From reading
The elegance of the hedgehog, I became aware of this Japanese
film maker. Luckily,
the library where I work owns 3 of Ozu's films on DVD. I have watched three of them over the past week. Aside from enjoying them, I noticed a few details about each, and all, that simply stood out. Ozu's films are different than just about any other film I can think of: the camera work is completely different, and that makes the films different than, say, Hitchcock.
My tendency and habit are to become emotionally involved with the film (otherwise, I turn it off), so evaluating one critically is not something I do well. Yet with Ozu's films I found myself seeing some aspects without trying: they just appeared clear to me.
The camera looks at a room, at a space, before a character enters, and remains after the character leaves. Thus space is assigned its own worth, given its own respect, as Renée Michel might have said (if, perhaps, more eloquently). Women's roles are clearly in transition in the three films that I saw: while embracing the traditional, they are redefining their roles. And the war looms as a major factor, of course, though it is never overdone.
On searching Ozu's name in the web, I found a website devoted to his films (or, rather to Ozu himself, his films being an aspect of the site. In fact, the site is about film, and Ozu is simply one part thereof). Of course, there are others; one is
Senses of Cinema.
Late spring 1949. A father and daughter live together in apparent happiness. Somiya is a college professor; Noriko is an office worker. In her twenties, she is unmarried, and that soon becomes an issue (for everyone but her; she is content with her life). The professor's sister presses him to have his daughter marry, and busies herself finding a suitable match. At first the professor is content, but soon realizes that if he himself does not press Noriko to marry she might wind up with an unfulfilled life. He and his sister concoct a scheme, wherein he pretends to be planning to marry, as a way to pressure Noriko. Aghast that her father is planning to remarry, she gives in, and marries. In a wrenching final scene, the professor peels a pear, wan, resigned, poignant.
One fascinating aspect of
this film if the professor's reluctance to pressure his daughter to conform to traditional expectations and roles. He's happy living with her, having her take care of him. Yet he is pressured by those around him, and sacrifices for her future good. Divorce seemed to be casually mentioned, and I wondered when divorce became an acceptable topic to mention in Hollywood films (I think of Lucy and Ricky sleeping in separate beds in the 1950s, as an example of different mores).
The camera work was stunning. I could not remember ever having seen a camera dwell on a room without a being in it. I've read that one criticism of Ozu is that his camera is always mere inches off the ground, but that seems absurd, though not entirely an inaccurate comment.
The two main actors in this film, and others of Ozu, were
Hara Setsuko and Chishu Ryu.
A
posting by Peter Bradshaw on Wednesday 16 June 2010 in the Guardian celebrates the 90th birthday of Setsuko Hara.
AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON
Sanma no aji
Her best friend, who is divorced and happy to be so, pushes her to marry. Her father's friends, with whom he regularly has restaurant meals that include copious amounts of saké and the more-than-occasional beer, soon begin to press him on why his daughter is unmarried (including one who has remarried). on seeing his former teacher living with his old, unmarried daughter,
