by Leni Geleva;
Yukio Mishima, born Kimitake Hiraoka, was a controversial Japanese poet, playwright, model, director, imperialist, and homosexual who ended his life through ritual suicide. His art is deeply imbued with his dark and subversive personality. He was nominated three times for the Nobel Prize in Literature, but the last time, the prize went to his compatriot and supporter, Yasunari Kawabata.
He came from a samurai lineage and was fascinated by samurai ideals. He once stated, “If we value dignity in life, why not also value dignity in death?” Mishima was an ultranationalist and reactionary, deeply concerned about modernization and the impact of Western materialism on Japan after World War II. He believed these influences were leading to the erosion of Japan’s identity and traditional values.
In an attempt to restore these values, Mishima founded a paramilitary organization called Tatenokai (Shield Society), composed of young patriots devoted to protecting Japanese sovereignty and the emperor as a symbol of Japan’s identity.
On the day of his death, Mishima and several members of Tatenokai entered a military base in Tokyo, attempting a coup to restore the emperor’s power. Failing to gain support, Mishima committed harakiri, following traditional samurai customs.
Mishima’s act shocked Japanese society and remains controversial to this day, with varied interpretations of his motives and the meaning of his suicide. Some viewed it as a long-planned artistic gesture, others as purely political or patriotic, while some saw it as madness, revenge for his suppressed homosexuality, or the desperate, macabre farce of a scandalous figure unable to face aging and mediocrity.
Mishima was raised by his paternal grandmother, who sheltered him excessively and forbade many activities. She often displayed fits of rage, which might explain his fascination with death. Concerned that his grandmother had overly pampered him, his father brought him back home at age 13 and imposed strict discipline. He forbade Mishima from writing, considering it an unmanly pursuit, and tore up any manuscripts he found. Despite this, Mishima continued to write, and his mother was the first to evaluate his early literary efforts. From both grandmothers, he inherited a love for traditional Japanese Kabuki and Noh theater.
At the end of World War II, Mishima was conscripted into the military but was declared unfit for service after being misdiagnosed with tuberculosis, though he only had a cold. He felt guilty about not serving in the war for the rest of his life, which influenced his admiration for kamikaze pilots and may have contributed to his suicide.
Mishima’s homosexual and suicidal tendencies are evident in his literary works. His short story “Patriotism”, later adapted into the short film “Ritual of Love and Death”, which he wrote, directed, and starred in, glorifies an ultranationalist officer of the Japanese army who commits suicide after a failed rebellion. In many ways, it served as a rehearsal for his own death.
Mishima modeled for several Japanese photographers, most notably in the photo book by Eikoh Hosoe. These photographs present a fascinating blend of homoeroticism, aesthetics, and conceptual art, celebrating the human body in ways that transcend traditional sexuality, focusing instead on its mythical, symbolic, and physical dimensions.
His body is portrayed as an object of admiration, celebrating physical discipline and the idea of perfection. The compositions often draw inspiration from classical art, particularly Greek and Renaissance aesthetics. Props and poses—such as flowers, crosses, or ropes—carry ambiguous symbolism, suggesting desire, submission, and erotic tension. While the images are not explicitly sexual, they are charged with sensual energy. Many scenes depict Mishima’s body enduring pain or dying, adding a sadomasochistic and homoerotic undertone.
Mishima and Hosoe shared a fascination with the body as a symbol of power, beauty, and transience. For Mishima, obsessed with physical discipline and self-perfection, the body was a temple of will. Their collaboration represents a rare example of artistic synergy, turning photography into a visual narrative of human eroticism and transcendence.
The best portrayal of Mishima’s complex personality is Paul Schrader’s biographical film “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters”. Schrader, better known as the screenwriter of cult films like “Taxi Driver” and “Raging Bull”, divides the film into four thematic chapters: 1. Beauty, 2. Art, 3. Action, and 4. Harmony of Pen and Sword. Each symbolizes a crucial aspect of Mishima’s life and philosophy.
The film is Schrader’s greatest achievement as a director, presenting Mishima as an artist who turned his life into a work of art. Of all his creations, Mishima himself was the greatest fiction. Mishima was a mask, and the world his stage. Though filmed entirely with a Japanese cast and in the Japanese language, the movie remains controversial and is banned in Japan. The soundtrack, composed by Philip Glass, was later reused in “The Truman Show”.
The film intertwines reality, memory, and fantasy, each depicted distinctively: reality portrays his last day in color; memories are in black-and-white; and his literary works are represented in vibrant, surreal settings. This visual distinction captures Mishima’s profound internal division—between his public and private life, his artistic ambitions, and political ideals. The tragedy of Mishima lies in his inability to find his purpose. Unable to discover it, he created it. The final day of his life embodies his philosophy of beauty, art, action, and harmony between the pen and the sword. Mishima was undeniably obsessed with the idea that beauty is at its most exquisite when it is fleeting—and above all, when it is on the brink of destruction.
Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters is not just a biographical film; it is a work that portrays life as art and art as life. With this, Paul Schrader crafted his most personal and profound film, leaving a lasting impact on the world of cinema
As problematic as his political engagement may appear, Mishima was nevertheless a product of his environment, upbringing, and traditions. His complex personality is well captured in one of his statements, where he advised one of his actresses on how to play a character in a theater production:
“People have two opposing sides within themselves: tenderness and cruelty, or love and hatred. Try to express both sides at the same time.”
His vision of national ideals often aligned with the ideals of physical and spiritual perfection. Understanding Mishima means understanding the contradictions that emerged from this period of Japanese history. Despite his problematic aspects, his contribution to literature and art remains undeniable, highlighting the complexity of human nature.
In the last decade of his life, Mishima underwent a transformation, transitioning from an aesthete and decadent romantic to a politically engaged figure. Frustrated by his small stature, he began practicing bodybuilding. His obsession with the body is reflected in the following quotes:
“In the average person, I imagine, the body precedes language. In my case, words came first of all. Then – belatedly, with every appearance of extreme reluctance, and already clothed in concepts – came the flesh”
“Specifically, I cherished a romantic impulse towards death, yet at the same time I
required a strictly classical body as its vehicle; a peculiar sense of destiny made me
believe that the reason why my romantic impulse towards death remained unfulfilled
in reality was the immensely simple fact that I lacked the necessary physical qualifications.
A powerful, tragic frame and sculpturesque muscles were indispensable in
a romantically noble death. Any confrontation between weak, flabby flesh and death
seemed to me absurdly inappropriate. Longing at eighteen for an early demise, I felt
myself unfitted for it. I lacked, in short, the muscles suitable for a dramatic death.
And it deeply offended my romantic pride that it should be this unsuitability that
had permitted me to survive the war.”
“But the body is doomed to decay, just like the complicated motor of a car. I for one do not, will not, accept such a doom. This means that I do not accept the course of Nature. I know I am going against Nature; I know I have forced my body onto the most destructive path of all."
Leni Geleva, a photographer, is one of the most significant names in contemporary Macedonian photography and an essential voice in the nation's visual identity. Over the past two decades, she has worked on films and participated in numerous group and solo exhibitions. She is also a passionate film enthusiast, a passion that extends into film criticism.
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