Film Review: “Our Mr. Matsura”

My husband is from Okanogan County in northcentral Washington so we visit regularly. Years ago we discovered the work of Okanogan historian JoAnn Roe, who had published photographs taken in 1903-1913 by “Frank” Sakae Matsura, a young Japanese immigrant. We were intrigued by this “Issei” (a first-generation immigrant like my grandparents) who came alone to the wild west. It was a time of great upheaval. Many white settlers had entered the county, following the forced removal of Native people and creation of the Colville Reservation for the 12 tribes whose lands were stolen. Dams were being built, mines created, ranches and orchards were being established.

Who was Frank Matsura? Why did he come to this corner of Washington, far from other Japanese immigrant communities? We now have some answers, thanks to the recent documentary film “Our Mr. Matsura,” by filmmaker Beth Harrington and her team. The film skillfully combines his photographs with interviews of people whose families knew Matsura, and striking footage of the Okanogan landscape. Local and international historians are featured. The film answers some questions about his life but intentionally invites audiences to consider the questions that remain.

Sakae Matsura was born in 1873 in Japan (a year after the creation of the Colville Reservation). His father was of the samarai class and had served Japan’s last shogun. As oldest son, Sakae would have been the hereditary head of his clan and a high-ranking person in Japan’s society. But by the time he was five years old, his parents had died. He was raised by relatives who were leaders in a Japanese Christian community. Sakae became a Sunday school teacher and worked at a girls’ school run by his relatives. He learned English, which served him well after he left Japan.

In 1901, Sakae boarded a ship in Yokohama Harbor, arriving in Seattle.  He left no explanation for this move. (In the film, the current head of the Matsura samarai clan ruefully reflects on the burdens of the position, saying that if he could speak to Matsura, he’d tell him that he did the right thing.)

There was an established Seattle Japanese American community in 1901, but Matsura did not stay. (One local historian muses that, with all the construction, dirt, and noise in Seattle, he may have decided to abandon Seattle for the countryside.) By 1903 he took the name Frank Matsura and moved to Conconully, a town in the Okanogan surrounded by forests and mountains. He worked as a handyman in the Elliott Hotel, whose owners became friends, allowing him to develop his photographs there. His reputation as a photographer grew.

In 1907, he moved to the City of Okanogan and set up a studio. Formal portraits, postcards, commercial photos for businesses and government – he took thousands of photographs, hauling heavy photographic equipment all over the county. The photos are valuable records of a time and place. But even more fascinating are the many images crossing what were conventional boundaries of race, gender, and class. There are playful images of Matsura and Norma Dillabough (whose father owned the Elliott Hotel) together -- sharing a pipe, or with Frank dressed in a bonnet. Wonderful photos capture the expressions of relaxed pride and even amusement on the faces of Native leaders such as Chiliwhist Jim or Christine George (the granddaughter of Chief Seattle). Colville elder and Native rights activist Randy Lewis notes that “The reason that you see them [Lewis’s relatives] here in this photograph is that they allowed themselves to be photographed. They trusted Matsura, they loved Matsura.”

He was also befriended by white residents, and one of his constant companions was a local judge. Judge Brown saved Matsura’s glass film plates after the photographer’s death, allowing for their recovery decades later.

Frank Matsura died in 1913 at the age of 39 from tuberculosis. His funeral was reportedly one of the largest in the town’s history, and his grave in the Okanogan Cemetery overlooks the valley and hills of his adopted home.

I asked filmmaker Harrington how the film was received at its Okanogan County screening. The county is extremely conservative, and many residents hold negative views about immigrants and the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation. She said the screening seemed to have brought people together, just as Matsura seemed to have done during his brief lifetime. He would no doubt have been pleased.

For more information and photos, including future screenings, please see: ourmrmatsura.com