The son of a disgraced former archer seeks to break his father’s record in competition, in this short and modestly made jidai-geki from noted director Mikio Naruse. Produced and released during the final months of the Pacific War, it is an unusual work – not just for Japanese cinema, which at the time was overwhelmingly dominated by propaganda, but for Naruse himself, who never made a genre film like it ever again.

The son in question, Daihachiro (Sensho Ichikawa), suffers great anxiety as his archery content approaches. He must hit a distant target with arrows as many times as possible in a single day. His father held the all-time record, but the shame of being surpassed later drove him to commit suicide. Daihachiro is under pressure to break the record again, which means hitting the target more than 8,000 times in a single sitting. It sounds ridiculous and entirely unfeasible, however the broad premise of Naruse’s film is based on historical events.

Since his father’s death Daihachiro has lived with the supportive Okinu (Kinuyo Tanaka), who manages a local tavern. His preparations are transformed by the arrival of the samurai Karatsu Kanbei (Kazuo Hasegawa), who chooses to take Daihachiro under his wing: acting as part coach, part bodyguard in the lead-up to the contest. In this first half of the film, which only runs a sprightly 76 minutes, Kanbei drives much of the good-natured levity and humour. Revelations at the film’s midpoint, however, irrevocably change the characters’ relationship. The second half is a far more dramatic affair, which has a dampening effect on the film’s energy. The narrative is resolved, but it honestly feels that a lot of emotional movement has been left off-screen.

Kazuo Hasegawa gives a broad, infectious performance as Kanbei. A key early scene has him running rings around a befuddled group of hired thugs without even needing to draw his sword. His encouragement and nurturing of Daihachiro has a nice air of authenticity, balanced somewhere between being a surrogate father and a supportive older sibling. Kinuyo Tanaka plays Okinu with grace and intelligence: unsurprising given Mikio Naruse’s usual strong focus on female characters.

Sensho Ichikawa does not quite convince as the young Daihichiro, who is supposed to be 17 years old. At the time Ichikawa was a full 10 years older than that, and it shows. A similar problem affected casting in Naruse’s earlier film Apart from You (1933).

The film is well framed and nicely shot, particularly during the scenes shot on location at Kyoto’s real Sanjūsangen-dō. It was a rare lucky opportunity for the film to shoot at the actual location, since film production had only recently shifted from Tokyo to Kyoto due to American bombing raids. There is strong cinematography employed during the archery contest, which lends the film a production value that war-time dramas often lacked. In fact, without knowing the year of production one would likely never suspect it was produced and released in the months leading up to Japan’s surrender to the USA. While it does expose propaganda-friendly values – essentially, do not attempt a task if you are not planning to succeed – it never shows any sign of censorship or overt military-mandated messaging.

A Tale of Archery is not by any stretch a representation of Naruse at his best, and it is sorely tempting to assume that is because it sits so far outside of his traditional themes and subject matter. That said, it is fascinating to see the director contribute to such a significant genre of Japanese cinema. It is more interesting than it is creatively successful, but it brings a certain entertainment value – and do not outstay its welcome.