Yoshiaki Fujiwara is a Servant of God An Avenger Who Carries God's Wrath Against On the Wrongdoer

Yoshiaki Fujiwara/Katsushi Takemura vs. Kazunari Murakami/Mistu Nagai Nihei Gumi 2/11/07 - EPIC

PAS: There is a real treasure trove of small room Japanese indies on Archive.org. I was in a Fujiwara mood, so I decided to scroll around and watch something I haven't seen before. Fujiwara and Murakami in the ring together has a pretty high floor, at a minimum you are going to get two of the great face makers in pro-wrestling history making faces at each other, at a maximum you are going to get whatever the fuck this was. The first part of the match chugs away as a fun BattlArts adjacent puro indy tag. The first Murakami and Fujiwara exchange is pretty great, they do some sneering at each other, Fujiwara gets dropped with a hard punch, gets his bearings and takes Murakami down to the mat. Their finishing run is what makes this so incredible. Fujiwara drops Nagai with a headbutt, Murakami tags in and it devolves into some of the most visceral and violent pro-wrestling of all time. They smash each other with headbutts until both are split open and soaked in blood, Fujiwara gets mounted and smashed with full force punches, he counters, not with a bit of defensive mat wizardry, but with a hard straight right to Murakami's dick, the match ends on a DQ with Fujiwara trying to jam both of his thumbs through Murakami's eye sockets. I didn't think wrestling still had the capacity to shock me, I was wrong. 

MD: This one takes a real, real turn at the end, and we'll talk about that shortly. To start, a fairly undeniable statement: past maybe Inoki and Baba, Yoshiaki Fujiwara was the most self-aware wrestler of his generation. We have footage from 1987 that shows it, and it becomes even more true as time goes on. 

Here, in 2007, he absolutely milks the first exchange between himself and Murakami. After Takemura and Nagai hit each other like trucks for a minute or two, Takemura reaches out for the tag. Time grinds to a halt. Fujiwara blinks, just blinks, and somehow the world gets even slower. He comes in, faces off with Murakami, and gets absolutely clocked with a punch. He goes down, rides out the count, comes up, and we enter a binary situation. We all know Murakami's going to throw another punch. Is Fujiawara going down again? Or has he had enough already? Fujiwara knows the power of his presence, his skill, his reputation, the expectations of the fans. He knows what he has with Murakami across from the ring from him. He sidesteps and drops him with the armbar, and then they both get out of the way so Takemura and Nagai can throw bombs at each other some more. And if that was the only interaction between the two, this match would still have value for it.

It's not. Takemura let himself get swept under, was double teamed, but finally came back enough to make a tag. That brought us back to Fujiwara and Murakami. We've seen Fujiwara come in after a hot tag before. He leads with his head, and again, he knows what he has with that head, what crowds have come to expect from it. Impenetrable, indominable, stronger than steel, a perfect tool for both viciousness and comedy. 

But Murakami doesn't waver. He doesn't back down. He leans in instead. He headbutts through it. In all of wrestling, there's maybe nothing more horrific, knowing what we do, than a headbutt war so gnarly and grisly that both competitors draw blood from it. We are a captive audience. This was 2007. There's nothing we can do but bear witness to horrors long gone by. You can shout at your screen but it will do no good. And in truth, were we there, were we shouting in the moment, it would not have halted Fujiwara and Murakami on this day.

We see the blood on Fujiwara's forehead first, an eggshell cracking, a rock split asunder. When we next see Murakami we realize the damage was mutual. As the blood turns from a trickle to a stream down Fujiwara's face, the battle becomes more intimate, slow, steady, hate-filled grappling. 

Fujiwara ends up on top of him, and brandishes his thumb for all to see. Again, even in the midst of this bestial state to which they've unleashed upon this world, Fujiwara knows who he is, what he is, the value of it all. He knows the importance of showing the crowd, the camera, Murakami, God himself, his thumb, to ensure everyone knows that what is about to happen will happen in the first degree and should be prosecuted as such. Intent established, he drives his thumb straight into Murakami's eye. Its brother falls in beside the first immediately thereafter. Murakami, as with the headbutts, drives his own fingers up to create an unholy unison with Fujiwara, a matrimony of mutual mutilation and destruction.

The referee tries to call off the match. In the background, music that sounds a bit like the Peter Gunn theme, a jazzy bebopping riff, plays, evoking an awards ceremony where they producers are increasingly desperate to play off-stage an out of control acceptance speech. Fujiwara and Murakami keep fighting off anyone in their way, violent desire verging on the farcical, like the end credits of a Benny Hill episode if the goal was blood and death instead of ribald comedy.

Once things took a turn, all of this had a gradual, almost glacial, sense of inevitability. It took its time, announced its intentions. There was no room for confusion or ambiguity. Its power was not just in the brutal impacts or bloody aftermath, but in how methodological it all was. What do you even do with something like this? All we can do is share it, document it, ensure that others carry the weight with us. In the end, what is it truly but yet another unforgettable page in the astonishing book of Yoshiaki Fujiwara?

COMPLETE AND ACCURATE YOSHIAKI FUJIWARA