Tôkyô no kôrasu

I enjoyed this as much as any Ozu movie that I've ever seen. I think the silent medium inclined the director more to light-heartedness, not that it was ever absent from his films. Near-slapstick leads to genuine pathos on a much more naturalistic way than it ever would in, say, a Chaplin film. Ozu always recognized and appreciated a great face. In his silent films, however, his reliance on the face is much more active, using lighting and framing to convey expression as much as the performers' inherent ability. Ozu may be unique in that the performances in his silent films seem more like "movie acting" in the western sense than do those in his talkies, in which the actors seem more indebted to the tradition of the Japanese stage. But then again, everything about Ozu's early films seems more western. He had not yet become the mandarin we know him as from his peak years. The director's sense of humanity, however, was fully on display. His silent faces rank with Dreyer's, or Rembrandt's for expressiveness.

Here we follow the tragi-comic story of one Shinji Okajima, a young Japanese man who seems more destined in life for clowning about than being a responsible, productive worker. We meet him early on, in his college years (which some people may mistake for a military training camp), acting pretty much the goof-off or "class clown," basically doing everything he can to diss his exasperated instructor while at the same time hamming it up for his beloved classmates.

Fast forward a few years, and we now find our hero married, with children, and working for an insurance company. One fine day - bonus day, at that - he takes it upon himself to stand up to the boss, who has just fired one of Shinji's older co-worker who seems adept at writing policies for people who promptly die or somehow meet a quick demise, forcing said insurance company to pay out big yen. The boss apparently doesn't have a yen for doing that on a regular basis. Our hero passionately (TOO passionately) sticks up for the older man, which in turn ends up costing him his job as well. The story continues from there, showcasing the travails of our not-so-happy-go-lucky hero and his young family as they soberly tread the muck and mire of Depression-era Tokyo, rife with unemployment, stodgy with traditional Japanese values and honor, treacherous with impending shame if you do the wrong thing in the eyes of your family and peers.

There's a poignant scene in which Shinji, erstwhile white-collar professional, is reduced to plying the streets of Tokyo, carrying an advertising banner and passing out leaflets for a small restaurant run by his former college teacher, whom we met earlier. When his kids and wife become aware of this "degradation," the shame of it all nearly devastates the family.

This movie is a fascinating portrait of a man, of a time, a place, a culture, that all seem so foreign yet so instantly recognizable. Like many silent movies from this era, this movie is NOT in good condition, heavily marred here and there with scratches and "salt and pepper." And yet you sometimes have to remind yourself that the movie was made some 80 years ago in pre-war Japan: in spite of conspicuous examples of an earlier Japan - people wearing kimonos or being transported via rickshaw - there are nevertheless ample scenes of modernization and Westernization. You'll almost do a double take when our hero is served a plate of rice and curried pork chops, and is then given not chopsticks, but a large spoon with which to eat it. In some of the scenes where the men are gathered and dressed in crisp Western-style business suits and ties, you almost expect any one of them could whip out a cell phone and call a client across town…

The point is, the movie is nearly timeless in its keen observations of the human experience, and that's what makes it such a joy to watch. Not to mention that it ends on basically a hopeful and uplifting note. One sad note is that the actor, Tokihiko Okada, who plays our hero, died a mere three years after this film was made. He was only 30! I marvel at what wondrous films director Ozu could have made with him, had he lived on.

Anyway, with this film Ozu has crafted a wonderfully hopeful world, and in so doing gives the viewer a chance to glimpse inside that world and be a part of it for nearly 100 minutes. Those, in my opinion, are 100 very well-spent minutes of your life. See it if you get the chance.

I don't have much to add to the other fine reviews, just two things:

(I) I rarely like silent films, but this one kept me entertained (and moved) throughout. I guess Ozu is just that good.

(2) There's a fascinating reference by the lead character, a salaryman for an insurance company where business has been slow in Depression-era Tokyo, to "Hoover's policies" not helping Japan as yet. I'm not sure if it was ironic or not -- I'd be surprised if it was meant to be an argument for a more Keynesian policy, but I'm not certain. In a way, I suppose the mention shouldn't come as a shock -- the world economy was sufficiently integrated in the 1930s for US economic policy to have a significant impact on Japan. Still, it was a reminder of, well justified or not, the importance of the US in the outlook of the typical Japanese.

The more time goes on in Ozu's career, the more purely Ozu his films feel, even when he's making a dramatic comedy that takes place mostly outside the house. It's a combination of small moments and the overall dramatic push of the film that give Ozu this unique feel of quietly embracing the smallness of everyday life, not seeing it as a bad thing but something to be celebrated in its own little ways. It's life-affirming and warm, and it's a wonderful way to spend 90 minutes.

Shinji (Tokihiko Okada) is a young professional, fresh out of college, and dealing with a family that includes his eldest son (Hideo Sugawara) who wants a bicycle like all of his other friends. Shinji promises him that bicycle with his bonus money, which should be coming that very day. However, Shinji gets into an argument with the company president about Yamada (Takeshi Sakamoto), an elderly employee who's being let go a year before his pension kicks in because of a mistake he made. The argument spirals, and Shinji gets fired. The rest of the movie is the little things Shinji has to do to break the news to his family and make ends meet. His wife, Sugako (Emiko Yagumo) loves him, but she's very Japanese and can't stand to see her husband lose face. So, when he takes a job helping his old professor, Omura (Tatsuo Saito), market his restaurant by parading around with a flag and handing out flyers, she's embarrassed at his status.

Where the joy comes in this is in the small moments. First, there's the light comedy that Ozu liked to sprinkle through his films. The early parts of the film are dominated by the office with the workers getting their bonuses, but Japanese culture encourages privacy on pay matters while also being filled with curious people. So, it becomes this dance as people take their bonus check envelopes and try to open them in private. The comic height is one opening his envelope in the bathroom and accidentally spilling the bills into the urinal.

Then there are the human moments. Shinji, on one of his many walks looking for work before running into Omura, finds Yamada handing out insurance advertising bills on the street. They sit down in a park and start to talk about life. There's suddenly frantic word about a bear having escaped nearby, but Shinji doesn't stir from his spot. Instead, he says, a bear won't save their lives. So, Yamada sits back down, and they continue to talk with the two barely moving. It's about embracing those small moments in life and enjoying them with people. That gets mirrored later with Shinji and his family. Penniless and without hope for work, he sits down at home and starts a game with his children, sitting in a circle and singing a song. There are smiles all around, even from Sugako, and life moves on.

Of course, there's an ending to this where Shinji's prospects brighten instead of darken through all of his suffering and efforts, and it's the kind of warm thing I'd expect from an Ozu film. However, it can't all be roses and cocktails. Shinji's efforts to help Omura's restaurant included bringing back all of his classmates to help, and Omura is faced with losing his students once again. It's all just played on faces, and it works surprisingly well.

My only problem with it is that Omura, aside from a brief appearance in essentially a prologue, didn't appear in the film until about an hour in. And most of his scenes are played for laughs (them bickering about who has to hold the heavy flags is amusing). So, the impact isn't that strong.

Also, like most of Ozu's comedies, they're not that funny. They're amusing. They have a nice feel as people navigate comedic situations, but they're not Keaton's death-defying stunts or Chaplin's intricately choreographed setpieces. His movies work best in their quiet moments, but it seems obvious to me that while Ozu was doing everything to make these films his own, he was still a cog in a studio machine, making films in genres he could manage but wasn't naturally inclined to make himself. So, he does the assignment well, but the really interesting stuff is where he can bend the film to his whims most. The precursors to the films that made him famous in the 40s and 50s. He might not have been blooming just yet, but Ozu's films were showing serious potential for growth while entertaining in mostly slight ways at the same time.

This Ozu guy...he's REALLY good at this movie making thing. The more time goes on in Ozu's career, the more purely Ozu his films feel, even when he's making a dramatic comedy that takes place mostly outside the house. It's a combination of small moments and the overall dramatic push of the film that give Ozu this unique feel of quietly embracing the smallness of everyday life, not seeing it as a bad thing but something to be celebrated in its own little ways. It's life-affirming and warm, and it's a wonderful way to spend 90 minutes.

Shinji (Tokihiko Okada) is a young professional, fresh out of college, and dealing with a family that includes his eldest son (Hideo Sugawara) who wants a bicycle like all of his other friends. Shinji promises him that bicycle with his bonus money, which should be coming that very day. However, Shinji gets into an argument with the company president about Yamada (Takeshi Sakamoto), an elderly employee who's being let go a year before his pension kicks in because of a mistake he made. The argument spirals, and Shinji gets fired. The rest of the movie is the little things Shinji has to do to break the news to his family and make ends meet. His wife, Sugako (Emiko Yagumo) loves him, but she's very Japanese and can't stand to see her husband lose face. So, when he takes a job helping his old professor, Omura (Tatsuo Saito), market his restaurant by parading around with a flag and handing out flyers, she's embarrassed at his status.

Where the joy comes in this is in the small moments. First, there's the light comedy that Ozu liked to sprinkle through his films. The early parts of the film are dominated by the office with the workers getting their bonuses, but Japanese culture encourages privacy on pay matters while also being filled with curious people. So, it becomes this dance as people take their bonus check envelopes and try to open them in private. The comic height is one opening his envelope in the bathroom and accidentally spilling the bills into the urinal.

Then there are the human moments. Shinji, on one of his many walks looking for work before running into Omura, finds Yamada handing out insurance advertising bills on the street. They sit down in a park and start to talk about life. There's suddenly frantic word about a bear having escaped nearby, but Shinji doesn't stir from his spot. Instead, he says, a bear won't save their lives. So, Yamada sits back down, and they continue to talk with the two barely moving. It's about embracing those small moments in life and enjoying them with people. That gets mirrored later with Shinji and his family. Penniless and without hope for work, he sits down at home and starts a game with his children, sitting in a circle and singing a song. There are smiles all around, even from Sugako, and life moves on.

Of course, there's an ending to this where Shinji's prospects brighten instead of darken through all of his suffering and efforts, and it's the kind of warm thing I'd expect from an Ozu film. However, it can't all be roses and cocktails. Shinji's efforts to help Omura's restaurant included bringing back all of his classmates to help, and Omura is faced with losing his students once again. It's all just played on faces, and it works surprisingly well.

My only problem with it is that Omura, aside from a brief appearance in essentially a prologue, didn't appear in the film until about an hour in. And most of his scenes are played for laughs (them bickering about who has to hold the heavy flags is amusing). So, the impact isn't that strong.

Also, like most of Ozu's comedies, they're not that funny. They're amusing. They have a nice feel as people navigate comedic situations, but they're not Keaton's death-defying stunts or Chaplin's intricately choreographed setpieces. His movies work best in their quiet moments, but it seems obvious to me that while Ozu was doing everything to make these films his own, he was still a cog in a studio machine, making films in genres he could manage but wasn't naturally inclined to make himself. So, he does the assignment well, but the really interesting stuff is where he can bend the film to his whims most. The precursors to the films that made him famous in the 40s and 50s. He might not have been blooming just yet, but Ozu's films were showing serious potential for growth while entertaining in mostly slight ways at the same time.

This Ozu guy...he's REALLY good at this movie making thing.

"Tokyo story" is another silent movie of Yasujiro Ozu, of witch "I was born ... but" (1932) is the most well known.

Just like "I was born ... but" "Tokyo chorus" is about young parents and young children. In later years Ozu would concentrate more on the relationship between adult children and elderly parents. The obvious explanation would be that the stage of life of Ozu himself was leading in the choice of his subject. Given that Ozu was a bachelor all his life this explanation is however not true.

Just like "I was born ... but" "Tokyo chorus" is about shame with the employment of the father. In this case however it are not the children who feel the shame but the wife. Moreover in "Tokyo chorus" the "inferior" employment of the father is the result of his solidarity with an older colleague which was treated unfair. With this solidarity he showed his courage (unlike his other colleagues) but ultimately he only achieved that he was fired as well.

In Western eyes this gives the film a certain social engagement. Not very typical for Ozu! I wonder however if Ozu really meant it this way. In the beginning of the film we see that the main character was a rebel in his student years. In in between shots we see images of laundry drying in the sun. Another (more Japanese?) interptretation is that the main character is immature at the beginning of the film, insufficiently aware of his responsibilities as a father (symbolized by landry drying in the sun). Only through misfortune (of his own making) he finally grows up.

Whatever the interpretation, already in 1931 the style of Ozu was taking form, both regarding subject (family life) as regarding style (the use of in between shots).