Far too infrequently a film is made that captures the raw beauty of the interactions of common folk in their inconsequential lives. Without the glitz and glamour of FX, heightened dialogue and nonsensical stories, many films feel flat and even boring. Yasujiro Ozu, with passion and meticulous care, has created a masterpiece of heartbreaking power told with the simplest and most often used of tales: a love lost.
The plot is brief: in the twilight of their years, a couple heads from their small, traditional Japanese village to Tokyo to visit their children. Upon arrival, they find their grandchildren disrespectful, their sons not nearly the successes that they imagined and sense that their presence is seen as a burden on the family. In fact, the only person who seems to show them any care and affection is their daughter-in-law, who is of no blood relation and whose husband died eight years prior to the visit. The disrespect shown to their elders will haunt the family in the end, however, as Ozu's requiem to tradition and family unfolds.
Interactions and relationships become largely irrelevant after the first hour or so of the film, and yet, astonishingly, the power of the bond between the couple become stronger as the themes of the story begin to emerge and strengthen. It begins as a lamentation of traditions lost, of family values which have been sacrificed for the sake of money and success. It is also an observation of the alteration of a new Tokyo following WWII. The couple's village was untouched by the bombs, and apart from the death of one of their children they seem to have been largely unaffected. But going to the metropolis in the stages of a technological revolution they find that though their two cities are relatively near to each other, they might as well be worlds apart.
What the film evolves into, though, is something more accessible and far more moving. Ozu's movie becomes a reflective meditation on the trials of life, of mistakes made and the inevitability of death. It is somber and elegant, pessimistic and at times even despairing. It does not seek to reprimand its audience, however. It is a mildly didactic instrument that seeks to very honestly present a largely unimportant family spending a short amount of time together doing largely uninteresting things. The lessons to be learned from what I expect was meant to induce self-examination are truths which we should value, yet ones we forget.
It was startling to me to find how much the marriage of the mother and father meant to me. It was apparent early on that one of them would die; there was enough foreshadowing to expect this. But when it did finally happen I found myself terribly emotional. Never once does this couple kiss. Never once do they say "I love you," but in their slow, stately walks, in their exchanges of smiles and sideways glances we know that their love for one another has passed beyond the need to express their emotions so openly.
One of them dies, and there is grief from the children. Tears are shed, but they dry quickly and thoughts turn to more important things like clothing and business trips. But in the emotions tossed about, the surviving half of the couple expresses nothing but acceptance and reverence. Death has been acknowledged, but that is a part of life. The closing shots of a solitary figure in an empty room, swallowed up by the city are haunting.
This is one of the most wrenching, gorgeous films I have ever seen, profound in its simplicity, and a testament to the wonders of the filmmaker. It is a film I would recommend watching alone and in a time of calm. Take the time to reflect on your life and what relationships you share with your loved ones mean to you. I think this film can inspire good in people in they allow themselves to open their hearts to its messages.
4/4
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