Noah
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Post by Noah on May 15, 2017 11:30:59 GMT -8
Recently the film society at my college screened Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. I was completely blown away. It truly felt like a great novel depicted onscreen. I decided I needed to see more Kurosawa: if his other films were near that good, they will all be among my favorite films. So far I have also seen Yojimbo and Ran. I didn't care for Yojimbo at all. It had some very impressive shots, and Toshiro Mifune was excellent, but there wasn't much to the story (or of a story, for that matter), at least that I could tell. Ran on the other hand is a masterpiece. It is hard going, like King Lear, but it is absolutely worth it. I found it much more compelling dramatically than King Lear, and more insightful too. It is the bleakest film I've ever seen. The final battle feels truly apocalyptic, because I get the sense that the victor is as doomed as the loser, and the last image of Tsurumaru standing alone in the ruins, blind, bereft of his god, at the precipice of oblivion is haunting. I really can't recall a more powerful statement about the absurdity and horror of violence than this movie.
Anyone have Kurosawa favorites to recommend?
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Post by unkinhead on May 15, 2017 14:14:15 GMT -8
Yeah Kurosawa is fantastic! I really like Yojimbo but it's definitely more entertaining for me than substantiative. My favorites are Throne of Blood and Ikiru, and based on your taste I think you'd really dig both of them but maybe the former more. Throne of Blood is even better than Ran as a Shakespeare adaptation somehow (YMMV ofc) Definitely check out High and Low as well though, it's probably my fourth favorite after Seven Samurai and it is also fantastic....I'm pretty sure his whole filmography is almost entirely fantastic actually...lol. Just watch all of it.
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Post by ThirdMan on May 15, 2017 15:01:07 GMT -8
From the sounds of it, you may be more of a samurai film fan than necessarily a Kurosawa fan. But yeah, if you want to see more samurai stuff, you should probably go with Throne of Blood or Kagemusha. Rashomon was also a hugely influential, but much smaller-scale film set in the same time period, dealing primarily in perspective (as in, how the story changes depending on who's telling it). Some folks find that one a tad overacted, though.
Not being as big of a samurai film fan myself (though I greatly admire SS and Ran), I'd concur with unkinhead on High and Low and Ikiru.
BTW, just as The Seven Samurai was remade as the American Western The Magnificent Seven, Yojimbo provided the inspiration for Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars (with Clint Eastwood), the first in the Man With No Name trilogy that ended with The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.
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Post by guttersnipe on May 17, 2017 11:37:46 GMT -8
I've seen nearly all of his pictures, so I'm more than happy to weigh in on this. Firstly, I would agree that Yojimbo is on a lesser level than what he's really capable of, but you may be interested in the sequel, Sanjuro. There seems to be a curious tradition in Japan by which a successful film engenders its studio to request a sequel of its creator, but with little stipulation as to the makeup of the subsequent film, permitting practical carte blanche from auteurs (a loophole that the likes of Takashi Miike and Takeshi Kitano have been more than willing to exploit). In terms of overall recommendations, there's a school of thought that claims that the meat of a prolific, long-haul director's career is in the middle, usually bookended by periods of finding their voice and losing their mojo, and this is largely true of Kurosawa. His earliest films made during wartime and the early stages of the occupation were often stifled by studio or even governmental pressure, meaning that Drunken Angel is the first time he really came out in beast mode, ushering in a ridiculously splendid run of films over the next couple of decades. Conventional wisdom would then claim that his powers kind of unravelled with the departure of Toshiro Mifune, but I think this overlooks a real second wind in terms of narrative and technical invention, not to mention a quite brilliant eye for colour (this shouldn't be news to you given that you've already borne witness to Ran's magnificent palette). What is quite interesting to address is his qualitative inconsistency with certain subjects. For all of his nihilism in his darker works, there's often a sentimental streak a mile wide elsewhere: he gets away with it just fine in Ikiru and Dodes'ka-den, but really makes mush of One Wonderful Sunday and Rhapsody in August. He tackles the anxiety and psychological fallout of The Bomb with harrowing intensity in I Live in Fear, then later uses Richard Gere and a gaggle of kids as an apology vehicle for Nagasaki in, again, Rhapsody in August. And when required to make propaganda for the war effort, he crafted a pretty solid, engaging and persuasive drama in The Most Beautiful (even eschewing opening credits in lieu of a directive to "ATTACK AND DESTROY THE ENEMY"), but turned in a quite dreadful effort the following year with the strictly anti-USA Judo Saga II. Just whilst I'm on the subject, it's quite de rigeur to cite Kurosawa as Japan's most 'western' director, and it's certainly true that his crime films and jidaigeki carry the influences of Ford and film noir, but I think it'd be better to describe him as Japan's most international director. Renoir has a large bearing on his filmography also, he was every bit as happy to adapt Russian literature as he was American (Gorky for The Lower Depths, Dostoevsky's The Idiot and a biopic of Dersu Uzala), brilliantly adapted Shakespeare twice (thrice if you count Hamlet for The Bad Sleep Well) and readily accepted all kinds of international co-operation to make his Seventies-onwards films. Anyway, in terms of straight recommendation, I can't speak highly enough of High and Low, Throne of Blood, The Bad Sleep Well and Rashomon (which single-handedly put Japanese cinema on the map after its Venice premiere), and I have a lot of love for Sanjuro, I Live in Fear, Ikiru, Drunken Angel, Scandal, The Lower Depths, Dodes'ka-den and to a certain extent his swansong Madadayo. No Regrets for Our Youth, Dreams, Stray Dog, Red Beard, Kagemusha (kind of a dry run for Ran), The Most Beautiful and The Hidden Fortress are lesser priorities but well-worth seeing. There's a neat blog here that I found a few years ago when I was gap-filling on him that gives a nicely-presented analysis of nearly all of his films.
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Noah
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Post by Noah on May 17, 2017 15:08:39 GMT -8
Thanks, I'll check out that blog. I've now seen Rashomon as well, and I liked it quite a bit. A lot of really interesting shots. I really liked how during the women's story Kurosawa shot from behind her husband following the wife's face as she begged him not to look at her with such contempt. I can't really even say what I liked about that shot, but it felt so right. I also thought the idea that the stories were different because the characters were lying to themselves was very interesting and very true. I really loved that the supposed "real story" by the woodcutter at the end is undercut by the accusation that he stole the jeweled dagger. The ending, juxtaposing the reactions of the commoner and the woodcutter to this conundrum, was very effective and very moving to me.
Yeah, I've read that in a lot of different places. I'm not exactly sure what they mean by it. I'm planning on watching lots of films by other Japanese directors. I've got on my list Kenji Mizoguchi's Ugetsu, and The Human Condition and Seppuku by Masaki Kobayashi. I already have from the library Kurosawa's Kagemusha and The Hidden Fortress. By the by, I find it interesting how little phrases like that spread and get repeated constantly. For example, try to find some article or book or review of Wagner's Lohengrin that doesn't call it his "most Italian" opera. Nobody ever explains what that means. I guess I'll see if Mizoguchi and Kobayashi seem more "foreign," or something. Thanks for th recommendations, I'll check those out.
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Post by unkinhead on May 18, 2017 13:42:32 GMT -8
Good choices for your other films. Seppuku is absolutely fantastic, definitely watch that one.
If you like Ugetsu, I would also strongggly recommend Sansho the Bailiff and to a lesser extent The Life of Oharu from Mizoguchi. The former is my favorite of the Mizoguchi's I've seen and in my top 10, the latter is very good though suffers from tonal overload.
The Human Condition will make you rethink Ran as the bleakest film...but yeah it's a masterpiece.
P.S. I think Rashomon is supremely overrated...never could understand the praise really outside of some technical excellence (which can also be found in essentially all his other films) and cultural importance. The ending is laughable imo.
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Post by guttersnipe on May 19, 2017 10:27:11 GMT -8
Yeah, I've read that in a lot of different places. I'm not exactly sure what they mean by it. I'm planning on watching lots of films by other Japanese directors. I've got on my list Kenji Mizoguchi's Ugetsu, and The Human Condition and Seppuku by Masaki Kobayashi. I already have from the library Kurosawa's Kagemusha and The Hidden Fortress. By the by, I find it interesting how little phrases like that spread and get repeated constantly. For example, try to find some article or book or review of Wagner's Lohengrin that doesn't call it his "most Italian" opera. Nobody ever explains what that means. I guess I'll see if Mizoguchi and Kobayashi seem more "foreign," or something. Thanks for th recommendations, I'll check those out. I should imagine you will find Mizoguchi and Kobayashi more 'alien', for better or worse. It's important to note the historical context in which Kurosawa was recieving recognition, because in a very short space of time he basically had to shuttle from getting anything made as a real Joe Studio, to making propaganda to suit a militaristic, expansionist mindset, to catering to the interests of both a nascently peaceable Japan and the occupying American soldiers, to being given a clean slate and creative freedom in light of Rashomon's impact - incidentally, The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail is caught right in the middle of all this, being made as a patriotic jidaigeki for those brave chaps at the front and the hard-working gals at home, but was only completed by the time of the surrender, so it fell under American scrutiny and was banned for promoting feudalism. It saw the light of day in the early 50s, but probably only because they were so impressed by his follow-ups. In fact, MacArthur and co. were so taken with him that they often referred to him as The Emperor, a title which is deeply offensive to the Japanese in general, but apparently Kurosawa didn't really object. In any case, they were bound to be more enamoured of his work simply because, even talent aside, he was big on action sequences that often recalled Westerns in terms of feel, style and plot (clock his cavalry scenes) and he wasn't a traditionlist in terms of Japanese belief systems and stylistic motifs, making him certainly the most accessible director of his time. When they got around to Mizoguchi, Ozu and Naruse (more 'patient' directors working in shomingeki and kaidan with elements of kabuki theatre), some critics turned on Kurosawa as if he were an Uncle Tom, never mind that brilliant DOP Kazuo Miyagawa worked with all the greats. I'm sure you'll see what I mean when you get there. It's also worth mentioning that a hell of a lot of Japanese cinema from before and during the war was either badly-stored or destroyed by firebombing, so the Americans were quite literally discovering Japanese cinema for the first possible time - Godzilla was soon on the horizon. And because I can never resist sharing my photos, this is all that remains of the real Rashomon temple in Kyoto, left ignominiously in a kids' playground:
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Noah
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Post by Noah on May 23, 2017 8:48:45 GMT -8
Yeah, I've read that in a lot of different places. I'm not exactly sure what they mean by it. I'm planning on watching lots of films by other Japanese directors. I've got on my list Kenji Mizoguchi's Ugetsu, and The Human Condition and Seppuku by Masaki Kobayashi. I already have from the library Kurosawa's Kagemusha and The Hidden Fortress. By the by, I find it interesting how little phrases like that spread and get repeated constantly. For example, try to find some article or book or review of Wagner's Lohengrin that doesn't call it his "most Italian" opera. Nobody ever explains what that means. I guess I'll see if Mizoguchi and Kobayashi seem more "foreign," or something. Thanks for th recommendations, I'll check those out. I should imagine you will find Mizoguchi and Kobayashi more 'alien', for better or worse. It's important to note the historical context in which Kurosawa was recieving recognition, because in a very short space of time he basically had to shuttle from getting anything made as a real Joe Studio, to making propaganda to suit a militaristic, expansionist mindset, to catering to the interests of both a nascently peaceable Japan and the occupying American soldiers, to being given a clean slate and creative freedom in light of Rashomon's impact - incidentally, The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail is caught right in the middle of all this, being made as a patriotic jidaigeki for those brave chaps at the front and the hard-working gals at home, but was only completed by the time of the surrender, so it fell under American scrutiny and was banned for promoting feudalism. It saw the light of day in the early 50s, but probably only because they were so impressed by his follow-ups. In fact, MacArthur and co. were so taken with him that they often referred to him as The Emperor, a title which is deeply offensive to the Japanese in general, but apparently Kurosawa didn't really object. In any case, they were bound to be more enamoured of his work simply because, even talent aside, he was big on action sequences that often recalled Westerns in terms of feel, style and plot (clock his cavalry scenes) and he wasn't a traditionlist in terms of Japanese belief systems and stylistic motifs, making him certainly the most accessible director of his time. When they got around to Mizoguchi, Ozu and Naruse (more 'patient' directors working in shomingeki and kaidan with elements of kabuki theatre), some critics turned on Kurosawa as if he were an Uncle Tom, never mind that brilliant DOP Kazuo Miyagawa worked with all the greats. I'm sure you'll see what I mean when you get there. It's also worth mentioning that a hell of a lot of Japanese cinema from before and during the war was either badly-stored or destroyed by firebombing, so the Americans were quite literally discovering Japanese cinema for the first possible time - Godzilla was soon on the horizon. And because I can never resist sharing my photos, this is all that remains of the real Rashomon temple in Kyoto, left ignominiously in a kids' playground: Interesting, thanks for the background. I've seen a couple more films, and my order of liking would probably go like this: Seven SamuraiRanKagemusha was not what I expected from this film based on its description and on having seen Ran first, nor was it what I thought I wanted out of it. About half way through (which is one and a half hours), I was getting very disappointed that there wasn't more character development for Nabukado and the Kagemusha. But I was still completely hooked by the film. For four or five days after seeing it, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It's just really subtly compelling. There are no big swells of music that underlie dramatic soliloquies like in Ran, and the characterization isn't as rich as Seven Samurai, at least not through the dialogue. But I think it is actually as rich as Seven Samurai, it just does everything through images and the sequence in which events happen. The constant irony of the kagemusha not being the lord isn't boldly commented on or philosophized at length in dialogue. We just see it constantly in every action of the kagemusha, in the way he is treated, in the images we are given of him. I can't decide which Kurosawa is saying: Lord Shingen, as a true lord, really was a mountain for his people, and the fall of the Takeda clan was that his son was not. The kagemusha became like a lord because of his complete commitment to fulfilling the role of a true lord like Shingen, whereas, despite not being officially his shadow, Shingen's son always felt like he was in it, and wanted to make a name for himself outside of it. His ambition brought down the Takeda, and in brought down the political structure of the entire country, with it being replaced by the Tokugawa shogunate. On the other hand, I could read the film as Kurosawa making the virtually opposite statement, asking what the difference is between the lord and a common criminal who takes his place? If people treated the criminal like a lord, he would be. When they think he is the lord, Honda, the most fearsome and daring general in Nobunaga's army flees from the mere sight of him and his soldiers surround him to protect him with their lives. They die for him. But after he is revealed to be an impostor, the same people who had been ready to give their lives for him pelted him with rocks. As he said in the very first scene, they are both scoundrels. In this reading, Shingen is a scoundrel who is elevated because his society reveres warriors like him, not because he is inherently superior to a common criminal. In fact, he is a common criminal, just treated differently. He has lofty aims to end the bloodshed, but we know he can't defeat both Tokugawa and Nobunaga. He is a warlord. And yet, I'm also struck by the fact that he consistently displays pretty good judgment in the film. The destruction of the Takeda clan comes about because his son won't listen to him. This suggests to me that Kurosawa is saying something along the lines of, A real leader is one who focuses on the safety of his people, not glory. His son claims the Takeda never shirk from a fight, but this is a fight that he started. He wants to make a name for himself, not protect the Takeda. Tatsuya Nakadai is absolutely brilliant in this film. He managed to make Shingen and the kagemusha distinct characterse, while showing the latter attempting to fill the role of the former. The play on the fact that Shingen, Nabukado, and the kagemusha all looked alike, especially in the opening long shot, but all the way through was really enjoyable. I also really enjoyed the character of Nabukado. His occasional reflections were always very interesting. I particularly liked his observation that, having been a shadow of someone who is no longer there, he is gone. By extension you could say that the Takeda clan itself was the shadow of the mountain of Shingen, and once the mountain moved, it was over. The only reason they held on was that the kagemusha stepped into the role, and became the mountain for a time. The composition of images in this film was spectacular. It is simply gorgeous. I felt like every shot was frameable. Indeed, every shot was painted by Kurosawa ahead of time. There are so many instances of beautiful light and shadow in this film, but they aren't pointed out, like, "Here, look the film is about shadow and here's a shadow!" The costumes and sets were ridiculously beautiful. Overall, this film convinces me, even more than the films I enjoyed a bit more, that Kurosawa was a real genius. It's an amazing film, and will definitely be coming back to it. Dreams was astonishingly beautiful visually, and I absolutely loved about half of the dreams. The Peach Orchard was probably tied for my favorite with Crows, but I also loved Sunshine Through the Rain, The Village of the Watermills, and The Blizzard. The Peach Orchard was utterly magical, and there's a shot of a bamboo forest in it that literally took my breath away. The performance of Etenraku at the end was beautiful, as was the pageant that went with it. The recreations of the van Gogh paintings in Crows were so cool, and the shot of the painter running through various van Gogh paintings was a lot of fun. Kurosawa also did very interesting things with sound in this movie. Both the musical soundtrack and the sounds that occur in the scenes are really thoughtfully put together. I really appreciated the visual and sonic detail in this film. RashomonHidden Fortress was lightweight, but mostly enjoyable. It wasn't as funny as it needed to be with that thin a story, but there were some golden moments (ahem). The peasants acting like horses when trying to communicate with the supposedly mute princess was hysterical. There just wasn't much to the characters. The direction was good, but there was nothing as visually compelling as in the films I liked more. Yojimbo
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Post by guttersnipe on May 23, 2017 10:02:15 GMT -8
The composition of images in this film was spectacular. It is simply gorgeous. I felt like every shot was frameable. Indeed, every shot was painted by Kurosawa ahead of time. Dreams was astonishingly beautiful visually, and I absolutely loved about half of the dreams. The Peach Orchard was probably tied for my favorite with Crows, but I also loved Sunshine Through the Rain, The Village of the Watermills, and The Blizzard. The Peach Orchard was utterly magical, and there's a shot of a bamboo forest in it that literally took my breath away. The performance of Etenraku at the end was beautiful, as was the pageant that went with it. The recreations of the van Gogh paintings in Crows were so cool, and the shot of the painter running through various van Gogh paintings was a lot of fun. Kurosawa also did very interesting things with sound in this movie. Both the musical soundtrack and the sounds that occur in the scenes are really thoughtfully put together. I really appreciated the visual and sonic detail in this film. It was quite commonplace for Kurosawa to paint storyboards for most of his films, especially after making the transition to colour, and they were sometimes even used as official release posters. I really owe myself a rewatch of Dreams as I was supremely tired when I watched it. That's Martin Scorsese as van Gogh, if you didn't know!
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Noah
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Post by Noah on May 27, 2017 10:37:41 GMT -8
Dersu Uzala was a beautiful film. The whole thing was very understated, but I just had a big grin on my face whenever the Captain and Dersu were together. It was a touching depiction of the loss of Dersu's way of life and the consciousness that went with it. As always, Kurosawa's compositions are stunning, with one particularly glorious shot of Dersu and the men under the full moon. Absolutely astonishing. I also really appreciated the way he shot the scene where Dersu is stuck in the river. I've seen a million of these scenes, and every time the director cuts back and forth between the guy who needs saving and the people trying to save him. Kurosawa does this I think once, and then only shows the rescuers working. It made me imagine how Dersu was doing, because I couldn't see him, especially after he stopped calling back. Ikiru was also excellent, although I have to say that the two-part structure didn't work for me. I think the story would have been much more powerful it it had simply been told straight through. The shot of Watanabe on the swing set was still deeply moving, but I think it would have had more impact if not told as a flashback. Still, Takashi Shimura was great, and it was a very good movie overall. Attachments:
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Noah
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Post by Noah on May 27, 2017 12:30:23 GMT -8
Good choices for your other films. Seppuku is absolutely fantastic, definitely watch that one. If you like Ugetsu, I would also strongggly recommend Sansho the Bailiff and to a lesser extent The Life of Oharu from Mizoguchi. The former is my favorite of the Mizoguchi's I've seen and in my top 10, the latter is very good though suffers from tonal overload. The Human Condition will make you rethink Ran as the bleakest film...but yeah it's a masterpiece. P.S. I think Rashomon is supremely overrated...never could understand the praise really outside of some technical excellence (which can also be found in essentially all his other films) and cultural importance. The ending is laughable imo. Interesting. Why do you find the ending laughable?
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Post by unkinhead on May 27, 2017 14:13:38 GMT -8
Well I think the whole film is terribly clunky and psudeo-profound. In the beginning when they have those really over the top lines about them "losing faith in humanity" because of this story (wut?). The praise for this film is generally rooted in the claim that its non-linear exploration of subjectivity (in the stories...u know: "what's the truth?!") The problem is each story told is so radically different to the point where each character would have to be straight lying. So that praise about it being an innovative exploration of well-intentioned subjectivity claims is rendered completely invalid by that. The narrative doesn't marry theme and story in any particularly interesting way either. Even then, the whole "tragic" theme of self-interest preserving over truth is discarded by that amateur hour baby ex machina ending. None of the stories are inherently interesting. Other than some technical achievement Rashomon really doesn't offer much profundity or even arouse even the slightest interest for me (why are these stories interesting??)
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Post by guttersnipe on Jun 2, 2017 11:40:54 GMT -8
The praise for this film is generally rooted in the claim that its non-linear exploration of subjectivity No, this is incorrect. Whilst the title has become synonymous with unreliable narration (Indeed, this week I watched a De Palma doco in which he explains attempting a Rashomon-style structure to his Snake Eyes, and The Handmaiden, another film that bears topical resemblance in the form of varying perspectives on the same series of events), the reason why the film is so significant is because of its visual power. More than anything, it's a perfect example of how to render meaning in strictly cinematic terms. So with distortion and uncertainty being especially relevant to the picture, Kurosawa illustrates this via such devices as the sun glinting sporadically through the trees, Kyo's character looking ethereal in her glaringly white outfit and veil, Tajomaru spying through the branches, a massive tree separating the men in the story (very reminiscent of a scene in L'Eclisse where two characters are pictured astride a huge pillar, what with Antonioni's film highlighting a kind of contemporary malaise between human beings), and most notably, the opening shot sequence in which we can't tell that the gate is ruined until the wide shot. Even besides those expressionistic touches, the film is shot to absolute perfection. I don't think there's a single frame wasted, and they're timed with unerring accuracy. Consider the bravura sequence of the woodcutter's movements with the sun shining off that closeup of his axe, all the way up to the discovery of the dead man's hands - Kurosawa always spoke highly of silent film, and this film could probably easily have been one (there's a good experiment there for anyone do willing to tinker). There's the editing of the seance with the medium's face like a Noh mask, Kyo's character moving in circles with the dagger, the immaculate framing of the trio at the gate, especially when they're rendered tiny amidst the beams and relentless rain after the final account... it's all quite, quite brilliant, and even though Kurosawa would become their most mainstream director, the experimental panache displayed here clearly paved the way for nuberu bagu, even if some of those figureheads would itch to admit it. But to address the stories in particular, surely the point of that angle is not to arrive at a solid truth but to give examples of the reasons why various people are given to lie? Greed and avarice are decidedly Kurosawan themes, and this story gave him to plenty of opportunity to present that, by giving leeway to four individuals to slant an already harsh tale in ways that better suit those individuals. As such, the film has a nihilistic or even misanthropic bent; a howl of despair that throws its hands up in the aftermath of a tragedy and asks, "What explanation for this would satisfy?". If it was just about whittling accounts down to a single concrete story, leading us up the garden path to some sort of reveal, it would carry no lasting impact. After all, that's basically the Shyamalan schemata, and we know how quickly that train ran out of steam.Now, as I noted earlier in the thread, it's vital to understand where or more specifically when Kurosawa was at at the time of its creation. The West had been largely (and somewhat unfairly) dismissive of Japanese cinema up to that point, and in the postwar years were hungrily looking forward to a film that would emerge from the ashes and address that all-important "why?". So the film acts as a response and dismissal of that very inquiry, by taking a jidaigeki (typically patriotic) but filtering it through with a metaphor of the country's imperialist actions. Operating as a wartime allegory, the bandit is obviously the inhuman invader, the wife the comfort women of Korea and Manchuria, the samurai the ostensible value code that in reality (!) is scared to die, etc. The wraparound story is therefore the Tokyo trial, with all its idiosyncracies (the hypocrisy of colonial nations judging Japan for following in their footsteps, the non-issue of Unit 731, etc). It is this interpretation that helped it gain greater appreciation in Europe than at home, and of course anticipates a similar reading of Harakiri's attack on bushido. And to continue that theme, it's easy to interpret the rescue of the baby as the (prophetic) new dawn of the country, as it moved from a barbaric, fascist expansionism to a more peaceful, hopeful (if insular) entity. In that moment, Kurosawa tempers or refutes the nihilism of the previous accounts. I gather that's not in the source story, so that's also consistent with the auteurist stamp that was then being recognised by European audiences (note how Shimura's character walks past us so we can't follow (the future is up to them) and leaves the rain and the ruined gate behind, as artefacts of the past, where they belong). I also realise that his script is cropped down in its number of accounts from the source, paring it neatly down to assailant, target, victim and witness - a fifth take would have presented a fifth vice, and so on, but they're evidently unneccessary. That's also consistent with auteur theory and marks a narrative economy in line with that of its editing rhythms. It might also be worth mentioning that the Bible treats four accounts of the same events as equally valid, citing them all as literal and mutually accurate, and I suppose in a way they are.
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Post by unkinhead on Dec 7, 2017 17:59:20 GMT -8
The praise for this film is generally rooted in the claim that its non-linear exploration of subjectivity No, this is incorrect. Whilst the title has become synonymous with unreliable narration (Indeed, this week I watched a De Palma doco in which he explains attempting a Rashomon-style structure to his Snake Eyes, and The Handmaiden, another film that bears topical resemblance in the form of varying perspectives on the same series of events), the reason why the film is so significant is because of its visual power. More than anything, it's a perfect example of how to render meaning in strictly cinematic terms. So with distortion and uncertainty being especially relevant to the picture, Kurosawa illustrates this via such devices as the sun glinting sporadically through the trees, Kyo's character looking ethereal in her glaringly white outfit and veil, Tajomaru spying through the branches, a massive tree separating the men in the story (very reminiscent of a scene in L'Eclisse where two characters are pictured astride a huge pillar, what with Antonioni's film highlighting a kind of contemporary malaise between human beings), and most notably, the opening shot sequence in which we can't tell that the gate is ruined until the wide shot. Even besides those expressionistic touches, the film is shot to absolute perfection. I don't think there's a single frame wasted, and they're timed with unerring accuracy. Consider the bravura sequence of the woodcutter's movements with the sun shining off that closeup of his axe, all the way up to the discovery of the dead man's hands - Kurosawa always spoke highly of silent film, and this film could probably easily have been one (there's a good experiment there for anyone do willing to tinker). There's the editing of the seance with the medium's face like a Noh mask, Kyo's character moving in circles with the dagger, the immaculate framing of the trio at the gate, especially when they're rendered tiny amidst the beams and relentless rain after the final account... it's all quite, quite brilliant, and even though Kurosawa would become their most mainstream director, the experimental panache displayed here clearly paved the way for nuberu bagu, even if some of those figureheads would itch to admit it. But to address the stories in particular, surely the point of that angle is not to arrive at a solid truth but to give examples of the reasons why various people are given to lie? Greed and avarice are decidedly Kurosawan themes, and this story gave him to plenty of opportunity to present that, by giving leeway to four individuals to slant an already harsh tale in ways that better suit those individuals. As such, the film has a nihilistic or even misanthropic bent; a howl of despair that throws its hands up in the aftermath of a tragedy and asks, "What explanation for this would satisfy?". If it was just about whittling accounts down to a single concrete story, leading us up the garden path to some sort of reveal, it would carry no lasting impact. After all, that's basically the Shyamalan schemata, and we know how quickly that train ran out of steam.Now, as I noted earlier in the thread, it's vital to understand where or more specifically when Kurosawa was at at the time of its creation. The West had been largely (and somewhat unfairly) dismissive of Japanese cinema up to that point, and in the postwar years were hungrily looking forward to a film that would emerge from the ashes and address that all-important "why?". So the film acts as a response and dismissal of that very inquiry, by taking a jidaigeki (typically patriotic) but filtering it through with a metaphor of the country's imperialist actions. Operating as a wartime allegory, the bandit is obviously the inhuman invader, the wife the comfort women of Korea and Manchuria, the samurai the ostensible value code that in reality (!) is scared to die, etc. The wraparound story is therefore the Tokyo trial, with all its idiosyncracies (the hypocrisy of colonial nations judging Japan for following in their footsteps, the non-issue of Unit 731, etc). It is this interpretation that helped it gain greater appreciation in Europe than at home, and of course anticipates a similar reading of Harakiri's attack on bushido. And to continue that theme, it's easy to interpret the rescue of the baby as the (prophetic) new dawn of the country, as it moved from a barbaric, fascist expansionism to a more peaceful, hopeful (if insular) entity. In that moment, Kurosawa tempers or refutes the nihilism of the previous accounts. I gather that's not in the source story, so that's also consistent with the auteurist stamp that was then being recognised by European audiences (note how Shimura's character walks past us so we can't follow (the future is up to them) and leaves the rain and the ruined gate behind, as artefacts of the past, where they belong). I also realise that his script is cropped down in its number of accounts from the source, paring it neatly down to assailant, target, victim and witness - a fifth take would have presented a fifth vice, and so on, but they're evidently unneccessary. That's also consistent with auteur theory and marks a narrative economy in line with that of its editing rhythms. It might also be worth mentioning that the Bible treats four accounts of the same events as equally valid, citing them all as literal and mutually accurate, and I suppose in a way they are. No, this is incorrect. With regards to general praise, essentially every article I've read that commends the film makes note of it's narrative structure as the primary reason for its value. So while you may appreciate it for it's visual flourishes, I think my initial claim was correct in pinpointing the narrative structure, and to some extent, the thematic offerings as the focal point for praise from critics. Focal Point of Narrative: Sight and Sound Article: www.criterion.com/current/posts/2457-sight-sound-poll-2012-rashomonEbert: www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-rashomon-1950Rotten Tomatoes Summary and pretty much every reviewier: www.rottentomatoes.com/m/rashomon/Also essentially every "top" review on Letterboxd puts primary focus on narrative and somewhat tertiary focus on the visual elements of the film. While hardly scientific, I think this aggregate of sources seems very clearly to lean towards a heavy emphasis on narrative as a rationale for the films status. In fact, it was really difficult to find any source that puts emphasis on the visual elements over the narrative innovation. While I'm sure some instances of visuals being emphasized exist (there's certainly grounds for it as you suggest), but I think my original point is certainly fair. Anyways, the film is beautifully shot, no arguments there. This doesn't mollify the failed epistemological narrative experiment, and as an extension, the inherent dullness of the individual stories (they really only work as part of the former, and since this fails, these individual stories are pretty uninteresting), which is kind of what I was getting at. Not familiar enough with the film (it's been some time) to comment on your thematic connections, but any merit it has on that front is rendered moot in it's refusal to explore these themes dramatically. But I hate to speak more of it when it's not fresh on my mind, it's been at least a year and I didn't really enjoy it too much.
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Post by guttersnipe on Dec 8, 2017 11:12:46 GMT -8
You know, that response kinda tripped me up because I had to re-read my post to see if I'd said something like "most critics" or "the consensus", or whatever, and I see now that that's how it's been construed. What I actually meant was in reference to any real in-depth film analysis (which probably sounds terribly snotty for me to conflate my own perspective with). Most film criticism I've encountered frankly isn't terribly incisive, and often reflects reactions to plot and acting; I didn't click any of those links you offered, but I'm going to assume that Ebert said little or nothing about the visuals, because in my experience he rarely did at the best of times.
I'm talking more about the sort of reviews that really probe the editing and mise-en-scene, breaking elements down with a fine-toothed comb. The sort of analysis that goes along the lines of "We've spent a lot of screentime in this particular room, but it's only here that we can see this particular lamp in the corner, meaning..." or "At 1:14:48 we get an image that practically mirrors the one from four scenes earlier, finally positioning these disparate characters in a kind of thematic and emotional parallel".* I have a couple of books on Abel Ferrara and Nagisa Oshima that take this approach (usually devoting about fifteen pages to each film!), which is to assess constituent parts as opposed to really judging quality (neither author really says a thing about the greatness or lack thereof of their subjects' works). This is naturally the kind of address that I think a film like Rashomon deserves.
As for Rotten Tomatoes, well, I've been known to disparage that site before, but I was reminded of it the other day when we were bringing up 2005 in film and I think my first encounter with it was one of surprise after seeing Tideland, a movie I loved so much I didn't subsequently begrudge paying £9 to see it at Covent Garden but had (or has, maybe) a Tomatometer rating of about 30%. Pan's Labyrinth, a film about essentially the same concept was released soon after and carries far more widespread attention and indeed a very high Tomatometer score, never mind that I personally found it a notably weaker picture. Which is all to say that I knew there and then to simply not concern myself with aggregators or 'general feeling', and that I was on the right track with my tried-and-tested method of just hunting down what I wanted to see without external persuasion (I was far more satisfied that David Cronenberg loved it than any actual critic). After all, I was on here only last week writing a comment in defence of Cars 2. (For context, I've probably read just as many film reviews by Jeremy as any other individual critic, and he's new to the game. I should probably also state once again that I do think Pan's is a good film overall, and the creature designs are fantastic.)
As for the script? You're welcome to disagree of course, but for me a great director should be able to make something at least worthwhile or interesting when handed the worst script imaginable. Yesterday I rewatched The Lost Weekend and was reminded of the shortcomings in its script, from how every scene can be broadly described as "This man has a drinking problem!", to the sometime unnaturalness of the main trio's dialogue in relation to the supports, to how the tone can often become a bit PSA. Fortunately, Wilder's on-point as a director: the dissolves deny us the ability to actively gauge the passage of time (or more accurately, the extent of the character's binges), there's the "vicious" circles of spilt liquor on the bar, the slow zooms on Milland as he sweats in discomfort, a POV dive into a drink, a gun reflected in a mirror, tiny but centred in the frame, a stunningly macabre fever dream, bookending shots of the camera entering and leaving the apartment respectively, etc. Writerly mistakes do leave a bit of a grubby mark, but directorial ingenuity and successful aesthetic ideas pretty much sweep them away, at least in my book. These decisions are really what makes the film what it is. And to bring things back to Kurosawa in particular, I think it says a lot about him that most of his films were loose adaptations yet he was always his own storyboarder. Plus I think it's important to acknowledge the vicissitudes of translation with a foreign-language picture; 'meaning' may possibly be in the hands of a weak interpreter. I've seen plenty of Cantonese films with pretty dodgy or rudimentary subtitles.
* I tried to evoke this kind of writing on that Shining thread, when I was talking about how we only see the Native symbols on the ceiling once Wendy reads Jack's 'manuscript' and the chanting on the staircase registering as the earth's vengeance.
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