Eiichi Yamamoto, 1932-2021
Eiichi Yamamoto aspired to be an animator from junior high school onward, and after graduating from high school, he joined Otogi Productions, run by Ryuichi Yokoyama. In 1960, when he learned that Osamu Tezuka was planning to make an animated film, he left Otogi to visit Tezuka and became one of the founding members of Mushi Productions, which was established the following year in 1961.
He was a key member of the staff for the company’s first animated film, Tales of the Street Corner (awarded the Arts Festival Encouragement Award and the Blue Ribbon Educational and Cultural Film Award), which was screened at the first Mushi Productions presentation in 1962. From then until the company’s bankruptcy in 1973, he worked in a wide range of roles, including direction, animation, scriptwriting, and production.
He is particularly known for directing the adult-oriented theatrical films A Thousand and One Nights and Cleopatra, distributed by Nippon Herald Pictures and dubbed “Animerama,” as well as Belladonna of Sadness (released June 1973), which was produced as an “Anime Romanesque” film with a strong literary flavor.
After Mushi Productions went bankrupt, he participated in the planning stages of the Space Battleship Yamato series, the first of which was broadcast on television in 1974. In addition to designing the Yamato logo, he was in charge of the scripts, creating the human drama of the series, and also reviewed the scripts and storyboards.
See his credit list at Anime News Network here.
In the spring of 1989, he published a novel-style recollection of his time at Mushi Production, titled The Rise and Fall of Mushi Production: Yasuhito Menta’s Youth (from Shinchosa, cover shown below). In the novel, Yamamoto’s own name is written as “Yasuhito Menta.” In the afterword, he notes that the descriptions of his work (anime production) are mostly factual, but the parts about his private life are mostly fictional. However, the book remains a fundamental reference for anime researchers to learn about Mushi Production.
Chapter 7: Belladonna of Sadness
This excerpt picks up later in the chapter and continues to the end of the book
Early in January 1973, after cleaning up Shakujii Studio, the Belladonna of Sadness team disbanded. The production budget had doubled from the original budget, reaching 80 million yen. Given the uncompromising work of Yasuhito Menta and his team, significant losses on the production of other films, and the significant allocation of Mushi Pro’s company-wide management expenses, it’s not surprising. However, even if the budget was exceeded, movies don’t immediately go into the red at this point, unlike TV. TV shows have fixed production costs, so spending more than that will result in a loss, whereas movies can recover with box office success.
The contract with Mushi Pro was left unresolved, with neither Menta nor anyone else able to secure it. They tried three or four times, but they were tired of repeating the same thing over and over again. Meanwhile, the work was finished. If no contract was signed, the company would have an advantage if copyright issues arose. If Menta were on Mushi Pro’s side as an executive, he could put the animators first in these kinds of situations. That’s how Menta thought about the significance of returning as an executive.
A while later, Menta was introduced to Yoshinobu Nishizaki in the president’s office at Daiichi Studio.
Yoshinobu Nishizaki, the man who would later produce the smash-hit anime series, Space Battleship Yamato, was in his late thirties at the time. Over six feet tall, with a menacing appearance and bulging eyes, he was endearingly missing a front tooth. A relative of Midori Nishizaki, the founding head of the Nishizaki school of Japanese dance, he worked in the theater industry. He made connections with Osamu Tezuka and served as acting president at Mushi Pro before becoming a freelance producer interested in anime.
After much discussion, it was decided that Wansa-kun would be produced by Mushi Pro, with Menta as chief director.
At the same time, Nishizaki, the producer of Wansa-kun, also joined Mushi Pro as an executive. The procedures for registering Menta and Nishizaki as executives were completed, and [producers] Ohashi and Kurioka resigned. Wansa-kun had already been scheduled to air on Kansai TV starting in April. Kansai TV programs are broadcast in Tokyo on Fuji TV. For the three months of January, February, and March, Mushi Pro programs would disappear from TV for the first time since Astro Boy began airing, but the work somehow managed to stay.
For Menta, this would be his first TV anime in six years since Jungle Emperor Leo. Whereas Jungle Emperor Leo had about a year of production time before it began airing, Wansa-kun only had two and a half months. Also, a large portion of the staff was outsourced. Menta’s immediate job was to finish the production in time for this schedule.
Menta immediately began preparations at Studio 2. He pulled multiple all-nighters, working Sundays and holidays. His health, which had begun to improve somewhat after Belladonna of Sadness, visibly deteriorated, and the arteriosclerosis in his right leg progressed to the point where he could no longer walk for more than three minutes at a time.
Wansa-kun, a gag musical/manga featuring a white puppy as the main character, successfully aired on April 2nd.
On May 14, a screening and party for the completion of Belladonna was held at the Higashi Sho Hall in Baba-saki. There, Menta learned that the film would be released on June 30th at four theaters: Marunouchi Toho, Shibuya Takarazuka, Ikebukuro Theater, and Koto Ritz. According to Mr. Hara of Nippon Herald (the distributor), the film’s intended screening at Hibiya’s Miyukiza was proving difficult.
It was also decided that the film would be entered into the Berlin Film Festival, which would run from June 22nd to July 3rd, so Menta and Art Director Kuni Fukai decided to go to Berlin.
The screening of Belladonna of Sadness was on the 27th, so Menta was supposed to leave with Fukai on the 23rd, but work commitments didn’t allow it, so he left alone on the 24th, a day later, on an 11am Scandinavia flight.
Menta’s wife Tsukiko saw him off at Haneda airport. As they parted ways at the gate, I turned around to look at Tsukiko as my carry-on luggage was being inspected.
(She looks lonely…)
That’s what I thought. Even as the plane took off, I couldn’t get Tsukiko out of my head.
Lately, Tsukiko seemed depressed again. She always kept her head down, only spoke when absolutely necessary, and simply did her housework out of habit. She tried to show interest in the premiere screening and the Berlin Film Festival, but it didn’t seem to come out.
Menta was at a loss as to how to treat Tsukiko. Perhaps if he spoke to her patiently and kindly, she would warm up, but when he bumped into Tsukiko’s cold, downcast face, he felt intimidated and awkward.
He felt that his own qualities were more important than those of other people. After Rumi pointed out that Menta was getting attached to anime, he lost confidence in his love for Tsukiko. He may have been crazy at the time, but Menta considered leaving Tsukiko.
Ever since he was a child, Menta loved to play alone, drawing and daydreaming. It was a survival skill he acquired in order to adapt to being an outsider after his forced wartime relocation. In his imaginary fantasy kingdom, Menta was omnipotent and could fly with complete freedom, but interacting with real children was restrictive, difficult, and exhausting.
Some young people who are immature in terms of social experience and age do not like real women, and instead prefer women in paintings or photographs. Menta had that same trait as he grew up. The beauty of a natural woman fades with age, and every beautiful woman has an ugly side. Menta hated seeing the ugly side. That’s what real women are like, and even though he thought he’d become a full-fledged adult man only if he could interact with them, he couldn’t accept anything unpleasant about them, including that side. Instead, he was drawn to artificial women like those in paintings, photographs, and dolls, with no body odor, unchanging, and only beauty. In short, those women were an extension of the illusion Menta had imagined for himself as a child.
He preferred those artificial women to having real connections with others in the outside world. The penchant for illusion is autism and narcissism. Narcissism may be a general quality of animators, to a greater or lesser extent, and perhaps a trait that lurks not only in Menta but also in artists in general. This tendency was particularly strong in Menta.
He recalled the time when, at the age of five, he made a reflective lantern as described in a magazine. The moment he previewed it and saw the image of a rhinoceros beetle projected onto the wall, a chill ran down his spine. For a long time, Menta hadn’t understood the true nature of that chill, but now he felt like he understood. It was the chill a narcissist gets when he encounters his own reflection on the surface of water.
If these narcissistic qualities led Menta to choose animation as a canvas for depicting himself, then perhaps it was a more appropriate choice than real women like Rumi and Tsukiko. It’s only natural that anime would dominate.
Menta realized that up until now, he’d been mistaking his feelings of affection for love. But as he understood his inability to love, he realized that deep inside, he had an unquenchable desire to love Tsukiko. He didn’t know how to make that happen.
(Can I really make Tsukiko happy…?)
Siberia stretched out below him, shrouded in white clouds. Menta felt despair on the plane.
When he landed at Berlin’s Tempelhof Airport, local Cameramen were waiting, flashing. Also present were film critic Miyahiko Miki, who’d helped organize the screening, Art Director Kuni Fukai, and a member of Nippon Herald’s publicity department.
I took a taxi into the city and headed straight to the festival office to greet them. The hotel was located near the Kaiser Wilhelm Church in the center of Berlin. As soon as I arrived, a reporter came for an interview.
In between interviews and press conferences, Menta explored Berlin. The wall separating East and West Berlin still stood, but the city had been completely rebuilt, with no trace of the devastation of World War II. The people coming and going were cheerful and lively, and the colorful T-shirts of the young hippies stood out.
That year, American troops completed their withdrawal from South Vietnam, and President Nixon declared the end of the Vietnam War. Belladonna screened on the evening of June 27th at the Zooparadies cinema, the main venue.
The auditorium was packed. Before the screening, Menta and Fukai gave a speech from the stage.
The film began. The lines and narration were subtitled. Unlike in Japan, audiences in the US tend to leave midway through a boring film, but if it’s interesting, they applaud loudly at the end. Several older people left their seats during Belladonna of Sadness, but applause erupted at the end of the film. The young people in the front of the auditorium rose to their feet and shouted “Bravo! Bravo!” repeatedly.
In the lobby, a member of the audience on their way home spotted Menta and the others and asked for an autograph.
On the evening of July 3rd, the award-winning films were announced at the same theater. Despite positive reviews in the newspapers, Belladonna of Sadness didn’t even make it into the top five honorable mentions, let alone the Grand Prix.
The Grand Prix went to Shotjit Rai of India, and André Cayatte of France received an honorable mention. That’s about it, Menta thought. The competition in adult films is fierce, and anime is still relatively rare, so it’s often treated as something special.
The next day, the Nippon Herald staff flew directly to Japan. Menta and Fukai stopped off in Amsterdam before flying home, arriving at Haneda Airport on the evening of the 6th. The Herald staff, Tsukiko, and Fukai’s wife came to pick them up. Menta was concerned about the box office results for the film, which had been in theaters since its release on June 30th.
“How are the ticket sales?”
The Herald staff member slumped.
“Not very good…”
After arriving home, taking a bath, and having dinner, it was quite late. Tsukiko changed her tone as she poured tea.
“I have something important to tell you.”
Menta’s heart skipped a beat. I had a premonition that something was bound to happen.
“What is it?”
“I want to be alone and live my own life.”
“You mean you want to break up?”
“Please.”
“Can I ask why?”
“It wasn’t because of what happened in Otaru. I never intended to make an issue out of it. But, when I went back to my parents’ house that time, it made me think about questions that had been bothering me for a while.”
“Questions?”
“I wondered if this life, where I just wait for you every day, was really what I wanted. I married you out of love, of course, but also because I love painting, even though I’m not very good at it, and I wanted to realize my dreams through you. But then, when we had the baby…”
“The baby…?”
”Yes. Until then, I didn’t have anything of my own. I gave everything I had to you, and I was happy with that. But when I found out I was pregnant, I felt instinctively that the baby was mine. That’s when it started. That’s when I started to feel fulfilled by having something of my own.“
“…”
“I was sad when I had the miscarriage. It was probably because I had experienced the feeling of fulfillment that comes from having something of my own. I couldn’t bear the emptiness of losing it. That’s when it started. It wasn’t about having a baby, but I started to wonder if it was okay to go for the rest of my life without having something clearly my own.”
“I see…”
“After what happened in Otaru, I returned to my parents’ house and slept in the garden studio for the first time in a long while. And I thought, ‘Participating in anime creation through you as your wife might have meaning, and there are probably other wives like that in the world, but for me as a woman, it’s not really the way I want to live.’ Before we got married, I told you about that, didn’t I? I wanted to marry a painter and live in this studio.That was a mistake. Even if I’m not good at it, I should paint with my own hands.“
“I think I understand.”
“It’s been almost a year since then, and I couldn’t make up my mind, but now that you’ve released your first directorial work, I feel like I can’t miss this opportunity. Please, let me start my life over again, from that studio.”
“Have you talked to your parents about it?”
“They’re in favor.”
“If that’s what you want, I won’t oppose it. In fact, I’ll support you.”
Menta realized that this was the best way he could show love for Tsukiko.
“I’m sorry for bringing this up on a night like this. I feel terrible.”
“You’ve been so kind to me, but I haven’t been able to do anything for you.”
“That’s not true. I have so many fond memories.”
The next morning, after preparing breakfast, Tsukiko took Anna and a taxi back to her parents’ house in Setagaya.
On August 22nd, Mushi Pro Trading Co. went bankrupt. Its cumulative deficit was nearly 120 million yen. This was seen as the collapse of Mushi Pro, and the banks completely stopped lending money while TV stations stopped placing production orders.
Wansa-kun was scheduled to end its run on September 24th, so Mushi Pro would have no work after that date. With no income and no one to lend money, cash flow was bleak. A company can survive even if it’s in the red and in debt as long as it has funding. But even a small deficit can mean a lack of funds. One bounced check, and it’s finished.
Around this time, at Nishizaki’s invitation, Menta brainstormed ideas with him, science-fiction writer Aritsuni Toyota, and scriptwriter Keisuke Fujikawa, and put together a plan for the TV anime Space Battleship Yamato. The story revolved around an alien invasion of Earth and the destruction of humanity, depicting absolute faith in humanity’s salvation.
It was exactly what Meita, who was surrounded by a sense of impending doom as the situation worsened day by day, wanted most.
The proposal document written jointly by Nishizaki and Meita did not sell at that time either.
First proposal book, logo by Eiichi Yamamoto
Finally, at a board meeting, Bata-yan (President Eiichi Kawabata) decided to have all employees resign, shelve the debts, and then work toward rebuilding the company. One month’s notice was required to have employees resign, and that date was set for September 26th.
On September 24th, the staff of Wansa-kun held a wrap party at a ryokan inn in Atami, with the setup in the large hall. I watched the final episode on TV. I stayed in Atami that night and returned to Tokyo on the 25th.
The following day, the 26th, a general employee meeting was held at 1:00 PM in a rented venue at the nearby Hamamatsu Kaikan. President Bata-yan sat at the front, with Menta and the other executives in the middle. all 47 employees sat in chairs facing the executive seats.
Bata-yan stood up, explained the company’s financial situation, and announced that all employees would be dismissed at the end of October. There was an uproar in the room, but it quickly died down. Bata-yan refused to budge, saying there was no other way, and the employees gave up after confirming that their labor claims would be given priority.
Menta listened to the exchange with his head bowed throughout, but his employees’ understanding was beginning to irritate him.
Next thing Menta knew, he was standing.
“Listen to me for a second,” Menta said, glaring at the 47. “This is my opinion not as an executive, but as an animator, Yasuhito Menta. It’s true that the incompetence of Mushi Pro’s executives has led them to the conclusions Bata-yan just mentioned. As a member of the executive team, I feel responsible and would like to apologize.”
“But what I’m trying to say is, just because the executives gave up, does that mean everyone else, meaning us animators, should give up too? Mushi Pro wasn’t created by the executives. It was created by the animators as a place for us to work. If we go back to our roots and stand up together, go to TV stations, banks, anywhere, and ask for help, we might get a different response than the executives did. What do you think? Will you join me in this challenge?“
Everyone focused their eyes on Menta, and there was silence for a while.
Then, a young man wearing glasses raised his hand in the front row. “May I speak?”
“Sure.”
The young man began speaking without moving from his seat. He was a graduate of the University of Tokyo, a production assistant, and a union leader.
“I’ll follow you if you guarantee all of our vested rights, including our salaries, bonuses, and other benefits we’ve earned so far.”
“…”
Menta sat in his chair in silence.
The people there were ordinary union members who wielded their rights to divide profits with capitalists, not Mushi Pro animators who carved out their own lives and created something new.
(Mushi Pro is over…!)
That’s what Menta thought at the time.
The group that had once made the impossible possible had now become a group where even the possible was impossible.
Despite the efforts of Bata-yan and the other executives to suspend debt payments, Mushi Pro issued bad checks and ended up with 350 million yen in debt. The company would go bankrupt a little later, in November. But for Menta, Mushi Pro ceased to exist on that day.
After the general meeting, Menta left the venue and went to Mushi Pro to organize his desk in the Wansa-kun production room on the first floor of Studio 2.
By the time he stepped outside, it was past four o’clock.
The white concrete square building of the Tezuka residence shone in the early evening autumn sun. The black iron gate reminded Menta of the first day he visited. Unlike then, Tezuka was not at home at this time. He rented several floors of a building in front of Fujimidai Station and set up “Osamu Tezuka’s Mushi Production” there, where he worked on manga.
Menta walked slowly for several minutes, taking breaks along the way, down the normal ten-minute walk to the station. His arteriosclerotic right leg still went numb and painful even after a short walk. Residential buildings and shopping streets lined both sides of the road. He passed many housewives on their bicycles on their way home from shopping.
Tezuka outside Mushi Pro, 1963
He arrived at the small square in front of the station and saw the building and sign housing Tezuka Productions. He wanted to stop by, but decided against it. In the end, Mushi Pro had ended up being a failure for Tezuka. Though it had its glory days, it never progressed as Tezuka had intended, pushed him out, and ultimately proved useless. As long as it bore the name “Mushi,” it would continue to be a source of trouble for Tezuka. Thinking of Tezuka’s frustration, my chest tightened. At that moment, I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t have the courage to look him in the eye.
(Someday, we’ll meet again…)
As he started to walk, Menta suddenly noticed a Chinese restaurant nearby with a red-painted exterior. This was the restaurant he had visited that day thirteen years ago, in October. He had wanted to work on an anime with Tezuka, so he got off at Fujimidai Station without any introductions and, feeling lonely, ate ramen here.
The restaurant had been completely remodeled, and there was no trace of its old, shady past. Menta pushed the door open.
“Come in!”
An old woman greeted him, dressed neatly in an apron. She still seemed in good health. Menta ordered ramen and closed his eyes while he waited.
Belladonna of Sadness only raised 40 million yen, including overseas distribution. With a production budget of 80 million yen, the film ended up with a deficit of 40 million yen.
A roar of criticism swirled around.
“He spent money recklessly,” “He made something incomprehensible,” “Herald wanted retakes,” “He’s the one who ruined Mushi Pro…”
There were misunderstandings and slander, but Mushi Pro would close with the two works that Menta directed while he was an executive: the film Belladonna of Sadness and the TV anime Wansa-kun. He would have no choice but to accept the mantle of the man who ruined Mushi Pro.
Soon, the old woman’s voice rang out next to him. “Sorry for the wait.”
The ramen had arrived. Menta split his disposable chopsticks, rubbed the tips of them together, and began to slurp the ramen. It tasted good.
On that day thirteen years ago, he ate this ramen with nothing but the clothes on his back, then visited Tezuka, and many other things happened. Now, once again, he had nothing, was alone, and was eating ramen here before leaving. Somehow, to Menta, those two bowls of ramen felt like one, and everything that happened in between felt like a dream while eating a bowl of ramen.
But Menta wanted to believe that even if everything was a dream, that was the only thing that was real.
It was the night of the screening of Belladonna of Sadness at the Berlin Film Festival.
After the screening, he waited in the lobby for the packed audience to leave. It took quite a while, and by the time Menta, the Herald staff, Fukai, and Miki stepped out onto the street, it was late at night.
At that moment, a young couple dressed hippie style appeared from the shadows in front of the theater and approached Menta. The man smiled and spoke to him in English. Not understanding, Menta called over the Herald staff member who was interpreting for him, and asked him to translate.
“These people were so moved by the movie they just saw, they really wanted to shake your hand, and they’ve been waiting all this time.”
“What? A handshake? All the way out here just for that?”
The Herald man looked impressed. “That’s what I heard. They must have really wanted to express their feelings.”
Emotionally, Menta offered his hand to him. “Thank you! Thank you!”
They shook hands repeatedly. He smiled and nodded vigorously. He shook hands with the woman as well. They were probably lovers. The two of them shook hands with Fukai, Miki, and the Herald staff member, then left. There were no words, but something more than words was exchanged. Through the work, their hearts were connected. That was deeply felt through the warmth of their palms. Menta had never felt such a sense of fulfillment anywhere else.
(I’m glad I did anime…)
Until then, Menta had lost his passion for anime. For him, anime was nothing more than an extension of his autistic tendencies as a child, shutting himself away in his own world, drawing and daydreaming, a manifestation of narcissism. He should have rejected such things. But…
Everyone has a desire to connect with others. Perhaps this desire will grow into love for others. That desire bubbled like magma in the depths of Menta’s heart. Perhaps what drew him to anime was the contradiction and conflict inherent in human beings: the desire to reject others and withdraw into oneself or, on the other hand, the desire to connect with others and love.
Menta’s anime began as an escape from his inability to connect with others, and now, through anime, he was able to connect with them.
(I have anime…!)
That night, in his hotel room in Berlin, Menta was so excited he couldn’t sleep. Even if it’s just one person. Even if it’s two people. If anime could connect him to others, Menta decided that he would continue to create anime. Perhaps one day, he would become what Rumi described as a man who could fall in love with a woman.
Belladonna of Sadness was criticized for being too innovative. Audiences like things that are half a step ahead, but they won’t keep up with things that are one or two steps ahead. Menta didn’t think he was that far ahead, but since no one was coming to see his work, maybe they were right. Some people comforted him by saying that it might be reevaluated as time went on.
There’s a saying that quantity turns into quality. With the advent of TV anime, known as “electric picture stories,” and movies beginning to be made using TV anime techniques, low-quality anime is rampant, but children who grow up consuming it like food and air are sure to develop discerning tastes and seek out high-quality anime.
As video technology advances, computer anime emerges, and scientific and technological progress continues, the nature of anime will inevitably change as well. Pandora’s box was sealed just before it emptied, leaving only one thing behind: “hope.”
It’s only just getting started, Menta thought. There’s no need to rush.
For now, it’s okay to make anime out of self-love. Humans have evolved over twenty million years from apes and three million years from hominids, yet we still wage war and create nuclear weapons. How difficult it is to love others.
Let’s recover our health and nurture ourselves more. Maybe it would be good to go on a hippie-style trip abroad for a while. That’s where it all begins. Everything…
Menta finished his ramen. He paid the bill to the old lady.
“You’re from Mushi Pro, aren’t you?”
“How did you know?”
“I can tell. It’s in the air.”
“But at your age, it’s amazing you know about Mushi Pro.”
The old woman, who didn’t even know the name Osamu Tezuka thirteen years ago, answered proudly. “Buddy! If you don’t know about Mushi Pro in Fujimidai, you’re a fake.”
“Really?”
“That’s right.”
“Ma’am, the ramen was delicious. Really good.”
“Really? Then come back again.”
“Yeah. I’ll come again. Definitely.”
Standing on the outbound platform of the station, Menta looked southwest toward Mushi Pro. All he could see were the rows of houses along the shopping street, obscuring Mushi Pro or Mount Fuji. But above them, a golden sunset sky stretched out.
(Tomorrow will be a nice day too…)
For some reason, his heart felt light.
The yellow Seibu Ikebukuro Line train arrived.
After the train left, Menta was nowhere to be seen on the platform.