I come from a culture where music’s storytelling power is extremely meaningful. It’s not just the lyrics or the melody that can paint a picture, it’s also the ways we move our bodies to match. It’s why Masaaki Yuasa’s Inu-Oh is so profoundly moving to me. The film is an ode to the transformative power of stories set to music and the art our bodies can create.
Inu-Oh is set in 14th-century Japan. Hundreds of years after the brutal Genpei War left the Heike clan annihilated, political instability endures. In the midst of this chaos, the art of Noh dance and drama emerges, and biwa players sing the tales of the fallen Heike soldiers to pacify their turbulent spirits. Much of their history, however, has been lost to time. Meanwhile, a boy named Inu-Oh (Avu-chan) is born disabled and deemed so unsightly he must cover his face with a gourd mask. He is subsequently shunned by all in his village, including his father, a renowned Noh performer. He meets Tomona (Mirai Moriyama), a young biwa player who was blinded and orphaned by a fateful encounter with vengeful Heike spirits. Inu-Oh and Tomona find that they share a fervent passion for music. They also discover that it is their duty to regale all who will listen with the forgotten stories of Heike warriors, so their spirits can finally rest. Their unique performances soon catapult them to the status of Japan’s first rock stars.
From the opening frames, Yuasa blends different styles to create the psychedelic mood that ebbs and flows throughout the film. Much of the animation is inspired by the artwork of the time period, with cloudy landscapes evoking swirling ink designs and intricately detailed fabrics that swish around like silk. Tomona’s point of view is represented by droplets of water that gradually paint pictures in his mind, forever tying him to his origins in his fishing village by the sea. Inu-Oh himself is an animation marvel, moving in almost incomprehensible ways that convey so much character in just a few seconds.
The two friends blend traditional folkloric storytelling with the showmanship and choreography of the most glamorous rock stars of the last fifty years. Avu-chan’s performance is mesmerizing, with a dizzying vocal range and a confident twang that makes every second of each song entirely unpredictable. Where Inu-Oh is boisterous and brash, Avu-chan also imbues him with a tender and genuine nature. Inu-Oh and Tomona’s bond is never threatened by their fame, allowing the film to avoid falling into tedious cliches.. As they grow, their devotion to their art is just as strong as their devotion to each other. Every time they take the stage, they’ve become even better at their craft and the effect is exhilarating. All at once, you’re absorbed by the stories and the lessons hidden within.
All of Yuasa’s typical hallmarks are present here: sudden bursts of hyperviolence, shocking uses of vibrant color, extremely stylized faces. Inu-Oh has a much more deliberate pace when compared to some his other work, like Devilman Crybaby or Night Is Short, Walk On Girl, for example. Everything is a bit slower. This doesn’t mean it’s not energetic. Like much of Yuasa’s oeuvre, it is still enamored with the spectacle of the supernatural. Rather, that energy is devoted to making sure the audience is fully engulfed by the music. Inu-Oh and Tomona are not just singing the praises of the Heike warriors. While they enjoy themselves onstage and transmit that joyous energy to their attentive audiences, they are not frivolous about their work. They delve deep into the strife and struggle of war, how unfair this violence is, and the after-effects of this conflict.
These songs and dances, the talents that Inu-Oh and Tomona hone throughout their lives, are empowering above all else. They meet as disabled and disenfranchised young boys. While Tomona is able to find some kinship amongst other blind biwa players, Inu-Oh is regarded as little more than a stray dog. Nonetheless, they are not concerned with lording themselves over others that once disregarded them. Their music is therapeutic, and in some cases, literally healing. The two friends yearn to break the cycles of violence and suffering that have plagued their families long before they were born. They better themselves and the lives of those around them through their art, a message that will always be resonant. Even when other forces seek to place limits on their art, the impact of these stories is never truly silenced.
Inu-Oh is many things: a parable about the importance of love in the face of violence, a history lesson wrapped in magical realism, and a rock opera that imbues the folkloric nature of Noh with modern musical elements. It sounds like it could be too much, but Yuasa guides the film with a steady hand. The explosions of psychedelia are never so intense that they’re overwhelming. Instead, they’re a perfect accompaniment to the statement the film is making. Inu-Oh reminds us of the power of sincerity and earnestness in the face of hardship. Nothing is ever so totally hopeless that you won’t feel better if you just scream your favorite song at the top of your lungs.
