Around the World in 24 Frames 10.23.09: Tokyo Story

Posted by Len Archibald on 10.23.2009

Part One as I examine the films of Japan's master craftsman, Yasujirō Ozu and his penultimate masterpiece - As well as an impromptu review of Where The Wild Things Are...



The Review...?

That's right, kids! An actual honest to goodness review! In short form…

Where the Wild Things Are

Spike Jonze impresses me more and more with his growing maturity as a filmmaker. To me, Being John Malkovich was the perfect film to end the crazy 1990's and I would put that on my list of best films of that decade. This will be on my "Best Of" list for this year.

The story, of course – is based on the beloved children's book penned by Maurice Sendak (who was also a producer and gave his personal stamp of approval on the project.) I remember reading this little book - and I mean that, there are like nine or ten sentences in the entire thing - and sharing the feeling of wanting to be swept away in a world where my imagination ran "wild". I still want that, but that is another thing altogether. Jonze does a remarkable job of keeping the spirit of the book for his intended audience. He framed and lit this in contrast to the tones of the book, which was an interesting and bold choice – since this is "seemingly" a children's film.

Which brings me to my next point: Is this a "kid's movie"? I've seen the whining and complaining of some parents who feel that the film raped them of their childhood and the world was too dark and scary for their children to see. First of all, those parents need to get some thicker skin, because if some of the GORGEOUS photography and images of the film was "scary" for you – or you felt it was too "scary" for your kids, sorry – I have no sympathy for your overbearing protectiveness. There was a point to the look and feel of the film and I feel Jonze caught that wonderfully, having each of the Wild Things represent Max's repressed feelings of innocence, guilt, anger, fear, cynicism, happiness and kindness.

There were many things about the film I was able to relate to that reminded me of my youth: The ever-present act of gaining attention from my older sibling and the jealousy I felt when she became a teenager and moved on to "cooler" friends; the struggle to balance imagination with reality; the anger I would have at my mother when things didn't go my way; I even replaced my toy teddy bear's ripped arm with a pencil at one point.

Every child goes through a phase when they realize the world they inhabit is not just Sesame Street, Digeo, Barney and The Berenstain Bears. Eventually, the realism of the adult world creeps in and rears its ugly head and at some point we all as children must learn to deal with that reality ourselves and in our own way. Some lash out, some fall into despair, some fall into an imaginary world. For the first time, Max is under the true realization that the world he knew is changing – and changing faster than he is used to. This isn't him being a "brat", but it is already hard enough on a child who has no understanding of separation or isolation to have to deal with it, let alone on literal terms like Max does in the film when it comes to his mother deciding to move on with her life with another man.

The film felt a little long in spots, but that is a minor peeve as the pacing for the most part was good. This was a Hollywood film that was given the "indie" treatment, and I am more than pleased that Warner Bros. took a chance on it and Jonze to bring one of my favorites of my childhood to life – and I feel, at the end of the day – that Spike Jonze was looking to make a film for those who REMEMBER the story, so they could go back and READ it to their kids. A five year old in this ADHD world will NOT like this film – nor do I feel is it expected for them to like it.

4 out of 5 Credits (yes – that is my personal rating system.)

********************

I love movies. They represent escapism, art, intellect and spirituality. Some are nothing more than popcorn flicks, designed to ease the burden of "real-life" for a couple of hours. Some bring important issues to the forefront that challenges how we perceive our surroundings. The most important thing for me – if one is a serious film-goer – is to constantly expand and discover new movies. This includes experiencing stories told outside of North America.

Yes, I know: "I don't like to read while I watch movies". Well, neither do I, but I won't use that to prevent me from finding a great story within the screen. It is important, as human beings to discover other cultures and expand our perceptions of those different from us and how they see the world. There are reasons that Bergman, Kurosawa, Fellini, Ozu and Truffaut are important in the movie world – They are just great at what they do.

I intend to highlight a new film every week that is considered "foreign-language"; now that definition is simple, yet broad and complex. For example, if you need subtitles to understand the events of the plot, I will discuss it. If it is a film from a primarily English-speaking nation, but is *NOT* in English (i.e. Leolo or Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner from Canada), I will discuss. If it is a film from outside the U.S. and it *is* in English, I will not discuss (sorry, Brits & Aussies) – for now. My goal is to shed light on some of these gems, and help quell the insatiable appetites for those who can't live without seeing a new movie. Enjoy!

東京物語, Tōkyō monogatari: Tokyo Story (1953)
Japan
Dir: Yasujirō Ozu
Runtime: 136 min



We forget sometimes that in the early development of movies that they were originally called "motion pictures." They are just framed and composed images that give us the optical illusion of movement. In fact, we've become so used to pans, zooms, tilts, crane shots and dollies, that in our ADHD world, it is nearly impossible to sit through a single shot that lasts more than three seconds. In fact, the more stoic the shot, the more impatient the audience becomes.

In 1953, Yasujirō Ozu introduced the world to Tokyo Story, a little film that feels like a "good" movie – nothing earth shattering - until it's digested into that intangible and subconscious region of our hearts. I remember watching Ozu's quiet film about family life and the increasing gap between generations and was marveled by the photography, but sat contemplating the story. It was simple – too simple, I figured. Then, during one trip to visit my parents in Canada, I had an epiphany. Before leaving to return home, my father requested to speak with me alone in his bedroom. I will not divulge the moment we shared, but I was shaken and immediately Tokyo Story's meaning hit me with the weight of the entire universe. The simplicities of life – the things we seemingly take for granted – are much more complex and intricate than we realize. I watched the film again with a new-found appreciation for Ozu and a new-found appreciation for the "art" of film itself. I will be so bold as to say if I am a film professor, Tokyo Story would be the first film I would show and de-construct for the class.



Why did I think of Tokyo Story when thinking of my father, and no other film? To be perfectly honest, I can't explain why except to describe the film as something akin to a moving church sermon given by a quiet witness. The words and mannerisms are simple – almost meek, but every word, every movement, every ounce of tone carries a weight behind it, that by the end, one can be uplifted into a realm that can only be described as an awakening. I don't think Yasujirō Ozu is God, but I think he was the film-maker's equivalent of a prophet, espousing parables that could have very easily been inspired from divine intervention. Ozu's stories are those that can actually teach and inspire goodness in the human race. I feel that strongly about the films and the film-maker himself.

Tokyo Story is considered the master's most accessible work: An old couple, Shukichi and Tomi (played by Chishu Ryu and Chieko Higashiyama), make a trip from their small seaside town of Onomichi in southwest Japan to Tokyo and Osaka to visit their adult children, and find that they are too wrapped up in their own existence to spend time with their own parents. It is never truly spoken, but the parents have become a nuisance and burden to the children. The visit has a calm melancholy about it and the parents eventually return home. Then an event occurs that forces the children to return to their parents. It is the simplest tale told in a grand manner. There are no false moments or sentimental exploitation. The score by Kojun Saitô does not exist to clue the audience in on cues to cry or laugh, but as an outside force observing the world and playing beautiful notes. There are no screams or forced acting. No grand monologues to hammer home the "message" of the film. At the end, a little boat putters to explain that no matter the circumstance, life continues and will continue.



When discussing Ozu as a filmmaker, it is imperative to understand his method. In my opinion, Ozu is the greatest composer of shots that ever lived. He was meticulous about every moment captured on film – Stanley Kubrick before he was "Stanley Kubrick". Chishu Ryu once went through two dozen takes devoted to simply raising a tea cup. Ryu often played the father or grandfather in Ozu's films about family life, so he was probably used to the quiet demands of his director.

Ozu rarely moved his camera. I mean that. In Tokyo Story, there are two shots where there is camera movement, and they are jarring in their suddenness. The brilliance of those shots is that even in its rarity, Ozu made sure they were used in a way that matched movement and as a bookmark to the scene. Ozu also mastered the "Tatami Shot", where he held his camera no higher than three feet above the ground, which is the eye level of a Japanese person sitting on a mat of the same name. Ozu was the antithesis of his fellow Japanese filmmaker, Akira Kurosawa as he used no wipes, dissolves or fades to transition scenes – just a simple cut, which was unusual for Western audiences because there were no cues to describe a lapse in time or place.



The characters and feelings involved with Tokyo Story are universal and prototypical, yet not cliché. They are the people we know and the people we are: The parents from the old school and simplicity of country life, the children that represent the big city and dreams of potential success. The stingy daughter who harbors negative feelings for her mother from an embarrassing moment from her childhood. The grandson who knows nothing of respect for the elderly – because he had never seen it from his own parents. The quiet disconnect between generations. The sad disappointment when parents find out their children are not as successful as they've been told. Shukichi and Tomi's children are not angry with the visit as they are inconvenienced, which may be worse. They would rather pawn their parents off on each other, on a spa, or on their sister-in-law, who ironically, is the nicest and most accommodating to the parent's visit – even though she has the least to offer. I'm reminded of a parable about rich people, camels and needles…

Noriko (Setsuko Hara) is Shukichi and Tomi's daughter-in-law, who's husband – their son, went missing in action during World War II eight years previous. Hara, who is considered one of the most beautiful and talented Japanese actors of her generation beautifully encompasses a woman who does whatever she can to please her in-laws, if only to keep close to that family because she has no one else. One of Ozu's main themes throughout his films is a lack of connect between families. He was smart and realistic enough to understand that the family did not end with the typical nucleus of the parents and their children. Noriko never discusses her husband like he is dead (even though he most likely is) and exudes a sadness in her hope/hopelessness. It's obvious that she is in terrible denial, but her family can't find it in themselves to approach her about it.



One of the great sequences of Ozu's films are what have become to be known as "pillow shots", like the pillow words in Japanese poetry, separating scenes with brief, evocative images from everyday life. In Tokyo Story, he contrasts nature with technology: the smoke of a fireplace with the smoke from a train or a factory; the scope of a large hill silhouetted by the sun compared to the crowded streets of postwar Japan or traditional architecture with the modern. Yasujirō Ozu would use these shots in a manner that is genius in its deception – at first, these shots feel as if they are random images of town life, but later it is revealed that they are parts of the universe that Ozu's characters live in. These created layers and contributed a re-watchable factor that was ahead of its time.

Tokyo Story's "plot" is one of the most organic fictional stories ever made. It isn't "slow" in the manner where nothing is happening. There are moments of exposition, but it isn't forced. Dialogue does not exist simply to move the story along from point A to point B, but is used with the actions and nuances of the characters to display moments of affection, contemplation, remembrance, acceptance, fear, and happiness. When Shukichi and Tomi first arrive in Tokyo, they are given a gift by their daughter-in-law Fumiko (Kuniko Miyake), which is the typical Japanese custom. There is no heart or meaning behind it – mostly because it is expected. Fumiko is stingy with her money. Fumiko's husband - Shukichi and Tomi's son, Koichi (So Yamamura) is a doctor in a neighborhood clinic -- not as distinguished as his parents imagined. He arrives one day with cakes to offer his parents. Fumiko declares they are too expensive for them while eating the cakes. These actions are contrasted with a tender scene in which Noriko offers a gift out of the kindness of her heart to Tomi, who gives her the blessing to re-marry.



Eventually, guilt creeps in for the children and they all create a solution: they will put the money up to have their parents spend a holiday at Atami Hot Springs. The parents did not arrive in Tokyo to be pushed away to a spa, but they go anyway. Shukichi and Tomi spend time sitting beside each other for most of the holiday, kept awake by the pulse of early Rock and Roll – it is at this moment they realize their children are not as well off as they would have hoped and quiet disappointment creeps in. They decide to go home.

People sit beside each other a lot in Ozu films. He was not very fond of over-the-shoulder compositions and insisted on having his characters in a row. He also liked to shoot from behind his characters in a two or three-shot. There would be times where there would be a mis-match in continuity as Ozu shot in 360 degree space, instead of the 180 we're taught to shoot and watch (meaning if a character is on the left side of the screen when the scene begins, they are on the left side at all times unless they are moved otherwise.) He also didn't care if the eyelines did not match, so it appeared two characters were not talking to each other. Ozu worked with cinematographer Yuuharu Atsuta to master what he considered to be two-dimensional space, so the audience would focus on lines, frames, frames within frames, spaces and composition. To the untrained eye, it looks as if Ozu just plopped a camera down, pressed the "record" button and walked away, but there was a lot more going on technically, as he would use a 50mm lens (sometimes a 40mm) because he felt it best represented the ordinary field of human vision (or how the brain processes images through the human eye.) He also didn't want to increase the f-stop when shooting under artificial light.



There is a profound tone of realism in Tokyo Story - not realism as in a factual scientific explanation, but the realism that comes with the human condition and how we react to it. There are subtle touches that everyone that has ever had a parent can relate to: The past vices and addictions catching up to haunt the family; the sense of pride – and disappointment one feels for a child; the guilt of treating a family member terribly in hindsight and the underlying sibling rivalry as the children try to figure if the parents play "favorites".

Yasujirō Ozu was born in the Fukagawa district of Tokyo in 1903 and worked his way up as an assistant cameraman with the Shochiku Film Company after working briefly as a teacher. He went on to make 53 films, twenty-six in his first five years as a director before falling to cancer in 1963. Unfortunately, the first eighteen of those were forever lost in a fire. There have been many, many tributes to Ozu, including a 2003 film Five Dedicated to Ozu, by Iranian film-maker Abbas Kiarostami, which consists of five long takes, averaging about 16 minutes each. German film-maker Wim Wenders travelled to Japan in his documentary film Tokyo-Ga to explore the world of Ozu, interviewing both Chishu Ryu and Yuharu Atsuta. I have written my own screenplay where I want to play with Ozu's stylistic techniques including the use of ellipses – in which many major events are left out, leaving only the space between them.



When Japanese films hit the mainstream in the 1950's, we in the West were enthralled with the scope, action and historical accuracy of Akira Kurosawa's vision. Rashomon became a word that found a literal meaning in the English language. The Japanese government and film organizations wanted Ozu to be their champion in those days as they felt he best represented the current way of life for postwar Japan instead of the swash-buckling samurai and profoundly "Western" tones and ideas of Kurosawa. Ozu's films were considered (and are still considered, understandably) too slow, too tepid and too mundane for audiences on the other side of the Pacific. It wasn't until the 1970's that a retrospective and appreciation for the work and craft of Ozu's work would come to fruition. Sight and Sound Magazine releases its "Greatest Films" poll every ten years and Tokyo Story has appeared twice among the ten greatest films ever made according to directors and film critics around the world (3rd in 1992 and 5th in 2002.) Among every major film critic of the past 50 years, Tokyo Story has been mentioned. If you put a gun to my head today and told me to list my 10 favorite movies of all time, Ozu's quiet masterpiece would be spouted out.


Yasujirō Ozu.

It would be nearly impossible to invite someone into my family for a couple hours and by the end have that person feel completely like a part of it. It would even be harder to meet someone and after a few hours feel a quiet connection – almost a fatherly kinship. I have never met Yasujirō Ozu, but after watching his films, he has become teacher, father, grandfather, mentor, philosophy professor and counselor. Steven Spielberg made me love movies; Orson Welles made me aware of the craft of movies; Akira Kurosawa made me fond of the scope and storytelling of movies – and Ozu gave me the greatest fundamental: He taught me the art of "The Shot" and the importance and economy of "The Story." Tokyo Story was his gift to this skinny Canadian who wanted to learn everything he could about the movies – and now that I'm going back to school, I will need his guidance more than ever.

Trailer for Tokyo Story


{Film Passport Stamped]

Coming Attractions: Yasujirō Ozu. Late Spring. If you've seen the film, you know that's all I need to say.

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