Funeral Parade of Roses (1969, Toshio Matsumoto) (Patreon)

69/100

Gobsmacked to discover that a film like this exists, though that probably reflects a certain provincialism. (Actually, never mind—according to this list, it was perhaps the fourth film ever to depict trans characters.) And unlike Glen or Glenda, which is admirable primarily for its boldness and good intentions, Funeral Parade of Roses conducts freewheeling experiments in form as well, expanding upon various Godardian ideas (I'm thinking particularly of the smash cut from trans women peeing at urinals to Japan's equivalent of the MPAA logo) and apparently hitting upon the same approach that William Greaves came up with for Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One at right around the same time. Matsumoto repeatedly exposes his narrative as a fiction, showing us the camera crew at work and conducting interviews with his actors, who are mostly trans themselves (though one key role is played by Yoshio Tsuchiya, recognizable as Seven Samurai's angriest farmer) and speak frankly and disarmingly about their personal lives and their hopes for the film. It's not wildly different from the sort of thing you might find now among DVD/Blu bonus features, but weaving those elements into the movie proper has the salutary effect of making Funeral Parade itself seem as unconventional yet fundamentally ordinary as its subjects/milieu. Which is crucial, because the story eventually takes a melodramatically tragic/ironic turn, riffing on Oedipus Rex, that's pretty risible as is and would likely seem embarrassing had it been played straight, as it were, without the various alienation effects. 

That's one reservation that I have: the whole "identity of Eddie's father" bit (though I'll give Matsumoto credit for finding a way to obscure Dad's face that doesn't arouse suspicion; the revelation did take me by surprise, even if said surprise wasn't exactly pleasant). Another, which I'll chalk up to the era, is a not at all subtle implication that Eddie's toxic relationship with his mother influenced his gender identity—an implication that'd be easier to overlook were there not quite so many flashbacks to Mom cackling in the poor kid's face and/or beating him black and blue. (Actually, I suppose both parents come in for some blame. But of course it's the very impulse to lay blame that's at issue.) And then sometimes the film just lays it on a little thick, as when someone says of Leda, "She loved roses. And they had to be artificial ones." (Blunter still if you know, as I did not until afterward, that the film's title derives from "rose" as Japanese slang for "queer.") Those complaints seem relatively minor, though, compared to Funeral Parade's wealth of arresting and provocative aspects, its frank glimpse into an underground culture that I hadn't previously been aware of, its restless efforts to redefine what a movie can be. Just the audio narration about masks and their societal functions that we hear during the museum sequences was more interesting than most of the contemporary films I saw last year, including an ostensibly kindred spirit like Orlando, My Political Biography. This movie has it all: Stoned party games, arguments conducted via speech bubbles, playful meta-commentary, the affecting screen debut of Peter (who later played the Fool in Kurosawa's Ran), an avant-garde artist named Guevara whose regal mane and bushy beard reminded me less of Che than of Mike Myers as The Love Guru. And way the hell back when I was a toddler, it depicted/showcased trans women as worthy of dignity and respect and plain old human decency, without sacrificing artistry in the process. Sure has taken the world a while to get the message.