When a Demon Becomes a Martyr:
The Ethics of Adaptation
Is it unethical to take creative liberties in adaption? Perhaps in doing so the story becomes more widely accepted, but the original narrative is lost. Between the short story, Hell Screen by Akutagawa Ryûnosuke and the film, Portrait of Hell directed by Toyoda Shirô, there is a difference in narrative approach. By magnifying the injustice of the Lord, Toyoda shifts the ire of the audience away from Yoshihide. In this way, the adaptation takes a story intending to investigate existence by way of aesthetics, and focuses instead on a moral lesson for individuals in positions of power.
One of the ways in which the narrative shifts is that of the characterization of the painter, Yoshihide. In Hell Screen, Yoshihide is compared to a goblin and is the epitome of immoral behavior. The comparison is made by the narrator after sharing some of Yoshihide’s self-aggrandizing remarks in the presence of His Lordship, “No wonder his apprentices called him Chira Eiju behind his back! You know: Chira Eiju, the long-nosed goblin who crossed over from China long ago to spread the sin arrogance,” (Akutagawa 47). Such dehumanizing personifications are meant to essentialize his moral behavior as falling outside the confines of the socially acceptable. The inhuman descriptor is especially damning when a page earlier it is said that, “Even such an eminent Buddhist prelate as the Abbot Yokawa hated Yoshihide so much that the very mention of his name was enough to turn purple as if he had seen a devil,” (Akutagawa 46). While there is a clear trend in the written story to draw attention to his inhuman nature, in Portrait of Hell Yoshihide’s demonizing is nearly non-existent. Instead he is depicted simply as a stern, private, and over-protective father. There is little to no mention of his public image, and in fact he is rewritten as a traveler from Korea, foreign to the Japanese setting with his only notoriety stemming from the subject matter of his paintings (Toyoda 1969). In neglecting to build the public image around Yoshihide, and distancing him ethnically from the Japanese setting, it becomes easier to treat any abnormality in his behavior as an effect of his experiences in a different environment and not necessarily as an expense of his artistic pursuit.
Not only does the adaptation into film paint Yoshihide into a more positive light, it aims to make him a martyr. In Portrait of Hell, the narrative of the Lord’s negligence creating turmoil in the countryside sets the backdrop for Yoshihide’s defiance, making him a representation of the people’s rebellion. The inclusion of Yoshihide at the maiming of the old man by the Lord’s ox, the addition of the romance narrative between the daughter and the apprentice, and the eventual bandit raid on the Lord’s compound (Toyoda 1969) provides an explanation of the political setting that is simply not included to the same extent in the written story. In Hell Screen, Yoshihide is not present for the goring of the old man (Akutagawa 43). I would argue that the reason for his inclusion in the scene in the film was to not only illustrate the indifference of the Lord regarding his people’s suffering, but to later instrumentalize Yoshihide’s paintings as a form of spiritual-vengeance. By first making Yoshihide a witness to the Lord’s injustice and then later gifting a painting of the dead man’s corpse to the Lord (Toyoda 1969), Yoshihide becomes an agent of the subjugated populace. The fact that Yoshihide was a Korean foreigner in the film, with no stake in the people of the land, reinforces the selflessness of his actions. To argue that his stake was in the return of his daughter does not matter regarding his martyrdom, his volition was fraught because his intentions were still good.
Although there is a bounty of evidence in Hell Screen that indicates the Yoshihide’s fanaticism for his craft to the point of degrading his public image, the argument could be made that he still loved and cared for his daughter. Despite being unanimously reviled by his community, he was still a doting father, “The Girl was, as I said before, a wonderfully kind-hearted young creature deeply devoted to her father, and his love for her was no less strong than hers for him,” (Akutagawa 48). If he indeed was embracing an evil nature by effect of forgoing all but painting, then his daughter must be his saving grace. Would a demon have a good-natured love for his daughter? Surely, not. However, I would counter that his daughter was merely the final obstacle in his descent towards madness. The last hurdle to overcome in making his masterwork. Yoshihide’s, final transformation is illustrated in the burning carriage scene, “I could have sworn that [Yoshihide’s] eyes were no longer watching his daughter dying in agony, that instead the gorgeous colors of flame and the sight of a woman suffering in them were giving him joy beyond measure.,” (Akutagawa 71). In requesting a carriage to be burned in front of him, Yoshihide sacrificed his last semblance of humanity in exchange for the inspiration for his masterpiece.
Perhaps the differences I have highlighted between the book, Hell Screen, and the film, Portrait of Hell, come off as supporting fidelity being the qualification for a successful adaptation. Although I do think the short story contains a better narrative than the film, it is not due to inaccuracies between the two. Fidelity is commonly regarded as a poor criterion in evaluating the quality of adaptations (Stam 2000). Instead, my aim is to point out that the reason Hell Screen is a compelling story is Yoshihide’s descent into depravity. By initially slating him as a hated individual with a dubious moral code, his end is justified. Yet, in Portrait of Hell Yoshihide is made to be a sympathetic character by enacting justice for the dead. By adding this dimension to his character, the audience feels bad about the loss of his daughter, even making him instead throw himself to the carriage and attempt to rescue her. By the end of the film his suicide feels like an insult to injury.
Barring the idea that an accurate adaptation is a good adaptation, Portrait of Hell falls short of recreating Yoshihide as a compelling character. Instead Yoshihide is conveyed more as a victim of circumstance rather than an agent of his own demise. In making this change in characterization, Toyoda inverts the idea of morality being a function of aesthetic into aesthetic as a function of morality. Yoshihide is no longer becoming a demon in being consumed by his art, instead his art becomes an act of revenge for the death caused by the Lord. The former is compelling because it addresses the existential problem of art at the cost of sanity, while the latter chooses to reiterate the tired formula of karmic justice for corrupt rulers. Toyoda’s treatment of this theme is so obvious as to almost not its merit discussion.
Works Cited
Akutagawa, Ryūnosuke, Jay Rubin, and Haruki Murakami. Rashōmon and seventeen other
stories. Bridgewater, NJ: Distributed by Paw Prints/Baker & Taylor, 2009. Print.
Stam, R. (2000). Beyond fidelity: the dialogics of adaptation. Film adaptation, 54-76.
Toyoda, S. (Director), & Akutagawa, R., & Yasumi, T. (Writers). (1969). Portrait of Hell [Video
file]. Japan: Toho Company. Retrieved March 14, 2017, from http://www.imdb.com
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