[ At a time when the film industry grows increasingly reliant on game tie-ins to expand its intellectual property returns, I propose that we revisit one of the very few examples of when such a conversion was performed tastefully. This is, truly, one of the most unpredictable movie to game adaptations of all time, in which a mature-themed drama about financial crimes is sanitized and repackaged as a Family Computer adventure game. ]
Eastern film lovers will certainly remember the year of 1987 as one of particular relevance to the long history of nipponic black comedy. It was in that year that the celebrated director Juzo Itami released Marusa no Onna (A Taxing Woman), a production which impressed both filmgoers and newspaper critics. It collected various awards from the Japanese Academy and even a nomination for a Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival.
The film depicts the life of a divorced civil servant named Ryōko Itakura, played by the director’s wife, the exceedigly talented actress Nobuko Miyamoto. As one who specializes in investigating tax evasion and money laundering schemes, she crosses paths with Hideki Gondō (Tsutomu Yamazaki) a businessman and the owner of a love hotel.
One of the strongest scenes in the film brings together Ryōko and Hideki, a complex and underhanded entrepreneur who goes to unimaginable lengths to cover the cunning method by which he avoided paying millions of yens worth of taxes.
More than an average picture about Japanese crime life, Marusa no Onna has a peculiar and underlying tone of comedy that make it an amusing satire rather than a realistic portrait of crime in Japan – something which has defined the director’s career as a whole. That, however, does not prevent his movies from earnestly exploring the intricacies of Japanese society, as attested by the Minbo no Onna incident. The title refers to another of his comedies, one where the Yakuza are represented in a manner so insulting they retaliated with a knife attack shortly after its premiere, which left Itami seriously wounded. Moreover, many hold to this day that his death, officially ruled a suicide, was in truth staged by his mortal enemies, the Goto-gumi crime organization.
In 1988, CAPCOM and its prodigal game designer Tokuro Fujiwara (of Makaimura fame), approached Juzo Itami with the idea to take the movie’s success a little further. Their intention was to create an adventure game that would focus on the film’s events and characters, while framing them from a substantially different angle. After all, this is an adult rated movie depicting unlawful practices, and brimming with overt sexual tension. The very notion that a major studio seriously negotiated the rights to adapt this film, in particular, is preposterous and unheard of. In doing so, Capcom broke the pattern of film-to-game adaptations, a standardized affair which seldom contemplated anything other than juvenile action and fantasy blockbusters and animation.
The text reads: a tax officer shall take all steps necessary for prosecution when he discovers that an offense has been committed. National Tax Offenses Act, Article 12, Clause 2. In this intro, a woman calls on the phone with a tip for an investigation of a wealthy man who has been evading tax payments. The phone ring sound playing during the developer logo, stoping when the dialog box comes, make for an elegantly cinematic introduction. The music theme is adapted from Toshiyuki Honda’s brilliant OST, which can be heard in the excerpt that follows.
The in-game portrayal of Nobuko Miyamoto, the director’s spouse, was quite impressively done, not only capturing the short bob hairstyle but also her trademark freckles.
In order to convert the movie to a family game format, CAPCOM had to make several changes in the plot, toning down the characters to simplified versions so as to fit the interactive nature of the experience, but also to guarantee full compliance with Nintendo’s strict publishing guidelines. Although the likeness of the actors is impeccably captured in pixels, some of their defining features have been watered down to far more prosaic representations that make it easier for younger players tell heroes and villains apart.
The case of Gondō is quite telling: in the film he is a highly charismatic man, gifted with an exceptional talent to manipulate and deceive others. Conscious of the threat she poses, he nonetheless develops an affection for Ryōko, admiring her complete devotion to her profession. Eventually, the motivations behind his misdeeds present the spectator with a moral conflict; for the sole reason behind his activities was to acquire enough wealth before perishing so that his child would want for nothing. In the process of simplifying the plot, his videogame counterpart is deprived of such density as the son character is entirely wiped out from the story, downgrading him to the classic, ruthless criminal type. Notwithstanding, other events from the film are portrayed with commendable accuracy, namely the main character’s progression from scouring the ledger books from a Pachinko salon to becoming a major tax investigator for the Japanese government, joining a team of top men who share her obsession for the hunt.
While going about the town, Ryōko can enter most of the buildings. This isometric perspective brings to mind a few scenes from the movie.
When a building or location is selected, we see this small interlude where Ryōko, purse in hand, walks over to the entrance door. Some elements outside the buildings can also be inspected, this being a must for any progress to be made.
Similar to other graphic adventures from its day – all of which can be said to be, to a large extent, derivative from the germinal Portopia Renzoku Satsujin Jiken -, Marusa no Onna is based on a menu system listing possible interactions, where the choice of the action determines what is done next. Menu options include the habitual “talk” or “investigate” commands, as may be required by the context of the scene. That somewhat limited menu navigation routine is offset by the greater dynamism of the exploration phases, where Ryōko can travel to various locations in the map, walk freely on the streets or explore building interiors.
Even in the investigation areas, each of the first-person views can be scrolled to reveal other parts of the location that may require further attention. Once activities are completed, the player automatically returns to the office where she can discuss details with her colleagues and type the retrieved data into the computer terminal. Bureaucracy is, as any government official knows only too well, the lifeblood of public service. Because this is a simple game cartridge, devoid of battery saving function, the adventure can be resumed using passwords that are exhibited every time a major breakthrough is done.
There are some amusing, circumstantial aspects which further bind film and game. In one of the most enjoyable scenes of the film, Ryōko accompanies the suspected tax evader Hideki Gondō to his house as she rakes through his every accounting book and bank account statement. While accidentally entering the living room she finds Gondō’s son, Taro, playing Super Mario Bros. on a Sharp Twin Famicom, as hinted by the control pad used. She is immediately drawn to the game screen, impressed by the young man’s technique, as if to indicate that she had previously played it.
This entire scene seems to be dedicated to the sort of friendly relation that derives from videogame playing, as if all the other serious matters of law and justice were halted for a moment so the characters could gather in front of the TV – a truly healthy perspective suggested by Juzo Itami who was a confessed videogame supporter. Another delightfully diverting coincidence pertains to the fact that a Nintendo console game was inspired by a satirical comment on the devious management of Japanese love hotels. As the reader may be aware, Nintendo was heavily invested in this precise business segment at a stage of its history, after the economic depression of the Post-War period). In the very least, it does makes one wonder how conforming their bookkeeping was.
The owner of the Pachinko parlor, Kudou Yoshiaki, is the first subject under investigation. There are concerning discrepancies between the numbers he declares and those which he secretly deposits in a fake bank account.
Like the movie that originated it, Marusa no Onna is one of the most inspired titles of its genre ever created in Japan. It is hard to envision how a game adaptation could have worked any better preserving so much from the original source and still being able to meet the demands of an already well established genre. In spite of the known technological shortcomings of the system, CAPCOM suceeded in recreating the environment of a busy life in urban Japan, making use of visual design techniques whose results are strangely appealing. If the catalogue of essential Famicom games was already vast and varied, composed as it is of dozens of essential titles that helped define the medium, an allowance must be made to accommodate Marusa no Onna, and welcome it with open arms. Aside from a rather competent adaptation of a thorny cinematic object, it performs well enough as a standalone product partly directed at an audience whose age range excluded them from any contact with the motion picture.
Lots of love for Star Trek: The Next Generation this week for the 35th anniversary… so here’s a Deep Space Nine appreciate post! It’s a random collection of my episode posters focusing on different characters.
A friend of mine challenged me to design a burrito-holding-assistant so that one can go hands-free mid-burrito if necessary without the burrito falling over and spilling its contents. So I printed a 30-minute prototype.
