You’ve probably seen the "Goffy" or "Aesthetic" clips on TikTok—the high-contrast black and white shots, the heavy eyelashes, the frantic editing. But let’s be real for a second. Most people talking about Funeral Parade of Roses treat it like a vintage fashion mood board. It’s way more than that. It’s a jagged, uncomfortable, and surprisingly joyous middle finger to 1960s Japanese society. Toshio Matsumoto didn't just make a movie; he threw a Molotov cocktail at the screen.
Released in 1969, this film is basically the "Godfather" of the Japanese New Wave, but with more drag queens and Oedipal trauma. It follows Eddie, a young "geisha" (a term used then for trans women and drag performers in the gay bar scene) working at Bar Genet in Shinjuku. It’s messy. It’s loud. It’s quiet. Honestly, it’s one of the few films from that era that doesn’t feel like a museum piece. It feels alive.
The Shinjuku Underground and the Real "Eddie"
To understand Funeral Parade of Roses, you have to understand Shinjuku in 1969. This wasn't the sanitized, neon-tourist trap we see today. It was the epicenter of student protests, avant-garde theater, and "gay bars" that served as safe havens for the LGBTQ+ community. Matsumoto didn't hire a bunch of "prestige" actors to play dress-up. He cast real people from the scene.
Pēteru (Peter), who plays Eddie, was a real-life fixture of the Shinjuku underground. You can see it in the way he carries himself. There’s no "performance" of gender here that feels forced for a straight audience. It’s just existence. Pēteru became a massive star after this, but in 1969, he was just a kid with incredible cheekbones and a willingness to let Matsumoto experiment with his life.
The film blurs the line between documentary and fiction. Suddenly, the plot stops. A microphone enters the frame. An actor is interviewed about their identity. "Are you a man or a woman?" a voice asks. The answers are rarely simple. This was radical. While Hollywood was busy making "The Boys in the Band," Matsumoto was letting trans women speak for themselves on camera, even if the language of the time was still catching up to their reality.
Breaking the Fourth Wall Until It Bleeds
If you’re looking for a linear story, you’re going to get a headache. Matsumoto was obsessed with the idea of "fragmentation." He uses jump cuts that would make Jean-Luc Godard dizzy. He uses comic book speech bubbles. He speeds up the footage like a Keystone Cops routine during a street fight. It’s jarring.
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Why do this? Because the film is about the instability of identity. Eddie is trying to replace the "Mama-san" of Bar Genet, Leda. She’s also haunted by the memory of her father and a traumatic childhood. By shattering the film’s structure, Matsumoto makes us feel Eddie's internal chaos. You aren't just watching a tragedy; you're experiencing a psychic break in 4:3 aspect ratio.
The Stanley Kubrick Connection
Here is a bit of trivia that usually gets mentioned in passing but deserves a deep dive. Stanley Kubrick famously cited Funeral Parade of Roses as a direct influence on A Clockwork Orange. Specifically, that hyper-fast, manic editing style during the more graphic or absurdist scenes? That’s Matsumoto’s DNA. When you see the droogs in the milk bar, there is a direct line back to the queens of Bar Genet.
It’s kind of wild to think that a low-budget Japanese experimental film about the queer underground shaped one of the most famous Western movies of all time. But that’s the power of the image. Matsumoto’s visuals were so striking they crossed oceans before the internet even existed.
Not Just a Movie, a Political Statement
People forget that 1969 was a violent year in Japan. The Anpo protests were raging. Students were barricading universities. The "Rose" in the title (Bara) wasn't just a flower. In Japan at the time, it was a derogatory slang term for gay men. Matsumoto took that slur and put it in the title. It’s a "funeral parade" for the old world.
The film is loosely—and I mean loosely—based on Oedipus Rex. But instead of a king in ancient Greece, we get a trans woman in a Shinjuku bar. The tragedy is the same, but the context changes everything. It suggests that the "traditional" Japanese family unit is so broken, so repressive, that it can only end in this kind of horrific, theatrical self-destruction.
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It’s also surprisingly funny. There’s a scene involving a "marijuana" party that looks like a music video. There are parodies of TV commercials. Matsumoto knew that to keep an audience engaged with such heavy themes, he had to keep them off balance. One minute you’re laughing at a silly chase sequence, the next you’re witnessing a gut-wrenching scene of self-mutilation.
The Restoration and Why You Should Care Now
For decades, Funeral Parade of Roses was hard to find. You had to settle for grainy bootlegs or expensive imports. Then Cinelicious Pics did a 4K restoration from the original 35mm negative a few years back. Seeing it in high definition is a game-changer. You can see the texture of the makeup, the grit of the Shinjuku streets, and the incredible detail in the costume design.
It matters now because we are still fighting the same battles over identity and visibility. The film doesn't offer easy answers. It doesn't say "it gets better." It just says "this is us." In a world of polished, focus-grouped "representation," there is something incredibly refreshing about the raw, jagged honesty of Eddie’s world.
How to Watch It Without Getting Lost
If you’re going to sit down and watch this, don't try to "solve" it. Don't worry if you don't get every cultural reference to 1960s Japanese politics.
- Watch the eyes. Pēteru’s performance is almost entirely in the eyes.
- Listen to the soundscape. The score by Toshi Ichiyanagi (who was once married to Yoko Ono) is a masterpiece of avant-garde noise and jazz.
- Accept the "Brezhnev-era" pacing. It moves fast, then slow, then stops entirely. Let it happen.
Beyond the Screen: Actionable Takeaways for Film Buffs
If you want to truly appreciate the legacy of this film, don't stop at the credits. Funeral Parade of Roses is a gateway drug to a whole world of transgressive art.
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Start by looking up the photography of Eikoh Hosoe. He was a contemporary of Matsumoto and his work captures that same shadowy, eroticized version of Japan. Next, track down the work of Shūji Terayama, specifically Throw Away Your Books, Rally in the Streets. It carries that same DNA of youth rebellion and experimental editing.
If you’re a creator, the lesson here is simple: stop trying to make things look perfect. Matsumoto’s film is full of "errors"—visible microphones, scratched film, shaky cameras. Yet, it has more soul than 99% of what’s released today. It reminds us that cinema is a visceral medium. It’s meant to be felt in the gut, not just processed by the brain.
Go find the 4K restoration. Turn off your phone. Let the roses lead the way. You won't come out the same way you went in. That’s the whole point of a funeral, isn't it? To leave something behind so something else can grow.
Practical Next Steps for the Curious
- Locate the Restoration: Look for the Blu-ray released by Cinelicious Pics or stream it on the Criterion Channel. Avoid the old, low-res YouTube uploads; the cinematography deserves the bitrate.
- Research Pēteru (Shinnosuke Ikehata): Watch his later work or his musical performances. Seeing his career trajectory helps contextualize how revolutionary his role was in 1969.
- Explore the Japanese New Wave: If this clicked with you, check out Branded to Kill (Seijun Suzuki) or Woman in the Dunes (Hiroshi Teshigahara). These directors were all part of the same movement that refused to play by the rules of the big studios.
- Read the Subtext: If you can find a copy, look for Matsumoto’s own writings on "Neo-Documentarism." It explains his philosophy of mixing the "real" with the "fake" to find a deeper truth.
The film is a reminder that the underground has always been there, and it has always been more interesting than the mainstream. Whether you're a cinephile or just someone interested in queer history, this is essential viewing. It’s not just a "funeral parade." It’s a celebration of the fringe.