Umeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as ImpresarioPeter B. HighUmeya Shokichi burst upon the Tokyo film promotion scene in July
1905 like a theatrical Bonaparte. After more than a decade of expatriate
life in Hong Kong and Singapore, he had arrived in his hometown ofNagasaki some weeks before with a fortune in cash (the equivalent of 400
million yen, by modern reckoning) made from his promotional activities
in Southeast Asia, three brand-new projectors and a “vast packing crate,”
stuffed with more than a hundred new, stencil-colored film features
produced by the French company, Pathé Freres. On his way toward thecapital, he made courtesy calls in Kobe and Osaka at the branch offices of
Yokota Shokai and Yoshizawa Shoten, the two major film
promotion/production companies of the day. His business card bore thename of his just-established company, “M. Pathé.” It was his own name,however, which caused the greatest stir. The known cohort and financial
backer of such Chinese revolutionaries as Sun Yat Sen, he had also beenpresent at the fall of Manila in 1898 in an officer’s uniform of Emilio
Aguinaldo’s Philippine Liberation Army. A pioneering proponent ofnanshin-ron, Japan’s economic thrust into southern Asia, Umeya was aleader of the overseas Japanese community and, in Japan, a close associateof Oi Kentaro, Inukai Ki, Toyama Mitsuru and numerous other major
political figures in and out of office.
Arriving in Tokyo, Umeya capitalized on the celebrity thenewspapers had given him as a romantic “China ronin” hero. It wascustomary for Japanese expatriates to attempt to make their return home a

106Peter B. Highdramatic one; Yokota Einosuke, the great pioneer of Japanese film
promotion, having returned from America in 1895 with the first x-ray
machine to be exhibited in Japan. “Since the usual means of promotion
didn’t appeal as interesting enough,” Umeya’s first move was to plan an
overblown premiere for his own piece-de-resistance, a gorgeously tinted
version of Ferdinand Zecca’s Life of Christ. Enormous half-page woodblock print ads went into all the papers to trumpet “The world’s first
product of a new film-coloring process! July 4 through July 13, every
evening from 6 p.m. Soldiers and students in uniform half price! See thefilm which astounded the world at the Paris International Exposition!” The
entrance to the Shin-Tomiza Theatre was transformed into a cavern of
teakwood branches and Japan’s first usherettes greeted patrons while aband played exotic tunes from Malaya. The presence on opening night ofsuch luminaries as Goto Shinpei and Prime Minister Katsura Tarounderscored his significance as a political personality. For the rest of his
life, Pan-Asianist revolutionary activism would compete for his attention
with his role as a film entrepreneur; indeed, during the last two decades of
his life, the success of the Chinese revolution would become his prime
concern.
Umeya’s early life in his native Nagasaki, as depicted by his main
biographer, Kurumada Joji, is studded with vignettes suggesting he had
been a prodigy of literally mythic proportions. Born in 1868, his family
owned a rice-refining factory and a ship with which they carried on tradewith the continent. When he was just a toddler, superstitious locals became
convinced he was possessed by a “cat spirit,” a curse which made himbold to the point of recklessness (in fact, 無鉄砲--------foolhardiness--------waspart of the reputation he would carry with him throughout his life and an
adjective which appears in all of his subsequent biographies). The
immediate cause was an incident at age five, when he fell from a bridge
into the river. He was pronounced dead when he was pulled out and plans
went ahead for his funeral. Then, just as the lid was being closed over his
coffin, he came coughing back to life. At fourteen, he gave proof of his

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recklessness by stowing away on the family ship to Shanghai. After his
discovery, he jumped ship as it was about to return and slipped back into
the city. All alone and almost penniless--------his funds having been stolen bya pickpocket--------he started work as a live-in servant and, finally, as a coolie.
Not long after his return to Nagasaki, at age fifteen (1883), he caused acity-wide sensation by organizing an armed vigilante group, comprised ofeighty young employees from his father’s factory, in order to take on and“punish” a hoodlum gang of one hundred twenty, under the leadership of anotorious local yakuza, Amada Denkichi. In an armed, pitched battle on
the slopes of Konpira mountain, Shokichi apparently stabbed Amada witha Japanese sword, mortally wounding him. As a result, both Shokichi andhis father had to flee town while his grandfather used political connections
and a huge amount of money to smooth things over. The incident grew
into a legend recounted by the story-board men who plied their trade tochildren in the city parks. Although there were no legal consequences, thefamily became convinced that he would eventually be marked for revenge
and in 1886, they decided to ship him off to America. The result of thisdecision was to fuel even more his reputation as a “cat with nine lives.”
The ship set sail in March of that year, bound for San Francisco via
Shanghai, Hong Kong and Manila. Two days out of Manila, cholera brokeout in the unsanitary quarters of the Chinese migrant workers in the hold.
The panicked reaction of the Caucasian passengers (who demanded thatthe infected Chinese be cast into the sea) disgusted the young Shokichi, adetail he would recall with anger many years later. Next a fire broke out
onboard causing everyone to abandon ship. Off Luzon, a Spanish gunboat
managed to pick up the only two survivors of the disaster: the ship’s
captain and Shokichi . His return to Nagasaki caused great astonishment,
since he had already been reported dead.
At twenty, Shokichi demonstrated his business acumen by taking
advantage of a famine in Korea and, with a shipload of his father’s ricestocks, making a huge profit. When he sent a second shipment thefollowing year, however, rivals had already created a glut on the peninsula

108Peter B. Highand the earlier profits were wiped out. This pattern of boom and bust
would be repeated throughout his entire career.
Over the next two years, his career alternated between trips to thecontinent, where he speculated in gold mining operations (with little
success, apparently), and much more effective activity in his father’scompany. By 1891, his leadership skills and charismatic personality
landed him the presidency of the Nagasaki Rice Trader’s Association.
Inevitably, after the boom came the bust. A particularly bold ricespeculation venture turned catastrophic and, after he quite literally
disappeared into the night and shipped off to Amoy, his family had tosacrifice much of their substantial real-estate holdings to cover the loss.
For many years after the incident he became a permanent resident
overseas and usually avoided his hometown on the various occasions he
was in-country. When he stopped in Nagasaki on his way up to Tokyo for
his first film showings, he finally repaid his old debt.
During his stay on Amoy, the young Shokichi met and began to livewith a woman named Tomeko and this alliance launched him on a new
career. Amoy in this period was an international trading station, much
frequented by foreign sailors. Kurumada therefore speculates that Tomeko
must have been a slightly up-grade version of a karayuki-san or Japanese
prostitute working overseas. In any case, Tomeko had had a long-term
relationship with an English photographer who taught her the essentials of
his trade. These she passed on to Shokichi and, according to Kurumada,his heirs still treasure the ragged notebooks he filled during this tutelage.
In October 1893, Tomeko and Shokichi moved to Singapore and set
up their first photography shop. Although the new business managed toprovide a modest living, the twenty six year-old Shokichi harboredambitions on a far grander scale. Just up the peninsula from Singapore, thefirst big-business rubber plantations were being established, and thisinspired in him a vision of the enormous profits to be made and thepotential for large-scale Japanese immigration to the region. Seized by anidea which promised future benefits to the international aspirations of theUmeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

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Meiji state as well as to himself personally (precisely the kind of balanceof motivations characteristic of many of the period’s young Japanese
pursuing careers abroad), he left the day-to-day running of the shop to
Tomeko and set off on a month-long research trip through southern
Malaya.
In January of the next year (1894), Umeya took a steamer back toJapan with the intention of approaching individuals of political importancein order to gain backing for his scheme. At this stage, of course, he had nosuch connections and therefore had to choose his first target with greatcare. His selection, Oi Kentaro (大井憲太郎), was a stroke of brilliance.
During the late 1870s and early 80s, Oi had been one of the ideologicalleaders of the democratic Jiyu Minken movement and, in 1881, hadjoined the political party backing Itagaki Taisuke as Prime Minister.
During the period of riots and incidents accompanying the suppression andeventual destruction of the movement in the mid-80s, Oi was arrested andimprisoned for having participated in the abortive Osaka uprising of 1885.
Released in 1889, under a general amnesty, he joined the newly-revived
Jiyu-to party in 1890 and then dropped out to create his own splinterparty, the Toyo Jiyu-to ( 東 洋 自 由 党 ). By prefixing the term Toyo(meaning “East Asian”) to his own party name, he was signaling a new
departure for frustrated Japanese liberals, one which moved the theater ofoperations away from domestic activity and toward radical, liberationist
activity on the continent. In a brochure he issued at this time he criticized
the fixation of the Japanese democratic movement on purely domestic
issues, saying, “today’s world is one of international confrontation. In thisera that which is necessary is firming up our international policy, ofachieving enrichment of the nation ( 富 国 ) by moving forward in acoordinated manner on both the military and trade fronts, of economic
advancement.”
In other words, around the time Umeya Shokichi approached him, Oi
himself was re-directing his efforts toward that form of pan-Asianism

110Peter B. High

which came to be known as nanshin-ron (南進論 or “movement toward
the south”). Of course, from our vantage-point of historical hindsight, we
can clearly recognize in its naïve formulation of the national mission interms of idealistic, liberationist “internationalism” as containing the seed
which would eventually grow into the ultranationalist expansionism of alater era. In 1894, however, there was no way to foresee its subsequent
historical development. Quite the contrary; such idealism was wholly
genuine, serving to inspire the activity of many young entrepreneurs
abroad and of liberal thinkers and political leaders at home. As we shallsee, Umeya was about to become one of the most outstanding
representatives of the former group.
Without an introduction from an intermediary, the youthful Umeya-------dressed in formal attire with top hat, tailed frock and white gloves-------presented himself at Oi’s door and asked for an interview with the greatman. Apparently, the two took to each other instantly and they formed analliance which would last until Oi’s death a few decades later. The result
was that Oi promised to pull together the funds for Umeya’s plan and to
draw in other big-name political and cultural figures. Although there is no
direct historical evidence for this, one suspects that the alliance also had
an impact on the younger man’s political opinions, providing a little
ideological shape to the ideas and passions he felt instinctively. ThroughOi, Umeya would meet and and eventually form close relations with abroad spectrum of other Pan-Asianist Japanese thinkers (including
Toyama Mitsuru, who would eventually become an ultranationalist icon).
In fact, up to the end of his own life in 1934, this thread of thinking(frozen, as it were, at the developmental stage it had achieved in the
1890s), along with the democratic/revolutionary ideas provided by his
subsequent close cooperation with Sun Yat Sen, would form the alpha andomega of his political “ideology.” (I bracket ideology in quotes here
because Umeya was an instinctive activist, rather than a thinker; themotivation for much or even all of his activity seeming to have come froma brash generosity and romanticism of spirit rather than any particularUmeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

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brand of political theory.)
In April 1894, Umeya returned to Singapore in the company of Oi’sson, Chiyuki, and another young Oi collaborator. Apparently, news of theirplan to pioneer Southeast Asia for a future wave of Japanese immigration
into the region preceded their arrival. Umeya was an overnight celebrity
among the Japanese in Singapore, Malaya and even Hong Kong. As it
turned out, however, the plans came to nothing. Oi Kentaro nevermanaged to gather the funds he had promised and Umeya himself soon
had other projects to dominate his thoughts and activities.
With the outbreak in June 1894 of the war between Japan and China,
Singapore’s Chinese merchant (華僑) community turned hostile, causing
Umeya and Tomeko to move their photography shop to Hong Kong, a hiveof anti-Qing activity at the time. With its close proximity to Canton, it had
already become the base of Chinese revolutionaries trying to overthrow
the Manchu dynasty. And it was here, at his residence on the second floorof Umeya Shosokan (梅谷照相館), his newly established shop, that Umeda
first received a visit from Sun Yat Sen (孫文). The encounter, on January 4,
1895, lasted all day and resulted in Umeya’s passionate conversion to thecause of the Chinese revolution. Almost immediately, he entered on a lifeof clandestine meetings and activities. As his shop prospered, he diverted
sizeable sums to the collection of arms and other materiel for Sun’splanned operations in southern China. In October of that year, Umeya
managed to procure six hundred pistols which he hid in barrels of dry
cement supplies and shipped off to Sun’s revolutionary army which wasplanning an assault on the military barracks outside Canton. This first
foray in military activity proved abortive, however. When one of Sun’smen betrayed the plot to Qing authorities on the eve of the uprising,Umeya’s shipment was intercepted before it could be unloaded and severalof Sun’s lieutenants were arrested and executed.
Under pressure from the Chinese government, British colonial
authorities proscribed Sun from re-entering the colony for a period of five
years, forcing him to slip back and forth across the border in secret for112Peter B. Highsubsequent meetings with Umeya and his other allies. When Sun decided
to move his operations overseas, Umeya arranged for his passage to Kobe.
There, Sun was startled to find himself besieged by reporters eager to hear
the details of his intrepid exploit. Although the coverage was largely
friendly, his new celebrity was sure to make him an easy target for Qing
agents in Japan and so Umeya provided further funding to move on to
America for a fund-raising tour of speaking engagements. And, since theChinese community there proved cool to Sun’s revolutionary program,Umeya continued to provide him with funds. His diary of the period issprinkled with such short entries as: “December 20, 1895: Sent Sun$1,000.”
Despite his active involvement with Anti-Manchu seditionists--------a factwidely known, at least among his fellow countrymen in Hong Kong-------Umeya’s relations with the British colonial authority continued to berelatively trouble-free during most of the time he resided in Hong Kong.
Among the fairly small colony of Japanese traders and consular officials,
he was apparently lionized as a crusader for justice. From this point
onward, his photography shop became a favored gathering spot for young
Japanese residents and short-term visitors who now took to calling him“sensei” (although the narrow meaning of the term is “teacher,” it is also
used as a more general term of respect for illustrious individuals in all
spheres of activity). Before long, he found himself surrounded by an evergrowing coterie of young men (both Japanese and Chinese) who called
themselves his “pupils” (弟子). For some it was the beginning of a lifelong commitment, marked by passionate loyalty and service. When, someyears later, Umeya embarked on his film promotion career, these
individuals formed the core of his new company, M. Pathé.
Umeya’s personal charisma, his reputation for largesse and solicitude(he was known as a soft touch for anyone in dire need of a loan, forinstance), along with his aura of intrigue, romance and notoriety, weresurely the main cause for his allure. Others apparently came to him under
entirely different circumstances, however. Such was Harima Katsutaro (播Umeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario113磨勝太郎), an individual who would figure prominently in Umeya’s early

film promotion activities both on the peninsula and in Japan. Harima washimself the object of much notoriety of a sort far more sinister than
Umeya. Kurumada relates the tale of how Umeya “took possession” of thegangster Harima by challenging him to a round of hanafuda (a card game)and defeating him so soundly that Harima ended up betting (and losing)his very person. In this unlikely tale--------for which Kurumada cites nodocumentary source as evidence--------Harima and his entire gang were thenbound over to Umeya like so many feudal vassals and shipped off to
Singapore where he set them up in a Japanese-style inn. The proximity ofthis account in Kurumada’s book to a longish interview with Umeya’s
grand-daughter, Kunigata Seiko, suggests that she may have been thesource, but this remains unclear. Tanaka Jun’ichiro, in his Nihon Eiga
Hattatsu-shi, meanwhile, states that Umeya first met Harima in Singapore,
where he was already running an inn. Around 1905, Harima would entercinema history as the owner of the first movie theater in Singapore (withclose support from both Umeya and Pathe Freres) and as a pioneer film
promoter in Thailand and Malaya. Later, when he moved back to Japan, heand some of his underlings worked for M. Pathé. Whether or not Harimaand his men did indeed consider themselves to be the “possessions” of
Umeya remains completely unclear. On the other hand, the story attests tothe manner in which Umeya’s biography has become encrusted withapparently legendary details which at this late date are increasingly
difficult to separate from fact.
It is, however, clear that Umeya had a penchant for taking on
significant personal responsibility for various individuals. Such was thecase of his formal adoption, in 1894, of a Eurasian foundling, a girl he
named Umeko and raised to adulthood. In 1896, he further increased his
local prestige in Hong Kong by founding an orphanage for other mixedblood children. In later years, he would turn his attention to the welfare of
the rather large population of aging Japanese prostitutes (karayuki) in
Hong Kong, helping establish a Buddhist temple (of the Higashi Honganji

114Peter B. Highsect) and cemetery for these individuals. As we shall see, Umeya would
similarly try to imbue his persona as a film promoter with that of a patronof the public good.
In January 1898, Umeya was introduced to the Philippine
independence leader, Emilio Aguinaldo, at a Hong Kong bicycle shopwhere the latter resided during his “voluntary” exile there. Under the termsof the truce signed with the Spanish authorities at Biyaknabato in Luzon,
Aguinaldo had been obliged to leave his homeland in return for anamnesty for his fellow revolutionaries, along with a sizeable payment by
the Spanish government as “reparations.” The truce, however, left Spain incontrol of the islands and all of his followers there had been forced to turnin their weapons. Although the revolution had achieved some moderate
successes in the field (hence the truce), achievement of its goal ofcomplete national independence was still far from realized.
As Umeya would report in his autobiographical pamphlet, Waga Kage
(published by M. Pathé in 1916), he instinctively felt that the struggles
being carried out by Aguinaldo and by Sun Yat Sen were two facets of thesame phenomenon. They were both part of the greater struggle for Asian
autonomy and modernization, the goals of the Meiji revolution. Sun Yat
Sen apparently concurred with this view and it was not long before Umeya
was engaging in the same sort of services he continued to provide Sun-------the collection of funds and the surreptitious shipping of arms.
After the outbreak of hostilities between Spain and the United States
the following month, Aguinaldo appointed Umeya as a liaison officer of
his Revolutionary Army and hurried back to the Philippines. In August,during the last stages of the Filipino-American assault on Manila, Umeya
put in an appearance near the front lines. We still have a photograph,probably taken in the city after its fall, of Umeya in his Filipino army
uniform. Thirty-two at the time, he looks every bit the seasoned militaryman, complete with epaulettes, along with the “Kaiser-style” haircut withwaxed Prussian-officer mustachios he made his trade-mark until late

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middle age.
Although Aguinaldo and his group had fought alongside theAmericans with the tacit understanding they would be allowed to set up an
independent republic, they were cruelly disappointed when, during thepeace process after the war, they found that their country was designatedas a possession of the United States. Almost immediately, Aguinaldo’s
forces were in the field again, this time against their new rulers.
The ultimately unsuccessful struggle would carry on for years more,while Umeya and his new-found colleague, the swash-buckling fellow
Pan-Asianist, Miyazaki Toten ( 宮 崎 滔 天 ), worked to coordinate
Aguinaldo’s resource needs with those of Sun Yat Sen. In October 1899,he used his connections in Japan to help purchase a ship to send arms to
the Filipino insurgents. Known in history as the Nunobiki-maru Incident,
the result was disastrous failure--------the old ship (an oversized yacht,
actually) sank with all its cargo soon after leaving port.
In May of 1900 came the Boxer Rebellion and Umeya’s attention once
again came to be focused on the mainland. He actively supported Sun’sefforts to capitalize on the unrest in Peiping (as Beijing was then called)
by creating an uprising both on Taiwan and in south-central China. The
latter revolt, in October, was on the verge of success when it had to beabandoned because its supply lines were cut. By 1902, the Chinese
revolution seemed to be in hopeless disarray as conflict broke out among
overseas Chinese, including those in Japan, between Sun’s revolutionists
and the faction supporting a party of expelled reformist Qing bureaucrats.
Around this time Umeya became involved in yet another unusualenterprise, conveying a busshari (仏舎利), or relic of the true Buddha, to a
Japanese monastery. Up to this point, he had evinced little interest in
religious matters and it is surprising that Iwamoto Chinawa, a Japanesemilitary education officer attached to the Thai royal court, should
approach him for this service. He was probably drawn to Umeya because
he reputedly controlled a labrynthine network of colleagues andacquaintances stretching to the highest places of government and was a

116Peter B. Highconsummate artist at orchestrating these connections for whatever purpose
he chose. As Col. Iwamoto explained to him, while on an inspection tourof temples in India, he had been approached by a Brahmin priest who told
him of a discovery made during an excavation of an 11th century temple.
Since the foreign archaeologists did not recognize it for what it was, agenuine bone of Buddha, he had managed to get possession of it andwanted it moved to a Buddhist country for safe-keeping. The object
Iwamoto passed over to Umeya was a ten inch high reliquary shaped like astone pagoda. Umeya then contacted the head of the Higashi Honganji sect
and the object was brought to Japan amid great fanfare. Where it is lodged
today, however, is a matter of mystery.
In 1903, Umeya’s wife, Toku, whom he had married on one of his
short excursions home a few years earlier and who was actually his“sister” through adoption by his father, moved in with him in Hong Kong.
His live-in lover, Tomeko, discretely withdrew, moving back to Amoy
before going to Australia. The daughter of a one-time samurai, Toku
possessed enormous energy and business acumen and worked effectively
at Umeya’s side until his death. Her no-nonsense personality brought acertain amount of order to the ever-expanding circle of employees andhangers-on who attached themselves to her husband. On several notableoccasions, she was able to save him from ruin brought on by his heedlessgenerosity.
Within a year of her arrival, events took another dramatic turn. One
April dawn the Umeyas were roused from sleep by an employee whobreathlessly reported that Shokichi’s activities had been betrayed to theHong Kong authorities by one of his aquaintances and that he was inimmanent danger of arrest. Soon the household was in turmoil as baggage
was packed and an employee sent off to get tickets on the next steamer
departing port. Almost as an afterthought, Umeya decided to include
among baggage he would take with him back to Singapore, an Urban
movie projector which had been sent to him some months earlier by his
Singapore-based “vassal,” Harima Katsutaro.

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The traitor was a certain Dr. Kato Tadashiki who in the past hadreceived various favors from Umeya-sensei. Although Umeya had every
reason to be outraged at this act of ingratitude, he decided to put it out ofmind once he arrived in Singapore and ordered his men to do the same.
Back in Hong Kong, however, one of his underlings harbored such agrudge that in the end he sought out Kato and killed him using,appropriately enough, a Japanese sword. The assassin was arrested,deported to Japan, tried and imprisoned. Umeya would never forget his
distinctly feudal obligation to this man, his retainer, and provided funds
for him and then for his family after he died in prison.
Umeya’s fortuitous inclusion of the projector proved a turning point
in his career. Although he still had a wide circle of acquaintances and wellwishers in Singapore, despite his several years absence in Hong Kong,
how was he to support himself and his dependants (he had an adopted
daughter as well as a wife, remember), let alone feed the voracious beastof pan-Asian revolution? In Japan, film promotion had begun seven years
earlier and there was even a full-fledged movie theatre, the Denkikan,
operating in Tokyo’s Asakusa entertainment district since 1902. Even in
Singapore there had been a limited number of showings, usually a single
evening in the mansion of one or another of the wealthy Chinesemerchants. There was, of course, no actual movie theatre; in fact there
were very few venues which could provide the amount of electricalcurrent necessary to run a projector. Another unknown was the reaction of
the populace. Could he build a large enough base of patrons, among the
Malayan and Chinese locals as well as the foreign community, to generatea steady profit? Still, Umeya was used to business gambles and he threw
himself into the new venture with his usual élan.
Along with the projector he had brought along the several short reels,probably scenic material, which came with the machine. Calling on his
Singapore agent, Harima, he managed to get several more features andthen set to work for places to exhibit. His known connection with Sun Yat
Sen, the celebrated but as-yet unsuccessful revolutionary, drew to his side

118

Peter B. Highmany of the more progressive Chinese merchants and they were the ones
who did the leg work. They procured a hall for him, mounted anadvertising campaign and, when the issue of electricity arose, had a small
generator sent down from Penang.
The showings were a sensation from the start. The early fare waslimited to such subjects as “Scenery of Bohemia” and there was noquestion of employing a benshi-style “explainer” as was de rigeur for all
showings in Japan, but there was an especially lively Malayan band toaccompany performances. Before long, wealthy Malayan businessmen
were traveling down from Kuala Lampur to catch a glimpse of Umeya’s
marvel. Success impelled the search for new features and Umeya sent off
his minions to Hong Kong, and then to Osaka, Kobe and Tokyo. One
tendril of the Umeya network stretched all the way to Paris, and from there
he began to import the latest features produced by Pathé Freres. Within theyear, new shipments were arriving with almost every steamer from Europe.
This was the heyday of the French chase comedy--------Pathé’s
specialty--------and the pratfalls and other physical humor came throughwithout a problem to the largely Malay and Chinese audiences. Detective
features and melodramas, however, were another story. With these,intertitles (rudimentary as they still were at the time) were necessary inorder to follow the action. But since the enterprise depended almost
exclusively on Pathé fare, they were all in French, a language spoken byvery few of Britain’s colonial subjects. Umeya, who was after all aprofessional photographer, remedied the problem by rigging up a lab
where he printed and spliced in new titles in English.
In the 1904-5 period, film features came into the hands of exhibitors
by outright purchase, the rental system having yet to emerge. This createdthe problem of what to do with older stock which had already been playedout. One can presume--------although there is no documentary evidence forthis--------that Umeya sold a certain amount to other exhibitors plying thetrade in nearby regions; India for instance was already fertile territory. We
do know that by 1905, he had outfitted several groups, made up of his

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stalwarts, and sent them up the peninsula for showings under tents inurban centers. Harima, who seems to have been operating as a semiindependent agent at this time, tried his hand in Bangkok and then moved
on to the Lanna Thai north. According to Tanaka Jun’ichiro, film
promotion in Thailand had already been pioneered by Watanabe Jisui (渡辺治水), a rubber plantation owner in Malaya who got into film promotion
under a license from Yoshizawa Shoten. When Harima arrived, motion
pictures already had a name in Thai, nang yibpun (Japanese pictures).
Tanaka quotes Watanabe, as recalling having collaborated with Harima“on one or two occasions” in Chiang Mai before discretely pulling away.
Apparently he got rumor of the former gangster’s past.
As certainly was the case with film promoters in Japan, where thenovelty of moving pictures had worn off and the business was beginningto face hard times, the Russo-Japanese of 1904-5 was a spectacular
windfall for Umeya. The entire world was riveted by the epic collision ofAsia’s first modernizing power with one of the European superpowers. In
Britain, America and Singapore as well, sympathy was strongly with the“plucky Japanese” and Asian nationals were particularly pleased withevery one of their victories. Film crews had already been deployed toregions around Peiping during the 1900 Boxer rebellion, but with therather more sophisticated equipment of 1904, coverage of the new war
was far more extensive. When the first footage began to arrive from Japanand from the European production companies, Umeya quickly mounted
special showings. Even the obviously false footage--------featuring desultory
land skirmishes or mock sea battles with model boats maneuvered byunderwater wires (a specialty of the American Selig company)--------drew
ecstatic crowds, with many journeying great distances to attend. Umeya
had for months been reaping handsome profits from the start, but now thebox-office was making him a very wealthy man indeed. These profits,
minus the very substantial donations to his various political causes, wereplowed back into the business to buy new equipment and procure evenmore of the latest films of every sort. Among the latter was his growing

120Peter B. High

collection of color-tinted features produced by Pathé. In fact, he was doing
such a brisk business with the company that it decided to open a small
branch operation in the city in mid-1905 to facilitate the relationship.
Although his stay in Singapore had resulted in fabulous financial
success, Umeya, perhaps at the prodding of his wife Toku, now beganplanning his triumphal return to Japan. In his autobiographical pamphlet,
he claims that the original intention of the trip was merely to explore
promotional opportunities there for his Singapore-based operations. But
once on native ground, and buoyed by the furor his arrival had created, hedecided to stay and attempt to elbow his way into the world of domestic
Japanese promotion.
The Japanese public’s renewed enthusiasm for cinema, thanks to the
Russo-Japanese War footage, had made the business lucrative again. Film
production too was picking up, sometimes under timber-reinforced tents
with flaps to let in the sunlight, but most often shooting was still done outof-doors, weather permitting. Although there were a few individuals who
would emerge to make a few short features at the behest of the owner of atheatre troupe and then return to relative obscurity, the scene was still
dominated by two of the great pioneers of the previous decade. One was
Yokota Einosuke, the ambitious, autocratic and usually self-serving ownerof Yokota Shokai ( 横田商会 ). He had been the first to promote theLumieres Cinematographe, taking over the task from Inabata Katsutaro
who brought it to Japan in the early spring of 1897, just when
Cinematographes and Vitascopes were pouring into the country fromevery direction.
Yokota’s personality contrasted sharply with that of the textile
executive, Inabata. A bold gambler where the latter was careful andfastidious, he had all the strengths and weaknesses of the self-educatedman. Yokota was cut from much the same cloth as Umeya Shokichi andhad plunged into late nineteenth-century America to make his own fortune.
He had belonged to that breed of young Japanese called “America-rollers”

Umeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

121(アメゴロ), youths who worked their way across the continent taking odd
jobs and picking up a rough-hewn education along the way. Returningwith an x-ray machine, which he had purchased after first seeing it at the
Chicago World’s Fair, he promoted it as an attraction in a wooden hut
grandly named Hall of Mysteries. Success in this enterprise had brought
him to the attention of Inabata. After his early and very successfulpromotion of the Cinematographe, he found himself the head of a growing
production company with branches in the Kanto, Kansai and the Kyushu
regions. Around the time Umeya appeared in Tokyo, Yokota was preparing
to approach the Kyoto theatre owner Makino Shozo to undertake theregular production of period-piece film dramas for his company.
The other dominant film promoter was Kawaura Ken’ichi of the
Yoshizawa Company, who had been a rival of Yokota’s in promoting theCinematographe in the late nineties. Adopted through marriage into thewealthy Yoshizawa family, and thus inheriting the family company,
Kawaura was reputed to have the Midas Touch. Striking out into the mostunusual business ventures--------selling ukiyo-e reproductions by mail toforeigners, being the first to market Japanese stamps to European andAmerican collectors, making and selling attractively hand-colored lanternslides to schools and civic groups--------he made each of his ventures a modelof success. When he took up the film promotion business, he already had a
network of lantern-show exhibitors working the rural backwaters of thenation as well as the urban centers. Kawaura was therefore in an ideal
situation when his old friend Cipione Braccialini, an Italian advisor to theJapanese army, turned up at the Yoshizawa offices in January 1897 with apair of porters puffing up the stairs under the weight of a huge packing
case with the Cinematographe and a stock of films inside. In the following
years, he continued to collect projectors from all the major manufacturers
in order to give his enterprise an edge in its rivalry with Yokota company.
Pioneering the concept of “newsfilms” in 1903, he sent off teams ofcameramen to the front during the recent war, as had, of course, Yokota.
Kawaura too was now considering how to launch his company into the122Peter B. High

full-time production of films.
Therefore, although Umeya faced seasoned rivals in film promotion
when he arrived back in Japan in the summer of 1905, film production
was still a relatively fallow field open to new-comers.
After his splashy and financially very successful debut at the Shin
Tomiza Theatre, he set about securing business quarters for himself in thecapital city and finally settled on a large mansion in Kabuto-cho near the
Ichigaya station. His living quarters were on the expansive first floor, withviews out onto several enclosed gardens while the upper story was initiallyused as a warehouse for his films. From the start, the establishment
swarmed with employees as well as the same assortment of foreignémigrés, political activists and adventurers as he had had around him in
Singapore. Even as he shouldered the burden of starting up a newcompany, he continued to devote large amounts of money toward theestablishment of a Chinese-language magazine, Minbao (民報), which was
published in Tokyo and distributed to the émigré population. With articles
by Sun and other revolutionists, it quickly became a must-read publication
among young Chinese intellectuals based in Japan and even on themainland.
During the first months, business activities focused on importationand exhibition of films. Initially the latter was carried out in the larger
cities, but it was not long before Umeya had outfitted bands of exhibitors
who took his ware out into the provinces. In time this became a very
popular activity among the younger employees since, out in the
countryside, they tended to be looked upon as celebrities in their own right,
making them the object of the affections of the local girls.
In late 1905, M. Pathé began film production with a film featuring
geisha dances shot in a restaurant garden in Meguro. Umeya himself
turned the crank of the Urban camera he had purchased less than a month
before. For his next project he selected a stage-play, Tengo Koji, which
was still on the boards at a theatre in Kanda. His third film was even moreprestigious, since it featured the great Kawakami Otojiro, the founder ofUmeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

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the shinpa (“new faction”) form of drama. The Yoshizawa Company had
already shot the Kabuki version of Tainanko, and he therefore decided to
do a shinpa version of the same play. After its successful release, Umeya
and Kawakami found they shared basically the same political opinions andthey became lifetime friends.
By late 1906, film production--------still largely carried out under the
open sky--------had become an essential arm of the M. Pathé enterprise andthe film warehouse on the second floor of his mansion was converted into
the company’s development lab. Visitors would invariably be struck by theacrid chemical smells permeating the entire mansion and the surrounding
grounds. Focusing on films with an unusual twist, he did one featuring an
all-female sumo group. Audiences were fascinated and two years later heemployed the all-female Nakamura Kahen Ichiza to make a production of
the Kabuki play Soga no Yauchi. In this era, real film actresses werevirtually unknown in Japan, the cinema industry having chosen to adopt
the Kabuki convention of using onnagata (called oyama, in film) female
impersonators. The movie proved to be such a hit, M. Pathé did a string offeatures with the same troupe. Each showing was a gala event withmusicians, sound-effects men (who rumbled sheet-metal and clatteredwooden or metal objects). The girls themselves too reproduced the songs
and dialog from behind the screen.
For the first two years of its existence, M. Pathé films were showneither in small theatres specially rented for a short-run of performances or,as was inevitably the case in smaller towns, under portable tents. In early
1907, Umeya procured his first permanent venue when he purchased theIzutsu, an old yose (a kind of hut used by small Kabuki troupes) in Osaka,
and outfitted it for regular film showings. By the end of 1908, he had threetheatres in Tokyo--------the Dai-ichi Bunmeikan in Ushigomi, the Dai-ni
Bunmeikan in Azabu and the Kinen Taikan in the Ueno Park area. Overthe next few years, his chain continued to grow until it could boast several
theatres in each of the major cities as well as at least one in most smallerurban centers. In even smaller towns, he would sometimes share124

Peter B. Highownership with one or the other of his rivals.
In late 1906, Umeya decided the hallmark of his promotiondistribution enterprise should be “public benefit” and he began seriously
importing documentary-type features aimed at educating the masses about
the principles of modern science. From the beginning, the Lumieres
brothers had regarded their invention as a recording device to capture“actualités”--------the shapes, movements and rhythms of things as they
really were. They tended to see it as a tool for the diffusion of culture andscientific knowledge. Thereafter, a sizeable bulk of their substantial
production was devoted to such actualité features. Later, in both Englandand France, much effort was devoted to the development of cameras
capable of being used under water or affixed to a microscope.
By 1906, the era of “educational film” was already in full swing.
According to Kurumada, it was Sun Yat Sen who first suggested to Umeya
the educational possibilities of cinema. He may well have had in mindfeatures intended to enlighten the public about the aspirations of his own
movement--------while never a great military strategist, he was without adoubt a dedicated, consummate propagandist. In any case, the idea clearlystruck Umeya as an opportunity to present himself to his countrymen in
the role of public benefactor and he threw himself into this line of activity
with his characteristic intensity. It is hard to imagine how he thought hecould earn back the tremendous investment he made in collecting andpromoting such features as Hermit Crabs or Diseases of the Nervous
System (to name just two of the thousands of titles listed in a catalog,
Katsudo Jissha Hyakka Jiten, issued by M. Pathé in 1911), but he stuckwith the project until the company was dissolved in 1912.
As a matter of fact, one of Umeya’s very early ventures into public
enlightenment cinema was crowned with a success much heralded in thepress. In late 1906, the Yamagata region was undergoing a serious cholera
epidemic, with thousands sick and scores already dead. Public healthofficials in the prefecture were becoming desperate when Umeya
approached them with the idea of taking the film Research on Microbes (aUmeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

125

German production) on a tour throughout all the towns and hamlets intheir region. As a result, the tour went ahead with a health official part ofthe program to explain the nature of microscopic life forms and the needto boil water to stop the spread of infection. When the epidemic died out
the following year, Umeya and his film was given full credit for thefavorable turn of events.
M. Pathé itself quickly grew into a prominent producer of
documentaries of all sorts, in the fields of science, culture as well as topics
of current interest. In the late 1909, for instance, the public had been
shocked by the assassination in Manchuria of Ito Hirobumi. A prime
minister on several occasions, Ito had been one of the original architects of
the Meiji state and, as such, a dominant member of the genro, the innercircle of advisors to the Emperor. However, when Umeya’s cameramenapplied for permission to shoot the funeral within the Palace grounds, theImperial Household Agency, apparently sharing the widely held notionthat motion pictures were a form of new-fangled vulgarity,contemptuously refused, although they did allow free access to the official
still photographers. Undiscouraged, a pair of M. Pathé cameramen
secreted themselves within the ground the night before the funeral and, inblack tie and tails, joined the cortege to record the event from close
proximity. When they were discovered by a security agent who tried toconfiscate their footage, they succeeded in substituting an undeveloped
reel for the exposed one. Its release in November became a national
sensation.
In 1911, M. Pathé elated patrons by the most dramatic documentary
footage of the entire era when a cameraman, Taizumi Yasunao, was put
aboard the Kainan-Maru bound for Antarctica. Umeya had earned thisprivilege for his company by donating four thousand yen (a huge amountof money for the time) toward the expedition. He had, in fact, been asponsor from the start and was a close friend of Capt. Shirose, who headed
the expedition. Europe and the United States were just then vying for thehonor of being the first to reach the South Pole--------roughly the equivalent126Peter B. Highof being the first to put a man on the Moon. Japan’s entry into thecompetition marked an historic first; never before had a non-white nationcompeted on equal footing in such a venture. The ship departed in July
1910 and its return the following year, having achieved at least partial
success, was considered an event of vast national importance, indeed oneof the crowning achievements of the Meiji state. When the film wasdeveloped, however, it was discovered that the images had deteriorated
badly in the heat during the ship’s passage of the equator. Even the scenesthat could be retrieved tended to be blotchy. Still, when they were finallyreleased in M. Pathé theatres around the nation, the enthusiasm ofaudiences rivaled that of those who had wildly cheered the footage fromthe front during the Russo-Japanese war. The short clips still available forviewing today--------of massive, startlingly white icebergs and of expedition
members cavorting with a herd of solemn yet fearless penguins--------are infact quite beautiful.
By 1911--------which actually marks the last year of M. Pathé’s
existence as an independent company--------Umeya had a full-fledged movie
studio up and running in Okubo, a largely uninhabited region immediately
adjacent to Shinjuku. When he first moved his operations there in 1908,
production of drama films was carried out among the trees and garden
paths of the huge mansion, formerly owned by an aristocrat, which stoodon the property and which now became the Umeya’s new family residence.
Scenes using artificial sets were shot in a large, canvass-roofed hut. In alocation not far removed--------the still densely-wooded Meguro region-------Yoshizawa’s Kawaura had already thrown up a similar studio in 1907. In
1909, he transformed it into a state-of-the-art production facility bybuilding Japan’s all-glass shooting stage. Umeya followed suite with his
own all-glass stage in 1910.
Drama film production in those days centered on shinpa melodramas,
the most common variety being rather lachrymose tales about the troubled
lives of women in Japan’s male-dominated society. Iwafuji Shisetsu, who
was also M. Pathé’s leading benshi and superintendent of the company’sUmeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

127

benshi-training school, was also its most accomplished filmmaker. In his
shinpa tragedy Hototogisu (1909), he experimented with editing
techniques just then coming to the fore in the U.S., by cutting back andforth in time. His war story, Yamatozakura (1909), was also permeatedwith sadness, this time for the “little people,” common foot soldiers,
caught in the teeth of a war far beyond their comprehension. The theme
apparently rang true to contemporary audiences, despite the film’s rather
primitive visual effects.
Throughout its six or so years of existence, the financial fortunes of
M. Pathé remained in a perpetual state of disarray, reproducing the boomand-bust career of its founder. Not only were profits regularly diverted tosupport Sun Yat Sen, Umeya’s managerial style often defied fiscal
commonsense. Like the inveterate gambler he was in private life (he was askilled devotee of mahjong, for instance), he would invest great chunks ofthe company’s operating capital in new ventures as the inspiration struck
him, only some of which paid off. Even on these occasions--------and he didhave a surprising number of successes--------the proceeds would have to bepassed on to clamoring creditors. With the entrance in 1910 of anotherpowerful rival, Kobayashi Kisaburo’s Fukuhodo Co., the field was
becoming overcrowded at just the time when the whole industry wasentering on one of its periodic recessions.
In the winter of 1910-11, with his company now ranking fourthstrongest in a field of four, Umeya was stuck by another of thoseinspirations which periodically set his mind afire. Some twenty months
before, the most powerful American production companies had banded
together under joint Edison-Biograph leadership in a protective tradeassociation called the Motion Picture Patents Association, or MPPC. In
1910, the new cartel ruled supreme, absorbing or crushing all rivals. With
its power and influence even being felt in Europe, it looked very much likethe wave of the future for the industry worldwide. Umeya, whose ideas
now rolled and billowed like storm clouds, seized on the idea of dissolving
all four of the existing Japanese companies, his own included, and128Peter B. Highrecombining them into one vast monopoly, which he dubbed the Greater
Japan Film Equipment Manufacturing Company (大日本フィルム機会製造会社). Once again he began manipulating his famous network of contacts
to draw in aristocrats, high-ranking politicians and even zaibatsu
executives as trustees of his new enterprise. The first meetings of thisgroup, where they incorporated and began issuing stock, were reported
prominently in the press. Out of almost nothing, Umeya had launched arevolution which would open a new chapter in Japanese film history.
Dissolving his own company and selling it to the new holding
company for six hundred thousand yen (thus making a reasonable profit,
part of which he again sent to Sun, who had just become “interim
president” of the fledgling Chinese republic), he and his colleagues set
about convincing the other companies to join in. Although the press tended
to herald these developments as the ineluctable movement of the industry
toward an American-style future, the attitude of the other companies waslargely negative. A few months earlier, when a group calling itself JapanPresse approached Yokota with the same idea (a move apparently
unrelated to Umeya’s activity) Yokota had dismissed it out of hand.
To overcome the resistance, Umeya took out ads in which he opined:“This is truly a Warring States period for Japanese cinema […] Fierce
competition has caused all of us to fall back on low-brow, vulgar
entertainments, rather than providing the public with the quality of cinema
it needs and deserves. If the present trend continues, over-all qualitative
improvement will never be achieved, thus assuring the mutual collapse of
all our companies. The writing is on the wall. It gives me the shivers tothink of it.”
Whatever his original motives--------and one suspects that theseincluded financial distress, a passionate involvement with the historic
events just then engulfing China in the immediate aftermath of thecollapse of the Qing imperial state, and perhaps even a certain amount ofboredom with the day-to-day running of his own company--------Umeya
seems to have come to believe in his own propaganda. To everyone around,Umeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

129

he exuded confidence that the other companies would see thereasonableness of his proposition. A more tangible mark of this confidence
was his decision to underwrite the daily running expenses of the newcorporation out of pocket.
Since Kawaura of the Yoshizawa company seemed the least averse-------having actually named a possible buy-out figure of one million--------hebecame the first target for intensive negotiations and on March 15 (1911)
he was brought into the trust at the cost of 750 thousand. Then, withindays, Yokota became the next target. Kawaura’s capitulation had of course
put him under great pressure and so he set afoot a scheme to make the bestof the inevitable and to artificially elevate the ultimate sale value of his
enterprise. It had already been agreed that a company’s value would be
calculated in terms of the amount of footage of exposed film stock it
possessed. Therefore, he sent out word to Makino Shozo, his studio chiefin Kyoto, to immediately set to work churning out films: “Do one a day, if
possible and quality be damned!” On March 30, Yokota was bought out
for 750,000.
Fukuhodo’s Kobayashi Kisaburo was therefore the last man left
standing. A businessman as wily as they come, he was a past (and future)master of giant corporate maneuvering. Furthermore, he had on his side akeen perception of the absolute illogicality of the entire scheme, one
which would soon be validated as correct. He took out ads of his own topoint out that the overt aim of the trust, the elimination of competition in
the industry, would lead to low quality films and the stagnation of theentire industry. Each ad ended with the declaration, “I will never give in topressure! I will never be bought out!” One thing he did not advertise was
the fact that he had secretly obtained the Japanese patent to a color film
system--------involving red, blue, green and yellow filters rotating in front of
the camera and then the projector--------from which he fully expected tomake a killing.
Kobayashi did eventually sell out, in May. The price was 976,000(plus a takeover of its company debts). Considering the fact that Fukuhodo

130Peter B. Highwas still only about fifteen months old at the time and was not yet
completely solvent, Kobayashi had scored a coup of sorts and had
managed to come away with the largest personal profit of any of the four
company presidents.
The buy-outs had cost the new company far more than originallyplanned. What is more, Mitsubishi, which had promised to back the newconcern with its stupendous financial bulk, pulled out a few weeks before
it was formally inaugurated. On July 28, the trust company--------renamed at
the last minute Nihon Katsudou Shashin Kabushikigaisha (“Nikkatsu,” forshort) --------was launched onto troubled seas.
The desertion by Mitsubishi caused Nikkatsu stock prices to plummet
and since Umeya had taken the lead in pushing the stocks to many of his
acquaintances, he felt obliged to reimburse them as best he could. On
January 1, 1913, he decided to quit the new company which he himself
had done so much to launch and on whose board of trustees he held a very
prominent position (Goto Shinpei being the titular company president).
Although he characterized his retirement as an act of penance to the stillunreimbursed share-holders, it appears he had actually grown suddenly
weary of his central position in Japanese film production and production.
Thereafter his film-related activity focused on projects commissioned byvarious independent sponsors.
Although the subsequent career of Nikkatsu is beyond the scope of thispaper, we might note that Kobayashi Kisaburo had indeed been correct in
his prediction. Older film historians with an actual knowledge of the films
produced in Nikkatsu’s early period (none of which have survived in their
entirety for us to see today) recall them as being of distinctly lower quality
when compared to those produced during the time when the four
companies were operating independently. Tanaka Jun’ichiro suggests thatthe major reason for this was the bickering and disarray on the set.
Nikkatsu was riven by factionalism among the former employees of theoriginal companies, each of which had had its own, quite different
procedures for turning out a film. Within a couple of years, all of the oldUmeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

131

company heads--------with the notable exception of Yokota, who becamecompany president--------withdrew. Kobayashi Kisaburo, for instance,
established a new rival company, Tennnen Katsudo Shashin (“Tenkatsu”),
to make films using his secretly-held color film patent rights.
Umeya had to struggle until 1920 to pay off his debts to his original
share-holders. In the meantime he continued as a marginal presence in theindustry with a small-scale production company named “M. Kashii” (the“Kasii” being a katakana version of his wife’s family name). In 1913,
former employees who continued to feel intense loyalty to their old
oyabun had joined him in its establishment. From the start it was little
more than a part-time venture, dabbling in the promotion of educationalfeatures and making a few films to advertise various business concerns.
1913 was also the year in which the Umeyas had a very prominenthouseguest--------Sun Yat Sen. Although the latter had been named “interim
president” after the revolution of 1911, Yuan Shih Kai, the powerful leaderof the Baiyang military clique, managed to unseat him and took over thereigns of government himself. Since Yuan had already assassinated Sun’svice-president, it was clear that his life too was in danger, and so he foundhimself once again in exile. Arriving in Japan in secret, the date of whichis unclear, he was eventually taken into the Umeya household on August
13, 1913, according to Kurumada. We do know Sun’s wedding to Soong
Ching-ling was celebrated at the mansion in early 1914, but when hedeparted is not known for sure.
Two years after Sun’s death in Beijing in 1925, Umeya was seizedwith the ambition to use his M. Kashii company to make a great
docudrama about his Chinese friend and colleague. With Japanesemachinations on the continent already creating great tension with Chiang
Kai Shek’s Kuomintang government, he saw it as a means ofdemonstrating Japanese friendship toward China--------in these final years of
his life, he had become, if anything, even more devoted to politics andamity between the Chinese and Japanese peoples. In 1927, he began132Peter B. High

collecting funds for the film and by 1930 had authored a script (still
extant) for his “all-talkie” project. As usual, the plans were grandiose, andunrealistic. He envisioned an international cast including Japanese,
Chinese and English actors and a shooting budget rivaling the biggest
productions then being made in Japan. Needless to say, it came to nothing.
M. Kashii by this time was in dire financial straits (at one point Shochiku
was going to take it over, but then backed out) and by 1931 was little morethan a phantom.
After the Manchurian Incident of 1931, Sino-Japanese relations werein deep crisis. As the army, moving on its own accord, proceeded to annex
Jehol and other regions near Beijing, the scent of all-out war was clearly inthe air. Umeya, who continued to have close personal relations with many
Kuomintang officials and with high-ranking anti-war political figures inTokyo, tried to play the role of go-between in order to achieve some sortof compromise. In 1933, he sent a personal letter to Chiang himself telling
him that he had certain high-level political backing to open a dialogue
between their two countries. The contents of Chiang’s reply, some weeks
later, were apparently disclosed to the Japanese military. Officers in theHigh Command were outraged by such meddling and marked Umeya for
retribution.
Sometime after one p.m. on February 28, 1933, a party of Kempeitai
military police marched in on Umeya as he lay in bed suffering from aparticularly severe attack of asthma, an ailment he’d had since childhood.
They demanded to know the details of his relationship with Chiang andthe names of his backers in Japan. Some days later, he had to present
himself at the office of the Thought Police (tokko keisatsu) where heunderwent a grilling which made it clear they regarded him a serious
political criminal. The press got news of his detention and assuming it to
be a form of arrest, blared the news to the nation: “KEMPEITAI REACT
TO A TREASONOUS LETTER: What is Umeya Shokichi, really??”
Other papers called him a traitor outright, while suggesting that he wasalso involved in the drug trade.

Umeya Shokichi: The Revolutionist as Impresario

133

Umeya had a few secret sympathizers among the political elite,
however, and it seems they pulled strings to smooth over the incident. In
the end, he was forced to write “an apology to the nation” for his activity,
after which he was released. No further charges were brought against him.
The next year, Umeya was again trying to play the role of go-between
and the foreign minister, Hirota Koki, apparently felt he could be of use.
In the late fall of that year, Umeya was invited in to discuss a trip to China
as an unofficial emissary.
Leaving his house at 7 a.m., on November 15, he went to the station of
the intra-city train line. Shortly before his train arrived, he suddenly
collapsed and had to be carried back to his mansion. For about a year
before his collapse he had been suffering from severe abdominal pains
which had been diagnosed as an ulcer. It was in fact the final stages ofcancer. Umeya lingered on in pain for about a week and finally succumbedon November 23, 1934.
At his funeral, his casket was draped with two flags, the Japanese flagand that of the Republic of China. Displayed prominently next to his blackbordered photograph was a quote from the Last Will and Testament of Sun
Yat Sen, in which Umeya is singled out for special thanks for his loyalty
and service to the Chinese revolution.

主な参考文献車田譲治『国父孫文と梅谷庄吉』（昭和 50 年，六興出版）
田中純一郎『日本映画発達史・I』（昭和 32 年，中央公論社）
石田文四郎『新聞記録収集・明治大事件史』（昭和 29 年，錦正社）
宮崎とうてん『三十三年の夢』（昭和 46 年，平凡社）
今村三四夫『日本映画文献史』（昭和 42 年，鏡裏書房）
安岡章太郎『活動写真のある風景』（平成 4 年，岩波書店）
吉田知恵男『もう一つの映画史』（昭和 53 年，時事通信社）
筈見恒夫『映画五十年史』（昭和 17 年，鯨書房）

134Peter B. High日活株司会者『日活 40 年史』（昭和 27 年，日活）
木下宗一『密録日本の百年・下』（昭和 49 年，前出社）
岩本憲児（編）「キネマの青春」（昭和 63 年，Libro 社）
岸松雄『人物日本映画史』（昭和 45 年，ダビッド社）