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Tempura is one of the top favorites among Japanese dishes, also for non-Japanese. What is more delicious than to have prawns, fish and vegetables served in those wonderful golden clouds of deep-fried dough? So it is a good thing tempura goes well with sake, and the choice this time is easy. When you remember that one of the properties of junmai sake is to cleanse the mouth from oily foods, the choice is soon made. Of course, good tempura is not really very oily, but it has been doused in a bath of hot oil. A great variety of ingredients is used, but we do not have to worry about that when making the sake pairing, as the golden dough makes everything equal.


The thing to pay attention to when eating tempura, by the way, is absolute freshness. Tempura should be eaten within minutes (if not seconds) after being fried. If you wait too long, it gets sodden, as is sadly the case when you get tempura donburi-style on rice. That is why specialist tempura restaurants serve the tempura not everything at the same time on a big plate, but bit by bit.

The only thing to pay attention to when making pairings is the way the tempura is eaten. There are two ways: with some salt (often flavored with green tea powder), or by dipping in tentsuyu (3 parts dashi, 1 part mirin, 1 part soy sauce), to which grated radish has been added (daikon-oroshi). The first way is how Japanese connoisseurs eat tempura, the second way is more common and easier to combine with sake.

In the first case (salt) I would suggest a sweetish sake, for example as made on the Inland Sea coast of Okayama or Hiroshima (Hiroshima has soft water which makes the sake  sweet). And to add some zest to the dryness of the flavored salt, perhaps a fresh type like a Shiboritate.

But most people will use the tentsuyu dipping sauce, which I think is a good idea (despite what connoisseurs may think!), as the daikon adds sweetness to the umami of the sauce (no, Japanese radishes are not spicy!), creating a perfect combination with the tempura. When pairing, the sturdier junmai sakes are best, those with a somewhat higher level of acidity. Also Kimoto and Yamahai type junmai sakes will be perfect thanks to the slight touch of bitterness and higher acidity. They are a "melting accompaniment to the delicate oiliness of good tempura" as Philip Harper phrases it in The Book of Sake (Tokyo, 2006).

Finally, I would suggest to try the junmai warm, at about 40 degrees Celsius, for even more melting goodness.

Splendid Labyrinths:

Bach Cantatas: 4th Sunday after Epiphany (Jesus calming the storm on the lake) and five cantatas for the Feast of Purification of Mary on Feb. 2.
Classic Fiction: He Knew He Was Right by Trollope.
Classic Film: The 400 Blows and other Antoine Doinel films by Truffaut.

Japanese Food Dictionary:

Ingredient vegetarian kitchen: Fu, wheat gluten.
Seasonal sushi: Ehomaki, a thick, uncut sushi roll eaten at Setsubun.
Sweet and savory bread Japanese-style:
Anpan, the classical sweet bun filled with red bean paste.
Kare-pan, a savory bun filled with curry.
Meron-pan, a type of sweet bread that usually doesn't taste like melon.
Jiyamu-pan, a bun filled with strawberry jam.
Kurimu-pan, a custard-filled bun.

Setsubun literally means "seasonal division" and used to refer to the day prior to the first day of spring (risshun), summer (rikka)  autumn (risshu) and winter (ritto) in the lunar calendar. Today, however, it is only used for the festival held on the day prior to risshun, because this is the most important as it marks a new start. In that respect, it is comparable to New Year's Eve - as a kind of "Spring's Eve." It falls on either February 2, 3 or 4 in the solar calendar (this year Feb. 3).

Rituals on Setsubun have to do with chasing out evil influences as a sort of spiritual or ritual house cleaning before the start of Spring.  These are the rituals:

Tsuina or oni-yarai. Originally held on New Year's Eve and introduced from Tang-China, this is an exorcism rite. Participants hold bows and clubs made from peach wood and symbolically chase away figures wearing demon masks. Mame-maki. Bean-scattering ceremony. The scattering of roasted soy beans to expel evil spirits began in the 15-16th centuries and in popular folklore became linked with the above Tsuina ceremony. Participants shout "Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!" ("Out with the demons and in with good luck"). The bean scattering is done by a toshi otoko, a male family member born in the same Zodiac year (nowadays, happily, toshi onna also can take part).  Yaikagashi. Heads of sardines are struck on holly branches and hung over doorways to drive out the demons.  See here for the modern custom of eating Ehomaki, "Lucky Direction Sushi Rolls."



Many shrines and temples hold Setsubun events. Often famous persons from TV, show business or sports (sumo!) will take part, and in Kyoto there are bean-throwing maiko. Here are the major ones:
In Tokyo: Asakusa Kannon, Kanda Myojin and Hie Jinja.  In Kyoto: Mibudera (Setsubun Kyogen performances), Rokuharamitsuji (demon chase and bean throwing), Yasaka Jinja (bean throwing by maiko), Yoshida Jinja (demon chase and fire festival), Shogoin (mamemaki and demons) and Rozanji (a very theatrical demon chase with a thousand-year history).    In Nara: Horyuji (Shuni-e ceremony in the Saiendo, red, black and blue oni are driven away by Taishakuten), Gangoji Gokurakubo (firewalking), Kofukuji (Bishamonten chasing demons at Tokondo). [Check all dates and times in advance, as Setsubun dates vary per year. Some events are in the evening]

At Splendid Labyrinths:

Bach Cantatas: Cantatas for the 3rd Sunday after Epiphany, focusing on the Will of God.

Classic Novels: Le Père Goriot by Balzac and The Death of the Heart by Elizabeth Bowen.

Classic Film: Letter from an Unknown Woman and Caught, both by Max Ophuls.

At Japanese Food Dictionary:

Kamameshi (mixed rice cooked in an individual pot);
Fu (wheat gluten, an ingredient in stews and soups and also in the Buddhist vegetarian kitchen);
Meron-pan (melon buns, a type of confectionery bread);
Kare-pan (curry buns, a type of confectionery bread with a savory filling);
Jiyamu-pan (a type of confectionery bread filled with strawberry jam).

Iwate, the largest prefecture in North-eastern Honshu (and the second largest in Japan after Hokkaido), has interesting crafts and folklore and in Hiraizumi also boasts the ruins of an ancient cultural capital. It has great scenery and its unspoilt nature provides excellent water. But it is not a large rice-growing prefecture, the main sake rice being Miyama Nishiki which was originally developed in Nagano (Iwate's own sake rice also exists and is called "Ginginga"). And although it has some excellent breweries, it is not a "sake prefecture" like for example, Akita is.

But although the number of breweries is limited to just over twenty, the smallest number among Tohoku prefectures, strangely enough it boasts the largest group of toji, master brewers, of all Japan: the well-organized Nambu toji ("Nambu" is the old name for Iwate). If you wonder how that is possible, well, people from poorer areas in northern Japan were accustomed to leave their villages and find work elsewhere. That is why you find the Nambu toji everywhere in Japan, with the highest concentration in the north and east. The Nambu style is light and crisp, technically the Nambu toji are among the best in the country. They also excel in the ginjo style. There are more than 300 Nambu toji.

Iwate breweries, though small in numbers, do win many prizes at the National Sake Competition and their ginjo style has been fortified by the development of the Iwate No. 2 Yeast. The Iwate style is like the Nambu style (naturally, as the toji guilds are the major influence on local styles), light and mild. Main brewing areas are at the same time the areas where the Nambu toji hail from, such as Shiwamachi and Ishidoriyamachi just south of the capital Morioka. In that last village, the Nambu Toji headquarters is located, and visitors can enjoy seeing the Nambu toji museum called "Nambu Toji Denshokan."

Some important breweries from Iwate are:

Asabiraki (Asabiraki Co., Ltd., Morioka). Founded 1871. ”Asabiraki" is used in the Manyoshu for a "ship leaving port at dawn." The name was selected symbolically by Murai Genzo, a samurai of the Nanbu clan who in the early Meiji Period set out on the new endeavor of sake brewing. Largest producer in Iwate with computer-controlled new Kura (besides traditional one for handmade sake). Brewery tours possible. Sakes with an elegant and slender taste, low in acidity. Emphasis on junmai. Also experiments, such as sake with grape juice, or sake made from soy milk.
Hamachidori (Hamachidori Co., Ltd., Kamaishi). Small brewery founded in 1923 in steel town Kamaishi. The name means "plover", fitting a company on the Rikuchu Coast. Uses the local sake rice Ginginga. Besides water from its own well, also uses water from a well in the old iron ore mine (sake made with this water is branded as Sennengo). Makes a light, clean and stylish sake.
Nanbu Bijin (Nanbu-Bijin Co., Ltd., Ninohe). Set up in 1902 in Ninohe, in the northern part of Iwate. The name means "Beautiful woman of Nanbu" and was selected in the 1950s because the company wanted to promote the clean and beautiful taste of its sake. Brand has became known all over Japan. Typically fine and delicate Tohoku sake with a somewhat round taste. Made famous by veteran toji Yamaguchi Hajime.
Shichifukujin (Kiku no Tsukasa Co., Ltd., Morioka & Ishidoriyamachi).
”Shichifukujin" are the Seven Deities of Good Fortune, a group that became popular in folklore in the Edo-period. The same company also makes the brand Kiku no Tsukasa (at another location). Originally set up as sake brewery in the years between 1772-78 by the Hirai family, founded as modern company in 1929. Uses local Sasanishiki rice. Light, dry and (in the case of ginjo) delicate sakes. "Daiginjo Tezukuri Shichifukujin" is a long selling sake that helped develop the market for ginjo sake in the past.
Tsuki no Wa　(Tsukinowa Shuzoten, Shiwa Town). Founded 1886. "Full Moon" (named after a moon-shaped island in a local pond with historical connotations). Small brewery with lovely buildings. Uses local organic rice and Iwate No. 2 Yeast. All sake is hand work. Makes rather young and fragrant sake. Daughter of the owner now works as toji.  
Regional information gleaned from Nihonshu no tekisuto (2): Sanchi no tokucho to tsukuritetachi, by Matsuzaki Haruo (Tokyo, 2003). Characterizations of individual sake based on Tastes of 1635: Shinpan Nihonshu Gaidobukku, also by Matsuzaki Haruo (Tokyo,  2000). 

There are so many types of sake today that should be drunk cold, that we almost end up thinking cold is the only way to drink sake. No: sake is a drink that can be enjoyed at a wide variety of temperatures, from 0 degrees Celsius ("ice sake") to 55 degrees. As such, it is probably unique in the world. Shaoxing wine from China is also delicious when warmed, but I do not know whether that can be drunk very cold. And there are some wines that can be had warm, but that are inferior types like Glühwein. The sake that is also delicious when warm, is high quality junmai sake.

What has made the image of warm sake bad, is the custom to drink cheap sake very hot. This not only happens abroad, but also in Japanese izakaya where piping hot sake ("tobikiri-kan") is served to hide the fact that it is rather tasteless stuff with lots of diluted brewing-alcohol added for volume plus sugar for taste. The result is a sort of jet fuel, of which the alcohol fumes blow in your face. Good sake should never be made really hot - just above body temperature, or lukewarm (40 degrees), is the best. In that case, it gives a very comforting feeling.

Where does the custom to drink sake warm come from? It has been recorded that when Emperor Saga (785-842) went out to hunt on a certain autumn day, the weather suddenly turned cold and the Minister of the Left, Fujiwara no Fuyutsugu (775-826), offered him warm sake. The Emperor was so delighted at this (according to the story) new way of drinking sake that he ordered that from then on in autumn and winter sake should be served warm in the palace. The idea may have come from China, where the custom to drink wine warm goes back to at least the Tang-period .

The best sake to drink warm is junmai, or a sturdy honjozo. Also Kimoto and Yamahai type sakes are delicious when warm. Perhaps not by coincidence, these are also the sakes that normally are better at room temperature than cold.

Some people still have to get used to the idea, others already know it is a heavenly combination: sake and cheese (something which, being Dutch, makes me really happy!). It is true that Japan in the past did not know dairy products. These were introduced in the Meiji-period, in the late 19th c., and during the last century, gradually have become a normal part of the Japanese diet. That being said, in Japanese supermarkets you will mainly find processed cheese and natural cheese is rare and expensive (and sold in very small pieces as it is meant to be eaten as a snack and not on bread) - although there are some specialized cheese shops in Tokyo as well.


The reason cheese goes so well with sake can be found in one word: umami. Sake is full of umami, thanks to the ingredient rice, and cheese is also umami-based. So that is where both sides meet. But just as you can't plunk down just any piece of cheese and expect it to fit just any glass of wine, so in the case of sake there are also certain pairings which are better than others.

As we are talking about umami, the general rule is that sakes that are higher in umami are best with cheese, in other words, junmai sakes rather than honjozo or ginjo sakes. Also long-matured sakes will do well. Why does junmai sake contain more umami? Well, for one thing no alcohol is added to make the taste lighter, and above all, the rice is polished to a lesser degree than in the case of a (dai-) ginjo; when polishing, proteins are removed, and proteins are changed into amino acids during the brewing process, and amino acids of course provide the umami.

Another very suitable type is a Kimoto or Yamahai sake: thanks to the natural lactic acid with which the yeast is cultivated for these types of sake, some yoghurty taste remains, providing a "bridge" to the cheese. If it is a Kimoto sake, even a Junmai Ginjo or Junmai Daiginjo would be suitable for cheesy combinations - although the rice is polished further than an ordinary Junmai, the Kimoto character (and non-addition of alcohol) fully make up for the polishing away of proteins.

Keeping that in mind, it comes as no surprise that the Sake Service Institute during the Jizake Dai Show of 2011 has selected the Junmai Daiginjo "Minowamon" made with the Kimoto-method by the Fukushima sake house of Daishichi as the No. 1 combination with cheese - they used classic French Comte cheese for the pairing.

Interesting is also the second choice of the S.S.I.: a Kijoshu from the Wakatsuru Brewery. Kijoshu is "sake brewed with sake," like port wine, it is thick and sweet and has usually also been aged for many years (five or longer), so it is not difficult to imagine this would taste good with stronger cheeses.

Here are some other ideas:

- Kimoto or Yamahai sake also fits well with Mozzarella cheeses.
- In general, aged sake such as koshu goes well with aged cheese.
- Also unpasteurized (nama) sake, or even nama genshu (unpasteurized and undiluted sake) generally goes well with cheese - again, especially when this is a junmai.
- Try Camembert cheese with the mild, somewhat fruity taste of a Tokubetsu Junmai (polished to 60%)
- The blue mold Roquefort fits a Junmai Daiginjo admirably (not necessarily only Kimoto).
- Goat's cheese is great with a sparkling sake. But it also goes very well with the Kimoto Umeshu, plum wine on the basis of Junmai sake (and not shochu liquor, as is more common) made by the Daishichi sake house - and winner for three consecutive years of the platinum prize in the liqueur category the Jizake Dai Show (in 2011, it was the Daiginjo-based version of this plum wine, to be exact).


[Some of the final cheese suggestions are based on The Sake Selection, Brands of Distinction, by Akiko Tomoda, 2009]

At Splendid Labyrinths I have started a series of posts about the complete cantatas by Bach, listening to them in the order of the church year. I have started with the cantatas for New Year. In order to get "up to date", there are 5 cantata posts in this first week:

New Year Cantatas;
Cantatas for the Sunday between New Year and Epiphany;
Cantatas for the Feast of Epiphany;
Cantatas for the First Sunday after Epiphany;
Cantatas for the Second Sunday after Epiphany.

New film reviews:

Shop Around the Corner by Lubitsch;
Witness for the Prosecution by Wilder.

And at Japanese Food Dictionary I wrote a post about shumai.

What sake can you drink with sashimi of tuna (maguro)?

At the Jizake Dai Show of SSI in 2008, Kokushi Muso's Junmai Daiginjo (Takasago Shuzo) and Jozen Nyosui's Shinmai Shinshu (Shirataki Shuzo) received the first (platinum) prizes for the combination with tuna. This is a selection by sommeliers of the Sake Service Institute in Tokyo. In general, these colleagues of mine (I am also a sommelier certified by the SSI) advise a light and delicate sake for tuna. Tuna is fatty red meat and tastes stronger than white fish. The reason to drink this type of sake is that it refreshes the mouth, more than a fear to obliterate the taste of the fish. And both recommended sakes are indeed light: it is a characteristic of sakes both from Hokkaido (Kokushi Muso) and Niigata (Jozen Nyosui) to be very dry and light. On the same note, in the case of pairing with wine, I would recommend a very dry white wine or a light red wine.

But other types of sake fit as well. Red tuna meat has a certain sourness, so a sour Junmai made with the Yamahai-method would also fit, especially if drunk cold.



So far we have been talking about Akami, the top loin of the Bluefin Tuna, which is the most common and least expensive tuna meat. There are two more types of tuna which you will find in sushi shops: Chutoro, medium fat Bluefin Tuna belly and Otoro, the fattiest portion of Bluefin Tuna belly.

Otoro is fat and creamy, with little umami - in fact, rather like foie gras -, and its popularity is a relatively recent phenomenon in Japan. It is difficult to combine with both wine and sake. The most logical choice would probably be a cold Honjozo Reishu, to wash away the fatty taste. But Japan's top sommelier Tasaki Shinya (in: "Wa" no shokutaku ni niau osake, Chukoshinsho, 2010) in contrast also suggests an aged sake, like a sweet and nutty koshu. The same pattern is repeated in the case of wine: I would suggest either a very dry white wine, or a very sweet one made with the Sémillon grape.



Nakatoro, finally, holds the middle field between the sour "iron-holding" taste of Akami and the fat, creaminess of Otoro, so wine or sake with the same balance between sweet and sour would be nice. Mr Tasaki in fact advises a Yamahai Junmai, but this time drunk warm at 40 degrees (to bring out the flavors), or in the case of wine a sparkling rose - those from the Champagne region are best, he writes.

It is a pity neither such sakes nor such wines are available in sushi shops, even in Japan, but you can try it out at home!

Shimizu Hiroshi (1903-1966) was a contemporary, colleague and friend of Ozu Yasujiro, but history has dealt undeservedly harshly with him. He made realistic films about daily life that share Ozu's "Ofuna flavor" and also resemble Ozu technically in the preference for a static camera, long shots, distance shots and low angles. Despite my interest in things Japanese, I didn't know his name until last year when I happened to came across the Criterion edition with four of his films. I have already written about one of these, Mr. Thank You - here follows Ornamental Hairpin (1941; Kanzashi) plus a short note on the other two films.

Shimizu's films are really about nothing, they are probably the most wonderfully plot-less films that exist. Ornamental Hairpin shows the daily life of a group of people staying at a hot spring resort in the scenic Izu Peninsula: a grumpy professor (Saito Tatsuo, the father from Ozu's  I Was Born But...); a married couple, of whom the husband has the annoying habit of always putting words in his wife's mouth; a grandpa who likes to play go and two boys. There is also a soldier who is recuperating from a leg wound, Nanmura (a very young Ryu Chishu) - in 1941 the war in Asia was in full swing.

When the soldier incurs an additional wound by stepping on a sharp hairpin that has fallen into the communal spa bath, the woman who lost that ornamental pin during a brief stay at the inn (Emi, played by Tanaka Kinuyo), returns all the way from Tokyo to apologize in person. She stays on to help Nanmura recuperate and learn to walk without crutches.

Emi is a geisha who by returning to the spa resort is escaping from her life in Tokyo, where she presumably was supported by a man she is fed up with. Her occupation is only slightly indicated at the beginning of the film, when she is shown walking in a sunny landscape with her friend Okiku, remarking how nice it is not to have to wear oshiroi. This is the powder used to whiten the faces of geisha. And a kanzashi, ornamental hairpin, was worn with a traditional hairdo, and was therefore around this time also in the first place an ornament of a geisha.

As Emi is beautiful, it is a foregone conclusion among the other guests that love will blossom between her and the unmarried soldier. Nanmura even doesn't mind the additional wound and calls it "poetic." They are everyday together, while Emi and the boys help him exercise his leg (with many shouts of "Gambatte!", "Do your best!"). But by the time he is recovered, the other long-staying guests are leaving for Tokyo and Nanmura joins them, presumably to go back to the battlefield. Emi stays behind alone...

Shimizu's films are seemingly very light, but you have to watch attentively. Important facts are often only suggested slightly, and they are very non-verbal, so you have to be on the look-out for the slightest gesture and facial expression. As Mr. Thank You, Ornamental Hairpin has been filmed on location in the Izu Peninsula.

Some commentators remark on the absence of the war in this film, and interpret the escape of the protagonists to the spa hotel as an escape and therefore criticism of the war Japan was waging. I think this is not the case. In the first place, we are still in 1941, before the attack at Pearl Harbor, when in general films about the war were nor very strident yet - showing more the sufferings of ordinary Japanese than the victories of the army. And in the second place, Ornamental Hairpin does have one clear patriotic episode, which must have been enough to convince the censors to let the rest of the film pass as well: the effort of Emi and the boys to help the wounded soldier exercise and as soon as possible learn to walk without crutches. In the film, Emi may have had another motivation - to be close to Nanmura as she was in love with him - but these scenes can also be interpreted as support for the army and its fighting men - think of all the "Gambattes!"

That nod to the censors, by the way, does not diminish the humanitarian values of this beautiful film.

Japanese Girls at the Harbor (1933) is a silent film, a minor melodrama made in the then popular "modernist style." The modernism appears in the experimental shots and strange camera angles, the Western names of the protagonists and the appearance of a church - not as a symbol of religion, but of the modern West! But this film has a plot, and a rather melodramatic and traditional one at that, so this is the least film in the set.

The Masseurs and a Woman (1938) is very much akin to Ornamental Hairpin, as it is also situated at a hot spring resort. Masseurs were usually blind and here they travel from inn to inn to offer their services. One of them develops a bit of a crush on a mysterious woman from Tokyo staying alone at a resort (Takamine Mieko). Like Hairpin, this film is almost plotless, just showing small daily events.

My evaluation of Ornamental Hairpin: 8 points out of 10 for Emi carrying the soldier on her back over a plank bridge. Criterion essay; Criterion Confesssions; Stricly Film School; Schwartz.

When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960; Onna ga kaidan wo agaru toki) by Naruse Mikio (1905-1969) is a film set in the milieu of bars and hostesses, and the men who visit such bars. Keiko (Takamine Hideko) is a beautiful hostess who manages a bar in Tokyo's Ginza district as the "mama-san" although she does not own it. In her behavior, she is demure and conservative, seldom showing her feelings; she is always impeccably dressed in kimono. She is in her thirties (she is a widow) and it is therefore time to settle down, by either acquiring an establishment of her own, or by leaving the water trade through a second marriage. Her present bar is on the second floor, and every evening she has to climb the stairs (today, there are elevators in even the smallest buildings!). She hates the look of those steep stairs, and the grind work that awaits her at the top of them, but once she is inside her bar, she shows an impenetrable smiling face - a professional accessory - and can take everything that comes her way. She also keeps her style. In her own words: "Around midnight, Tokyo's 16,000 bar women go home. The best go home by car. Second-rate ones by streetcar. The worst go home with their customers."

Keiko's search for happiness is not an easy one. The work is hard: every night showing a friendly, smiling face and courteously flattering the guests with disregard for her own personality, even if they talk nonsense (which is most of the time). Her poor family, a good-for-nothing brother and an aging mother, depend on her financial assistance, but they give little back.

Other disasters happen. Her most popular hostess leaves to start her own bar, and pulls along many clients. Keiko also tries to get money together for her own bar by selling "subscriptions" to her most favorite customers, but the amounts they are willing to invest are pitifully insufficient. She could of course look for one, sole financier, but then he would "own" her and also expect other, repugnant services from her. She wants to keep her independence.

When the subscription plan doesn't come off the ground, she tries to find a man to marry. There is a wealthy, soft-spoken man who showers her with presents and proposes marriage. But just in time Keiko finds out that he is an impostor, and known for such proposals to other women as well. She secretly loves a handsome (and married) banker, but after they spend the night together - she breaks her own rules here - he tells her he will be transferred out of Tokyo the next day, showing that she has been used by him. She takes revenge by going to Tokyo Station to say goodbye to him while he sits in the train with his wife and child.

This event also means the break-up with her bar manager Komatsu (Nakadai Tatsuya). Komatsu always kept in the background, taking care of the bar with a strong guiding hand, but secretly was in love with her. But he despises her now she has fallen for a customer (or is just jealous).

So, with each man in her life deserting or disappointing her, in the evening, resigned but tenacious, she again climbs the stairs to her bar to spend another night serving selfish and exploitative customers. The human spirit can be strong. Although Keiko is not a prostitute and a very different character from a very different culture, I was reminded of Fellini's Cabiria, which ends on the same note.

The B/W film is imbued with a gentle sadness, and fittingly filmed in noirish tones. Dialogues are minimal, non-verbal communication plays a large role. The camera-work is unobtrusive. Naruse is the least known of the great, classical directors, even in Japan, but it is heartening to see that in recent years his fame is worldwide on the increase.


Some cultural points:
The night-time entertainment business of snack bars, bars, and cabarets where hostesses provide entertainment, is called "water trade" (mizu shobai) in Japan.  "Mama" is not a name or designation for a particular person, as is wrongly implied in the IMDB and several reviews. It is not a "special term of honor" for Keiko in this film! Rather, "Mama" or more politely "Mama-san" is the general designation for all (tens of thousands) of women who are the manager of an establishment in the "water trade." Although this designation may have originated in the sentimental whimperings of male visitors, who wanted to pour out their hearts to a surrogate mother, it now is just a title, for example like "Shacho" for "Company President." Not only the clients, but also the women and other staff working in the bar as well as caterers, etc., will call the owner by this title. The modern bar hostess is an entertainer like the geisha of old: she sits with her guests and serves the drinks and snacks, but more importantly, it is her task to create a pleasant atmosphere and keep the conversation going. This means she has to do a lot of flattering of the egos of her customers. She may also dance or sing karaoke with the clients. Although sexual innuendo is used in the conversations, especially from the side of the male customers, providing such services is not part of her job.  The Ginza area in the film is the district in Tokyo were countless hostess bars of various types can be found (in the side streets and streets running parallel to the main street) - it is regarded today as the most classy such area. The Ginza is also one of the few areas in Tokyo where you still find some hostesses in kimono (like Keiko in the film, but that was in 1960).  There are usually many bars in one building, even several on the same floor. You can tell their presence by the many colorful neon advertisements outside on the building.  Persons working in the water trade will go to work in the early evening and then greet each other with "Ohayo gozaimasu," "Good morning!" Customers come to bars after their dinner, which is always early in Japan: starting at five or six and finishing around eight or nine. The bars are open till the small hours of the morning.  Most customers are businessmen, either owners of companies (the wealthiest sort) or corporate managers with an expense account.  Some bars are only for members, others refuse foreigners if only out of fear of language problems, and on the other hand there are also shady bars, so visitors to Japan are advised not to explore on their own, but only go when invited by a Japanese business partner.   My evaluation: 10 points out of 10 for that patient staircase. About Naruse: Naruse in Senses of Cinema; The Materialist Ethic of Mikio Naruse in Senses of Cinema; Unsentimental Journey: A Glimpse into the Cinema of Mikio Naruse in Senses of Cinema; Naruse in Strictly Film School; Naruse in Slant Magazine; Flowing: The Films of Mikio Naruse;  About "When a Woman Ascends the Stairs:" Criterion essay; Criterion Confessions.

New Year's haiku by Issa
my happiness  just about average  at my New Year 
medetasa mo | chuu gurai nari | oraga haru 


Planting my stick in the quagmire - the first sun of the year
nukarumi e | tsue tsupatte | hatsuhi kana

New Year's Day my hovel the same as ever
ganjitsu mo | tachi no manma no | kuzu-ya kana

even my shadow is safe and sound this first morning of spring
kageboshi mo | mame sokusai de | kesa no haru



New Year's haiku by Basho

has spring already come? I feel wealthy this New Year with five sho of old rice
haru tatsu ya | shin-nen furuki | kome go-shoo


New Year's Day I feel lonely just like an autumn evening
ganjitsu ya | omoeba sabishi | aki no kure


New Year's haiku by Shiki

New Year's Day nothing good or bad - just human beings
ganjitsu wa | ze mo hi mo nakute | shujoo nari


New Year's haiku by Shigyoku 

New Year's Day whosoever face we see it is carefree
ganjitsu ya | taga kao mite mo | nen no naki

Cited - with corrections - from R.H. Blyth, Haiku Vol. 2, Spring. The first Issa haiku is my own translation.

2012 is the Year of the Dragon. The dragon is the symbol of renewal and in Japan it is omni-present.


"In Japan and China, the dragon is not the gruesome monster of the Western, medieval imagination, but a genius of strength and goodness. He is the spirit of change. Hidden in the caverns of inaccessible mountains, or coiled in the unfathomable depth of the sea, he awaits the time when he slowly rouses himself into activity. He unfolds himself in the storm clouds; he washes his mane in the blackness of the seething whirlpools, His claws are in the fork of the lightning, his scales begin to glisten in the bark of rain-swept pine trees. His voice is heard in the hurricane, which scattering the withered leaves of the forest, quickens a new spring." (Okakura Tenshin, The Awakening of Japan)



The dragon is the symbol of the productive force of nature, of renewal. It is also the emblem of vigilance and safeguard. In its claws it carries the "night-shining pearl," a gem of omnipotence. The Chinese imperial coat from the Han to Qing dynasties consisted of a pair of dragons fighting for such a pearl. It was the emblem of imperial power and of the throne (called "dragon throne").


In Japanese myth, the deity Susano-o fights Yamato-Orochi, an Eight-headed dragon. After slaying him, he finds the sword Kusunagi in the tail of the beast. This is now one of the Imperial regalia. The Sea God is also called Dragon God and lives in a Dragon palace below the waves. This visited by Hikohohodemi, who marries Toyotamahime, the Dragon King's daughter - and after she joins her husband on the land, she becomes the ancestor of Ninigi-no-mikoto, the mythical progenitor of the imperial house. Also the Utsukushima Shrine on Miyajima was believed to be the abode of the Dragon King's daughter. On a different note, in a folktale, Urashima visits the Dragon Palace on the back of a trutle and also marries the dragon kings daughter, but when he leaves the underwater world, he has return alone.


Dragons figure in the names of Zen temples, as Ryoanji ("Dragon Peace Temple") and Tenryuji ("Heavenly Dragon temple") in Kyoto. When the Kannon statue that is the object of veneration in the Asakusa temple (Sensoji) appeared from the sea in the nets of two fishermen in 628, golden dragons ascended to heaven - for that reason the temple celebrates an annual Golden Dragon Dance. And in popular culture dragons can be found from  Dragon Ball and Dragon Quest to the Chunichi Dragons, and not to forget, King Ghidorah, the three-headed golden dragon who appears in several Godzilla films.

Have a good Dragon Year!

That the years in Japan are associated with the animals of the Oriental Zodiac can escape no one who sees their effigies on New Year cards, posters and calendars and who is amazed at the tremendous amount of clay dolls of the Animal of the Year sold in department stores and temples. By the way, 2012 will be the Year of the Dragon.

In the past, these animal signs were also associated with directions of the compass, seasons, days and (double) hours.

The Japanese zodiac consists of the following twelve animals, and rotates in the order given below:
Rat (Ne) - the first year of the cycle. Symbol of industry and prosperity on account of its hoarding abundant supplies of food. The rat is also associated with Daikoku, one of the Seven Deities of Good Fortune, as it is shown gnawing on the rice bales on which the deity usually stands. Hours: 23:00-01:00. Direction: North. (2008, 2020) Ox (Ushi) - patient and faithful, as well as an emblem of spring and agriculture (ploughs were pulled by oxen). A lucky year. Associated with Sugawara Michizane, the deity of the Tenmangu Shrines, who road an ox when driven into exile. Hours: 01:00-03:00.  (2009, 2021) Tiger (Tora) - the king of the land animals, symbol of awe and terror, but also short-tempered. Tigers never existed in Japan, but were rather common in China. Hours: 03:00-05:00. (2010, 2022) Rabbit (U) or Hare (Usagi) - Smooth talking, but also an emblem of longevity. A fortunate year. Reminds people of the legend of the Hare in the Moon, pounding rice cakes, or the myth of the Hare of Inaba.  Hours: 05:00-07:00. East. (2011, 2023) Dragon (Tatsu) - Most important mythical animal in folklore. In contrast to the Western dragon, the Chinese/Japanese one is associated with benevolent constructive forces, as well as good health and energy. Hours: 07:00-09:00. (2012, 2024) Snake or Serpent (Mi) - Emblem of cunning, but also of the ability to increase money. Regarded with feelings of veneration due to its kinship with the benevolent dragon. The animal of Benten, one of the Seven deities of good Fortune.  Hours: 09:00-11:00.  (2013, 2025) Horse (Uma) - wild freedom. Represents the element of fire. An ancient animal in Japan.  Hours: 11:00-13:00. South. (2014, 2026) Sheep (Hitsuji) or Goat - art, elegance and passion. Symbol of a retired life. Not very numerous in Japan. Hours: 13:00-15:00. (2015, 2027) Monkey (Saru) - Clever and skilful. Symbol of trickery. Very prominent in fairy tales, as Momotaro. Hideyoshi, who rose from commoner to the highest status in the land, was born in the year of the monkey. Think also of the three Koshin monkeys "seeing no evil, hearing no evil, speaking no evil."  Hours: 15:00-17:00. (2016, 2028) Cock (Tori) - valor and watchfulness, a lucky year. Associated with the Sun myth and the Ise Shrines.  Hours: 17:00-19:00. West. (2017, 2029) Dog (Inu) - loyal and protective.  Hours: 19:00-21:00. (2018, 2030) Wild Boar (I) -  reckless courage and stubbornness.  Hours: 21:00-23:00. (2019, 2031)

Days of Youth (1929, Wakaki Hi) was Ozu's 8th film and his first full-length feature film. It is also the first film by Ozu that has been preserved intact. Ozu started his life as director making several "student comedies" with nonsensical gags and this is one of them. The influence of American films is noticeable (for example Harold Lloyd's Girl Shy and The Freshman), although even in this early film Ozu is already Ozu. The film is carefully composed, with interesting parallels and symmetries. There is for example a great shot of the long, smoking chimney of a mountain hut, which is followed down, into the hut, to the stove and a kettle with boiling water. But the camera work is rather different from late Ozu - it is very dynamic as befits the outdoor subject. The script was written by Ozu together with Fushimi Akira, one of the best Shochiku script writers of that time.

The film starts and ends (in reverse) with something we are not used to in Ozu films - a long pan from a station, a university with sports grounds (Waseda) to a quiet residential street. This brings us to the second-floor lodgings of Watanabe Bin (Yuki Ichiro), a crafty rogue of a student who spends his time "girl hunting" in a rather ingenious way. He glues a notice on his window that the room is for rent, hoping that a nice female student will knock on his door. Of course, if one does, he has to move out, but he will take his time for the removal and come back regularly for things he has "forgotten." When a male student wants to rent the room, he tells him that "he himself has just rented them and still has to take the notice down."

This is how Watanabe manages to meet Chieko (Matsui Junko), who happens to be already friends with shy and bookish fellow student Yamamoto Shuichi (Saito Tatsuo), whose character is symbolically indicated by his "Harold Lloyd glasses." When Watanabe has given up his rooms for Chieko, he moves in with the reluctant Yamamoto - keeping him effectively from studying for the impending exams.

After the exams, halfway the film, the "student film" turns into a "ski film," as Watanabe and Yamamoto travel for a ski holiday to Akakura in Nagano. There they meet Chieko again and they compete for the girl - with Yamamoto usually the patient butt of Watanabe's jokes. Chieko actually happens to be there for a miai (arranged marriage) with the ski teacher, so both students have to return to Tokyo without success in love. They have also flunked their exams - and everything starts anew as Watanabe again sticks a "for rent" notice on the window.

It may surprise viewers to find such a lot of skiing in an early Ozu film. Skiing had been introduced to Japan about twenty years earlier and is credited to one Theodor von Lerch, an Austrian major, who taught skiing to the Japanese army at Joetsu in Niigata in early 1911. It soon became popular and Ozu used to ski every winter around the time the film was made. He usually went to the same place where the film is shot, Akakura, where the parents of his cameraman Mohara Hideo ran the Takadaya Hotel (shown in the film) - the cameraman was also an expert skier, as is clear when seeing the hand camera work on skis in Days of Youth. Ozu was still young when the film was made, 25, and we can imagine him having fun in the snow with his colleagues.

This obviously is not the film to start your Ozu experience with, but after you have seen the great films and want to know what Ozu's origins were, Days of Youth is quite interesting.
My evaluation: 7 out of 10 points for Yamamoto having to run after a lost ski sliding down the slope, while Watanabe flirts with Chieko. 

An elderly man (veteran actor Inoue Masao) feels responsible for the schizophrenic condition of his wife (Nakagawa Yoshie) and has taken menial employment in the asylum where she is interned. His ultimate plan is to flee with her. Memories of their happy past mingle with scenes of their present misery.



That is the simple premise of the avant-garde film A Page of Madness (Kurutta Ichipeiji) made in 1926 by young director Kinugasa Teinosuke (1896-1982). A Page of Madness was long thought lost, like so may other films from the 1920s, until in 1971 the director found a copy of the negative in his storehouse.

The script of A Page of Madness is purposely scrambled and jumps from memories of the past to the here and now, mixing in various fantasies and hallucinations along the way. The beginning of the film is typical: a montage of shots of violent rain hitting the windows of the hospital; the unsettled weather induces one of them, a former dancer, to start a frantic dance. We see the dancing girl in fancy costume dancing on a stage, behind her a large colored ball is turning around. This is a memory from the past. The dancer collapses, the stage becomes a cell (we see the black bars, a fixed motive in the whole film), the dancer now wears rags - we are back in the mental hospital.

The film contains a barrage of startling imagery and haunting dreamlike visuals. Any cinematic device known, such as rapid montage - although Kinugasa didn't know the films by Eisenstein as Soviet products were forbidden in Japan - at the time is used. It is not only far ahead of anything happening in Japan in the mid-twenties, but also ahead of the world. And it is very original, there is no resemblance with for example Wiene's Dr Caligari as is sometimes claimed.

There is much misinformation about this film going around, so here are some sober facts (thanks to the study by Aaron Gerow, A Page of Madness: Cinema and Modernity in 1920s Japan (Center for Japanese Studies, The University of Michigan, 2008):
The project was not a low-budget, independent art film made solely by a group of enthusiastic youngsters. The studio for which Kinugasa worked invested in the project and the film was shot at Shochiku's Kamogawa Studios in Kyoto. The budget was 20,000 yen, twice as much as that of the commercial jidaigeki Kinugawa usually made for Shochiku. Although famous modernist author and future Nobel-Prize winner Kawabata Yasunari wrote a script for the film, that was not the only scenario nor even the major one. There were several scenarios floating around this film, written by various persons. Originally, the film was not as incomprehensible as it is today, for the following reasons: The 60 minute version that was unearthed by the director (which is all we have today) was shortened and some of the more conventional narrative scenes seem to have been cut - perhaps to bring the film more in line with notions of what was considered "avant-garde" in the seventies.  The film originally incorporated some conservative Shinpa-type narrative elements and there also seem to have been at least some inter-titles (now there are none). On top of that, the film was originally shown with a benshi - the famous benshi Tokugawa Musei gave his cooperation.  Some other points I would like to add: As was usual with art films, it was shown in a theater reserved for foreign films, the Musashinokan in Shinjuku in Tokyo. In the 1920s, there was a flourishing avant-garde scene in Japan (especially the Shinkankakusha, or New Impressionists, whose work experimented with a wide variety of modernist styles - Constructivism, Futurism, Dada, Surrealism and Expressionism) and much interest in what happened abroad in this field, so the film did not come out of the blue.  One interesting scene: at a certain moment, the male patients of the asylum are aroused by the dance of "the wife" and they cause a riot. They are then given Noh masks to wear which make them peaceful.   My evaluation: 7 points out of 10 for being totally exhausting in only 60 minutes. Advice for new viewers: just go with the flow and let the images work on your mind. Besides Gerow's book, also see this article in Midnight Eye. 

The Munekata Sisters is a study in contrasts: between the conservative, married older sister Setsuko (Tanaka Kinuyo), always wearing kimono, and the free-spirited younger sister Mariko (Takamine Hideko), always in Western-style dress; and between the locations of Tokyo, the center of the modernization of Japan, and the Kansai with the old temple cities of Kyoto and Nara.

Setsuko lives in Tokyo with her husband Mimura (Yamamura So), who is out of a job and into hard and fast drinking. With them also lives her younger sister Mariko. To sustain the family finances, Setsuko operates a bar and Mariko helps her. Their ailing father (Ryu Chishu) lives in Kyoto and Setsuko and Mariko regularly visit him. Also based in the Kansai (in Kobe, a Westernized city) is Setsuko's former flame, Hiroshi (Uehara Ken), who has just returned from France and now has an antique shop. He often visits Tokyo as well. Mariko – who is rather childish - tries to reunite Setsuko and Hiroshi, although she herself is also secretly in love with Hiroshi. Her meddling, however, has unintended tragic results when Mimura gets jealous of his wife and Hiroshi.

This film has been called “lesser Ozu” because it is different from his other, mature works in being more melodramatic. But it serves to show one thing: that Ozu could make quite different films, and not always repeated the same story as some other critics say. The main theme of The Munekata Sisters is typical Ozu: the loss of traditional family values due to Japan's Westernization, embodied in Mariko who lightly advises Setsuko to separate from her drinking and violent husband. On the other hand, Setsuko is the very embodiment of those traditional values: she is reticent (reason why she did not speak out to Hiroshi about her love in the past) and after her husband dies, she refuses to marry Hiroshi. It seems natural that she now should do so and Hiroshi actually asks her, but she decides to never meet him again as marrying him after what happened to her husband – who died doubting her truthfulness to him – does not seem right to her. Instead, she moves to Kyoto to take care of her ill father.

Comments:

One of only 3 films Ozu made for another company than Shochiku.  His only adaptation of a novel, by then popular novelist Jiro Osaragi.  The script is more melodramatic than the usual Ozu – Mimura slaps Setsuko in the face and Mariko screams when she sees that Mimura has died from a heart attack (it is the only Ozu film to contain a woman's scream!).  The film took seventh place in the Kinema Junpo ranking for 1950. Contrasting two women, usually sisters, of different types – one traditional, one modern - was common in Japanese film since the 1930s. A famous example is Mizoguchi's Sisters of the Gion.  The film contains several famous, idyllic Japanese spots as the temples in Kyoto and Nara, or the resort town of Hakone.  The use of Yakushiji Temple in Nara is probably intentional: it is dedicated to the Buddha of Healing (Yakushi Nyorai) and during the visit to this temple, Hiroshi hopes to “heal” his relationship with Setsuko. By the way, in 1950 Yakushiji looked very different from today – both main hall and second pagoda were later rebuilt, but I prefer this old Yakushiji with pine trees growing in the courtyard.  Osaragi Jiro loved cats (see his museum in Yokohama!) and Mimura is constantly carrying a cat with him. My evaluation: 8.5 points out of 10 for Takamine Hideko sticking out her tongue.

Many critics have called Tokyo Story the best film Ozu ever made - it also features in the top 10 of an influential list of best films (Sight & Sound). The subject is - as in many other mature films by Ozu - the decay of traditional values seen in the lives of the members of a family. The rite of passage this time is not a wedding, but old age and death.


The Hirayama's, an elderly couple (played by Ryu Chishu and Higashiyama Chieko) are living with their youngest daughter Kyoko (Kagawa Kyoko), a school teacher, in Onomichi, in Western Japan (near Hiroshima). They have three other children: Koichi (Yamamura So), a local physician, married to Fumiko (Miyake Kuniko) and with two children; Shige, a beautician, with husband Kaneko Kurazu (Nakamura Nobuo); both these live in Tokyo and so does daughter-in-law Noriko, the widow of their son who has never returned from the war; a younger son lives in Osaka. They haven't seen their busy children in a long time and now plan a long trip to both cities to spend some time with them.

You may already be able to guess what happens, for this is a perennial the world around: the children are busy, busy, busy with their own lives and have no time for the parents they have not seen in many years; their egoism is so gross, it becomes even funny; the two oldies are obstacles which are shoved from the house of the son to that of the daughter, and then packed off to Atami, a vulgar and noisy spa town on the Izu coast, about two hours from Tokyo, where they are kept awake by partying youths. When they return unexpectedly early from Atami, they are at first nowhere welcome and almost become "homeless," as they joke among themselves.

There is one exception: daughter-in-law Noriko, who has an office job and lives in a tiny wooden flat. Like a traditional widow, all those years since the war she has kept the memory of her missing husband alive and refuses to consider remarrying. She takes a day off from work (although she is the one who can least of all miss the income) to guide her parents-in-law through Tokyo - we see them on a sort of "Hato bus tour." She also takes them for dinner to her flat - she is so poor she has to borrow not only the sake from a neighbor, but also the sake cups and flask. And when the parents have no home, she takes in the mother, who spends the most valuable moments of the whole Tokyo visit talking with Noriko (the father from his side has gone to visit some old friends, with whom he gets pleasantly drunk, after which the police brings him and one friend to the house of daughter Shige - the egoistic daughter gets her deserts having to take care of two totally plastered old men!).


The mother has had an attack of dizziness in Atami, and on the return trip, again in Osaka. When the parents arrive back home in Onomichi she falls seriously ill and soon dies. Now the family has to make the reverse journey for the funeral. This is done with the same blatant egoism. They stay as short as possible. Shige steals some clothes of the dead woman, "as a memory." And again, only Noriko is different. She stays as long as possible with her widowed father-in-law, who gives her the watch of his wife - and remonstrates with her in a kind way to be sure to remarry. Kyoko, the youngest sister, is shocked at the coldness of the family, but Noriko tells her serenely that is "how the world is." In the train on the way back to Tokyo, she looks pensively at her gift - will she remarry?
Some other points: Onomichi is a port town on the Inland Sea, with narrow alleys, steep slopes and many old temples. There is still a lot of atmosphere left, making it a great place to visit. In 1953 there was no Shinkansen yet (it started services between Osaka and Tokyo in 1964). Today the trip from Onomichi to Tokyo by ordinary trains (skipping the Shinkansen) would take more than 12 hours, in 1953 it was probably even longer - a heavy trip for two elderly people.  Atami is a large resort town with hot springs. Now past its prime, in the fifties and sixties it was a fashionable - though even then already quite vulgar - destination for group tours and newly weds ("Atami" has been jokingly called "tatami" - where Tokyoites travel to do things in a horizontal position). The scars of the war are still visible in 1953: Noriko's husband is missing in action, his body has never been retrieved.  During funerals in Japan, both men and women should wear black clothes, including the tie.
Thanks to the various locations - from Onomichi to various places in Tokyo, to Atami, Tokyo again and finally again Onomichi - this is a film on a big scale. It has all the typical Ozu trademarks I discussed in a previous post. Due to the subject matter, it is a bit darker than for example Late Spring, but happily, it is full of humor as well. This is a very humane film, of great universal value. My evaluation: 9.5 points out of 10 for the nostalgic soundscape of Onomichi.

Banshun is quintessential Ozu: a daughter is living a happy, quiet life with her widowed father; a meddling aunt warns that it is time for her to marry; the daughter is less than enthusiastic, so the father pretends he himself is going to remarry; jealous, the daughter agrees to an arranged marriage; the father remains behind alone.


Also the characters are typical: Ryu Chishu as the father, an elderly professor (Ryu was only 45 at the time, but he was good at playing aged persons); Hara Setsuko as the daughter, more radiant than ever; and Sugimura Haruko as the meddling aunt.

And so is the style: the stationary camera position, the low angle shot, the conscious arrangement of characters and careful composition of each shot, the avoidance of movement, the many distance shots/low number of close-ups, the camera running on for a few moments even after people have left a room, the clearly spoken, unhurried and uninterrupted dialogues, the disregard for eye matches in dialogues, the full-face shot of the speaker, the use of curtain shots, etc. This formalistic way of filming helps to make the viewpoint more neutral and unsentimental. It also serves to set off the characters with greater clarity. And it is interesting because it is a decidedly non-Hollywood film grammar.

But it goes too far to call Ozu's techical style "typically Japanese" as Western observers have done. For in that case it would have to be shared by many other Japanese directors, and that is only partially the case (Shimizu Hiroshi and Mizoguchi Kenji for long takes and low camera angles). Stylistically, Ozu is first and for all "typically Ozu." Even in Japan nobody else comes even close to Ozu's style. (It is in another aspect, his adherence to traditional values, that Ozu was indeed "typically Japanese").

Ozu is interested in characters, not in plot, so the slight story I have sketched in the above, suits him just fine. Anyway, in Ozu' case stories do not do justice to the films, which are incredibly richer than the quotidian events that happen in them.

As in all later films by Ozu, the subject of Banshun is the loss of traditional family values, especially the care family members used to have for each other, and which used to be more important than personal gratification. This was for example the main theme in Brothers and Sisters of the Toda Family (1941), where most family members are shown as too egoistic to take proper care for the homeless mother and younger sister. In Banshun Ozu turns this theme humorously on its head: Noriko is the traditional one who wants to go on taking care of her widowed father, but the father himself sees that such behavior would be too large a sacrifice - she must have her own life and her own family.

There is a secondary theme, too, that of a "rite of passage:" life consists of several stages and we have to move on, even if that means leaving loved ones. The time comes that children have to leave their parents (something Ozu never practiced, he lived unmarried with his mother almost until his death!).

It is a common idea in Japan that both men and women should marry in order to take their proper position in society (only now this is being hollowed out by the increasing number of singles). Men, once they have the financial means to do so, and women before their mid-twenties. Noriko in the film is 27 (the "late spring" of the title), and although there is a suggestion she may be still single because men her age died in great numbers at the war front, in the Japanese thinking of 60 years ago, it is definitely time for her to take the next step. The aunt fulfills the role of the absent mother - the father is too busy with his research to notice. And thanks to the system of arranged marriages, after Hattori, a friend of Noriko and her father's research assistant, already appears to be engaged, another suitable partner can soon be found.

Banshun was made under the Occupation when films often preached the new "democracy." Ozu does that too, but in a very soft way. The father, for example, is no dictator, even with the arranged marriage system, the daughter can make her own, free choice, as he stresses. After all, the legal underpinnings to the family system (ie) had been abolished by the Occupation and small, nuclear families were a fact of life.

The miai system works as follows (it still exists, although now less than 10% of marriages are still arranged). Photos and CVs are exchanged, after which a meeting in the presence of family members is set up, usually in a restaurant or a hotel. Here, the prospective partners can see each other and talk without committing themselves. They can also have more meetings than if they like. Noriko can still say no if she doesn't fancy her future husband (in The Makioka Sisters, filmed by Ichikawa Kon, the second sister Yukiko has a whole string of miai where she routinely rejects the proposed partner!).

But in Banshun that is alright, as there seems to exist some slight facial resemblance to Gary Cooper. By the way, we never see the marriage prospect nor the miai, nor also the final wedding. All these scenes are elided to concentrate on the story of Noriko leaving her father. The last time we see Noriko is when she has dressed in her heavy wedding kimono, which seems to press her down not only physically, but also mentally...


Japanese traditional culture is also re-evaluated and shown to fit well into a modernized, democratic Japan: the film starts with a tea ceremony, there is a Noh performance, and a visit to Kyoto with the Kiyomizu temple and the rock garden of Ryoanji. But these are the outward aspects of Japanese culture, of culture as a pastime. We should realize that the underlying traditional value system was damaged by leading the nation into war and defeat, even to a conservative as Ozu. He just tried to salvage the positive aspects.

By the way, Banshun does not contain any "Zen" elements as some Western writers wrongly infer due to a tendency to equate Japanese culture with Zen (Mr Daisetz Suzuki is to blame for this!). Japanese culture is not a Zen culture - it is much too varied, and the most important Buddhist groups are the Pure Land sects, not Zen. On top of that Zen Buddhism had firmly allied itself with the military during the war and was therefore in the years immediately after '45 rather suspect among ordinary Japanese. (This very different view of Zen in Japan and in the West also caused the surprise many Japanese felt when the first American and European Zen students arrived and started knocking on temple doors).

Also the "still-life cutaways" such as the famous (because much discussed) flower vase in the inn in Kyoto, have no "Zen connotation." These neutral "curtain shots" just serve to separate different scenes and are not themselves filled with a specific  meaning. The fun comes, when Ozu plays with this system: after showing the vase at night in the inn, where Noriko is sleeping beside her father, instead of cutting to the next scene as expected, we are returned to Noriko whose smiling face now looks pensive. But the vase is just a neutral interior object here, not a "vessel filled with meaning."

Some other cultural points:
Noriko and her father live in a detached house in Kamakura, now a quiet temple town (except for the tourists) and residential area. Kamakura is about an hour from Tokyo by train, a train ride which is actually shown in the film. A bell is attached to the sliding door at the entrance to the house. This announces visitors - in a very safe Japan in 1949, the front door is not locked. When the father comes home after the wedding, the bell rings to an empty house. In a discussion with his research assistant, Hattori, the father mentions the economist Friedrich List. The assistant thinks wrongly the father is talking about the composer Franz Liszt. Foreign names are often difficult for the Japanese, just as Japanese names are difficult for Westerners. When Noriko is cycling with her friend, they pass a Coca Cola sign, in the middle of nowhere. Besides the obvious symbol of Westernization, this was also a token of the in 1949 still ongoing Occupation (it lasted until 1952).  In their place of work, Japanese men wore Western clothes, but on coming home they changed quickly into informal Japanese dress. Lots of clothes are changed in Ozu's films! This film made in 1949 is the most serene film Ozu ever made. Nothing negative happens, as if Ozu wanted to show the public that four years after the end of WWII, peace had finally come to Japan.
My evaluation: 10 points out of 10 for the most meaningful peeling of an apple in film history. Long discussion in Wikipedia. 

This short film from 1921 is the oldest Japanese film I have seen. It is one of the hundreds of period films made by director Makino Shozo (1878-1929), the "father of Japanese period drama," and Japan's first star actor, Onoe Matsunosuke (1875-1926). Onoe had been an itinerant Kabuki actor and was "discovered" by Makino. Between 1909 and 1926, he appeared in over 1,000 films, mostly one-reelers.



Onoe specialized in heroic warrior roles. One of his most popular films was Goketsu Jiraiya ("Gallant Jiraiya," or "Heroic Thunder Boy," 1921). This is a rare surviving film of the Makino-Onoe combi.

Jiraiya is a figure from vernacular fiction from the late Edo-period (the first tale was published in 1839), a ninja who uses magic to morph into a gigantic toad. His wife Princess Tsunade can use snail magic and his enemy Orochimaru has mastered snake magic. He is popular in Kabuki and today lives on in manga and games.

Thanks to the tricks necessary to morph Onoe into a toad, Jiraiya is Japan's first special effects movie (tokusatsu). It is all very elementary, just stopping the action and replacing Onoe with a humorous-looking toad-like doll, but it works. We also see him flying through the clouds.

The film doesn't have a unifying story line, but consists of some loose scenes, exactly like the Kabuki play on which it was based, and similar to other period films made at that time. Intertitles only give the name of the next scene, for the rest the benshi-narrator had to fill in the story. The film consists almost wholly of fighting scenes. Called tate or tachimawari, these too are as in Kabuki: unrealistic and heavily stylized - more like a dance or ballet than a fighting scene.

That looks rather strange as the action has been filmed on location outside. Instead of watching a realistic film, it is as if you are seeing a group of people perform a play. The camera position is also fixed during the whole scene, filming from the seat of the ideal viewer in a theater.


Onoe is a rather small man with an enormous Kabuki wig. He jumps and slashes, but keeps himself neatly upright all the time. It must have been hard work. All actors including Onoe wear beautiful but unrealistic and unpractical Kabuki costumes.  As was customary in Kabuki, the weapons don't touch the body of the opponents. The victims fall down automatically when they are pointed at.

No wonder that Onoe Matsunosuke was especially popular among children, who took to imitating his ninja performances in their games. A more serious type of period drama "for adults," would start a few years later with the advent of the "nihilistic hero."

Makino Shozo's films are characterized by long takes and long shots, and therefore make a rather archaic impression. Only in his later years he would use the camera a bit more inventively - after he had broken with Onoe and set up his own production company. But real innovations would come from the next generation of directors, including his own son, Makino Masahiro.
My evaluation: this film is hors concours.  With help from the Japanese Wikipedia article on Jiraiya. This film is available at Internet Archive. 

Humanity and Paper Balloons (Ninjo Kamifusen, 1937) by Yamanaka Sadao (1909-1938) is the samurai film to end all samurai films. Except for a fist fight, there is no violence shown onscreen. The samurai who appear in it are so dirt-poor they have sold their swords - they can't even commit harakiri!


The story is set in the Edo-period, in a quarter of Tokyo where the poor live in tenement houses. The ramshackle houses stand on both sides of an alley that can be closed off with a gate. Impoverished, masterless samurai (ronin) live here among equally poor people of lower social classes.
The film starts very dark: a masterless samurai living in one of the houses has committed suicide by hanging himself - he had already sold his sword, so harikiri (seppuku) was out of the question. The residents of the tenement houses talk their landlord Chobei into providing some sake during the wake, so they have quite a party. But the merrymaking also serves to cleanse the tenement quarter of lingering evil influences.
One other ronin, Unno Matajuro (Kawarasaki Chojuro), is trying to find work by approaching an acquaintance of his deceased father (a samurai official called Mori, who was once helped by his father), but each time the official who knows neither giri nor ninjo, deftly evades him. His wife, Otaki (Yamagishi Shizue), makes paper balloons at home to earn a few coins. Unno keeps aloof from the others living in the slum and he never touches sake - there is a hint that his downfall had something to do with his previous excessive love of the intoxicating nectar.

Next door lives Shinza the barber (Nakamura Kanemon), a lusty but naive fellow who is constantly harassed by the local yakuza because he runs a gambling joint in what they consider as their territory.

Shinza is not the only one who has yakuza troubles: the upright citizens of the town, such as the merchants, frequently use the services of the gang to beat up bad customers or unwelcome visitors - also Unno Matajiro falls victim to their fists when he follows the samurai official Mori to the premises of a money lender, Shirakoya.

The usurer gets his deserts: his daughter Okuma is to be married to a party introduced by the samurai, but she is in love with her father's clerk, Chushichi. One rainy night, when she is planning to elope with the clerk, she crosses the path of Shinza, who is more penniless than ever. Shinza impulsively abducts her, demanding a ransom from her rich father. When the yakuza come looking for her, he hides her at Matajuro’s home.

But the desperate ransom attempt backfires and the crafty landlord has to sort things out with her father Shirakoya and the samurai official Mori, who was arranging a marriage for her. Okuma is returned to her parent's home and as after this experience she is not suitable for a samurai anymore, she is allowed to marry Chushichi.

She is the only one for whom the story ends happily. This time, Shinza does not get away with it and he is killed by the yakuza boss Yataguro because of the loss of face he has caused him (by hiding Okuma when the yakuza came searching for her). And the poor ronin and his wife, after the umpteed futile attempt to approach the samurai, commit suicide - by killing themselves with a small knife. The last image of the film is of one of the paper balloons the wife has made, blown away by the wind and rolling in the gutter...

Director Yamanaka Sadao was one of the talents of the 1930s, the first "Golden Age of Japanese Cinema," when also Ozu, Naruse, Mizoguchi and Shimizu were going strong. Unfortunately, he died a year after making Humanity and Paper Balloons - he was drafted into the army and sent to Manchuria were he died of dysentery. In his short life, he made 24 films, of which only three survive (besides the present one, The Million Ryo Pot and Kochiyama Soshun).

Yamanaka's films have been highly praised by critics as Sato Tadao and Donald Ritchie for the focus on delineation of character, the blurring of genre lines (between samurai films and modern stories, and between comedy and drama), and the focus on average people. And of course for the cinematography that beautifully captures the claustrophobic nature of the slum in which the story is set on the one hand and that on the other hand cuts away from scenes of violence, only hinting at them (we see the yakuza ominously stamping their feet and unsheathing their swords when about to kill Shinza but then the film cuts to another scene). Yamanaka laid the groundwork on which Kurosawa's films such as Yojimbo became possible. Even in recent times directors continue to pay tribute to him, such as Koreeda Hirokazu in Hana, the Tale of a Reluctant Samurai (2006).

Some cultural points:
Ninjo is human feeling that complements or opposes giri, or social obligation. Ninjo in the film is the poor helping each other, or in a wider sense, humaneness or humanity.  Paper balloons were made by gluing strips of colored paper together. As they contained no gas, they would not fly, but were a toy for children. In the Edo-period, they were made popular by the itinerant medicine vendors from Toyama, who used them as presents to customers. The sword was the "soul of the samurai." So selling it, was the lowest level of disgrace one could sink to - but that is what utter poverty did to people. Usually, such a samurai would carry a bamboo sword and dagger to hide his shame. In Harakiri (1962) by Kobayashi Masaki a ronin is cynically forced to commit suicide with just such a bamboo weapon. These historical epics without sword fights were called "modern films with chonmage." Chonmage is the traditional haircut of the samurai, a shaved pate with the remaining hair bound in a topknot.  In the 1930s in Japan, many films were made that commiserated with the plight of the poor - and not only by leftists. Even the first war films were not the victorious epics one would expect, but rather films showing how the average people and ordinary soldiers had to suffer.  Yamanaka did not use normal film actors, but all roles are played by members the Zenshinza Theater group.   Part of the story is based on the Kabuki play Shinza the Barber by Mokuami Kawatake. The first jidaigeki (historical film) about ordinary people and without swordplay, was made in 1928 by Kinugasa Teisuke (Crossroads, "Jujiro"). Humanity and Paper Balloons is a film with a dark theme - a bitter critique of traditional values by exposing the greed and hypocrisy of the privileged - but is not a dark film. On the contrary, it is shot through with comic characters and funny scenes, and the poor are shown as brimming with life and energy despite all their tribulations.
My evaluation: 9 out of 10 points for showing the knife, but not the suicide.

An Actor's Revenge (Yukinojo Henge, 1963) was made by director Ichikawa Kon (1915-2008; Fire On the Plain, An Obsession, Harp of Burma) on the request of his studio, Daiei, to honor the Hasegawa Kazuo (1908-1984; Gate of Hell, The Crucified Lovers) - it was the veteran actor's 300th (and last) film, but that number of course includes many one-reelers made in the silent era.

Ichikawa was asked to do a remake of a 1935 tearjerker in which Hasegawa had starred and which had been helmed by Kinugasa Teisuke (1896-1982; Kuritta Ippeji, Gate of Hell). The project had been foisted on Ichikawa because his previous films based on literary works had not brought in enough cash. The original scenario, written by Ito Daisuke, "was so bad, it was good" as Ritchie puts it in A Hundred Years of Japanese Film. Ichikawa's fixed scenario writer, his wife Natto Wada, almost kept it as it was.

But I have the feeling that Ichikawa decided to get back at the studio by having some fun. He asked Hasegawa Kazuo to play the same roles as in 1935, those of "onnagata" (female impersonator) Kabuki actor Yukinojo, and of Yamitaro, a good-hearted thief. The first role meant that the now fifty-five year old matinee idol had to appear in drag for most of the film, for Kabuki actors playing female roles also wore woman's clothes in daily life. The campish possibilities are immediately clear, especially as the story of the film has the elderly onnagata engage in a love affair with a gorgeous, young woman...

Ichikawa also decided to make a consciously stagey film, a stage within a stage so to speak, thereby creating the necessary distance between the viewer and the rather hackneyed story. For this special project, he got all the resources he needed from Daiei: excellent color stock, wide view format, and a group of experienced actors and actresses. Ichikawa tried every color experiment he could think of in the film, using innovative camera angles and displaying great virtuosity.

The story ia about onnagata Yukinojo, who one night when his Osaka theater group is performing in Edo, spots his arch enemies among the audience: when he was a small child, way back in Nagasaki, his parents were driven to their death by the magistrate Dobe Sansai (Nakamura Ganjiro) and two merchants, Hiromiya and Kawaguchiya. Dobe's daughter, the beautiful Namiki (Wakao Ayako), is also watching the show and falls in love with Yukinojo. The actor plans to use her to get closer to the three men he wants to kill, but unexpectedly, he falls in love with her himself... Other characters in the film are the above-mentioned thief Yamitaro, his man-hating girlfriend Ohatsu (Yamamoto Fujiko), another thief Hirutaro (Ichikawa Raizo), who dislikes to have to act in the shadow of Yamitaro, and a sword-fighter who is after Yukinojo, Kadokura Heima (Funakoshi Eiji).

Yukinojo's revenge will be successful, but in the process he will loose his love...

Cultural points:
Women were forbidden to appear on stage in most of the Edo-period, as the authorities feared that might lead to prostitution. So in Kabuki, men had to play the roles of women. Such actors are called "onnagata" or "oyama." In daily life they also wore woman's clothing, but in order not to be too attractive, the onnagata were forced to have a bald patch in the middle of their head. Despite that precaution, the theater became a source of male prostitution. Onnagata are still going strong in modern Kabuki as well. It is sometimes said that onnagata are more "female" in their body movements than real women, because they are consciously acting femininity based on a centuries long tradition. Yukinojo is not only an actor, he also has studied as a sword-fighter. He is not a hereditary actor, but was brought into the theater after the death of his parents. In traditional Japan, teaching fighting skills, but also crafts, was done by having the pupil for many years watch the Master and imitate him. There usually was no "secret tradition" in written form, as is shown by the "empty scroll" episode in the film. One could only learn through personal contact with a teacher. Originally, under the influence of Kabuki, also women's roles in film were played by men. This lasted until the early twenties, when love stories with close-ups become more frequent and the Adam's apples of the actors got too much attention. Kinugawa Teisuke, the director of the original Yukinojo Henge, had in fact started his career as an onnagata in films.   Some Western commentators mention the jazz music in the film as another stylish innovation by Ichikawa, but that is a mistake: in jidaigeki (historical films) and sword fighting films from the 1950s on, often Western forms of music were used, and jazz was rather common. (Also the tap dance in the finale of Kitano's Zatoichi (2003) was not an innovation, but rather a return to traditional form, as older jidaigeki often had such musical numbers.) This is a very entertaining film, visually pure pop-art, although there are no deeper layers. My evaluation: 8 points out of 10 for this gorgeous piece of voyeuristic pulp.

Woman Of Tokyo (1933) was a quickie for Ozu, a film he was asked to make in just eight days by his studio to fill in a gap in production. The melodrama is not very typical for Ozu, but then, in the 1930s he also made a couple of gangster films...

The rather short film (more about that later) is a simple tale about the poor Japanese college student Ryoichi (Ogawa Ureo) and his sister Chikako (Okada Yoshiko). Chikako works as a typist to pay for the study of her brother (apparently, there are no parents anymore and brother and sister live together in a shabby aprtment). Unknown to him, her daytime salary is not sufficient, so she also works in the evenings as hostess and prostitute (we are shown that she accompanies clients when so requested) at a sleazy local cabaret - although she pretends to be helping a professor with translation work.

Ryoichi is in love with Harue (Tanaka Kinuyo), who also lives alone with her brother, but here the roles are reversed as the brother works as policeman. Harue hears from him that Chikako seems to be a hostess - the police are investigating her for illegal prostitution -  and she informs Ryoichi. Angrily, he confronts his sister with this knowledge when she returns home, and even gives her a severe beating (a "patriarchal duty" in the old Japan).  She acknowledges the facts, and Ryoichi runs into the street. He feels so full of shame that he doesn't know what to do and just keeps walking around. The next morning, his body is brought home. He has committed suicide. The two women sit together at the side of the body and refuse to answer questions by two rather nasty reporters. Finally, the reporters leave and decide "this is not something worth reporting on."

The reason the film is so short may have been that part had to be cut out. Originally, Chikako seems to have been doing her night-work not only for her brother, but also to donate money to the Communist Party. But in 1933 the authorities clamped down on leftists and all scenes referring to leftist politics had to be cut out of the scenario and were never filmed.

The film is extremely compact and grim. We only see the protagonists in enclosed, confined spaces. The theme of the strong, supportive woman and the weak male is more characteristic of Mizoguchi than Ozu. But on the technical side, there are lots of typical "Ozu shots." As he said himself: "A certain compositional style of mine began to emerge from this point on." In fact, more than for the mawkish and seemingly truncated story, it is for seeing the development of Ozu's style that this film is interesting.

Some cultural points:
In the ideology of the Meiji-period (which in fact was influential until the end of WWII), it was considered natural for an older or younger sister to work themselves to the bone in order to help educate the oldest son or brother. The sacrifice of a woman often formed the basis for a man's worldly success, and that was considered as right. So we see Chikako not only working in an office, she also manages all the household affairs, she cooks, cleans and toils so that Ryoichi can completely devote himself to his studies.  Like a surrogate mother, she also gives Ryoichi some pocket money so that he can go to the cinema with Harue. Ozu pays homage to Ernst Lubitsch by having Ryoichi and Harue see the scene of The Clerk from If I Had a Million when they are in the cinema. Telephones were still rare, so Harue has to visit a shop in the neighborhood to receive a phone call. This is a shop selling clocks, and there is a nice Ozean switch from Harue looking at the clock on the wall, to a whole wall full of clocks. Note the white gloves of the policeman (you still see them today on taxi drivers and politicians). He also wears a sword, the symbol of authority until the war years. Also see the oil stove in the room of Ryoichi and Chikako. The top is flat, and is used for putting on a kettle for boiling water. A nice "ecological" solution. My evaluation: 6.5 out of 10 points for keeping Ryoichi's suicide off screen.

The Life of Oharu (Saikaku Ichida Onna, 1952) by Mizoguchi Kenji (1898-1956) tells the sad story of Oharu (Tanaka Kinuyo), who as a fifty-year-old haggard-looking prostitute in the Kyoto of 1686 thinks in flashback about her sad life. She has entered a temple with 500 rakan (arhat) statues, and sees her countless past lovers in the faces of these disciples of the Buddha.

Oharu started out very promising, a samurai's daughter employed as lady-in-waiting at the imperial court in Kyoto. But a lower-class page Katsunosuke (Toshiro Mifune) pressed his love upon her, and when they were discovered in each other's arms, the man was beheaded and Oharu and her family were exiled in disgrace. From then on, Oharu's life was to become an inexorable downward slide, due to the severity of feudal society...


Here is how that goes: She is "headhunted" to become the concubine of a daimyo, a feudal lord, whose wife is infertile and who needs an heir. In due time, Oharu produces the wished-for offspring, a son, but she is driven away with only a paltry compensation because of jealousy of the first wife. Her father (Sugai Ichiro) had counted on financial gains from her association with a daimyo and made debts. He urgently needs money and sells her to a brothel in Shimabara, the famous red light district of Kyoto. But Oharu returns home after quarreling with the owner of the brothel (not a "geisha house," by the way, Shimabara was the district of the taiyu, who were real prostitutes, though high-class).  Next Oharu becomes servant in the family of a woman who is hiding that she is bald from her merchant husband Jihei. The woman is of course jealous of the young and beautiful Oharu and makes her chop off her hair, but Oharu retaliates, by having a cat pull away the woman's wig... Next some happiness seems in store for Oharu: she marries a poor but honest fan maker, Yakichi (Jukichi Uno), but her husband is killed during a robbery. Oharu enters a nunnery, but is thrown out after being caught in the arms of the merchant Jihei who in fact is committing rape (for the second time, see below). Oharu becomes a streetwalker. She has lost everything, and just then, she sees her young son - who is now a daimyo - passing by in a magnificent carriage. She is called to her son's house, but only to keep her shameful circumstances secret. She "was caused" to bear this child, but has no rights on him as a mother. When she hears they want to lock her up, she runs away. In the final shot of the film, we see her wandering around as a begging nun, while a Buddhist hymn is sung by a chorus.  Mizoguchi based this film on a 17th c. novel by Ihara Saikaku, The Woman Who Loved Love, but greatly changed the story. In Ihara's Edo-period fiction, the unnamed female protagonist enjoys being a prostitute because she has an unquenchable lust for physical love. That was typical male wishful thinking of a bygone period. Instead, Mizoguchi shows Oharu as the victim of a society that was inhospitable to women. She is not a wanton woman at all (in Saikaku's story, she has slept with more than 10,000 men and is still insatiable, and she is the "veteran" of eight abortions), but Mizoguchi shows her as a woman who wants to be loved and respected for herself. That was impossible in Edo Japan, and so in the life of Oharu, the social order acts as personal fate.



Some cultural remarks:

"Mibun," one's station in life was of paramount importance in feudal Japan. It could never be changed. The page Katsunosuke was therefore forbidden to love the courtly lady-in-waiting. When Katsunosuke is about to be executed, he holds a fierce plea for the freedom to love whom one wants. Such ideas were inspired by Japan's new post-war democracy and could of course never have entered the head of someone from the 17th century. This is the only instance Mizoguchi's "pen" slips in the film. There is nothing to show that Oharu is "in love" with Katsunosuke, as other commentators write. After Katsunosuke presses his love on her, she sinks to the ground, allowing him to carry her away, passive as women were expected to be in feudal times. Her personal desires seem to play no role. Oharu is found guilty of misconduct with a person of inferior rank and the parents are reproved for lack of parental supervision. They immediately bow to the verdict of exile, as does Oharu, only slightly later. There is no such thing as freedom in feudal society. Oharu's father is also typical for the feudal order that is supported by patriarchy. He abuses Oharu verbally, and when she initially refuses the offer to become a concubine, he knocks her to the ground. The mother never stands by her daughter, she has learned to support the social order. When the merchant Jihei in whose house Oharu works as a servant hears from his jealous wife Oharu has been a courtesan in Shimabara, he rapes her - thinking the fact of her having been a prostitute gives him the "right" to do so - after praying at the Buddhist house altar. Religion makes hypocrites of people the world over. When the Buddhist nun kicks Oharu out of the temple after catching her with Jihei, she does so in a cruel and self-righteous way, demonstrating that she has never learned the compassion her own religion teaches. Together with Ugetsu and Sansho The Bailiff "Oharu" is one of the greatest films of Mizoguchi, and also the film in which actress Tanaka Kinuyo gave the best performance of her life. It won the International prize at the Venice Film festival in 1952. 
Mizoguchi is one of the "three great Japanese directors," together with Ozu and Kurosawa, although in the West he is not so famous. That is a mistake, as this great film so securely demonstrates. And I haven't even talked about the beautiful long takes, which are nowhere better demonstrated than here.

And if you think the film's feudal criticism is outdated, think again: even today, there are still men who consider women as "birthing machines" (exactly what Oharu is caused to be), such as a certain politician in this country a couple of years ago... My evaluation: 9 points out of 10 for Mizoguchi's firm stand at the side of the abandoned Oharu.  In writing this post, I was inspired by Joan Mellen's "History through Cinema, Mizoguchi Kenji's The Life of O-Haru" in Japanese Cinema, Texts and Contexts (Routledge, London & New York, 2007), as well as by the discussion of the film in Tadao Sato's Kenji Mizoguchi and the Art of Japanese Cinema (Berg, Oxford & New York, 2008).

Passing Fancy (Dekigokoro, 1933) is one of Ozu's pictures featuring Sakamoto Takeshi as the stubborn and illiterate, but goodhearted Kihachi. To be quite honest: this shomingeki is a sort of Ozu I like less than his great post-war films. On the other hand, it is fun to look back to the early career of a famous film maker and seek out the building blocks.

Passing Fancy is set in a dirt-poor working class district in Tokyo's suburbs. A single dad, Kihachi (Sakamoto Takeshi) works at a beer brewery and is raising a son, Tomio (Aoki Tomio). The kid is sharp-witted, but a bit unruly. The father has two friends, his co-worker Jiro (Ohikata Den), and a neighboring widow, Otomo  (Iida Choko), who runs a small restaurant where Kihachi spends much of his time imbibing sake.

The story starts when Kihachi happens to meet a destitute young woman, Harue (Fushimi Nobuko), and helps her become a waitress at the restaurant next door. It is also a case of love at first sight. When Kihachi starts fancying the girl, the son becomes jealous of his father's attentions. In fact, the lovesick Kihachi looked rather familiar to me - I was clearly reminded of the later Tora-san! (And indeed, Tora-san was partly inspired by the figure of Kihachi in Ozu's films).

Happily for the boy, the woman is not interested in the rather boorish Kihachi whom she only sees as a kind uncle, but prefers his smart friend Jiro. The love-sick Kihachi no longer goes to work and seeks relief in sake, which upsets Tomio, the son. He throws his school uniform and books into a corner and stops studying. He calls his father a "fool who can't even read a newspaper..." and then, crying, seeks his father's love for without it life would be unbearable - and returns to studying.

To compensate for his inadequacy as a father, Kihachi now gives his son some money to spend as he wishes. Tomio eats himself sick on every kind of junk food imaginable and has to be  hospitalized. Kihachi has to raise money to pay the hospital. Everybody wants to help, but Jiro manages to borrow the necessary sum from the local barber. To repay the debt, either Jiro or Kihachi must hire himself out as a laborer in remote Hokkaido, where high salaries are paid. As it concerns his son, Kihachi decides to make the sacrifice himself, leaving the son back in Tokyo, but just as the ship is leaving he is already consumed by feelings of homesickness and swims back (!) - a rare, active scene for Ozu. Whatever may happen, Kihachi decides not to break up the family.

The family melodrama is shot through with some mawkishness, but there is also much humor, such a sequence in the theater about a misplaced wallet that nobody wants as it is empty, until Kihachi gets it and notices it is larger than his own wallet. So he exchanges it - after which his old wallet, now empty as well, makes its way back to the owner of the first wallet. Kihachi also dislikes work and tries to dodge it as much as possible. He has a rather quaint way of getting out of his trousers: by stepping on them with his feet, and so pulling them down - in fact, he looks more comfortable in Japanese dress (as probably most Japanese did around that time).

The film has the authentic atmosphere of the working class neighborhood, grimy, but held together (at least in 1933) by a strong sense of community. The father-son relationship stands central and the film is full of warmhearted feelings.

The important message (also for our increasingly under-educated times) is that Kihachi, although he has to live from paycheck to paycheck, and is himself uneducated, attaches great value to the education of his son: the only way to escape poverty.

My evaluation: 7.5 points for Tomio's Zen koans (1. Why does a human hand have five fingers? If it had only four, it wouldn't fit a glove. 2. Why is sea water salty? Because salted salmon live there). Also read the review by Dennis Schwartz and the post in Criterion Confessions. Available from Criterion.