Fleurs d'équinoxe

It's pretty obvious when the film begins that it's one of Yasujirô Ozu's newest films. That's because unlike almost all of his movies, this one is filmed in color. In fact, it's his first color film. Like other Ozu films it features a camera positioned very low--like the cameraman is sitting on the floor. It's odd but works in Ozu's films because of the traditional Japanese tables and futons--all very close to the floor. The plot unfolds very slowly and the film also is a domestic drama--about a daughter who may be marrying and moving out of her home. This is a very common theme--young people moving to adulthood and the sort of conflicts this creates as well as conflicts between traditional and modern values . And, like so many of his later films, it features some of the same old reliable actors. One thing you've gotta say about Ozu--when he found a formula that worked, he REALLY stuck with it. While his films are adored and are often considered masterpieces, there is a strong sense of déjà vu as you watch them!

This is the story of a middle-aged man and his family. Early in on the film, you learn that the father and mother had an arranged marriage--something very common in Japan up until recently. You can tell that Dad was not thrilled by this and he even likes the idea of people picking their own spouses. Yet, when his own daughter wants to marry a man of her choosing, he refuses to give consent. He's adamant--even though he agrees with the concept of allowing your grown children to run their own lives--provided, of course, they are not HIS children! This is MILDLY humorous (it's cute the way the father gets manipulated repeatedly) and a nice critique of post-war Japan--when families, values and norms were all in flux. In other words, this man's conflicts were a mirror of conflicts in Japan as a whole--the old Japan and the new, and much less tradition-bound Japan.

While this is a beautifully made film, you should be aware that like so many of Ozu's films, it has a very leisurely pace. My advice is although he was a wonderful filmmaker, you might first try some more approachable directors films--such as Kurosawa or a Zatoichi film. That's because Western audiences often balk at such slow pacing (particularly here in hyperactive America). If you do watch it, brew a pot of tea or coffee to help you stay focused--it's worth it, as it's a sweet and exceptional film.

The emptiness of the space in the very first images of "Equinox Flower" makes an impact on the viewer. An opening of this sort resembles those of Ozu's most famous films such as "Late Spring" and "Tokyo Story". However, soon we find out that "Equinox Flower" differs quite remarkably from these since it is essentially a comedy. In the first scene of the film Ozu instantly introduces the marriage motif -- a recurring subject in his oeuvre -- as two railroad workers are wondering the great amount of newly-weds. Only few artists have been able to establish a theme and set a tone, which are fully consistent with the rest of the work, so quickly yet still with such restraint and precision. Therefore, it is certain to the viewer from the start that what unfolds is the craft of a master.

At its heart, "Equinox Flower" is a tender comedy because it fluently combines two aspects, which too often appear as contradictory, the ironic and the melancholic. Striking is also the fact that the film is Ozu's first comedy in approximately two decades. One must go back to the silent days to find a benchmark. This choice of return seems to coincide with Ozu's new sympathy (though I use the word hesitantly) for the younger generation, whereas he so often has sympathized the elders. It seems to me that in "Equinox Flower" the lightness and hopeful attitude towards life, noticeable in Ozu's earlier films, merges with the Chekhovian wisdom and elegiac tone of his later oeuvre.

To an extent, "Equinox Flower" is a satirical treatise on the decline of parental and especially patriarchal authority in the Japanese family and society. However, Ozu is never hostile nor aggressive. He doesn't point out. He reveals. Although there are moments when Ozu lets us laugh at the protagonist's helplessness when trapped by his own outdated norms, Ozu never attacks on him. In addition to theme, Ozu's return to comedy also marked a turning point in his visual development because he used color for the first time, which later on became an inseparable element in his subsequent films. As a consequence, the world of colors in "Equinox Flower" is strikingly rich and precisely considered, leaving the viewer with several memorable and widely associative visual motifs.

"Equinox Flower" is in many ways what one might call a simple film. There's not much of a story going on, let alone action of any kind, nor surprising twists in plot. Nonetheless, the viewer (any viewer whether an admirer of Ozu or not) is left with a powerful impact by the rich simplicity of the visuals; and the utter beauty of details. Above all, "Equinox Flower" is purely based on Ozu's unique poetry of the mundane; a vital principle in his cinema.

Due to this simplicity, many western viewers have blamed, or at least explained their discontent, Ozu's films for a slow pace, but this criticism, however, doesn't really hit the mark because Ozu's films precisely create their own time in the poetic universe which differs from our world. In this rhythm or, in fact, Ozu's perception of time lies profound melancholy. The days go by, the clothes line dances in the wind, and emptiness prevails. In "Equinox Flower" the older generation remembers the war-time days, recalling especially its better times of carefree coexistence. In turn, such ideals as personal happiness and privacy threatened by the old, arranged, communal joy throb beneath the youth's dialogue. Ozu's characters are often aware of this melancholy -- human transience in the passage of time -- which brings sadness to their existence. A sensation that the old is about to vanish is always present, though so is the characters' ability to accept things as they are. As time is such an important theme for Ozu, his films can never be summed up with mere concepts such as "comedy" or "tragedy" since their (aesthetic) perspective is never restricted, but always reach to the most profound perspective of all, which is that of philosophy.

This is Ozu's first color film, and also one of his more lighthearted later films. It also stands out as perhaps his first film where he unambiguously takes the side of rebellious youth over the wisdom of age.

In a universally great cast, Shin Saburi plays a typical Japanese father - a successful executive with a nice home life, two lovely daughters, and a dutiful wife. He is, by the standards of the time, an open minded and liberal man who, we see from the very beginning, welcomes the idea of a marriage based on love, rather than the more traditional arrangements, such as his own marriage. He is also very much a hypocrite as he (provoked by a clumsy attempt to ask for his hand) refuses his elder daughter permission to marry the man she loves. His objection to the marriage has less to do with the suitor than, it seems, his feelings that his paternal authority has been undermined.

As with all Ozu films, it gradually meanders to its close with a general acceptance by all the characters that life goes on and that only by tolerating each other can society move forward. The tone of the film is more comic than usual (some very amusing scenes), and it lacks the emotional punch of some other Ozu films. It is a bit more loosely plotted than usual, with an unusually contrived plot by Ozu standards, but its still a pleasant and wise film.

One standout performance is the quietest of them all - the great actress Kinuyo Tanaka plays the traditional wife. In one crucial scene, the camera lingers on her face as she is quietly absorbed in listening to music on the radio - telling us all we need to know about this woman who has sacrificed her individuality for her husband and family. It is in little moments of magic like this that Ozu films show why they are essential viewing - this film, while not one of his major works, is no exception.

Ozu is such a pleasure, a quiet one, meditative.

The story here is about lives, whether they are arranged and what agency we have in arranging them. Many viewers will suppose that the topic was chosen because of some desire to make a comment about Japanese society.

No, its because the filmmaker had turned introspective in his later years. His films are characterized by the way the shots are composed. Each one is a matter of absolute perfection. The perfection is so complete, you have to stop and study. You have to rerun certain scenes to see how amazingly the components arrange. He is the ultimate classical Japanese composer. Sometimes you see that the sets must have been especially built for one setup. Pure geometries and symmetries dominate. The camera is always static.

The effect is that what you see has nature. Its natural, human. It flows in much the same languid, undramatic way that life does around us. But what we see is that flow in a highly composed context. Every element in that context naturally occurs but seems to have found its own harmony to please the eye of the viewer. Its the cinematic Japanese garden.

There's a subtle thing here. Ordered nature presented so that the human composition seems so in tune with nature that we love it. But it is arranged. It is pure and unnatural too, sort of abstractly sublime.

This viewer is a Westerner who works with Japanese concepts of ideal, natural harmony. Watching this makes me cry with a pleasure that avoids being joy.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

This line uttered by Ozu favorite, Chishu Ryu, toward the end of the story helps sum up the mixture of comedy and melancholy that pervades this excellent film. The other reviewers have well described the amusing irony of Wataru Harayama's (Shin Saburi) avuncular support of his friends' daughters' desires to marry for love but his shocked resistance when he finds out about his own daughter's similar desires. But alongside Ozu's depiction of the daughters' plans for their futures is that of the fathers' nostalgia for their pasts.

Harayama, Ryu's character Mikami, and their other friends from middle school days have stayed in touch and regularly compare notes about their carefree days before their own arranged marriages, workday routines, and worries about their daughters. In one scene of a class reunion they wear uniforms, sing songs, and recite elegiac poems. And the one wife we meet, Harayama's (brilliantly played by Kinuyo Tanaka), who has stoically borne her husband's discontent all these years, sees her patience rewarded as she becomes the bridge between him and his daughter.

One other note of reality--Yukiko, the delightfully liberated daughter of a family friend who conspires with Harayama's daughter to play a crucial trick on Harayama, was played by Fujiko Yamamoto who lit up every scene she was in. I wondered why I hadn't heard more about her, and found out from Wikipedia that at the height of her popularity in 1963, when her contract was up for renewal, she asked for some better terms and the head of her studio (Daiei) not only fired her but invoked an agreement with the other studios to prevent her from being hired by any of them. She never made another film. That's another glimpse of old Japan.