Mr. Takahata discusses various cinematic techniques and the philosophies embedded within them, citing examples from the 'Hikohohodemi no Mikoto Emaki,' the 'Choju-jinbutsu-giga,' and the 'Bayeux Tapestry,' as well as parts of various other picture scrolls, while also drawing comparisons to Bruegel and Italian neorealist films, but I have yet to fully digest it all.

That said, even just from the parts I have been able to understand so far, I feel that my perspective on painting and cinematic expression has changed significantly. It is rare to find a book where the reward for reading it is felt so strongly.

I saw 'The Tale of the Princess Kaguya' quite a while ago, but I wonder how different my impressions would be if I watched it after reading this book.
I am looking forward to it already.