May 21, 2012

13 Late Spring (1949)

****
Country: Japan
Director: Yasujiro Ozu


Late Spring was the third picture Yasujiro Ozu made after the end of the Second World War, and in many ways it established the pattern for the typical postwar Ozu film. It's the kind of film that, except for the occasional oddity like Good Morning (1959), Ozu continued making until his death in 1963. Concentrating on one family and a compact group of their acquaintances, these films deal with small domestic conflicts and dilemmas with special emphasiss on a subject that had long fascinated Ozu, the often difficult relations between parents and children.

The chief characters in Late Spring are Shukichi Somiya (Chishu Ryu), a widowed university professor, and his 27-year old daughter Noriko (Setsuko Hara). Content to live at home caring for her father, Noriko has no desire to marry. Problems in this cozy domestic arrangement begin to develop when a meddlesome aunt with a propensity for matchmaking turns her attention to finding a husband for Noriko and a new wife for her father. For his part, the father, feeling guilty for being Noriko's reason for not pursuing a life of her own, sees the sense of the aunt's suggestions. Noriko, however, wants no part of these plans, considering herself indispensable to her father's happiness and comfort. "If I left home, Father would be lost," she says.

The tone of the first part of the film is fairly light-hearted. Noriko enjoys simple domestic pleasures like caring for the practical details of her father's daily life and shopping trips to Tokyo. She has an easy platonic friendship with her father's young research assistant, a bantering relationship with one of her father's former academic colleagues, and a close friendship with a former schoolmate, a very modern and Westernized divorcée named Aya. The tone of the film takes a sudden shift, though, in a crucial sequence where Noriko and her father attend a performance of a Noh play and Noriko sees in the audience the woman her aunt has in mind to become her stepmother. After attending the Noh play, Noriko becomes morose and even more stubbornly resistant to the entreaties of her father and aunt that she must prepare herself for a change in her father's circumstances and give serious consideration to a marriage of her own.

Eventually, after much persuasion by her father ("Happiness isn't something you wait around for," he tells her. "It's something you create yourself.") Noriko accepts that she must marry and make a life for herself, and she does marry a young man her aunt has introduced her to. In a final irony, after the wedding the father admits to Noriko's friend Aya that he never really intended to marry, that it was just a ruse to compel Noriko to do what would be best for her despite the pain it would cause both of them. "It was the biggest lie of my life," he confesses.

Like all of Ozu's movies, Late Spring seems to dwell not on big emotions but on small details of its characters' lives—small talk and gossip, sharing a meal or a cup of tea or sake, a bicycle ride to the beach, eating an apple. Yet to say that the film is only about everyday trivialities would not be accurate, for those little things are wrapped around subjects and situations of great moment. Everywhere in the film are signs of the profound cultural changes in postwar Japan, especially the increasing Westernization of Japanese society. Noriko and the other young people in the film wear Western clothing and furnish their homes with Western-style furniture. Older people like Noriko's father and aunt wear traditional attire, at least at home, and stick with traditional furnishings—tatami mats, shoji screens and dividers, low tables and floor cushions to sit on. When Aya visits Noriko and sits on a cushion on the floor, her legs fall asleep because she isn't accustomed to such seating. Aya's own home and Noriko's upstairs room are filled with Western furniture—chairs and tables and Western bedding.

Perhaps the most vivid image of the Americanization of Japan comes on the bicycle ride Noriko and her father's assistant Hattori take to the beach one day. Visually this is a very poetic sequence, filled with simple but artfully composed shots of Noriko, her hair blowing in the wind and a beatific expression on her face, the two young people on their bicycles, the dunes and the surf in the background. In the middle of the sequence, though, is a single shot composed in the same painterly style as the rest of the sequence, but with one element in the foreground that underscores the pervasive influence of the West in postwar Japan. It's a reminder of Ozu's sublime visual subtlety, a single prop that on the abstract level functions as a purely formal element, but on the literal level causes the shot to transcend its apparent meaning as simply a piece of a narrative sequence.

Another subject always in the background is the changing role of women in postwar Japan, particularly among the younger generation. Noriko's friend Aya seems to typify these changes. Aya is not just a divorcée, but a woman who married for love instead of accepting a traditional arranged marriage, then grew tired of her husband's demands on her independence and got rid of him. Now she is a professional stenographer fluent in English, and apparently a prosperous one. She has her own house as far from the traditional Japanese style as imaginable, a fashionable Western wardrobe, and no interest in either remarriage or motherhood. In comparison to the independent-minded Aya, Noriko seems quite staid and conventional. Even Noriko's conservative aunt observes at one point in the film that Noriko seems "old-fashioned for someone of her age."

It might actually be more accurate to say that Noriko is exceptionally averse to change, especially in her personal life. There comes a time in every person's life when the grown-up child must break free of the primal love relationship—the one between parent and child—and create a unique identity. Noriko seems to have become stuck in an early stage of this universal process of maturation, to have carried the idea of filial devotion to such extremes that she has stalled her own emotional development. To use a common analogy, she's like the young bird which refuses to leave the nest and must be pushed out. This is what her father realizes and what impels him to indulge in the benign chicanery that forces Noriko to move forward.

Working with Ozu for the first time, Setsuko Hara gives one of the great screen performances of all time as Noriko. (She would go on to make five more pictures with him. Two of her later performances for Ozu—in 1953's Tokyo Story and as the parent in Late Autumn, the 1960 semi-remake of Late Spring—are just as good.) She immediately establishes Noriko as a character of great charm, a young woman who embodies with complete comfort the opposite qualities of gentleness and rigid determination. It's a graceful, charismatic performance that takes a sudden turn in an unexpected direction during that pivotal scene at the Noh play.

When Noriko glances across the room and spots the woman her aunt is urging her father to marry, her mood suddenly collapses and we see a side of the relaxed and winsome young woman she has not shown before. In an instant the expression on her face and in her eyes hardens as she stares at her rival, her face tense with stress. Hara lowers her head and closes her eyes in that characteristic way of hers that here suggests simultaneously a dropping away of Noriko's carefree façade, anguish and utter dejection, and finally a closing down of all outward expression of her inner emotional tumult. It's a stunning transformation that in its suddenness and completeness I've seldom seen equaled on the screen.

The last scene in the film, when Noriko's father sits alone in the empty house after the wedding contemplatively peeling an apple, powerfully conveys the loneliness he feels. Yet if you look closely at that amazing sequence, you can see that, like so much in Ozu's films, despite its apparent simplicity it suggests a great deal more than it actually shows. If it suggests the sense of loss Noriko's father feels, at the same time it also suggests that the painful process of separation has exposed some dormant but essential element of his psyche. Take a closer look at the room he is sitting in. This downstairs room is in his part of the house. But the traditional furniture from earlier in the film is gone, replaced by the Western-style furniture we saw earlier in Noriko's room upstairs. Apparently, like Noriko he too has moved forward into a new phase of his life, the way an insect sheds its old skin for a new one. This new phase might lack the familiarity and security of his former life with Noriko, but at the same time the loosening of the bond between him and Noriko has given him the freedom to move in a new direction of his own choosing.

Ozu then surpasses this apple-peeling sequence with the final shot of the film, a brief pillow-shot coda of waves gently breaking on the shore, a shot which seems to imply that the lives of Noriko and her father are part of a much larger natural continuum. It's impossible not to think back to the Noh play they attended earlier in the film, whose theme was that of achieving enlightenment through the close observation of nature. I don't believe I've seen another movie which expresses something this ineffable as succinctly as Ozu does in that remarkable final shot, pretty but meaningless on its own, yet containing a universe of meaning in the context of the small human drama we've just experienced in the film.

You might also like:
Watch the 1½-minute promotional video for the recent Criterion Blu-ray release of Late Spring:

13 comments:

  1. A beautiful film with the incomparable Setsuko Hara. Excellent write-up. I agree she is one of film's greatest actresses. I love all three of the "Noriko Trilogy" films. Ozu and cast captured poigancy better than anyone.

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    1. Readerman, poignancy--yes that's key to an appreciation of Ozu. Without the Ozu light touch, poignancy can so easily slide into sentimentality or even melodrama. I think of Ozu as the most subtle of all filmmakers. His films seem so delicate on the surface, yet they invariably leave a strong impression on me. Some complain that his films are too similar to one another, but I always come away from an Ozu film feeling as though I've visited a special place that I want to return to over and over.

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  2. I have never see an Ozu film that I didn't think was beautiful. Setsuko Hara's gentle performance in this is beyond moving.

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    1. Kim, Ozu is for me one of the most painterly of all filmmakers. Every shot is so carefully and masterfully composed, yet they don't seem contrived or overdone. For me his very precise and orderly sense of geometry and texture is aesthetic manna. His aversion to camera movement and anything but flat cuts between shots only emphasizes the beauty of each individual shot. The montage of shots in the first part of the Criterion video gives a wonderful sense of this.

      Ozu tended to use the same actors again and again and always seemed to have wonderful rapport with them. But I think of his work with Setsuko Hara as one of the great collaborations between a director and actress, on the order of Dietrich-Sternberg or Hitckcock-Grace Kelly or Cukor-Hepburn.

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  3. R.D., I saw this film some months ago on television and thought it was wonderful - all the little details and nuances that build up are astonishing, and although so little happens on the surface much of the time it never feels slow. That apple-peeling scene at the end is the moment that has stuck in my mind the most, but I'm not sure if I took in the change from traditional to Western furniture in that scene until reading your review.

    I agree with you that Setsuko Hara is great in the lead role - am I remembering rightly that her character had been ill after the war, and away from home in a sanitorium? I thought this might be one reason why she clings so to the everyday life with her father. I was surprised that we never see her prospective husband, just get a mention that he looks a bit like Gary Cooper.

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    1. Judy, it's interesting that like the previous commenters, you use terms and ideas I associate with Ozu--"little details," "nuances," the ideas of an uncluttered surface and an even, dignified, but not slow pace. Now that you mention it, I believe another character does comment that Noriko had been ill but has revovered--something to do with malnutrition during the war? This is a good example of how Ozu builds up the back story of his characters with so few strokes, just allusions to events in the past that cumulatively sketch the character for us.

      I'm glad you brought up the way Noriko's husband is treated. He's never shown and we see nothing of their introduction or wedding ceremony. The film just jumps ahead from Noriko's acceptance of the situation to the wedding day. It's as if Ozu wanted to be fastidiously selective about the details he did reveal so as not to distract from his main emphasis, which is the effect of the situation on Noriko and her father. If you were so inclined, I'm sure you could do a scene by scene analysis interpreting the import of each detail in the scene! I chose to focus on just a few to give an idea of the richness beneath the apparent simplicity.

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  4. I have to confess I haven't seen an Ozu film. I'm pretty much of a Kurosawa completist, but then, his films seems to be much more readily available for viewing than Ozu's, or of other Japanese filmmakers. Your post is beautifully written and quite evocative, and I realize that I've a gap in my film education! The film's plot, of the relation between parent and child, and the accrual of small details to build a larger point, reminded me of the Japanese film "Black Rain," which came out in the late 80s, I think, and concerned a young woman in 1950s Japan who wanted to get married but was shunned by society because of exposure to WW2 atomic radiation. It also, like the Ozu film you describe, was a deceptively "static" movie -- no big setpieces or climaxes, but just small, quite moments that culminate in a larger realization, in this case of the doomed sadness of the young protagonist's life. I think Japanese cinema has a unique talent for this kind of intense, still observation, rather in the manner of great still-life painting.

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    1. GOM, after hearing so much about Ozu, I saw my first Ozu film only about three years ago but immediately loved his style and have watched many, but not quite all, of his sound films since then. The comparison to still life painting is an apt one. As I've said, Ozu is one of the most painterly of filmmakers.

      Most people's favorite Ozu film is the well-known "Tokyo Story," which I recommend as a starting point for anyone who wants to learn more about him, since to me it's his most accessible film. (My own favorite Ozu film is 1959's "Floating Weeds"--Rober Ebert's too!) Criterion has done a great job of making nearly all of his postwar sound films available and some of the earlier ones too. Some have been released individually, and a whole group of them are in included in their Eclipse Series release on Ozu.

      David Thomson expresses the opinion that Kurosawa (who I also love) is the most Western of all well-known Japanese directors and that's why his movies are popular in the West but not in Japan. I can see why he says this because I recognize the influence of American movies in Kurosawa's work, everything from film noir to Capra to the Westerns of the man he said was his favorite director, John Ford (not to mention Shakespeare!). Thomson says that the typical (classic) Japanese movie made for domestic consumption is a small often rather sentimental family drama. I've seen a handful of these and think he's right in this characterization. One thing I like about Ozu is that his understated style makes the emotional content more palatable to me than an overtly sentimental approach would.

      Finally, if anyone wants a 1 1/2 minute look at what to expect from Ozu, I recommend the Criterion promotional video I included at the end of the post. Its montage of scenes from "Late Spring" captures the spirit of Ozu much better than I can in words.

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    2. This sounds really interesting. I've only just started to dip into Japanese films -- I really liked the more recent THE MAKIOKA SISTERS and SHALL WE DANCE. Thanks for a very compelling review -- I'm putting this on my "to watch" list!

      Best wishes,
      Laura

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    3. Laura, I saw "The Makioka Sisters" recently and liked it very much. It's in a very different vein from Ichikawa's war films "The Burmese Harp" and "Fires on the Plain," both grim but both masterpieces. If you're just starting with classic Japanese films you'll certainly be watching Kurosawa and Ozu. Unfortunately, not much is available in the U.S. from some other highly regarded Japanese directors, but by all means try to watch something by Kenji Mizoguchi, especially "Ugestu" and "Sansho the Bailiff," and Naruse's "When a Woman Ascends the Stairs," all available from Criterion and Netflix. If you like tales of the supernatural, nobody does these like the Japanese, and I especially recommend "Kwaidan," "Onibaba," and the films of Hiroshi Teshigahara, all available here. Happy viewing!

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    4. Thanks so much for these great recommendations, I'm saving your note for future reference! I appreciate it very much.

      Best wishes,
      Laura

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  5. This is one of the most beautiful, poetic and aching films in the entire history of the cinema, one of my personal favorites, and a film that is as timeless as any ever made or will be made. It's a lark, a lyrical, and observant drama that builds in intensity and reaches the innermost recesses of the soul, a film of the deepest emotions and of the finest craftsmanship. Setsuko Hara is majestic, Ryu again is exceptional and the film (as you note in this utterly brilliant review) many issues that are at the forefront of Ozu's cinematic concerns, which are purely humanistic. The role of women in Japan, westernization, it's all here.

    This masterpiece would rank among my own most cherished films of all-time. It's one I can always gush over.

    Again, magnificent work here R.D.

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    1. Sam, thanks so much for your comment. I certainly agree with your high appraisal of "Late Spring." And also that Ozu is one of the great humanist filmmakers, one who helps us see the humanity in all the people in his films, with all their strengths and flaws. I concentrated on the great work by Setsuko Hara in this film, but as you say Ozu perennial Chishu Ryu who plays the father is also responsible for the film's power. His partnership with Ozu is an important one as he was in so many of Ozu's films. He often seems almost an extension of the director, like Mastroianni with Fellini or Van Sydow with Bergman.

      I should also thank you for directing me to so many fine films of Ozu, including this one. I had seen only a couple before you turned me on to this film and the ones in the Eclipse set, which then encouraged me to seek out even more. Ozu is one of the great new experiences of my last few years of film viewing.

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