Woman of Month: Mariko

Toda Mariko from Shōgun

Over the past couple of months my friend and I have been making our way through Shōgun, and it’s no secret that the female characters more or less steal the show – which is impressive considering they’re up against Hiroyuki Sanada as Yoshii Toranaga, Manipulative Chessmaster extraordinaire.

When English sailor John Blackthorne runs aground on Japanese shores during the Sengoku Period, he’s thrown headlong into a dangerous world about which he knows nothing. His only avenue of comprehension is the translator appointed to him by the daimyo Toranaga who sees his value as a political asset. This translator is astute and poised and observant, and also happens to be stunningly beautiful: Mariko.

Yes, we’ve seen this story before: the white outsider falls for the beautiful princess and is gradually accepted into her culture (probably becoming better at it along the way than those who’ve been raised within it). I confess to groaning when the two characters lock eyes for the first time, as the show couldn’t have been more obvious about what was going to happen.

But then we get the rest of the story, in which Mariko’s love affair with Blackthorne plays only a very small part, and is more about her than him.

As Toranaga’s translator, she’s in a unique position compared to the women that surround her. Although they hold different degrees of their own power and agency, Mariko is at the very heart of political discussion and intrigue, for as a result of her linguistic talent she is a necessary participant in private meetings between Toranaga and Blackthorne. All communication passes through her; all the men involved are dependent on her honesty and intelligence.

She’s defined by her composure, though some (such as her husband) would call it iciness, a persona that is explained as her backstory gradually comes to light. Her father killed a daimyo in an act of treason that led to him being ordered to kill his own family before committing seppuku himself. Mariko would have been amongst the dead, were it not for her husband forbidding her involvement.

Rather than being grateful for this reprieve, Mariko longs for death. Unhappy in her marriage, estranged from her son, ashamed of her family – she’s bereft on all sides, gleaning only the tiniest bit of happiness from Blackthorne, which of course, comes with its own expiry date.

Another interesting facet to her character is her conversion to Christianity, though sadly this isn’t explored in any real depth. What was it about the religion that drew her to it? How does she reconcile it with certain aspects of the culture she belongs to? Is she a true believer, or is it a ploy to get closer to the Portuguese missionaries?

Matters of faith fascinate me, and it’s a shame we learn relatively little about what the gospels mean to her, especially when contrasted with her Death Seeker mentality and her desire to commit seppuku.

Throughout it all, Anna Sawai’s performance is captivating, in which so much is conveyed through her eyes: longing, anger, regret, sadness. Her expression remains impassive, but her eyes are windows to the soul. Heck, this story could have been vastly improved by cutting Blackthorne entirely and making her the protagonist, giving the show more time to explore the fascinatingly contradictory parts of herself.

SPOILERS

I had decided to make Mariko the subject of this particular entry a while ago, and at the time was not aware of how her story ended. In the most recent episode I’ve seen, she perished in an attack designed to undermine Toranaga, by deliberately positioning herself against a door that is about to be blown up by explosives.

I’m not entirely sure how any of this plays out in either the book or the original miniseries, but the show takes measures to avoid the usual fridging clichés. Here Mariko takes the opportunity to go out on her own terms: to fulfil her lord’s mission, to try and shield the other women in the storeroom, and to protest what’s being done to her.

It is about her duty, her tragedy, her sacrifice – what it means to her and why she does it.