Hello friends, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today I’m delighted to announce we’ll be returning to the Toei Doga film catalog, as we explore the followup to Saiyuki: Anju to Zushiomaru, also known as “The Littlest Warrior.” This film is based on a 1915 short story by Mori Ogai, which was also adapted into the acclaimed 1954 film Sansho the Bailiff. The story follows two aristocratic children who fall on hard times, and are eventually sold into slavery.
Compared to the boisterous fantasy of Saiyuki, I’m told this film is a more grounded human drama, offering plenty of opportunities for character animation flourishes like Yasuji Mori’s stunning Saiyuki sequence of Rin-Rin collapsing in the snow. I’m also told that the film’s main animators, Mori included, essentially disavowed the film right upon release, and that its themes are a dubious mix of “accept suffering and don’t seek to raise your station,” “might makes right,” and “the ruling class knows what’s best for us.” As such, I’m expecting an intriguingly lopsided viewing experience, with gorgeous character animation working in service of seriously dubious values. Let’s get to it!
Anju to Zushiomaru
Our title appears, set against an intricately painted folding screen. It seems we might be returning to that interesting stylistic interplay of Hakujaden, wherein conventionally animated characters are placed before backgrounds styled as traditionally painted tapestries. Though I assume such a style would undercut this film’s stated pursuit of animated naturalism, so perhaps not – instead, such stylistic flourishes might just be included in the manner of this folding screen, as works of art within the world of the film much in the style of diegetic music
The more I explore the further ends of animation, the more I’m impressed and inspired by these alternate formations of what animated storytelling can be. Using in-universe art as motif or more in animation feels like a largely unexplored vein of visual storytelling
Our list of lead animators continues to expand, accompanying familiar names like Mori and Yasuo Otsuka
Watching these films also really hammers in how close we remain to this medium’s origins. Otsuka was basically there from the start of anime’s theatrical ambitions, and we’re still awaiting his most famous protege’s new work today
We open the film proper on a beautiful shot depicting a village nestled in a valley, with a great mountain beyond. The art design is definitely more realistic than Hakujaden, but still a compromise with painterly tradition. Love how the pink of the staggered cherry trees helps give a sense of volume to the composition, contrasting against the uneven greens of their surroundings
The use of rolling hills with trees behind them also helps create a sense of depth; there’s not really an easier shorthand for depth than “object with object clearly behind it,” and this composition layers those juxtapositions five layers deep
From scattered farmlands, we at last pan towards a sprawling estate and close in
Our first cut of animation is as impressive as expected, detailing the specific movements of a young woman’s hands as she plays a koto. It actually looks like the character is genuinely playing the melody that accompanies her
And a young boy arrives, moving with absurd fluidity, possessing an energy of movement where his actions are largely front-loaded – he bursts into action quickly but then slows down, perhaps intended to convey his personality as that of someone who acts with great speed but less certainty
We learn these two are siblings, and their father is protecting the emperor’s land. They head out to look for him
The girl sings a song as they walk, and all the forest animals come to say hello. She already feels reminiscent of the relatively contemporaneous Disney princesses, while all these forest critters are ensuring Toei’s practiced animal animators are getting plenty of opportunities to flex their talents
Interestingly, the family’s dog Ranmaru is animated with the convincing movements and mannerisms of an actual dog, rather than the stylized, human-aping movements of the previous films’ creatures. Perhaps another nod to this film’s enhanced pursuit of realism
Father arrives, naming our leads as Anju and Zushio
This character animation is just ridiculously fluid. These films are absurd
The party hears a bear moaning over his hurt foot. The bear is animated in a very familiar style, evoking both the actual bears of Hakujaden and Son Goku from Saiyuki. When your films are built around animator specialists, it’s a good idea to fill your story with their specialties!
The bear’s name is Moku, and his mouse friend is Chonko. They can apparently converse freely with humans
It seems like we’re establishing a separation between the anthropomorphized “mascot animals” and more conventional animals like Ranmaru. A pursuit of naturalistic animation still can’t avert the need for cute animal friends for the kids
We hear that the Governor of Mutsu, Onikura, has arrived
He wishes to marry Anju
“However much you wish to marry her, she’s still a child.” “Of course! That’s what makes her so sweet.” I probably shouldn’t feel grateful that this is coded as villainous behavior, but this is anime we’re talking about
“It would be better for you if you didn’t deny my proposal. I say this as your superior.”
Onikura hunting in the woods provides some easy comedy beats, establishing him as a buffoon while also letting the film luxuriate in more graceful animal animation
God, these backgrounds are so rich and colorful. This definitely feels like the most impressive of these films so far in terms of background art, favoring consistent full landscapes over the simplified abstractions of its predecessors
Onikura instructs his subordinate to start a fire, in spite of a nearby sign’s declaration that these are the emperor’s lands. One of our first intimations of that apparent “make sure to obey your societal betters” theme
Moku and Chonko are chased all the way back to the family estate
Onikura of course places the blame for his transgressions on Anju and Zushio’s father Iwaki. Narratives espousing the virtue of social hierarchies often have to thread this difficult needle regarding their antagonists, wherein the system is inherently virtuous, but can be threatened by individual bad actors abusing their positions. In contrast, Sansho the Bailiff’s inspiring incident involves Iwaki himself refusing to exploit his subjects, and being punished by the unjust system as a result
Iwaki is sent to Kyoto for an interrogation. Time’s passage is conveyed by the shift from winter snows to the children hanging tanabata wishes
Onikura arrives to claim the estate. Iwaki has been found guilty!
The remaining family flees into the woods. This narrative frankly feels like an odd choice for a children’s movie; it’s exceedingly melancholy and driven by arbitrary affairs of state, rather than a punchy, child-friendly conflict like the fantastical challenges of Saiyuki
As a result, it’s often stranded between two disparate tones: the grounded tragedy of this family’s lost fortune, and the goofy comedy of all these forest animals rallying to bully Onikura. It feels a bit like the film’s continuously apologizing for its own dour narrative by supplementing it with lots of tonally discordant animal vignettes
The animals send Onikura and his attendant tumbling into a river, presenting an opportunity for plenty of impressive water animation
More beautiful color work and backgrounds as the family continues their flight across Japan. One thing I quite like about this film is how much time is dedicated to establishing place and tone, rather than fussing over narrative
The siblings’ mother sings them to sleep, while dreaming of the home they’ll never regain. This is quite a somber children’s movie!
The group come across a sign warning of slave traders in the area
The character design signifiers of villainy within this film are pretty rough. All of the good people are snow-white and delicate, while all of the villains have broader, darker features
On the other hand, this slaver’s two companions are made visually nefarious in a somewhat less fraught way: their faces basically look like someone pulled all the sliders to the far ends in a character creation screen
The family’s animal friends are drugged, and the family members are tricked into boarding two slavers’ boats
The family’s maid Kikuno is tossed overboard. A strange, otherworldly sequence as she sinks towards the bottom, is surrounded with bubbles, and transforms into a mermaid. I suppose this transformation keeps the story a bit lighter, but this is still a pretty shocking portrayal of character death
We pan in on the estate of “the wealthiest man in Yura, the High Steward Sansho”
The estate is still under construction. More depth-rich compositions help convey the scale of this project, including a clever transition where a passing load of lumber is used to facilitate the camera’s sideways movement, essentially serving as a wipe cut
Sansho’s assistant Hiro treats the slave laborers harshly, while the visually hero-coded Saburo feels for their plight
Anju and Zushio are brought before Sansho as offerings, but they refuse to speak. Apparently, the man who stole them is named Gonroku
Once again, a light dash of animal goofiness is used to soften the abject horror of being sold into slavery, with Gonroku’s speech about their duties ending in a bird pooping on him
It’s an odd way of presenting pushback against this film’s injustices, and I feel like it in part helps foster that awkward theme of “accept your suffering without complaint.” The film is rallying back against these oppressors, through the form of the animals, but the actual protagonists just sulk and dream of better days
“We must be patient, no matter what happens.” Yeah, it very much feels like they’ve accepted they must wait around for the narrative to somehow rescue them
Remarkable sequence out on the water, as the slavers are caught in a whirlpool conjured by mermaid-Kikuno. The sea animation of these early Toei Doga films is astonishing; I’m reminded of Hakujaden, which rightfully made a full climax out of its own raging sea sequence
But again, this narrative “payoff” seems to encourage passivity: “the world will provide comeuppance to those who deserve it, so don’t worry about it”
The siblings are half-starved by Gonroku, but Saburo stops by to give them candy
Love these compositions as Anju’s ladle is briefly washed out to sea. This film’s forest backgrounds delight in maximalism, but there’s much to be said for the minimalism of these stark compositions, with just the harsh line of gray meeting blue sea, and Anju isolated in the center of it
Yet again, all of these siblings’ problems are resolved by the helpful will of the universe: Anju’s ladle is tossed back by Kikuno, and Zushio’s twigs are gathered by a bunch of squirrels. Visually charming sequences, but what is the takeaway beyond “don’t worry, things will work out somehow?”
Alongside a general “be kind to the natural world, I suppose”
It’s an interesting approach, though. The cinematic language of setup and payoff still work, you just sort of have to imagine all these creatures as the unvoiced will of the protagonists
Absolutely gorgeous backgrounds as the siblings set leaves afloat on a pond at night. Love the cool blue-green color palette of this sequence
Saburo places a flower in Anju’s hair, but is spotted by the nefarious Hiro!
As punishment, Sansho orders Gonroku to cut off Anju’s hair and assign her harsher duties
Zushio wishes to fight back, but Anju once again urges him to instead suffer in passive silence. Yeah, the narrative is very much a thing that happens to these protagonists, provoking that awkward takeaway of “suffer through injustice without complaint until the universe fixes it for you”
And yet its formal beauty is so profound! The actual animation of the siblings consoling each other is captured with such beautiful, character-rich detail: the shifts between bitterness and despair, their terrified shared glances, and Zushio brushing the end of Anju’s roughly cut hair through his fingers, as if trying to grasp at their lost home. Sequences like these demonstrate animation’s raw emotive power, and are more than their own reward
The siblings suffer vivid nightmares of being branded by their captors, offering more flourishes of ecstatic animated despair. Whole lotta sadness in this fairly brief feature
More incredible character acting for a welcome scene of genuine character agency: Anju urging Zushio to flee, and seek their father in Kyoto. You can really appreciate the distinct features of their body language here, with Zushio still expressing himself through those rapid-to-slow movements evoking his youthfulness, while Anju moves with a stately certainty emphasizing her strength of character
This is another segment Sansho the Bailiff handled far more thoughtfully – in the film, Zushio briefly embraces the cruelty of Sansho’s service, emphasizing how anyone can be transformed by their environment, and the fleeting yet precious power of hope
The sequence of men chasing Zushio is another clever exercise in exploiting a minimalist color palette, as the men largely disappear beneath the glow of their torches, creating a scene that visually evokes a fire spreading throughout the shaded forest
Our cut back to Anju emphasizes her imprisonment, with her head neatly framed within the bars of her cage
Zushio hides in a temple. Sansho’s men attempt to enter, but the monks hold them off by saying the temple is under the emperor’s protection. As with their father’s situation, the system is presented as a noble institution let down by selfish individuals
Hiro attempts to brand Anju, but is stopped by Saburo. It’s interesting seeing this more grounded approach to combat, more like actual wrestling than the theatrics of Saiyuki
Anju flees into the woods, until she eventually stops by a foggy lake. Seeing her lost family in the waters, she is consumed by despair, and transforms into a swan that flies off above the trees. I suppose that’s a bit more child-friendly than her original drowning, but this story continues to be a bizarre choice to adapt for children
And once again, it is nature itself that strikes back, conjuring a mighty storm that strikes down Sansho’s half-finished mansion. Sansho the Bailiff is a story about hope in the face of an unjust universe, while Anju and Zushiomaru continues to stack the deck in the universe’s defense
Meanwhile, the Anju swan helps guide Zushio through the dark woods. There’s definitely a strong thread of “all our suffering serves a purpose” running through this film, a popular refrain in media that wants you not to reject your station (like religious texts or state propaganda)
Elsewhere, our old animal friends break free of their captivity, and head off in search of their old masters
Delightful animation of the mouse Chonko pantomiming Anju’s body language in order to describe her. It’s always so fun to get sequences like this, like Son Goku’s human transformation in Saiyuki, that directly contrast and even make jokes of how differently these films’ human and animal characters are animated
The trio find Saburo at work sculpting an Anju statue. So he appears to be taking the swan situation well
In Kyoto we are introduced to the princess, who is quickly accosted by a nefarious rogue. But who’s that on the path, just as the princess is calling for assistance!? It’s Zushio, here to deftly prove his worth right to the imperial family!
A firm sense of weight and consequence in the contrast of these two figures. Zushio’s movements are far more rapid and agile than the bandit’s, but the bandit is big enough to literally pick him up and throw him, and the animation is keen enough to convey the sense of panicked, feckless energy being thrown against an immovable force
Fortunately, Zushio’s animal friends show up, and the team collectively clobber this bandit
The princess introduces herself as Aya, daughter of the emperor’s chief advisor
We learn that Zushio’s father was found guilty, and sent to Kyushu. Aya begs her father to send word, and he agrees. So we’re basically clearing things up with the deus ex machina of Zushio stumbling across and instantly winning the trust of the emperor’s right hand man, reaffirming the ultimate righteousness of this overall hierarchy. Again, a common narrative conclusion for stories that aim to reaffirm the status quo
Gorgeous snow-white scenery back in the mountains, as Saburo attempts to call back the swan-ified Anju
A messenger reports that Zushio’s father has died. Aya’s father tells Zushio that “I understand your sadness, but you are still a boy, and can’t let misfortune overwhelm you. You should think of me as your father from now on.” Yet again, the narrative is mostly something that just happens to these characters, rather than something they shape and are shaped by, with the only consistent message seeming to be “bear your suffering with grace and the universe will provide”
“Stay here and continue your studies. Then you’ll be able to save your mother and sister.” The onus is never on the system that allowed this to happen to change, it is on the victims of that system to maintain a stiff upper lip and obey the rules, which should eventually lead to positive conclusions. I can see why this film’s animators weren’t particularly happy with its conservative, defeatist, morally binary perspective
Some animator clearly studied proper discus throwing form for this sequence of the bear throwing clay targets
Aya states that there’s word of a terrible monster that’s been haunting the Emperor’s chambers at night. Aw shit, another opportunity to leap up that social ladder!
My annoyance at the easy contrivance of this narrative turn, and how it furthers the film’s general indifference towards the true limits of social mobility, is significantly ameliorated by how adorable Moku and Chonko look in their little guardsman uniforms. A+ work
An ominous cloud appears on the horizon! Love the irregular shimmering light effect they use to convey this demonic spider’s glimmering webs
It feels quite reflective of this film’s general refusal to say anything of consequence that a story which opened on courtly betrayal, land disputes, and slavery is concluding with its hero fighting a magic spider who was introduced three minutes ago. That said, as always with these otherworldly creatures, the actual fight animation is terrific
For his brave deed, Zushio is made the Governor of Mutsu Province. His new name is Masamichi Taira
The emperor further declares that the treacherous Onikura will be stripped of his station. And thus, the ultimate righteousness of the emperor in spite of his unworthy subordinates is reaffirmed. Another dramatic change relative to Sansho, wherein the emperor forbid Zushio from harming his productive subordinate, and thus Zushio was forced to sacrifice his status in order to free the slaves
Hearing of Zushio’s approach, Sansho and his evil son hatch a final scheme to ambush him on the road
Energetic use of rapid cuts as Zushio contends with a flurry of arrows. These films generally trend fairly conservative in their camerawork, favoring mid-distance profile shots that allow for clarity in both blocking and animated character acting, but for the difficult-to-animate spectacle of Zushio blocking all these arrows, they use quick cuts to each broken arrow to emphasize the frantic pace of this defense
At Sansho’s estate, Saburo reveals he has become a monk, alongside the terrible tale of Anju’s swanification
I continue to be impressed by the richness of this film’s many diverse color palettes, as well as its increasingly depth-rich compositions exploiting multiple layers of animated cells. This sequence of Zushio and Saburo praying at Anju’s statue is gorgeous
Swanju leads Zushio to where their mother still waits for them!
More wonderfully delicate character animation as the two reunite. Love the detail of his mother’s hands shaking as she reaches to clasp him
“You know Zushio, maybe she is happier living that way.” Jeez, one last stinger of ‘everything will work out’ as we finish
And Done
Whew, well wasn’t that a fascinating mess of a film! Its formal beauty is remarkable, and I was delighted to see not only an increased focus on intimate character acting, but also generally better-furnished layouts and more ambitious compositions. The emotions of the siblings felt real, and the scenes of them sharing their grief were some of the strongest I’ve seen in the Toei Doga filmography. Unfortunately, the film’s narrative is both disjointed and thematically frustrating, preaching passivity and utter respect for the social order, even as its active narrative events demonstrate the insufficiency of these alleged virtues. And all that from a story which clearly possessed the base materials for greatness, as Sansho the Bailiff clearly demonstrates. There was more than enough beautiful art here to make for a consistently satisfying watch, but what an awkward, thematically hobbled narrative it adorned. A fully engaging yet oddly lopsided experience.
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