Review - Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth?

December 7, 2019

Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth? – Japan, 1932

The great Yasujiro Ozu had no qualms about returning to material he’d previously used as inspiration for a film. He remade his 1934 film, The Story of Floating Weeds, as Floating Weeds in 1954, and many of the films explore similar themes, so much so that a common comment about Ozu is that he made his first film in 1929 and then remade that film over and over just with varying titles. It is a joke made by those who are either unaware of his complete repertoire or are exaggerating for comedic effect, and yet it is impossible not to see the similarities between Yasujiro Ozu’s Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth? and his earlier “student films,” Days of Youth, I Flunked, But…, and The Lady and the Beard. In many ways, Where Now Are the Dreams of My Youth? is almost an amalgamation of his earlier films, albeit with an ending that is jarringly different that what came before.

Like those earlier movies, Where Now Are the Dreams of My Youth? begins in those jovial days of university, which, as seen in I Flunked, But…, mostly includes playing, hanging out with good friends, and being on the cheerleading squad, and there’s not a whole lot of studying going on during the interim. We first meet a young man named Taichiro Saiki (Tatsuo Saito). He’s such a studious fellow that he walks around the school grounds with his head buried in his books and a pencil in hand; he is not, however, bright – at least not according to his professor -  and he is a bit of a social misfit. In one scene, Ozu shows him watching his friends leading a pep rally from afar, with a look in his eyes that show unmistakable envy.

Soon we meet Tetsuo Horino (Ureo Egawa), who is very much Saiki’s opposite. In fact, it’s highly unlikely he has picked up a book for weeks. In one scene reminiscent of one from an early Harold Lloyd film, he gets so involved in a chess game that he and his opponent carry the game out of a bakery and play it as they are walking and even after they have entered the classroom. Early on, we also meet Oshige (Kinuyo Tanaka), a young woman whose family owns the bakery Horino and his friends frequent often. It is clear where her heart lies from her early interactions with Horino, yet later events caused me to reflect back on Saiki’s reactions during those early scenes in the bakery and see many of his facial expressions and physical movements in a new light. Things take a dramatic turn - at least momentarily – when Horino’s father dies and he elects to take over his father’s company instead of completing his degree.    

Ozu’s student films were made during a worldwide economic downturn, and that reality permeates through most of those films. In Ozu’s lost film, I Graduated, But…, a young man’s degree fails to land him a decent job; here, Tetsuo’s friends are graduating into a world where job prospects are bleak. In I Flunked, But…, the luckiest character is the one who doesn’t pass his exams because he gets to continue basking in the bright glory of student life, while his friends face rejection after rejection. Here, graduation is unnecessary for Hirino to achieve success; for his friends, it sends them ill-prepared into a job market reeling from a global contraction. Days of Youth is a different kind of film, focusing more on comedy and a love triangle, but even in that film, we see similarities to the romantic narrative found in Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth?

Where it diverges is in its finale, and I suspect it is this part of the film that contemporary audiences will have the hardest time with, for instead of embracing the notions that the passage of time creates permanent changes and that accepting that is part of growing up, it reinforces the idea that all that is needed to restore strained relations is an old-fashioned heart-to-heart. Here, said talk involves a confrontational discussion and a discomforting one-sided physical altercation. Voila, they’re all smiles, and life is as it should be. Except that it isn’t. The economy is still lousy, his friends are still woefully unqualified for employment, and Horino still does not have the experience necessary to run a successful company. I guess none of that is more important than whether four young men stay friends.

In fairness, with the exception of a few fleeting remarks here and there, the film doesn’t try to extend much into this reality, but by avoiding any real depiction of what was happening in 1931, the world these characters inhabit feels trivialized. It is as if Ozu is saying that all you need to survive trying times is family wealth and/or connections in high places. I don’t see that message resonating either now or in 1931. It reminds me of a Hollywood movie made during the Great Depression in which the lead character turns down a job because it doesn’t pay enough. Not many people in the audience could afford such considerations, and it is said that the line elicited laughter,

Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth? is a more enjoyable film if you ignore the real world. Set aside the drum beats of war and the shattered dreams of those unfortunate enough not to find comfortable employment, and just watch it as the story of four friends whose camaraderie is tested by extreme changes and, for two of them at least, an interest in the same woman. Viewed as such, the film mostly succeeds. It is humorous, employing wit and warmth reminiscent of the early works of Chaplin, Lloyd, and Keaton. The film is extremely well acted, and several scenes involving Horino and Oshige resonate emotionally. As for the film’s climactic moments, I will not sugarcoat it – they are off-putting and certainly left a bad taste in my mouth. However, after that wore off, I could reflect upon the film’s more uplifting and humorous moments and recall that I’d had a pretty good time up until that point. That should count for something. (on DVD in Region 2 as part of BFI’s The Student Comedies)

3 stars

*Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth? is a silent film.

Review - I Flunked, But...

November 23, 2019

I Flunked, But… - Japan, 1930

As a rule, I do not read about a movie before watching it, so I do not know for sure if my assumption about Yasujiro Ozu’s I Flunked, But… is correct. However, I suspect that parts of the film have been lost. For one, Ozu’s previous film, Days of Youth, clocked in at 99 minutes; I Flunked, But… is over after just 63, and before you remind me that many films from the same time period also had shorter running times, I should add that many pieces of the film’s narrative, as well as some of the film’s characters, are woefully undeveloped. More on that later.

I Flunked, But… is about a group of students “preparing” for a crucial series of examinations. I put the word preparing in quotation marks, for their concept of studying is writing pieces of information they think are likely to be on the exam on the back of one of the long-sleeve white shirts that the students wear as part of their uniform. They also employ an interesting technique of getting answers to students sitting further away by sticking them onto the back of the teacher as he is roaming around the classroom. Unfortunately, that technique is far less reliable.

The first day of the exam ends without their deviousness being discovered, so naturally, they immediately head home to prepare a second shirt. Problems arise, however, when one of the boys’ landlady mistakes the “cheat” shirt for one that could use a good washing and sends it off to be dry cleaned. Suffice to say, not everyone passes.

It is here where the film shifts tones. Up until this point, I Flunked, But… is humorous, with several scenes that will make you recall Harold Lloyd’s The Freshman. However, once failure makes its presence known, the film starts resembling a satire. one that is critical of Japan’s exam system and shatters the myth that all one needed to succeed in pre-World War II Japan was a degree . There’s a lot of potential in this plot point, but for some reason, Ozu elected not to explore it. Instead, we get a few serious scenes between Takahashi (Tatsuo Saito) and the girl he likes (Kinuyo Tanaka). In one, she notices the cheat shirt and registers an expression of disappointment, yet this is as far as the film goes with these sentiments. The next time we see her, she has forgotten all about her disillusionment; in its place is intense admiration and hints of budding love. The change is jarring, and I suspect that this is one of the spots from which a scene is missing.

And yet it is in this part of the film that its most interesting topics can be found. It has long been said that in Japan a job used to be guaranteed for life, and nothing we see in Ozu’s film shatters that. However, it does show that employment prospects were not quite as rosy as we’ve been led to believe, especially for someone who just barely passed his exams. After all, if no one wants to hire you, what do you care if employment is permanent?

So, I Flunked, But… has potential; it’s just not fully realized. First, I was never fully invested in these characters. Of the five members of the quintet, only two of them receive quality screen time. The other three just act silly, cheat in humorous ways, and dance the kind of short jig one usually associates with a fraternity in the 1950s. The lead character was so underwritten that he remains an enigma throughout the picture. In fact, if I’m honest, I’d say the most involving character is the one who barely passes his exams because we can all understand his plight. If only he’d received more screen time. Second, Ozu seems to be trying to have it both ways. He wants the audience to laugh at the absurdity of the boys’ behavior, yet respond with sympathy to their uncertainty and lamentations. There’s only one problem: We saw them cheating earlier in the film.

There’s a tendency to give the early films of people who eventually became great filmmakers a pass. To do so, some people seem to be view their films not as completed works, but as a source of stunning fragments that hint at the director to come. I get this; I do. However, no amount of esteem for Ozu’s later films can save I Flunked, But… It’s too disjointed, has weak character development, and, seen though modern eyes, contains eccentricity for eccentricity’s sake. It just doesn’t work. Therefore, there must be something lost. After all, the great Ozu couldn’t have made such a disappointing film. It must be that… Dang it. Now I’m doing it. (on DVD as part of BCFI’s collection The Student Comedies; it is Region 2)

2 stars

*I Flunked, But… is a silent film.

*Apparently, none of the characters in the film have names. I only learned the lead character’s name by reading the insert booklet.

Review - Days of Youth

November 17, 2019

Days of Youth – Japan, 1929

Rooms must have been hard to come by in Japan circa 1929. At least, that was my conclusion upon seeing the number of people who are practically ecstatic at the sight of a makeshift “room for rent” sign in the opening scene of Yasujiro Ozu’s 1929 film Days of Youth. One man even barges in and looks perfectly giddy as he enquires as to room. Alas, he is told it is already rented – the lucky occupant, a student named Watanabe (Ichiro Yuki), simply forgot to remove the sign. However, a moment later, there Watanabe is putting up another sign with an identical message, all the while adorning the kind of smile that usually telegraphs that someone is up to something, and indeed he is. Yet before you start thinking this is an early version of the now-standard tale of a tenant and a new roommate - think either The Odd Couple or Single White Female – it should be said the Watanabe is very much like many other young men his age: He’s looking for love. How exactly he settled on this approach is anyone’s guess, though.

It makes even less sense as the film progresses. Soon a young child is at his door, proclaiming his certainty that Watanabe will like the next one – She’s a real looker, he tells him. And sure enough, in walks a young woman named Chieko (Junko Matsui), whom Watanabe immediately approves of, so much so that soon he actually packs up his things and moves out, despite having no place to actually go to. You can see how this defies logic, but Watanabe is not known for his great ideas. He’s more of the class clown, the joker who livens up the party, but who puts off the truly important things, such as studying for his exams. In his eyes, he has accomplished his goal, to meet a member of the opposite sex and make a good impression on her – although one can reasonably assume that since she thinks he is leaving of his own accord, the notion of being indebted to him probably never crosses her mind.

We are soon introduced to another student named Yamamoto (Tatsuo Saito), We meet him as Chieko is on her way to retrieve her belongings, and it is soon clear that they are on very friendly terms. She is even making him a pair of socks, apparently a sign of affection back in the day. Clearly, Yamamoto has feelings for her, and she does not reject his subtle advances. Later, who should show up at Yamamoto’s room looking for a place to stay? You guessed it, and just like that, our love triangle is complete. In no time at all, Watanabe and Yamamoto go from being jovial buddies to fierce competitors.

Days of Youth is the earliest surviving Ozu film. Prior to it, he’d made 2 shorts and five feature films, all of which have been lost due to either old age, World War II, or the great purge of supposedly “extra” copies of films that occurred during the years the United States occupied Japan. Not having those films to reference makes it impossible to say with any certainty whether Ozu had develop what we now refer to as his signatures techniques and themes: the low camera angle, the shots taken from a distance, the emphasis on family, and the toll that the passage of time has on tradition. Here, we get a pretty straightforward comedy without any overt comment on modern society, and Ozu’s camerawork is much more traditional.

The comedy is hit-and-miss. Ozu excelled at presenting situations that were humorous because of their sweetness and authenticity. For example, in Good Morning, it is easy to accept that two kids would go on strike until they get a TV. Here, it is similarly believably that a young man would try to hide the paint on his face from the woman he is interested in. Less credible is the aforementioned plan involving Watanabe’s room, and a scene in which Yamamoto goes down a ski slope after a runaway ski adds slapstick to a film that previously based its comedy on the situation its characters find themselves in. As for the plot, it’s pretty razor-slim, so much so that screen time is devoted to ski jumps, shots of nature, and long walks in the snow. Even at 99 minutes, the film doesn’t really earn its running time.

On the plus side, the film ends with a surprise, reminding us that part of youth is enjoying the attention of others and having fun before one settles down, and that these experiences are not exclusive to young men. It also reinforces the notion that youth is a time of heartbreak and recovery and that both play an important role in shaping the kind of adult you eventually become. Ozu would make better films in the future, and he would return to some of these themes later on. Here, we get a mere passing glance at a master at work, and for some, that will be enough. (on DVD as part of BFI’s DVD set The Student Comedies; it is Region 2)

2 and a half stars

*Days of Youth is a silent film.

Review - What Did the Lady Forget?

April 25, 2019

What Did the Lady Forget? – Japan, 1937

As I watched Yasujiro Ozu’s 1937 “comedy,” What Did the Lady Forget? I couldn’t help feeling that I was watching a master’s narrative instincts being restrained and undercut. Part of the reason for this notion, I suppose, is that I know what came later in Ozu’s career, and since he tackled similar issues in later films, sans the seemingly obligatory happy ending, it’s possible to interpret the later films as his true feelings on the issues brought up in the film. This is perhaps a more reassuring reading of the context in which the film was made, but it is much better than thinking the alternative – that the film’s tidy and rather controversial conclusions actually reflected his thinking on different generations of men and women and ties that can bind or pull them apart.

The film’s central characters are Komiya (Tatsuo Saito), his wife, Tokiko (Sumiko Kurishima), and their cousin Setsuko (Michiko Kuwano), who is visiting from Osaka. Komiya is a college professor with a rather extensive knowledge of diseases; from all appearances, Tokiko is a housewife, and as such has assumed the role of head of household. Interesting, it is this position that is portrayed as having a rather corrosive effect on women, turning them from sweet to controlling, demanding, and blind to the good that lies in front of them. To Setsuko, a liberated 20^th century woman, Tokiko represents everything that is wrong with society, with its emphasis on conformity instead of individualism and tradition over freedom. Over the course of the film, Setsuko, aided by Komiya, will set out to do what tradition seeks to restrict, things such as smoking (not acceptable for a woman who has not had children yet) and going to Geisha houses (usually reserved for men).

It is a promising set-up, and post-World War II, free from government constraints and propagandist messages, it would have made for a fascinating film. However, for most of its running time, What Did the Lady Forget? is a film that seems in search of a purpose. Sure, the film adequately shows the lack of respect that some members of the young generation have for those older than them, but to what effect? In one scene, Ozu shows two young children playfully mocking a tutor for not knowing how to do a math problem. Are we meant to see how disrespectful the young are, or is the film showing how the older generation is ill prepared for the future? I couldn’t tell. In another scene, Tokiko tells Setsuko to stay home simply because someone needs to stay there (the reason is not fully explained). When Setsuko leaves anyway, I was unsure whether I was supposed to side with Setsuko for rebelling against an unreasonable request or with Tokiko, for whom being disobeyed must be akin to losing face. And there are so many scenes in which these two characters clash that the film begins to feel repetitive and somewhat one-note.

Elevating the film beyond its melodramatic overkill is the soft-spoken Komiya. He clearly loves his wife, yet her interactions with him seem to have devolved into a never-ending cycle of orders, demands, and complaints. She seems to micromanage his life, often relying on what she thinks is a pattern of behavior that both of them will be able to live with, even if doing so means that they do most things apart. Perhaps it is not surprising then that Komiyo is so taken in by Setsuko. It is not so much that he agrees with her whole-heartedly, but rather that she represents something new, a version of himself that could easily take over were he not under the impression that the rewards it yields are rather hollow and short-sighted.

Later Ozu would likely have left the film at an impasse. The gap between generations would remain, and the relationship between Komiya and his wife would still be strained. Wartime Ozu probably didn’t have the option. Perhaps that is why the film’s final act rings so hollow. This is actually an understatement, for hollow does not truly describe the feelings I experienced as the film reached its insulting and jarring conclusion. These are some pretty strong terms for a film by a man as beloved as Ozu, I know, but how else can I describe a film whose core message against complacency is undercut by the sexist suggestion that violence is a man’s way of showing he cares and one in which women are shown being envious of a woman because her husband “cared” enough to hit her?

By the time the movie ends, it is clear what the film’s title is referring to: Tokiko forgot to be “ladylike” and “grateful” for a good man, and it is ultimately this message that Setsuko learns. Her desires and complaints are to be subjugated, and she is to suffer with a smile on her face. She is never to lose sight of just how lucky she is to be loved by her husband, and if he ever raises his hand, it can be justified as long as the slap is the kind that wakes her from emotional slumber and alerts her to the true blessings in her life. Then she can smile and touch her cheek with pride. Yes, her husband cared enough to hurt her. Isn’t she lucky? the film asks. It’s a message that erases whatever good will the film had previously earned and leaves you with just one resounding thought: This is just so wrong.

I don’t mean to suggest that there aren’t parts of the film that I quite enjoyed. There are several humorous scenes involving Tokiko and two of her neighbors that brim with humor and caustic remarks, and they reveal Tokiko’s ulterior motive for sending her husband off to play golf. I also found Komiya’s friendship with his student intriguing, for rarely would you ever see such camaraderie among American professors and their students. There’s also a final heart-to-heart between Tokiko and Komiya that is both revealing and sweet.

However, unlike other films that start off well only to fall apart at the end, the bad taste I was left with after watching What Did the Lady Forget? was so strong that I’d hesitate to recommend it. After all, poor endings can be tolerated so long as they don’t diminish or contradict what came before them too terribly. When that happens, as it did with this film, I’m more likely to advise a film be avoided. Just watch Good Morning again if you are in the mood to be humored by the great Ozu. (on DVD in Region 2 as part of BFI’s Blu-ray release of Early Summer)

2 and a half stars   

*What Did the Lady Forget? is in Japanese with English subtitles.

Review - Ornamental Hairpin

August 18, 2017

Ornamental Hairpin – Japan, 1941

There is a noticeable difference between World War II-era love stories made in Japan and their counterparts in the United States. While American films such as Pearl Harbor and From Here to Eternity often present patriotism and love as going hand in hand, with patriotism receiving just a slightly greater prominence, many Japanese films present war as an obstacle even to the first date. It is almost as if thoughts of love are selfish when the country’s honor is at stake, and even when it is clear that two characters are in love, the fact that there is a war going on can prevent characters from even acknowledging their feelings aloud. Instead, they’re more prone to long loving looks that are often tinged with regret and stoic resolution. To me, such moments resonate more than those in which a couple says good-bye before shipping off to fight. They at least had joy; their Japanese counterparts often did not, and it is truly moving to see a character realize that what she wanted is something she will never have.

I reflected on these things after watching Hiroshi Shimizu’s 1941 wartime film Ornamental Hairpin. The war is only fleetingly referenced, yet every character seems acutely aware and affected by it. Young boys shout bonsai as they raise their arms, older people cling to tradition and established hierarchy in a way that people only do when they feel threatened or uneasy, and a steady stream of travelers leave the city in search of temporary respite from the chaos of the big cities and its constant war drums. And of course there’s the budding on a love that has no chance of a happy ending. War sees to that.

Ornamental Hairpin takes place at a popular mountain resort that, oddly enough, seems both popular and unprepared for the wave of visitors that descend on it. In its opening scene, we see a party of young geisha walking briskly along a dusty road reflecting upon just how wonderful it is to be away from the big city and the problems that come with it. One even remarks with wonder about how much she is sweating, for which her companion doesn’t share her enthusiasm.

We then meet a number of other residents. There’s the cranky professor (Tatsuo Saito), who has some pretty lofty notions of what his vacation is supposed to be like; his children, Taro and Jiro; two men sharing adjacent rooms, Nanmura and Hiroyasu; and Hiroyasu’s wife, who is unfortunately forced to endure the professor’s dismissive comments whenever her husband asks for her opinion. Shimuzu devotes much of the film’s first act to establishing these characters, and while nothing much happens narratively, we get a great sense of who they are and why they came together. I grew to care for them, even for the professor, whose mannerisms are likely the product of a lifetime spent adhering to tradition as if there were no other alternatives.

One day, as the men are enjoying time in the resort’s outdoor bath, Nanmura (played by a very young Chishu Ryu) steps on a hairpin inadvertently dropped by one of the young ladies staying there and is injured so severely that he requires crutches and physical therapy (playfully administered by Taro and Jiro, of course). He takes it all in stride and even speculates that the woman who lost it must be an extraordinary beauty. The professor chalks that up to the poet in him. As luck would have it, the woman, Emi Ota (Kinuyo Tanaka), contacts the hotel about her lost item and upon being told that it injured someone decides to return and apologize.

What follows is a beautiful and moving courtship that is something akin to a dance, with each person taking turns leading the other into the next phase of their relationship. At times, he leads, demonstrating to her his proud character and noble attributes; at other times, she carries him, sometimes literally, over the awkward hurdles that love can put in the way of two so smitten as they are. It is a beautiful thing to behold. We hear little of the war or of Nanmura’s role in it; we learn more about Emi’s backstory and realize just how much she has invested in Nanmura.

As I watched this unfold, I was reminded of the ways in which we measure time and of how we know that it has passed, by life’s small, but noticeable milestones – the end of the baseball season, the first day of a new school year, the first sight of Christmas lights – milestones that themselves begin things that are also transitory. All things indeed eventually end. Here, though, fate is especially cruel. There is no promise that someone will wait, no sudden elopement, no night of passionate embraces and tears. War, as it does so many things, prevents it. And by showing it, Shimizu may have made one of the subtlest and most heartbreaking anti-war statements of all time. (on DVD as part of Eclipse’s Travels with Hiroshi Shimizu)

3 and a half stars

*Ornamental Hairpin is in Japanese with English subtitles.