Tardo autunno

In many ways a retread of his earlier masterpiece Late Spring, which dealt with the relationship between a widowed father and his marry-able daughter, Ozu returned to familiar territory as he often did late in his career for a look at the flip-side. Here, the mother is widowed and desires to see her daughter married and happy. Three friends determine to intervene, leaving a trail of misunderstandings and hurt feelings in their attempt to appease all involved.

While this is certainly a familiar story for Ozu to tell, he somehow manages to inject new life into it every time out. Through a beautiful color palette and his famous visual style, Ozu explores a world of postwar Japan that finally appears to be picking itself up fifteen years after World War II. Western dress and behavior continues to seep into Japanese culture and Ozu seems to be picking up on the rapid evolution of change within his country throughout these late career works. His lack of interest in plot and storytelling leaves the viewer more time to focus on the atmosphere, the context in which the story is set. The result is a very pensive and serene feeling as one realizes that no matter what time or place, humans will always desire certain things. Companionship, love and happiness will never go out of style, even for widowed women.

If you have never seen a film by Yasujiro Ozu, you may have difficulty adjusting to his restrained and subtle handling of emotions; identifying Ozu as a director not known for action-packed narrative is massive understatement, as his films reflect a less hectic time and an ancient culture slowly coming to terms with change.

On the surface, this film is simply about the separation occurring as a daughter marries and a parent is left behind. With Ozu, however, carefully and consistently arranging composition, with gentle humor and a quiet observation of the human condition, there is much to be gained from reflection, from watching people realistically and patiently coming to terms with change. No one screams and throws dishes, no one bleeds copiously or falls out of a window, no one even runs across the street. My grandmother used to say "possess your soul in patience," and that said, a viewer may need to do just that with Late Autumn; the willing viewer will be amply rewarded with this amazing examination of calm resignation in the face of a life change

Even though the comparison is obviously intentional, Yasujiro Ozu's 1960 film is really a variation on his classic 1949 father-daughter drama, "Late Spring". He goes further with this parallel by having the wondrous Setsuko Hara, who played the daughter in the original film, play the mother in this one, even though only eleven years have elapsed. Gone is the alternately feisty, flirtatious and petulant manner that marked her earlier performance as Noriko, and in its place is that remarkable stillness and quiet warmth in her portrayal of Akiko that marked the best of Hara's later performances. She was barely forty during filming, yet she carries the gravitas of her role with uncommon ease. What remains consistent between her two performances is the unearthly devotion which ties the characters intractably to the world in which they have grown accustomed.

Ozu wrote the quietly perceptive script with longtime collaborator Kogo Noda, and the filmmaker's trademark touches - the narrative ellipses, the lack of melodrama, the low camera angles - are all here in their emotionally resonant glory. This time, the character of Akiko has such an easy sisterly bond with her daughter Ayako that neither has an interest in dating or marriage. While Akiko's situation is more or less accepted by society, Ayako's single status is a point of consternation, especially for three friends of Akiko's late husband, all of whom express feelings of unrequited love for the unavailable Akiko. They are jointly intent on finding Ayako a suitable husband and find one in Goto, a young, well-mannered bachelor with a suitable career. Akiko, however, demurs at the possibility of matrimony which leads the story through its inevitable paces.

Yôko Tsukasa is pretty and affecting as Ayako, though honestly no match for the younger Hara in the earlier film. More of that uninhibited spirit is present in Mariko Okada, who plays Ayako's friend and colleague Yuriko. She has a terrifically abrasive and amusing confrontation with the trio of embarrassed matchmakers, and the result comes across as a bit of an imbalance to the viewer now since Yuriko's Westernized independence is more compelling than Ayako's more innate diffidence. Adding more to the comedic aspects of the story, Shin Saburi, Nabuo Nakamura and Ryuji Kita play the matchmaking trio almost like a Shakespearean comedy troupe. Interestingly, Ozu uses a decidedly Italianate-sounding score to underscore the action, a nice unpredictable touch. This well-preserved film is not as essential as "Late Spring", but it is a worthy addition to Ozu's filmography.

Well, it was bound to happen eventually: The more films I viewed from noted Japanese auteur Yasujiro Ozu, there was going to come a time when my well of interest ran dry. I have now seen ten of his films, and Ozu seems unique among filmmakers, even the most praised, by being essentially the anti-Billy Wilder. Where Wilder's mind was so brilliantly scattered that he did pictures in nearly every conceivable genre, and did them well, Ozu was always more interested in mining different stories out of the same cloth, hopping from patch to patch on a quilt of nuanced familial drama. Where Wilder branched out, Ozu dug his roots in deep. He had an exclusive stable of actors, comprising some of the most talented and, like their helmsman, subtly versatile actors in the business, including the transcendent Chishu Ryu and the great Sestuko Hara, appearing here as the mother to the always-adorable Yoko Tsukasa, essaying the role that Hara herself brought to life in Late Spring. Ryu has the remarkable ability to present to us a man of any age with very little in the way of physical alterations (in the span of five years, he played father, brother and grandfather to Hara and was utterly convincing in all). Hara has the exact opposite gift: That of an ageless wonder. Early on in Late Autumn, a comment is made that Hara and her daughter Tsukasa look more like sisters than mother-daughter, and it's absolutely true. In the eleven-year span from Spring to Autumn, Hara has swapped roles but kept the same face, and she brings her A-game yet again, looking more weary and fatigued than ever before.

But there's a problem. Where Ozu's style had always seemed evocative and direct, here is seems...stilted and awkward. The use of direct address in discussions seems disjointed and stiff. What felt emotionally confrontational in Late Spring comes off here as almost amateurish, merely content to blandly cut back and forth between one talking head and another. The fact that he's done that all his career perhaps says something about this film as an individual entity. Or perhaps it's just become all too familiar. When you're looking to derive a myriad of tales from the same few thematic points, there's always the danger of indifference; having the same actors play similar characters doing similar things in similar ways in movies with similar titles, it's a testament to his brilliance that he managed to make it more than one film, but here, it all just strikes of creative exhaustion: He's seemingly run out of stories to the point that he's now reworking the similar stories he's already done, as this is almost directly a remake of his 1949 masterpiece Late Spring, except mostly from the female perspective. While it appears to be a monumental shift for such a gradual director (I still remember first experiencing Tokyo Story and being so startled by its singular tracking shot that I was shaken to my core), actually far too little is new. Most of the motions and emotions we are presented with were all essentially inferred in Late Spring, and this seems if nothing else, an unnecessary diversion to a place we're already been.

Now this is not to say that the film is a complete dud. Everyone involved is so talented that they can't help but stumble into several moments of effective heartstrain, most notable the touching restraint of the final shot, but I just can't shake the feeling that with Late Autumn, instead of hopping to a new stitch on the quilt, he's stepping right back onto trampled-down, treaded ground. Where Late Spring presented this story and devastated me, going right to my heart and laying me out flat. To Late Autumn I'm a bit more...subdued. I never connected to the characters or the situation in any tangible or meaningful way, and my response to the film was less "Holy crap" and more "ho-hum".

{Grade: 6.5/10 (B-/C+) / #24 (of 34) of 1960}

Yasujiro Ozu's 1960 semi-sequel to his Late Spring (from 1949). Casting the same actress from his earlier effort, Setsuko Hara, where she played a woman whose father's machinations to marry her off become a nuisance since all she wants is to stay by his side, here she plays a widow w/a willful daughter whose friends of her late husband feel she's ready for marriage. As they gather one evening to preside over memorial rites for Hara's hubby, the businessmen suddenly decide her daughter is ripe for matrimony but the moment she hears this (especially when one of the tycoon's ambushes her w/one of his underlings who she just brushes off), she in no terms tells Hara for them to mind their business. As things keep getting prickly between the combatants, one of the men suggests one of their own court Hara (since he's a widower) in order to force the daughter to make a decision which backfires badly as the daughter's friend/co-worker gets fed up & tells her in no uncertain terms to grow up & pick a mate (or don't!) even though her prior brush off w/the underling comes around on his own. Finally exploding at Hara for all the romantic shenanigans, her daughter decides to leave the nest which doesn't last long as the film comes to an end & things work out for the best. Even when the daughter devolves into a shouting match at Hara, Hara is implacable, keeping whatever turmoil & anguish under lock & key, letting her innate decency rule the day. Not being very Ozu literate (this may be my fourth feature I've seen of his), it's refreshing to see how decent & low key his traits are even when decent people get caught up in their own forthrightness & w/simple straight forward compositions (the dialogue sequences are edited like the gentlest of tennis matches usually w/the speaker addressing the camera head on), the narratives tend to be easygoing & calming.