Elegia de Osaka

It was this film alone that drove me into an intense obsession with cinema. Mizoguchi is the great Japanese master, and Osaka Elegy reveals his genius. From his long take compositions that are taxed with complexity and tension, to his ambigious depictions of character, I felt like I had grown after I had seen this film. Notice the national allegory at the film's conclusion, a confused and lonely Japan. And his inconclusive final shot taken many years before the well known 400 Blows. The devastating melodrama is not undercut by any cinematic manipulation. I highly recommend this to any lover of the cinematic medium. Also, I am a sucker for self-reflexive Kabuki theater sequences...

The first film included in the Criterion Collewction's "Mizoguchi's Fallen Women", this is the story of Ayako (a pretty great Isuzu Yamada who, according to this website, is still wonderfully with us), who is a switchboard operator who needs 300 yen to prevent her father getting in major trouble. To get the money, she spends time with her boss. This is, of course, little more than being a companion. One of Mizoguchi's gifts as a director (he also wrote the story) is that in many of his films his characters were not sympathetic yet he does not wholly judge the. The key is, what would you do? The film could never be in color, it is a noirish, gray film. The story is compelling, the acting is uniformly good, with Ms. Yamada really standing out, and the direction is, of course, flawless. I've also seen "Sisters Of The Gion" and "Streets Of Shame" from this collection. Buy it! Mizoguchi was one of the giants of 20th century cinema from any country. This film is highly recommended.

Ayako (Isuzu Yamada) becomes the mistress of her boss, Mr. Asai, so she can pay her father's debt, and prevent him from going to prison for embezzlement. She also sends money to her brother Hiroshi to pay his university tuition, but her father intercepts it.

Mizoguchi considered the film his first serious effort as a director, and while I am not familiar with his earlier work, I have to say this is the kind of film that leaves a mark. Either Mizoguchi or his cinematographer had an excellent awareness of the camera -- the door closing to block the camera early on in the film -- years ahead of its time.

The subject matter in general is impressive. I am not sure what the typical morality was in pre-war Japan, but to feature adultery and whatnot in the 1930s seems quite bold.

I believe the challenge here was to conceive of a film in terms of bunraku - the traditional Japanese puppet theater - and extrapolate from the environment a structure, so one stage where heightened drama unfolds, controlled, with a view of the mechanisms handling the illusion, and then a second stage on the side to supply a rotation of music and voice expressing emotion. This is very well thought out, something to keep in mind when viewing later Mizoguchi where melodrama lacks annotation.

This translates in our film as melodrama about a bold young woman who gambles away on her dignity and reputation because the world around her is desperate for either money or sex, the controlling mechanism is that only the viewer is in possession of all the facts and so is able to read tragic fate in every exchange. This has been noted by some viewers as film noir, because the woman appears to function as a femme fatale, but the Japanese have no affinity for this sort of trope.

So of course, in accordance with bunraku, the woman is a puppeteer but also herself a puppet, a figure on the same stage as the play she enacts, her movements subject to our scrutiny. You will note this in tandem with, and reversing, an earlier Mizoguchi - The Water Magician - about a water artist whose life is merged with the transitory flows she used to control.

This is beautifully rendered in a scene where she is caught with her boss on a night out to watch a bunraku play. She has set a plot in motion, attempting control, an active role, but unpredictable life foils her. The wife demands explanations but seems the most irate for noticing the hairstyle on the girl, signifying a married woman, her role on the stage being supplanted even though it's a loveless marriage and thankless role. Moments before, however, we have seen an excerpt from the play, where inside the artifice, the controlled fiction, it was the suspicious husband accusing the woman of adultery.

This would have an ordinary ironic effect if mapped cleanly to the situation outside the stage, but it doesn't, it's wholly asymmetrical, the tension all in the imbalance of familiar elements framed askew. You have to puzzle about assigning to the players the puppet-master's controls. This is the touch lacking in Ozu's Floating Weeds.

The music is not in the emotional after-effects of storytelling, this too part of the heightened artifice. The music is in the camera, caressing day from night.

An exceptional film in that it redefines that cinematic, to a degree literary, trope, the femme-fatal. In this film we watch from her perspective. Her transgressions seem themselves a kind of victimization. Not only is sexuality the only tool a woman is given to empower herself in society, but her dignity and her sexuality are therefor put in an antagonistic relation to each other. Sexuality and sincerity become mutually exclusive in the world Mizoguchi paints. The cinematography is magnificent. Everyone looks compromised. But the last shot lets us know which victim's compromise cuts the deepest and. A feminist work in the most profound sense.