The woman in the dunes

Although the title is The Woman in the Dunes, it is about an man who falls victim to a vicious trap set by a remote village council, becomes a virtual prisoner in an derelict isolated place, and strikes to reclaim his freedom with all means.

The surprising turn is, in the end, he chooses not to take up the route for freedom. And in a 'civilised' world he once occupied, he is reported as'lost'.

A visual treat of a kind, especially when the camera lingers on forms and shapes of the dunes - it reminds us of many a sensual pictures taken of sand, dunes, and deserts by the world's most talented photographers - the film is an allegory of the works of our minds and how even the most incidental event can disarm our innate desire and will to live to our fullest. A realistic film as well: it traces the minute struggles of an ordinary life - from an idealist to a realist, and how we eventually settle for the simplest pleasure available.

In The Woman in the Dunes, the dunes appear boundless, sensual, appealing and full of lives to an inquisitive visitor with an eye for exotic desert insects, which he keeps in a jar before displaying them in a glass front case. Soon however, it turns out to a silent accomplice of the vicious village council with a hidden agenda. In the end though, it loses the importance in the protagonist's search for freedom when it appears that it is the mind that determines one's fate.

The derelict house, that appears fascinating and welcoming for a tired traveler, has also changed its role many a times in the story. Soon after the man is fed, it first becomes a prison, then a battlefield for its occupiers, and eventually, a place the imprisoned man settles in at his own free will.

The use of space (the vast outdoors and the confined indoors) and the sparse dialogues, all reminds me, strangely, of Chen Kaige's Yellow Earth, made some 20 years afterwards in China. The difference is while in The Woman in the Dunes, it is the trapped woman and the discovery of water in the desert win the battle and get the man to leave civilisation behind, in Yellow Earth, it is an enlightened teenage girl who is devoured by the currents of the Yellow River in her desperate escape from an arranged marriage, is celebrated by everybody on the yellow earth.

Repast

Another film by Mikio Naruse, this time though, not starring his favourite actress Hideko Takemine with whom he had made some of his best, but by Ozu's default lead lady Setsuko Hara, who epitomised the 'ideal woman' in Ozu's masterpieces.

Filmed at the prime of her career, Hara looks every bit as elegant and charming under Ozu, and the character she takes on attractes admiration on her appearance from everybody across the board. However, the look is where the similarities ends. In the world of Ozu, whatever roles she plays, she is that traditional woman; a subordinate on all accounts, whose sole purpose of life is to make everybody around her happy, even at her own expenses. She might have her own thoughts and ideas but she would almost always supress it if it conflicts with those of the others, especially that of her immediate family. Whatever happens, she accepts her fate with a smile and cries of her own pain only when no-one is around.

In Repast however, we encounter a woman who dares to question what she can get out of a life as a housewife. After five years marriage, she finds herself worn out by the domestic drudgery imposed on a housewife, and worse still, her husband does not only never help out at home, but prefers his newspaper than engaging in a conversation with her. While she is making sacrifice to keep the book balanced, her husband takes advance payment to sponsor his selfish niece's fancy daydream when she pays an uninvited visit and overstays her welcome.

Unlike any of the women played by Hara in Ozu's films, Hara's character in Repast decides enough is enough and returns to her native Tokyo to think things through, to seek opportunities and employment, leaving her salaryman husband to look after himself.

The film gets very interesting indeed at this point, not only because it is by then rather clear that her handsome and much better-off cousin is one of her longtime admirers, but more importantly, a woman's voice is heard, raising a very interesting question; where her place should be, that of a self-fulfillment at workplace or tied to the kitchen sink for the rest of her life.

The film however ends with her train journey back home with her husband snoring by her side, accompanied by her voiceover that her happiness is to make her husband happy, because after all, he has been 'bravely' working everyday in order to maintain their home. Given that chance of employment for women seems rather grim, and that her mother's home is in fact not as welcoming as she has anticipated, returning to her husband seems to be the only option for an unemployed married woman. But the ending nevertheless seems too abrupt and too ready to succumb to the convention of the time.

The film was made in 1951, a time when Japan was still struck by extreme poverty after the defeat during the Second World War. What the ending would be if the film was remade?

PS: it has been argued that Naruse and Ozu were rather similar in their approaches at their early careers, but their mature works could not be more different. And indeed, although Ozu has always fixed his camera on the domestic world, Ozu never let it enter the kitchen, and has therefore deprived us any slim chance of learning about the hard labour behind a polished home. In Repast however, Hara is filmed for a number of times as working in the dingy and small kitchen, highlighting her misery as a housewife of a salaryman. The same Hara therefore has a very different experience in Naruse's film from that of the Ozu's.

The bad sleep well

I love both the title and the film made in 1960 by Akira Kurosawa. It is more than 2 hours long, but there has never been a dull moment. It captures the Japanese corporate culture vividly (or at least the one, stereotypical ones? that we know of) and explores in depth the true complicity in human: where lust, evil, love and tenderness can be bundled together in the main characters.

The film starts with a group of journalists rushing into a grand hall to observe a wedding in process. Amazingly, in the nearly 15 minutes sequence, the bunch of suit wearing journalists have all remained a respectful distance from the main hall where the invited guests are. They must be what can be called 'paperrazzis', trying to catch the latest development of a corruption scandal. Yet how civil and different they are from the contemporary ones! Even those with cameras have stayed away from the action/main hall and would only take snaps when they are instructed by, apparently, their superiors, who do not seem to carry anything with them! Not even a pen or piece of paper. Those were the days then when strict social and class distinction is still at work, and that although the competitiveness of media industry was already evident, rivals are still sharing their insiders' knowledge.

I have apparently watched a number of films by the lead actor Toshiro Mifane who plays the son-in-law in the film, both in works by the same director and others. On the cover, it says that he played the bandit in Roshomon, but no matter how hard I tried, I just could not figure out which role he was playing in this one! Perhaps this is just a proof of how versatile he had been. I might revisit Red Beard and Spider Web Castle, just for the performance from one of the greatest actor in Japan.

I was not convinced of the proclaimed greatness of Aikra Kurasawa, but after The Bad Sleep Well, I think I might have changed my mind a bit.

Coincidentally I have also got Shakespeare Retold in my pile of DVDs from the library and I would love to see how they differ in adapting Shakespeare in contemporary settings.

Kenji Mozoguchi and Japanese art

By sheer coincidence, I have watched some of the 'best' by Kenji Mozoguchi: Ugestsu (The Tales of the Pale and Silvery Moon after Rain), Sansho the Bailiff, The Crucified Lovers (A Story of Chikamatsu). They are all black and white works shot between the 1930s to 1950s relating the endless struggles of human beings in feudal society when conditions were harsh and social convention worked constantly against human nature. As I watched them, I did not know a thing about the director and except for The Crucified Lovers, the stories themselves failed to make strong impressions over me. So when I read lately how highly he is regarded by some film scholars, I decide to find more of his works and reassess this 'master of cinema'.

Like his other films, the story of Mis Oyu is rather conventional, but when I watched it last night, I did seem to pick up a lot of things that had escaped me, such as his 'signature' styles which include the aethetic settings and the long still shots. The scene when the hero paid a visit with his aunt to Mrs Oyu when she was offering her first performance is a case in point. It began with a medium/long shot showing Mrs Oyu playing an instrument on the floor with a comment from the hero on the beauty of the 'stage' and her 'wonderful taste'. Then as if to underline his point of view, the camera moved outside the room and stayed in the corridor from which the 'stage' and music became the focal point. The camera stayed there for a long while to allow us to take stock of the story from afar and admire the beauty associated with Mrs Oyu.

There are many scenes where we are let to admire the beauty of season or nature. The opening sequence for instance has the hero wondering about the garden when he is waiting for the arrival of his future bride, and it seems simply the most natural thing for him to fall in love when Mrs Oyu made her first appearance under the new sprout leaves and beautiful cherry blossom. Then when he is struggling between confessing his love to her and supressing his feelings, the backdrop of the scence is an exquisitely maintained garden within the four walls of a typical Japanese house. Such scenes shot in composed manner are visual poems on beauty, natural or cultivated, and remind me what a master Japanese are in the craft of creating beauty with restrains - leaving the impression that such beauty is of minimum human interference.

I wish one day such films will be restored to its full former beauty. Because at their current state, it is difficult to comment on the use of lighting etc.

Fresh look at Ozu

When I visited Beijing two and a half years ago, I got hold of an anthology of Yasujiro Ozu's last 15 films. Their style and quality is consistent and in fact, probably because they tend to focus on domestic issues of the middle class, with roles by his regular actors, it is easy to come to the conclusion that Ozu the director had stayed that way all the time: low camera position, minimum movement both of the camera and the characters, protagonists hardly engaged in matters of monetary nature.

Tokyo Chorus and I Was Born But... change all that. Such delightful and beautiful pearls show a very different Ozu: one that deemed humour one of the key elements in his characters and story telling, one that was obviously heavily influenced by masters like Chaplin (think of the scenes where the father was captured making faces in front of camera), and one that is already a great director with child actors.

Both films have many scenes of children behaving, well, just like children in their most natural state of their age, and it was incredible that Ozu managed to get such brilliant performances from these child actors, with the eldest being no more than eight or nine years old. I Was Born But... stands out in particular as it deals both with children's adaptation to the usually forced new environments (new neighbourhood, new school, new kids, new bullies etc as their fathers' social status changed), and that of the adult world from their prospectives. The latter proves to be especially a fresh and poignant angle to remind us what is being lost from adolescence to adulthood when reality kicks in.

In comparison to the characters in Mikio Naruse's best works, such as When Women Ascend the Stairs and Flouting Clouds, who are all obviously making difficult choices due to the lack of financial stability, those in Ozu's latter and better known films seldom address such issues openly as if they would be resolved on their own. Yet the two films from his silent era suggest another template, one which is not too different from that of Naruse in terms of how the ordinary people are leading their lives when bounded by immediate or long term financial concerns. It is only in the latter period that Ozu dropped such subject matters directly related to one's financial circumstance.

A true master, someone whose early works prove to be a wonderful surprise to those like myself who were introduced to him through his latter works. His works look at the role of a father in the family, especially that in a boy's world. His concern is humane and realistic. But best of all, he has never allowed himself to forget the films are there to entertain in the first instance; his wit and sense of humour are there to captivate us throughout in the two silent films.