Crépuscule à Tokyo

This is the last film that Yasujiro Ozu made in black and white and it is an outstanding achievement in every way. He has used his tried and trusted team of composer Saito, art director Hamada and one of the two cameramen that he regularly used, Yuharu Atsuta, whose 'framing' is superb. The performances are simply splendid. Seksuko Hara never ceases to amaze. Isuzu Yamada, very touching as the mother, gave a stupendous portrayal the same year as Lady Macbeth in Kurosawa's 'Throne of Blood'. The performance that dominates however is that of Ineko Arima as the young woman overcome by despair and feelings of worthlessness. This film is intensely moving and one in which Ozu has achieved the perfect balance of simplicity and depth, restraint and emotion. Must be seen.

Yasujiro Ozu in my mind has got to one of the greatest directors in Japanese cinema, second only to Akira Kurosawa (also hold Hayou Miyazaki in high regard). As well as film in general, a feeling immediately felt after being blown away by 'An Autumn Afternoon' and especially 'Tokyo Story' years ago and this deep appreciation developed more when watching more of his work relatively recently. Again his work takes patience getting into it but if stuck with it's well worth it and more.

'Tokyo Twilight' is somewhat atypical Ozu. One can tell without any problem or hesitation that it's Ozu's style, which was a distinctive one and obvious in all his films regardless of the subject. The story though is a more intense one compared to what is usually seen with him and the approach is darker and bleaker than the usual gentle touch. That doesn't in any way stop it from being a wonderful film in every way, and is actually an interest point and what makes it stand out among his filmography.

It looks great, purposefully static yet never cheap, for starters, being notable for being the last Ozu made in black and white. With 1958's 'Equinox Flower' and all the films between that and 1962's 'An Autumn Afternoon', so the director's last six films, being made in colour. It is beautifully shot with distinctive techniques that Ozu used frequently, adds so much to the film's bleakness and an intimacy that allowed one to further engage with the drama. Ozu's direction has a little more tension than usual but also has the sensitivity, present in all his other major films, that few other directors before and since matched.

Kojun Saito, an Ozu regular, provides a haunting yet typically understated and sometimes nostalgic score, used intimately. The script is thoughtful and doesn't lay either the intense bleakness or poignancy on too thick. The story is deliberate but never dull, it is one of Ozu's darkest and bleakest films, with a never overplayed intensity between characters, while also very human and affecting.

Characterisation is not one-dimensional and very human, their strengths and flaws relatable and not taken to extremes in either way. Their situations also come over realistically and powerfully. The acting is great with a particularly riveting performance from Ineko Arima.

Overall, wonderful and one of Ozu's best. It is a shame though that it is not as better known as it deserves to be. 10/10

"Tokyo Boshoku" stands as one of Yasujiro Ozu's most underappreciated yet prestigious films. It holds the distinction of being his final work shot in black and white, a visual choice that lends a particular poignancy to its melancholic narrative.

Watching it today, one can't help but sense a distinct British film noir atmosphere permeating the screen. This is perhaps due to Japan's struggle to find its place in the world during that era. The streets, the houses, the social spaces, even the interplay of light and shadow-all evoke a sense of mystery and unease reminiscent of classic noir cinema. Yuharu Atsuta's cinematography deserves special recognition for capturing this mood so effectively.

This somber and melodramatic family saga, originally released in 1957, was restored and re-released in 2019. But alas, it was met with indifference from the art world, the press, and the general public. People seem content to reminisce about "the good old days" of cinema without making any effort to engage with the present. This is particularly true of the so-called "art-house" and "independent" film crowd, who often use those labels as a means of self-aggrandizement.

Ozu possesses a remarkable talent for filling the domestic space, confounding expectations with the use of sliding doors, and meticulously arranging actors and objects to create a richer sense of depth. His fondness for tools and trinkets reflects a genuine affection for the paraphernalia of everyday life, but the deliberate placement of these objects also contributes to the remarkably immersive, expansive feeling of interiority in his films. A corridor in an Ozu film can feel more spacious than a street scene in someone else's.

Some of Ozu's films are veritable meditations for the mind. And as I've said, "Tokyo Twilight" stands apart from his other works, possessing a unique and special quality.

Private secrets we refuse to unveil, words we cannot explain, or the veiled snare of social change: what remains unspoken takes precedence over humility, followed by an undercurrent of inner turmoil.

In low-angle shots, the inverse of the chaos's traumatic upheaval, amidst the smoky, ghostly alienation of a silver prison, family values crumble. The sorrow stemming from these recurring patterns strips away all understanding.

This is the tale of two sisters abandoned by their mother, their bond of sisterhood and solidarity. In the melodrama of resistance, Akiko's unsuccessful Pathosformel, akin to Dürer's Melencolia, encapsulates not only her temperament but also the impossibility of creation, of shaping and giving birth to life. Here, typical motifs are outlined in an almost well-rounded characterization of the roles, and in the imagery of Ozu's transcendent cinema, they add a tangible dramatic tension that ripples like an unsettling disturbance in the stillness.

A deeply, uncharacteristically dark film, even among other "dark" Ozu films (i.e. A HEN IN THE WIND, EARLY SPRING) that may require a theatrical setting for the viewer to be fully absorbed in the strange, dark textures of the world Ozu presents. I myself was pretty alienated for the first 1/2 hour or so until the wintry chill of the mise-en-scene (brilliantly suggested in the slightly hunched-over postures of the characters) found its way into me instead of keeping me at arm's length. And from there this story builds in unwavering intensity as it follows a family on a slow slide into dissolution: a passive, judgmental patriarch (played by Chisyu Ryu, subverting his gently accepting persona in a way that is shocking), his elder daughter, a divorcee with a single child (Setsuko Hara, playing brilliantly against type -- who'd have thought the sweetest lady in '50s Japan had such an evil scowl?), and his younger daughter (Ineko Arima, a revelation), secretly pregnant and searching for her boyfriend, get a major shakeup when their absent mother, who the father had told them was long dead, re-enters their lives. Ozu's vision of post-war Japan and how the sins of one generation get passed on to the next, illustrated brilliantly by a series of parallels drawn sensitively between characters, manages to be both compassionate and scathing -- even a seemingly cop-out happy denouement is embedded with a poison pill. A masterpiece, without question, one that throws all of Ozu's depictions of modern society in a beautifully devastating new light.

Yasujiro Ozu's 1957 family drama is probably his darkest & bleakest yet w/the story of a family coming apart at the seams. A father, played by Chishu Ryu (who usually would play the paterfamilias in Ozu's films), lives w/his 2 daughters, Setsuko Hara & Ineko Arima & they're not the happiest sort. Arima is studying English to become a shorthand steno while Hara, who has left her husband, has brought her daughter along to stay in the home while Ryu whiles away his days away as a banker. Arima spends her time chasing after a college student but after they hook up & she gets pregnant, he disappears. Not knowing if she'll go through w/an abortion, she spends time hanging out at a mahjong parlor where the proprietress seems to know her since she mentions she knows Hara & details of the village from they came from. It turns out the woman is in fact the girls' mother (she left Ryu during the war for another man, the same one she runs the business with) which is confirmed by a friend of the family on a visit to Ryu's home. After the abortion, Arima soon gets the news about her mother & seeing her life appears to be heading towards a dead end (after her beau pops up out of the blue), she tries to commit suicide by stepping in front of a passing train where she's rushed to a hospital w/injuries. As the plot cards are fully lain on the cinematic table, the family has to come to grips w/where their lives are now & whether to lick their collective wounds & continue living. It's nice seeing Ozu plowing territory that someone like Ingmar Bergman would make his career on but yet again, even though this is a film replete w/disappointments, they are quiet, subdued & sometime not even mentioned. Look for Kamatari Fujiwara (from Seven Samurai where he played the duplicitous Manzo) as a noodle salesman.