By Dan Callahan
["Silent Ozu" is now available for rental and purchase. This review is archived at The Criterion Collection Database.]
Most dedicated film lovers are familiar with the elegiac '50s family dramas of Yasujiro Ozu, classics like Late Spring (1949) and Tokyo Story (1953). Much as they are cherished and respected, even his most fervent admirers have admitted the sameness of these films, in which a constantly smiling Setsuko Hara beams from her tatami mat and says, “Life is certainly disappointing!” After her pronouncement, Ozu cuts to a boat chugging along a river; he then cuts back to Hara, who has a measured shot/reverse shot conversation with one of her parents. Mom or Dad smiles finally, then reflects, “My dreams of youth are gone!” Then Ozu cuts to laundry flapping in the breeze against a mackerel sky, etc. To paraphrase Virginia Woolf, Ozu prefers to suffer and understand rather than to fight and enjoy. His Zen resignation is like a drug to some, but it must be said that Ozu’s basic attitude can seem complacent, even maddening, especially to American viewers whose birthright has always been the urge to tell someone off, make a change, start again. Of course, this “anything is possible” point of view has led to a lot of pain for most of our ambitious American strivers, so a pinch or more of Ozu’s philosophy can be beneficial to us.
Ozu made a lot of films in the '30s, many of which are silent, some of which are lost, and these early films are seldom screened, so the new Eclipse series release, "Silent Ozu—Three Family Comedies", is valuable in that it lets us see the genesis of his refined late style. The initial movie in the set, Tokyo Chorus (1931) has been identified by some writers as Ozu’s first really mature work, and it does have a cohesiveness that some of his other '30s films lack. Chorus opens with a bunch of schoolboys being drilled in marching formation; one of the boys is rebellious, sticking his tongue out at the headmaster and making a face at him. This boy is also dreamy and contemplative: we see him sitting and staring at trees shivering in the wind, an image that haunts the rest of the movie. Then there’s a jump ahead in time, and the boy (Tokihiko Okada) is now an office drone with a wife and two small children. Okada’s daughter is played by a seven-year old Hideko Takamine, who grew up into a major actress for Mikio Naruse and other Japanese directors in the fifties. Takamine is instantly recognizable here; it’s startling to see her famously pinched, wary face on top of a little girl body. And she’s already a nag: “Daddy’s a liar!” baby Takamine whines, at one point.
There’s an earthy, even scatological humor in Tokyo Chorus that Ozu would gradually pare away from his films, by and large, but his sense of resignation was present from the beginning. As Okada sits in a park, at loose ends and out of a job, a friend tells him that a bear has escaped from a nearby zoo. Okada smiles at his excited pal and says, “A bear getting out isn’t going to change our lives.” This “what will be will be” vibe is fine for some situations, but Ozu always takes it too far. After all, the bear might be right behind Okada and ready to eat him; the least he could do would be to get up and leave the area, but no, it doesn’t matter, he says, for nothing matters to him at this moment. At its worst, Ozu’s seemingly serene acceptance of life is actually close to do-nothing, harmful nihilism. Still, it’s hard to argue with the long scene where the desolate family tries to forget their problems with an extended game of patty cake; we can actually see Ozu’s anxious cheerfulness visibly burning away his characters’ worries. In the end, though, Ozu asks us to weep for his hero, forced to take a demeaning job with his old schoolmaster. Naruse also knew that his people had to make sacrifices to go on, but I’ll take the grown-up Takamine’s wry, almost humorous confrontation with her hated job at the end of When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960) over Ozu’s more adolescent and not at all funny look at defeat in Tokyo Chorus.
I Was Born, But... (1932) is Ozu’s best-known early film, and it fully deserves its reputation. We watch two young boys doing ordinary things like cutting school and playing with other kids for a while before the real subject of the movie rears its ugly head. About an hour in, the boys sit and watch their wage slave father, Yoshii (Tatsuo Saito), make the same dumb faces and gestures over and over again, in movies that are being projected for some of his co-workers. Watching the co-workers’ reactions, Yoshii’s sons understand instinctively that their father is a figure of fun to the other adults. To a kid, especially a boy, there’s nothing worse than a realization like that, and their violent reaction at home later on is both grueling and fair. “You tell us to become somebody, but you’re nobody!” one of them shouts at Yoshii. Their father doesn’t defend himself, and their mother is an even weaker presence. “I give up,” says Yoshii, grabbing a bottle of liquor, as many Ozu men will do in later films. This scene of fatherly self-deprecation is unthinkable in an American movie, and it says a lot about Ozu’s essential despair, just as the final, small act of kindness on the part of one of the boys’ friends, which ends the film, says a lot about his appreciation of life’s small mercies.
The third film in the set, Passing Fancy (1933), is nowhere near as good as the first two movies. It really wants to be a talkie; there are too many titles for all the conversation scenes, and the setpiece sequence, a confrontation between a boy and his drunken, good-for-nothing father, suffers in comparison with the tougher, similar scene in I Was Born, But...; what was true and moving in that film seems maudlin here. Passing Fancy ends with the contemplation of some trees, bringing us full circle back to the daydreaming image at the beginning of Tokyo Chorus. This was a director who stressed such continuity: Ozu’s technical skills are already impressive in these three early films, and his way of looking at life and people is as firm at age thirty as it would be at age fifty. Let us enjoy and even learn from Ozu, but let’s not accept all of his ideas about human forbearance without a dash or two of our own American “get up and go,” seasoned heavily with Naruse’s hardboiled black humor.
Image/Sound/Extras: Tokyo Chorus is the most visually innovative of the films, so it’s unfortunate that the image is so badly damaged; the entire movie is fighting against a veil of print decay. Donald Sosin’s piano score for Chorus is upbeat and sprightly even when things look bleakest for the characters, which works well at first, but begins to seem strange as the film goes on. I Was Born, But… and Passing Fancy look fine, and Sosin’s scores for both are excellent. No extras, since this is an Eclipse no-frills release.
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House contributor Dan Callahan's writing has appeared in Slant Magazine, Bright Lights Film Journal and Senses of Cinema, among other publications.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Eclipse Series 10: "Silent Ozu—Three Family Comedies"
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6 comments:
This reads like a preliminary sketch for an article comparing Ozu unfavorably to Naruse; which I mean as a compliment. I don't agree with the assessment, but I'd love to hear it fleshed out.
"As Okada sits in a park, at loose ends and out of a job, a friend tells him that a bear has escaped from a nearby zoo. Okada smiles at his excited pal and says, “A bear getting out isn’t going to change our lives.” This “what will be will be” vibe is fine for some situations, but Ozu always takes it too far."
I think part of the point, actually, is that Okada is taking things too far. It's a lovely, peaceful setting, children swinging in the background as park visitors stroll across the frame, their anxieties quieted; but Okada is only there to enjoy it because he marched headfirst into his friend's situation even though, callously but honestly, it had less chance of affecting him than a loose bear on the other side of the park. Throughout the movie unkindnesses spiral from character to character in a cruel chain--boss fires Okada, Okada disappoints son, son tosses dog to the ground in a huff. In ignoring the bear Okada seems to opt out of the cycle, doing nothing and doing no harm.
Then, in the very next scene, his anxiety over his daughter causes him to leave a fish flopping for oxygen in the dust. Sometimes you get the bear; sometimes you are the bear.
Tokyo Chorus doesn't upend expectations of Ozu as marvelously as Dragnet Girl, but it's still a pleasure to see how well the director employed melodramatic cues he'd later prune away so ruthlessly. There's nothing inherently shameful about connecting with an audience, and as much as I love Ozu's later, more austere works (Bresson and Tarkovsky, too), there's something especially touching about these early efforts' clear wish not to be misunderstood.
"This scene of fatherly self-deprecation is unthinkable in an American movie...."
Rebel Without a Cause? The Tarnished Angels? Affliction? Spielberg's War of the Worlds?
Not identical, generally wilder and more prone to be a setup for later redemption, but daddy issues aren't limited by national borders.
"Donald Sosin’s piano score for Chorus is upbeat and sprightly even when things look bleakest for the characters, which works well at first, but begins to seem strange as the film goes on."
Also his rather metronomic rhythm is ill-suited to movie accompaniment, as it doesn't reflect the slight emotional shifts that occur onscreen.
"...grabbing a bottle of liquor, as many Ozu men will do in later films."
Remember that first Cheers episode where the snooty professor wanders in and wins the bar's ongoing debate about the sweatiest movie ever made with Cool Hand Luke? I actually was party to a real-life analogue where a bunch of us movie buffs were killing time over a similar topic, whose movies had the most drinking scenes. Peckinpah partisans and Hawks, uh, hewers were duking it out till a late-comer silenced us all with the inarguable "Ozu."
I would be happy to flesh out an argument about Naruse vs. Ozu, but I think I'll have to wait until more Naruse films are available for re-viewing on DVD.
I see what you're saying about the string of cruelties leading up to the bear scene in "Tokyo Chorus." I also think that Okada is very much the main character and identification figure throughout, for us and I assume for Ozu, so his attitude in the park does feel emblematic of Ozu's overarching point of view.
"Tokyo Chorus" really moves fast and isn't in the least austere; it is exciting to see Ozu experimenting, even if, as I feel, his essential attitudes toward life never changed. "Dragnet Girl" does seem like a departure in tone and material...I'd like to see that again, but I remember that it seems to be aping American gangster films of the time.
As far as the father issue goes: in the American films you mention, the only one that comes close to the passivity of the "I Was Born, But.." father is in "Rebel," and even there, Jim's father regains some authority in the last scene.
I do think that if the scene was played in an American film, that the father, no matter how much of a milquetoast he is, would finally defend himself from such a savage denunciation from his young son. The resigned passivity of the father is only imaginable, to me, for someone who has never been promised anything. And America does nothing but promise us everything by the yard.
Anyway, I admire Ozu, but I love Naruse, and I do hope that Criterion can do some box sets for him in the future.
Dan: "...in the American films you mention, the only one that comes close to the passivity of the "I Was Born, But.." father is in "Rebel," and even there, Jim's father regains some authority in the last scene."
Ah, my apologies. I thought your were singling out the scene for its exasperated rejection of parental responsibilities, not the passivity.
"His Zen resignation is like a drug to some, but it must be said that Ozu’s basic attitude can seem complacent, even maddening, especially to American viewers whose birthright has always been the urge to tell someone off, make a change, start again."
The reality, though, is that life isn't very much like that for most people, whether they're Americans, Japanese or Europeans. Oh sure, Americans like to tell ourselves comforting stories, but it's more of a negative in our film history that we can't admit that can be part of life. In any case, Mizoguchi can be much more resigned to suffering (admittedly, Mizoguchi focuses on the lower orders of society - prostitutes, geishas, medieval peasants - which allow more pathos than Ozu's usually middle class environs).
"This scene of fatherly self-deprecation is unthinkable in an American movie...."
I would argue The Miracle of Morgan's Creek and Jack Dawn in Gloria.
I am thrilled to see "Tokyo Chorus" and "Passing Fancy" issued on DVD for the US market ("I Was Born But" has already been available). I have caught these films in theaters a few times over the years in the occasional 'silent Ozu' festivals that seem to play in New York City every 8-10 years - but that's about it.
As someone who loves Ozu but prefers his silent films from the 30's to his later films (and pretty much cannot tolerate Naruse, period), I quite disagree with most of the reviewer's sentiments. As I have not seen these films for a few years, I cannot go into great detail to make my case, but I'll do my best.
What I love about Ozu's earlier films is his expansive sense of inventiveness and fun (which later turned inwards into an introspective stripping down of the 'unnecessary'). These earlier films are filled with rather breathtaking 'tours de force' of shot design and editing.
The first time I saw Tokyo Chorus, I was literally blown away by the 'patty-cake' scene (mentioned above) of the two parents cheering up their kids (and themselves). It is an deceptively simple set-up, four people sitting across from each other in a 'square') - but the shot choices (two shots, close ups and full shot), the pacing of the editing combined with the kinetic aspect of the game, the contrast between the innocent cheerfulness of the kids with with the emotionally devastated parents is one of the most stunningly executed moments in filmmaking I have ever seen.
These early films demonstrate Ozu was a brilliant executer of tracking shots, as the one that I believe opens "Passing Fancy" - as a wallet in a Kabuki performance is comically passed from person to person. I guess the humor in this moment and the rest of the film completely passed the reviewer by, but all I can say is I think this film is both as funny as hell AND yet retains a sense of the same dark melancholy that Ozu is generally known for.
In addition, I cannot say enough about how funny AND sad Takeshi Sakamoto is in all of his films for Ozu - these are all great, beautiful performances - Sakamoto has an amazing emotional transparency of the sort Ozu eventually chose to turn away from (perhaps tied into Ozu's eventual disinterest in the plight of poor people) - but which is beautifully dramatized in these films. He and Tomio Aoki have an amazing chemistry together - I don't know, maybe Aoki is an acquired taste for some, but I think he is one of the most hilarious child actors in cinematic history and (again) was wonderfully used by Ozu (along with Gosho, a great director of children in general).
It's a bit sad my favorite Ozu film "An Inn in Tokyo" (also with Sakamoto and Aoiki) is not paired with "Passing Fancy" because they make very interesting mirror images of each other.
That the reviewer finds Ozu guilty of 'harmful nihilism' - what can I say, to some of us Ozu is a bracing breath of fresh air in context of the rigidly enforced optimism of classic Hollywood cinema in general - and its somewhat melodramatic way of dealing with pessimism and tragedy when it DOES go there (I love the film "Make Way for Tomorrow" - but its relatively ham-fisted compared to a film like Tokyo Story).
In any case, bravo to Eclipse for releasing these films - hope "An Inn in Tokyo" is not far behind.
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