The Face of Seventeen Years, the Footsteps of Sixty Years [Slate]

Director Ko Heeyoung’s Documentary “The Face in the Photo”
The Power of Photography Proven by Shisei Kuwabara

In 1960, a twenty-three-year-old young man who had just graduated from Tokyo University of Agriculture set out alone for Minamata with a camera in hand. After reading a report on Minamata disease in a magazine given to him by a friend, he decided to cover the story. His name was Shisei Kuwabara, who would later be recognized as a leading figure in Japanese photojournalism.

Still cut from the movie 'The Face of the Photo'.

Upon arriving in Minamata, Kuwabara went straight to the hospital. In the ward, about six patients were lying in bed. He pondered how to take their photographs. While a realistic approach would convey a lot, he did not want viewers to simply look away. He needed to shoot softly. Not wanting to be a burden, he estimated exposure and focus by eye. He took two or three photos and put his camera down. He only pressed the shutter again if someone specifically asked him to take more. Thanks to his consideration and care, the villagers welcomed him, calling him “student-san.” In this way, he gradually became part of the community.

Director Koh Heeyoung’s documentary film "The Face in the Photograph" closely traces the trajectory of these 66 years. Out of the one million shots Kuwabara took in Minamata, Seoul, Hanoi, Pyongyang, and other places, a carefully curated selection chronicles his winding path. His work in Minamata, the starting point of this entire journey, is still ongoing. Every year, he visits to check on the well-being of patients and their families. His attitude is to remain a neighbor who has shared half a century with his sources rather than a mere journalist.

“Minamata disease is still an ongoing incident and a great tragedy for every single person affected. Now, most of them are approaching their sixties, and the disease itself is gradually being forgotten by the world. That is why I try even harder to visit. I believe photographs do not fade.”

Still cut from the movie 'The Face in the Photograph'.

Words and memories become blurred with time. Faces etched onto film do not. A single photograph taken long ago still remains as vivid as in that moment, serving as evidence that clings to a world’s indifference. The clearest example of this conviction is Tomoko Uemura. When Kuwabara first met her, she was four years old, and had already been exposed to mercury from the fetal stage through her mother. She could neither speak nor walk. The photograph taken at the time is now displayed at the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography. The girl is gone, but her face still meets someone, even today.

Over sixty years ago, many more people saw this photo. Its impact on society was profound. Kuwabara’s first solo exhibition, “Minamata Disease: Factory Effluent and Coastal Fishermen,” held at Fuji Photo Salon in Yurakucho, Tokyo, in 1962, is proof of this. Not only the photography world but the general public recognized the weight of an incident detected by an unknown young man working alone. That same year, Kuwabara received the Newcomer Award from the Japan Photographic Critics Association. The Japanese government officially acknowledged the cause of Minamata disease in September 1968, eight years after he began shooting. In the meantime, government and corporations remained silent, while Kuwabara visited Minamata each year to press the shutter.

What sustained him through all those years was not scoops or success, but the bonds formed on either side of the camera. Its true nature can be glimpsed in a single day in 1977. Kuwabara was informed that Uemura’s coming-of-age celebration would be held, and determined to capture a family photo. As the banquet was drawing to a close, he gathered the entire family for three photos. Just as he was preparing to wrap up, Uemura’s mother stopped him, saying, “Are you finished already?” Kuwabara turned his camera back toward Tomoko, who was embraced by her father. In that instant, she smiled—a facial expression he had never seen in the seventeen years he had known her. That December, Uemura passed away. Her radiant face became her last photograph.

Photo of Tomoko Uemura embraced by her father. Photographed by Shisei Kuwabara. / Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography.

Seventeen years had passed by the time this photograph was taken. It was not the result of a single chance encounter, but seventeen revisitations. With yearly visits, he created a language of documentation. The speed at which news travels and the pace at which people live through such events are fundamentally different. Kuwabara chose to walk alongside the latter. This is the source of the power that allows photography to change the world. It is not achieved by grand gestures. Rather, it comes from attention, care, trust, and persistent repetition.

This content was produced with the assistance of AI translation services.