Le Goût du saké

A sensitive film which observes a widower and his family as they navigate through their days and nights in post-WWII Japan, a place where etiquette and custom are still important and individuality counts for less than it does in the U.S.A. We witness a world where unmarried women are expected to take care of their partner-less fathers and brothers.

This film features excellent use of color, especially the placement of yellows and reds.

"An Autumn Afternoon" grows on you as you slowly, steadily work your way into the lives of Mr. Hirayama and his family; it's as if the camera were a guest gaining the acceptance of the major characters.

Will Mr. Hirayama come upon his own personal autumn afternoon - a state of philosophical clarity where he can discern things soberly and make a wise and compassionate decision?

A must-see for devotees of Japanese cinema, director Ozu, and those who love quiet, gentle films.

When I first saw this film it struck me as being a very unusual and odd little movie. The camera work was direct and straightforward, as if the director were composing a still life painting. With the passage of time I remembered this film not as a whole but as a series of vignettes, the sailor marching in the bar, the unrequited lovers waiting for a train on the platform, the father staring into his daughter's empty room. I have recently seen An Autumn Afternoon again, and was not disappointed. Each scene has an almost indescribable longing, an ephemeral quality that speaks to the beauty and sadness of everyday life. I love this film, it is a true work of art.

This is Ozu's last film, and it is wonderful. At first, I wondered if it could be even good. It has similar themes of other, amazing films like "Late Spring" and "Early Summer", both of which had the truly amazing actress Setsuko Hara, who is not in this film. However, this film is just about as great as them, since it has one of the best acting performances of terrific Ozu regular Chishu Ryu. He plays the father, a widower with three children, two sons and a daughter. It is no surprise to me that the daughter Michiko, played by Shima Iwashita and Akiko the daughter in law, played by Mariko Okada, have had such long, varied careers in cinema. They are great in their roles. There is a certain sass to both of them which really comes across in their characters. They are also both beautiful. The story also has a great sideline, in which Mr. Ryu's old friends help out an teacher, nicknamed "The Gourd". From there, you meet the teacher's daughter Tanako, a familiar face to all Ozu fans. I was deeply affected by Tomako, even though her role is small. I feel her sadness and loneliness. Another great scene is when the father meets up with an old armed services buddy and they go to a local bar and play a war march. They are a bit drunk, and they salute. Playing the barmaid is the great actress Kyoko Kishida, star of the great "Manji" and "Woman In The Dunes". I was deeply interested in the lives of these people, and find the film to be just wonderful, displaying the emotions that a great Ozu film possesses. This film is profoundly moving. I would not start with this film as an introduction to Ozu, only because "Tokyo Story", "Late Spring" and "I Was Born, But" are such masterpieces, but this ranks with them. A deeply profound, excellent epitaph from Yasojiro Ozu, one of the greatest directors ever, from anywhere at any time. See it, you will not be disappointed. Rest in peace, Yasojiro Ozu.

I can whole-heartedly relate to previous reviewers' sentiments about this movie. From my own perspective it is also an awesome celebration of beauty. The theme is the same Ozu's favorite—separation of father and his grown-up daughter-- however it is presented in a different, less nerve-wrecking and more humorous way (as compared to Late Spring), but most of all -- within the colorful kaleidoscope of everyday things looking as works of art in themselves. Ozu rejoices in showing the beauty of such mundane objects as mugs, bowls, kimonos, tables, lamp shades, houses, fences, even industrial chimneys and such. Colors and shapes are arranged into perfect compositions and sometimes it seems that still objects actually govern the mood and the flow of people around them. The parallel with Tarkovskij's movies, like Solaris and Stalker, where the harmony of individual objects creates its own layer of movie symbolism, seems natural, only Russian movies were shot more than a decade later. I watched An Autumn Afternoon several times with the same joyful interest and gratitude for the gift of showing us the beauty of everyday life.

As in Ozu's LATE SPRING, widower Chishu Ryu decides it is time for his youngest child, daughter Shima Iwashita, to marry. It comes on him suddenly in the midst of his comfortable routines -- the well paid executive position, the drinking bouts with his old friends, the nightcap at the inevitable bar around the corner -- that time is passing. She is 24. At first she resists. What will he and her younger brother do without her? He replies that they will manage.

Unlike the earlier movie, this one isn't about the daughter, but the father. Before the war Ozu had worked in many genres, with his largest influence seeming to be Leo McCarey. After the war he settled into a series of meditations of the Japanese family in a changing Japan, concentrating on first one member, then the other. As he grew older, so did the focus of the story.

Some people say Ozu's technique, which had favored ecstatic moving shots in the late 1920s, grew simpler. He set his camera on the floor, looking up at his subjects, and let the drama and comedy play out before it. I don't think so. I think that his interest in story grew less and his interest in character increased, and he found the tricks of camera movement, crane shots and structuring the background for composition, to be a distraction. And so, here, we come to know Chishu Ryu's character, even though he says little, orders nothing, yet clearly commands love and respect from all who know him.

Ozu's mother died, and he was trying to deal with cancer while he worked on his next movie when he died on his sixtieth birthday, December 12, 1963. For lovers of his films, there would be no WINTER. Instead, we may imagine the bar around the corner, the same family -- with Chishu Ryu perhaps now a great-grandfather - still caring about each other and coping in a constantly changing Japan.