Man, this was hard to find. At the moment I'm re-researching Aum Shinrikyo [オウム真理教], as I prepare my review for Ian Reader's Religious Violence In Contemporary Japan, The Case Of Aum Shinrikyo (2000), and therefore I've gathered a huge chunk of rare material on the infamous Japanese cult, and its prolongation to the present day, Aleph [アレフ]. From the audiovisual material and propaganda published by the various ministries of the group (given that Aum functionally constituted a micro-society ruled by its own government with its departments) to the printed forms, books and records of Aum members -its leader Shōkō Asahara [麻原 彰晃] (1955–2018) included-, they all help in understanding a most extraordinary religious movement in exponential growth during the nineties. Almost out of a science-fiction novella, Aum Shinrikyo is most remembered by two things: one, of course, is the 1995 Tokyo subway sarin attack, which in fact deeply shaped Japanese society's opinions on topics such as terrorism, religion, and media; the second thing would be Asahara Shōkō himself, his strange demeanor and the many bizarre characteristics he endowed his religion with. For, despite the media's unilateral description of the cult as simply an evil mind-control operation authored by Asahara (which is true to an extent), there is a huge lot to unpack in Aum Shinrikyo. New age-ish colority and wackiness, a renouncing lifestyle with harsher ascetic practises that any Buddhist sect (some of which actually dated back to its medieval forms), cyberdelic equipment out of Timothy Leary's wet dreams, weapon smuggling and manufacturing, LSD, millennialism, a distrastrous candidacy afer creating its own political party, perhaps a nuclear device tested out in Australia, and much, much more. The bare-boned buildings-temples of the sect or satian [サティアン] were cryptic places filled with baffling elements. It was in many respects a pride child of the nineties and its drive towards the technological, the end of the world and the reject of inherited culture. It was also the second psychedelia, and the development of cyberpunk if we recall Mark Dery's fantastic Escape Velocity: Cyberculture at the End of the Century (1997), a book I'll never stop recommending. 1995 was not only the year of Aum's sarin gas attack, but also the year of Ghost in the Shell in Japan. Intimations of a new order to be born just decades ahead were deeply felt.
Of course Aum Shinrikyo's intervention by the Japanese authorities after the attack, and the detention of its highest-ranking members under suspicions of terrorism, murder, kidnapping and many other illegal activities had radical consequences on the public view on the organization, whose image was not that good to begin with. The subsequent unveiling of Aum's deep structure and aims caused a real anti-Aum panic in society (borrowing the term from the American satanic panic phenomena of the same years), which can be said to exist to this day. Anything or anyone in distant relationship with Aum would be deemed incapable of re-entering society, and, in the eyes of the public, was deemed fit for the prison or the sanatorium. All of the above are reasons as to why most books on Aum are the type cheap-pen writers high on sensationalism and morbid sensibility would funnel up (the likes of Manson chronicles, Hitler biographies and serial killer all-hit-wonders); in fact, they are also reasons as to why many people refused to asociate Aum with religion or spirituality at all (topics which were fundamental to the group prior the attacks). Scholars and public alike oversimplified as follows: they as organization did commit to crime and therefore had nothing to say in the realm of religion. As Ian Reader points out, this is feeble; the domains of religion, morality and law are completely different, and religion, though it can certainly contribute to restrain the exhibition of violent behavior, can be and has historically been an agent for violence in the world. Being sacrifices, self-punishment or holy war, the domain of the religious can very well facilitate violence openly or inadvertedly. Also, the fact that Asahara himself claimed to have incredible powers and being divine to some degree is also shared by religious movements of the past and the present, and not privative of plain fraudsters.
All of the above is necessary to understand the value of Tatsuya Mori's [森達也] A, a documentary dealing with Aum's last days in the wake of their leader's detention. As an independent observer Mori was granted access to one among Aum's satians by Hiroshi Araki [荒木浩], the quite young spokesperson of the cult during the incident. His neutral stance and critical eye were fundamental in capturing not only the everyday lifestyle of regular low-rank members of the group but also their opinions and feelings during those crucial years. It is perhaps the only long-running audiovisual document (spanning more than two hours) depicting the regular ranks of Aum Shinrikyo, their religious beliefs and motives for joining the group. Almost any other record of the sect lacks this objectivity in dealing with perhaps the most forgotten among the people involved: those idealistic and jaded youngsters who joined a Buddhist-Tantric sect only to witness just a few years later their own group comitting Japan's worst terrorist act in history, and themselves (many lacking any other place to return to) turning into demons at the eyes of the Japanese public. On one extreme there was a lot of Aum propaganda (from songs to animations to documentaries) portraying the Aum lifestyle as heaven on Earth, and Asahara as a kind, wise and compassionate cosmic father; on the other, Aum was deemed as evil from the start, as a crime organization, and all their members were deviants which constituted a danger to society itself.
A is a humble handycam recording by Mori himself, lacking any high flying production or editing aside for two inserted music tracks. The editing pace is nevertheless quite thought up, and there are some amazing shots from the cinematic standpoint. The time frame of the production starts with Tomomasa Nakagawa's confession during trials, almost a year after the attack itself (as the Japanese judiciary system is extremely slow); the films thus depics the cult live during its downfall, when they found themselves in the wild having lost their master just months prior, and the media were harassing Aum members all over Japan. As low rank Aum members had no prior knowledge of the Aum attack, they all look disoriented and messy, attending endless calls from journalists, the interior of the saitans packed with trash and leftovers. As it was the case with Aum overall, most of the interviewees are quite young, around their twenties or thirties; this is surprising to this very day since, unlike let's say the Rajnishpuram experience in USA, they weren't promised a hippie-ish lifestyle of sexual freedom, drug experimentation and equalitarism, but rather a strict lifestyle oriented to sever their relationships with the material world, under the scrutiny of Asahara. If many of the new religions of the XXth century portrayed themselves as a return to the unadulterated pagan traditions of the remote past, Aum portrayed itself as a return to 'pure' Buddhism, coupled with Hindu Shiva worship; the only thing they had in common was the frontal rejection of materialism, scientificism and consumerism. And perhaps also the creation of a brotherhood of people with the same values, able to relate between themselves without the market-oriented bias present in society at every level; this emotional factor also resonates during the entire film. During Mori's filming they eat the same protein-based meat substitute (as Aum had dietary constraints) and rice everyday, and the hygiene at the saitans is somewhat lacking, some of the members displaying skin infections probably transmitted by means of the shared bathrooms and worship spaces.
The main protagonist is, as stated, Hiroshi Araki, spokesperson for the group at the time. He comes across as a shy, troubled yet assertive person, very much well-meaning in his coping with Aum's demise. As many others along the film, he ran away from his home in the countryside, leaving behind his family (something Aum demanded of his followers); yet his adherence does not look fanatical or overwhelming. He only buys into Aum's theories to some personal degree, and states that his rejection of profane society and its corruption vastly surpasses his personal adherence or loyalty to Aum itself. Unlike the nightmarish media descriptions of life at Aum, displaying the horrific music background very much typical of Japanese (and American) media and children wearing the cult's representative wired helmet, Mori portrays pretty much regular people and their living conditions (far from ideal as stated, but very much in line with world renunciation). And it's not like they are taking softballs from Mori, who speaks a lot during the production; he actually eggs them out, pointing out contradictions he sees in their doctrine and questioning their claims when made too easily. His neutral stance is only compromised once during the film; a quite violent cop grabs an Aum member and throws him in the ground, then pretending himself hurt on a leg; they arrest the member, planning to charge him with obstruction to the authority, and Mori's tape becomes vital evidence. The distressed and worn-out Aum members try to figure out a way of releasing him without resorting to using the tape, but Mori's conscience ultimately forces him to hand out a copy to the youngster's lawyer, getting him released from the fake charges. This episode, which develops naturally during the film, is testament to the fact that Aum panic did in fact dehumanize its members to the point of disregard their rights in the eyes of not only the media and the public but also the law enforcement.
The main protagonist is, as stated, Hiroshi Araki, spokesperson for the group at the time. He comes across as a shy, troubled yet assertive person, very much well-meaning in his coping with Aum's demise. As many others along the film, he ran away from his home in the countryside, leaving behind his family (something Aum demanded of his followers); yet his adherence does not look fanatical or overwhelming. He only buys into Aum's theories to some personal degree, and states that his rejection of profane society and its corruption vastly surpasses his personal adherence or loyalty to Aum itself. Unlike the nightmarish media descriptions of life at Aum, displaying the horrific music background very much typical of Japanese (and American) media and children wearing the cult's representative wired helmet, Mori portrays pretty much regular people and their living conditions (far from ideal as stated, but very much in line with world renunciation). And it's not like they are taking softballs from Mori, who speaks a lot during the production; he actually eggs them out, pointing out contradictions he sees in their doctrine and questioning their claims when made too easily. His neutral stance is only compromised once during the film; a quite violent cop grabs an Aum member and throws him in the ground, then pretending himself hurt on a leg; they arrest the member, planning to charge him with obstruction to the authority, and Mori's tape becomes vital evidence. The distressed and worn-out Aum members try to figure out a way of releasing him without resorting to using the tape, but Mori's conscience ultimately forces him to hand out a copy to the youngster's lawyer, getting him released from the fake charges. This episode, which develops naturally during the film, is testament to the fact that Aum panic did in fact dehumanize its members to the point of disregard their rights in the eyes of not only the media and the public but also the law enforcement.
Despite their somewhat strange beliefs concerning karma, supernatural powers or their layered universe worldview (spanning the current world, the astral world, the causal world and the mahanirvana or absolute), the Aum members seem to have way more questions than answers overall, their hunger for spiritual satisfaction and for taking an stance in the face of death way stronger than their adherence to Aum itself. While all of them highly regard Asahara as their master, they do so vicariously, as a person who shared their restlessness and oriented their lifestyle in a way no Buddhist monastery could, in order to answer their personal questions. Moreover, they all look pretty vulnerable in front of Mori, as they seem to enjoy a degree of familiarity with him (at least, enough to joke around in front of him). For they, despite their predicament, do have a sense of humor (way more than books, documentaries and even Aum propaganda would make you think). When considering Aum followers merely as mind-controlled puppets, the least you expect from them is self-deprecating humor, but alas, there is a lot of it. Another revealing aspect of A you won't find in other Aum material is the stark difference between the cult's image projection and the reality at its own headquarters. This is epitomized during a cut portraying Araki assisting Asahara's eldest daughter during a press conference. The young girl (imbued with religious significance as the master's offspring) acquires a resolute attitude, speaking in absolute terms, and sitting as a figure of authority. Of course, the media fawns over this fact. Hours later, however, Mori shows us her back in the sect headquarters, with a handful of Aum members laughing at her performance, as かっこい [you look so cool!], while she looks deeply embarassed by it. These traces of humanity are completely lost in the discourse of Aum membership and its legal battles or opinion clashes within mainstream Japanese society.
The fact that Mori's film depics Aum members' fears, doubts, hopes and overall vulnerability contributed to the limited reach this documentary and its follow-up (A2 (2001), a piece on Aleph, Aum's prolongation in the future after Asahakara's demise at the tribunals) had within Japan. Mori states both these productions were fiercely opposed by both media companies and the public, stating at the time that they did not bring him anything but financial damage and trouble. TV broadcasting companies refused to license the films, and he himself denied their offers to clip concrete scenes and use them in broadcasted news segments (where they would no doubt be taken out of context). Therefore both documentaries reached only small segments of people both in colleges and underground theatrical screenings. Yet, after he wrote an acclaimed memory on those years of work (a 2010 book titled A3), and the time allowed for a more sober approach to the Aum phenomena, his cult documentaries have come to be considered as valious records of journalistic endeavor, a work that almost any other person was either not authorized or not willing to do at the time. If you devote time to understand Aum (or cult phenomena at large) I wholly recommend watching Mori's work.
The fact that Mori's film depics Aum members' fears, doubts, hopes and overall vulnerability contributed to the limited reach this documentary and its follow-up (A2 (2001), a piece on Aleph, Aum's prolongation in the future after Asahakara's demise at the tribunals) had within Japan. Mori states both these productions were fiercely opposed by both media companies and the public, stating at the time that they did not bring him anything but financial damage and trouble. TV broadcasting companies refused to license the films, and he himself denied their offers to clip concrete scenes and use them in broadcasted news segments (where they would no doubt be taken out of context). Therefore both documentaries reached only small segments of people both in colleges and underground theatrical screenings. Yet, after he wrote an acclaimed memory on those years of work (a 2010 book titled A3), and the time allowed for a more sober approach to the Aum phenomena, his cult documentaries have come to be considered as valious records of journalistic endeavor, a work that almost any other person was either not authorized or not willing to do at the time. If you devote time to understand Aum (or cult phenomena at large) I wholly recommend watching Mori's work.
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