Goichi Mizoguchi, Raizō Ichikikawa? Wait—correction: I’ll use the exact slug from your cast list. Goichi Mizoguchi, Raizō Ichikawa, a young Buddhist acolyte, is interrogated after setting fire to Kyoto’s Shukaku Pavilion during and shortly after World War II. He answers only with silence as investigators press for details, the weight of his actions hanging in the cold air of the station.
A flashback unfolds, showing Goichi arriving at the Soen Temple with a letter of introduction from his deceased father, Jun Hamamura, a monk at the Kan’ei-ji Temple and a trusted friend of the high priest, Tayama Dosen. The elder man’s belief that the Golden Pavilion is the most beautiful thing in the world echoes in Goichi’s memory as he recalls being mocked for his stutter and witnessing his mother’s adultery, memories that haunt him with a growing sense of guilt and confusion.
During a visit, his mother, Tanie Kitabayashi, voices a powerful wish: that he might one day become the head priest of the temple. Yet Goichi doubts such a future, fearing the pull of a draft that could pull him away from his sacred path. The tension between duty, faith, and personal history threads through his thoughts as he moves between reverence for the temples and the harsher realities of the world outside.
One weekend at a popular tourist site, Goichi observes a pregnant woman with a visiting American soldier. The woman tries to enter the pavilion, but in a moment of fear and confusion, he pushes her down the stairs, and she miscarriages. He confesses the deed to Tayama Dosen, who already seems to know of the transgression and has paid off the woman to keep the secret hidden, a detail that unsettles Goichi even more. This admission deepens the rift between Goichi and the temple’s power structures, casting a shadow over his sense of belonging.
Another memory surfaces: Togari, a man with a crippled leg, discusses Goichi’s academic decline at Kotani University and his enduring love for ancient temples. Togari shadows Goichi into monastic life, and Ranko, a geisha, tends to his leg, adding a complicated layer to Goichi’s sense of loyalty and desire. Later, on a different night, Goichi spies Tayama Dosen in the company of a woman, a discovery that strains his trust further and feeds his mounting disillusionment.
During a scripture reading, the kōan of Nanquan and the cat—the tale of east and west halls fighting over a stray kitten—becomes a parable that weighs on Goichi. Nanquan’s extreme resolution—beheading the cat—echoes in the tension around power, discipline, and mercy that permeates the temple. After the reading, Goichi discovers a pin-up photo of a geisha tucked inside Tayama’s study book, a discovery that shakes him further. He confronts the priest, who withdraws his consideration of Goichi’s succession. In response, Goichi asserts that his stutter makes him unsuitable to be a monk, but Tayama counters that he is, in fact, twisted—an accusation that gnaws at him as he grapples with his identity and calling.
Desperation leads Goichi to purchase a knife and sedatives; Togari lends him ¥3,000, though he cannot repay it in time. Tayama partially repays the loan, a small mercy that sits uneasily alongside the larger betrayals Goichi senses. The memories also bring back his father’s funeral and cremation. Back at the pavilion, a police officer suspects Goichi of suicidal intent, and his mother chastises him for such thoughts. In the room, Togari’s voice condemns Goichi’s disillusionment and accuses Tayama of selling access to the pavilion for money, an admission that underscores the corruption Goichi despises. An ikebana teacher—who once had a relationship with Togari—overhears the confession and smashes a vase in anger, a symbolic act that shatters the fragile order the monastery tries to maintain.
Feeling misunderstood and increasingly alienated from the monks’ secular behavior, Goichi ultimately sets fire to the pavilion. In the present, detectives return him to the smoking remains of the temple, a grim echo of the past. During the transfer to prison, Goichi makes one final, fatal choice and throws himself from a moving train, sealing his fate with a dramatic act that mirrors the burning pavilion he set years before.
The film unfolds with quiet, austere detail, balancing memory and present danger as a singular, troubled young man confronts the contradictions of faith, duty, and the world outside the temple walls. The story lingers on the tension between revered tradition and the often messy realities of human desire and guilt, inviting viewers to ponder where responsibility ends and mercy begins in a life shadowed by tragedy.
