"La novia de Cuba" fue coproducida por el Instituto Cubano de Arte e Industria Cinematográficos (ICAIC) en 1968, cuando la Revolución Cubana estaba de moda en todo el mundo. Trabajaron en esa cinta, siete japoneses y otros tantos cubanos, bajo la dirección de Kazuo Kuroki, los cuales se bastaron para filmar una «road movie» a lo largo de todo el país antillano, con un mínimo de recursos. SINOPSISUn marinero japonés arriba a Cuba deseoso de empaparse del ambiente del país. Se queda prendado de una chica cubana y pronto el amor florece entre los dos. Ella le habla de la época anterior a Fidel Castro, cuando Batista contribuyó a la desaparición de su familia. La chica le deja cuando su devoción por la revolución pasa a ser más grande que su amor por el marinero no correspondido. En el film aparecen imágenes de archivo de Fidel dando un discurso en el que idolatra al Che Guevara y llama a la extensión de la revolución por toda Sudamérica. www.cinesdelsur.com SOBRE "LA NOVIA DE CUBA"(Mariam García Alán, directora del documental "La novia de Akira", sobre la película de Kuroki.)En el ICAIC no había prácticamente ningún dato de la película, básicamente los nombres del productor cubano y de la actriz, aunque sí se conservaban en la Cinemateca algunas referencias a la exhibición en el 67 de la primera película de Kuroki, "El silencio sin alas". En la primera década del ICAIC hubo muchas colaboraciones con cineastas de todo el mundo de las que prácticamente solo tienen conocimiento especialistas de cine. Las más conocidas son las coproducciones que se realizaron en los primeros años, sobre todo "Soy Cuba", de Mijail Kalatosov, pero en general son producciones que en su momento no tuvieron mucho éxito de público en la isla y excepto la coproducción con la URSS, ninguna trascendió lo suficiente como para ser conocidas luego de 40 años. Para mi generación estas producciones son prácticamente desconocidas, y solo forman parte de libros y resúmenes históricos de cine cubano. La película provoca reacciones muy diversas, desde un total rechazo hasta una cierta nostalgia. Para mí es muy interesante esta producción, pues ofrece la visión de un cineasta japonés en un momento muy especial de nuestra historia, y además la propia película parece ser uno de los primeros referentes directos que tuvieron los japoneses de Cuba y de la Revolución en un momento en el que no había internet o TV satelital. ENTREVISTA CON KAZUO KUROKIYasui Yoshio: Before joining ATG (Art Theater Guild), you made one more, very important film, A Cuban Lover (“Kyuba no koibito,” 1969). Could you tell us about the completely unexpected proposal you received from Cuba?Kazuo Kuroki: We were just able to get ATG to screen Silence Has No Wings, but I wasn’t getting any shorts, and was stuck without any work at all. I had absolutely no income. I’ve lived my whole life practically without income, but then I was penniless and not sure what road to take. Now in Cuba, American films were not permitted, and in their stead, the Cubans would buy Japanese films in bulk. So, along with films from the Zatoichi blind swordsman series, which were especially popular with Cubans, Toho would throw in other, cheaper films when they sold a package. I can only think that Toho must have sold the Cubans Silence Has No Wings, but the film somehow caught the attention of guys at the Cuban Institute of Film Art and Industry (ICAIC), who showered it with praise. At that time, the Japan-Cuba Friendship Society was chaired by Yamamoto Makiko and Takenaka Tsutomu. Now Takenaka, I learned later, was a big fan of actress Kaga Mariko, and he adored Silence Has No Wings [in which she appears]. Well, these two approached me to discuss the possibility of a coproduction. They wanted to commission me, but Cuba was a poor country and had not a cent to spare. So I’d have to come up with all the equipment here, and I didn’t have a penny to my name either. Of course, everyone around me was against the idea. But I hadn’t had work since Silence Has No Wings, and I was beginning to get anxious, so I persuaded Tsuchimoto Noriaki to come on board as producer. We started fundraising for the project, and though it was hard to get any money at all, when we had found about a third of the budget, we decided to go ahead with the project even though everything was far from in place. This would lead to a lot of problems later.YY: You may not have much money for the project, but you had a surprisingly impressive cast lined up. Like Tsugawa Masahiko. . . .KK: He certainly was a very popular actor at that time. But he really hesitated over shooting a film overseas with a director he didn’t know. But fortunately for me, Suzuki Naoyuki had been the director of Tsugawa’s long-running television drama, and Suzuki was a big fan of Silence Has No Wings. The screenwriter was Shimizu Kunio, and Shimizu was a very close friend of mine from my Iwanami days who had also done the narration for Hokkaido, My Love. Tsugawa agreed to come on board. This was also a rushed project, and I wrote whatever came to my mind for the screenplay. We had to rewrite the whole thing when we got to Cuba. We ended up shooting the film without really looking at the script anyway. The crew consisted of me, an assistant director, Suzuki as cameraman, his assistant and two sound recordists. We got a car and driver from the Cuban studio. We ended up doing a whole feature film with a crew of only six or seven people.YY: And the beautiful actress? Was she from Cuba?KK: Yeah. We visited a tobacco factory on the island, and she had been chosen as Miss Tobacco or something like that. . . so we asked her. She was a complete amateur, and couldn’t handle her lines at all. They were added in later by a well-known actress.YY:When it was screened, it was shown at local auditoriums, but it never made it to the theaters?KK: Director Morikawa Tokihisa’s film had created an excellent national distribution network. YY: You’re referring to his Live Your Own Way (“Wakamonotachi,” 1967)?KK: That’s right. We tried distributing the film along the same route that Live Your Own Way had set up. We faced a lot of opposition from the Communists because of the Marathon Runner Incident. And even though Cuba is one of the most communist countries around, there was resentment that I had bypassed the Communist Party to work directly with the Cubans. Now, I had a bad reputation with both the right and the left. But finally, one or two places in Tokyo agreed to screen it. It was really wretched having to screen in those conditions, and we lost money almost everywhere. Yomiuri Hall agreed to screen the film, and I can remember being surrounded by radical student women. They spat on me, and I can still feel their spit landing on my face as they screamed at me, “You traitor director! How could you take that anti-revolutionary kid to Cuba? How could you make him a hero? You idiot!” It was a pitiful feeling. (laugh) The left really deplored me, saying that my main character had “sold out Guevara” and that I was “counter-revolutionary.” Later, when I was sinking in my debts and being harassed by loan sharks and the yakuza, I thought this whole scenario would make a perfect yakuza film. That became Evil Spirits of Japan.
