On last Thursday evening, I had the pleasure of seeing the Irish debut of a captivating, humorous and delightfully picturesque new film at a movie theatre in Dublin. This film, a two-hour Japanese documentary centered around cats, came into existence without any pre-conceived notions, voiceovers, or music, and even the director admitted that he only realised the essence of his creation during the editing process. You might hesitate to quickly get your hands on the tickets, which could be a good thing in this instance as The Cats of Gokogu Shrine was only screened once, as the inaugural movie of the East Asia Film Festival held at IFI, and there’s no talk yet of it being played again as part of the festival or its wider release. Those keen to watch may have to purchase or lease it via the director’s personal website, kazuhirosoda.com. If you’re a cat lover or just someone who appreciates life or better still, both, then I highly suggest it.
While discussing the deeply attractive and thought-provoking Dublin-Wexford train route, the late Countess de Frenay, and Long Lambkin’s compelling tale, the creator of the film Kazuhiro Soda and his astonishing work surfaced. In an all-absorbing interview that followed, filled with amusement and deep insight, he disclosed his ‘Ten Commandments’ by which he crafts his distinctive observational documentaries. My interpretation of them is:
1. Refrain from pre-work research.
2. Shun prior meetings planning the subject of the film.
3. Eschew penning down scripts.
4. Personal involvement in filming.
5. Record for prolonged periods since exhilarating occurrences are bound to happen once you conclude recording.
6. Concentrate deeply on small locales.
7. Refrain from deciding a topic or aim prior to editing.
8. Steer clear of voiceovers, extra titles and music.
9. Prefer long shots.
10. (As he conspicuously stated, this one doesn’t sit well with his wife) Fund the production yourself to maintain control.
The essence of commandment number 7 might be apparent in The Cats of Gokogu Shrine. Every scene of the film was captured within approximately 200 metres of a Shinto shrine, presenting a candid view of street cats and locals’ everyday banter and interaction with the camera operator himself.
Certainly, felines effortlessly secure their place in the limelight: their strikingly photogenic gaze, powerful presence, and a modest yet demonstrated knack for spontaneous humour have contributed to their cyber reign, where they repeatedly outshine canines without any taught tricks. The human subjects of the documentary, however, unsurprisingly lag behind. In a typically Japanese context, many of these individuals are quite aged, some even voluntarily maintaining public gardens. Their interactions with the felines can be fractious, an outcome of cats’ infamous unrequested ‘gifts’ of fertiliser to plant cultivators globally.
Undeniably, the director unearthed some profound points, perhaps only during the post-production stage, including a statement on our widespread intolerance for nuisances like wildlife. Ultimately, the film reflects the artist’s contemplation on the cycle of life and death. In tandem, a few unforeseen twists towards the end compellingly validate his directive to continue filming for as long as viable.
Artists throughout history have drawn motivation from cats, a fact underscored by the ninth-century verse, Pangur Bán. It was composed in archaic Irish by an incumbent monk at Reichenau Abbey, present-day Germany, during a period when he was expected to attend to more critical matters. In any case, this literary masterpiece finds its home in a notebook that also houses ‘annotations from an interpretation of the Aeneid, a few hymns, a concise reference of Greek terminologies… comments on biblical locations, a dissertation on angelic nature, and a bit of astronomy.’
Caught in a sea of such solemn academia, the monk allows himself to be sidetracked by his cat’s antics. The feline is christened ‘White Pangur,’ with ‘pangur’ translating to ‘fuller’ (a craftsman who refines woven wool in ancient Irish). The monk detects shared traits between them. Consequently, a typical stanza, as interpreted by Robin Flower, reads: ‘Sometimes a mouse will wander/Into the path of the brave Pangur;/Sometimes my sharp cognition/Captures a concept in its trap.’
The anonymous ascetic who penned the verse remains largely undiscovered. Pangur, on the other hand, is widely recognised. To my surprise, I found out recently that its fame continues to multiply, such that it was honoured as the namesake for a recently found (but profoundly extinct) mammal species as of 2022.
The San Diego Natural History Museum’s fossil collection became a centre of interest in 2021 when it revealed the remains of the nimravid, a sabre-toothed creature similar in size to a puma, that roamed the earth approximately 38 million years ago. A scientist, one of those involved in its identification, opted to name it in tribute to his former English tutor at Augustana College, Dr McDowell. This professor was responsible for teaching the poem “Pangur Bán,” and instilled a passion within the scientist for literature and history that has remained with him since his time at Augustana. This inspired the scientist to name the fossil after the “literary cat” mentioned in the poem.
However, the ancient feline honoured in this manner has seen its name fused into a single word, and lost its fada – an accent in the Irish language – during this process. As a result of these changes, it sounds more akin to a stray cat than the dignified creature it was. So, the newly discovered species now bears the moniker “Pangurban”.