Eight Hours of Ozu: “Tokyo Story”, “Good Morning”, “Late Autumn”, and “An Autumn Afternoon” Review

If you do a simple search for great Japanese films, it will undoubtedly lead to the Tokyo born director Yasujiro Ozu at some point.  Along with Akira Kurosawa, Ozu is one of the true titans of Japanese cinema.  On a technical level, he is renowned for his keen eye and invention of the “tatami shot”, in which a scene is filmed from a kneeling position, as if amongst the characters.  Though I have much more Ozu to explore, especially his earlier work, four films from his later collection have captured my attention: “Tokyo Story”, “Good Morning”, “Late Autumn” and “An Autumn Afternoon”. 

            From a distance, Ozu’s films do not look much different from one another. On a base level, Ozu reuses actors as frequently as I have ever seen a director do.  The tall, gaunt, and soft-voiced Chishu Ryu makes an appearance in all four films, with a leading role in two of them.  Keiji Sada shows up as the shy eligible bachelor in “Good Morning” and “Late Autumn”.  The fair, comforting Setsuko Hara plays a major role in two of the four films.  Other actors include Nobuo Nakamura and Haruko Sugimura, who almost always portray well meaning, but somewhat rude characters.  Stylistically, Ozu does not play around with different film styles, nor does he take on particularly dramatic plot lines.  Furthermore, each of the four films I watched had very similar themes.  Ozu focuses on lower-middle-class families, and dynamics that arise when certain family members are in a transition period of life.  In “Tokyo Story” this transition involves an elderly couple, whose children are all grown-up, and too busy to host them properly for a visit to Tokyo.  “Late Autumn” is the story of a widow and her daughter, both of whom weigh the prospects of marriage.  “An Autumn Afternoon”, similarly, is about a widower who must come to terms with his only daughter leaving the house to get married.  Perhaps most unique of the bunch is the plot of “Good Morning”, in which a delightfully defiant pair of children refuse to speak to their parents until they agree to buy them a TV.

            While none of these stories sound particularly exciting or insightful on the surface, the simplicity of the basic plots allows us to focus more on the details of each conversation.  By the end of the films, Ozu always shows us something profound.  “Tokyo Story”, “Late Autumn”, and “An Autumn Afternoon” share a message about the importance of family: and the tough sacrifices that must be made for those we love.  As a lighter narrative, “Good Morning” offers an often-hilarious message about the wisdom of children, and the roundabout ways in which adults communicate on a day-to-day basis.  What can be said for every film is that Ozu is most concerned with progression of family, whether that is the start of a new one, or the late flickers of an old one.

            Ultimately, this attribute of Ozu’s stories can be better understood through the lens of a post-war Japan.  After World War II, Japan was in ruins, with the majority their major cities destroyed by firebombing.  Furthermore, the nation had been a notoriously bad actor on the losing side of the war.  While no nation is immune to committing wartime atrocities, Japan racked up a particularly sinister bill during the Imperial Era.  From kamikaze pilots to death marches to human trafficking and mass executions: Japan had a lot to confront after their defeat.  Hence, the Japanese had to literally rebuild their country, and perhaps even more difficult, forge a new identity.  Ozu’s stories take place in this rebirth, which was hugely influenced by American values at that time. 

            In this context, Ozu’s films present a somewhat idealized society.  The neighborhood setting of “Good Morning” is not unlike the “Levittowns” of the 1950s and 60s with dense neighborhoods full of identical houses: the main difference is that the linoleum floors have been swapped with tatami mats.  Furthermore, Ozu always presents nuclear families in a sometimes stunningly patriarchal society.  One scene in “Late Autumn” speaks to this dated dynamic when a man named Taguchi (Nobuo Nakamura) returns home from work, casually tossing his suit coat and pocket square onto the ground for his wife to pick up.  Ozu also rarely shows women outside of the household, while he devotes seemingly endless scenes to men drinking at bars, izakayas, and on one occasion a golf course.  On yet another level, the women in these films are almost always married, widowed, or going to be married: match-making is a huge element in many of the plot lines. 

            While some of the societal customs in Ozu’s films are not the best, especially for women, there is something to be said for the old-school ways.  For example, there is a scene in “An Autumn Afternoon”, in which a father speaks to his daughter right before her wedding ceremony that struck me as particularly powerful.  The daughter, masterfully portrayed by Shima Iwashita, is visibly shaken as she prepares for the ceremony.  There is a sense of excitement, but also fear, as she speaks with her father.  In the society where Ozu tells his stories, men and women have extremely conservative relationships prior to marriage.  Thus, the prospect of living away from home with a partner for life, adds an almost crushing importance to the wedding night.  Today, couples spend months, even years together before tying the knot, often sharing a living space beforehand.  I’m not making a moral judgment here, but it is obvious that marriage in modern society has lost some of its weight, at least as far as the wedding night goes.  That scene from “An Autumn Afternoon” simply doesn't look or feel the same, if it took place in 2017.

            This idea is even more apparent in the theme of parental care that strings together all of the films.  Ozu places hefty importance on children caring for their parents, and on the flip side, parents allowing their children to start lives of their own.  In “Tokyo Story”, an elderly couple visits the big city to see their children and grandchildren.  When they are largely neglected, the couple is shown attention and kindness by their widowed daughter-in-law.  Ozu does not demonize the negligent offspring, but his point is clear: children must allow time for their parents in adulthood.  This position is qualified in “An Autumn Afternoon”, in which a widower realizes he must inspire his only daughter to be married and move out of the house. Taking care of your parents, as well as relinquishing the company of your children, requires sacrifice.  It is in these moments of unselfishness that Ozu’s characters become heroic.  But, in our modern society, such sacrifice is not encouraged to the same degree. 

            Ultimately, the films of Yasujiro Ozu are not only deeply thoughtful, subtly compelling, and beautifully filmed works, they also offer a vision frozen in time.  Watching these films I could not help but feel somewhat sentimental, as I live in an era of rapid progressivism and fading traditional families, and found myself somewhat sorry not to have been able to experience Ozu’s world first hand.  But the power of the movies is that the very best of them convey messages that transcend their basic context.  On my own life journey, I will certainly revisit Ozu, because I have a feeling his insights will become even clearer and more important over time.

"Blade Runner 2049" Review

OP-ROB RATING: ALL-STAR

      In the year 2049, San Diego will be a wasteland with nothing but rusty scraps and underground child slave labor.  Los Angeles will look something like the 1927 expressionist classic “Metropolis” except with a hefty injection of Japanese marketing and about a 10000% increase in smog.  Such is the physical setting for “Blade Runner 2049” in which Ryan Gosling portrays Officer K, a blade runner for the LAPD.  A blade runner is someone who retires/kills replicants.  Replicants are bioengineered androids who serve as slaves for the modern society.  Sometimes these replicants go rogue, and must be hunted down.  With the lingo mostly out of the way, it is important to note that Officer K is also a replicant.  However, K is a superior model with a stronger knack for following orders.  Officer K subsists day-to-day braving the harsh weather while hunting down these rogue replicants and hanging out with his holographic girlfriend Joi (Ana de Armas) in the occasional downtime.  Poor Ryan Gosling must be wishing he was still stuck in the sunny traffic back in “La La Land”. 

                The opening of “Blade Runner 2049” sets the stage for the rest of the movie, as K travels in his police spinner (a flying car) to a remote protein farm somewhere outside of LA.  He is in search of a rogue replicant named Sapper Morton (Dave Bautista).  Sure enough, K encounters Morton on site, but also discovers a buried trunk containing the bones and hair of a female replicant.  Back in LA, the bones are analyzed and the cause of death is revealed to be related to childbirth.  If the data lines up, then the autopsy means that replicants can reproduce.  Lieutenant Joshi (Robin Wright), K’s superior, emphatically notes that this discovery “breaks the world” and Officer K is sent to investigate.

                The themes in “Blade Runner 2049” swirl around the same questions from its 1982 prequel, “Blade Runner”, in which a blade runner named Deckard (Harrison Ford) chased around a particularly evasive group of rogue replicants.  These questions are essentially, can androids have feelings?  And if so, does this make them human?  If replicants could reproduce it would be a huge leap toward answering those questions.  It would also spell major trouble for the world order, which relies on what amounts to slave labor on part of the replicants, including K. 

                “Blade Runner 2049” is directed by Denis Villaneuve, whose previous work includes “Prisoners” in 2013, “Sicario” in 2015, and “Arrival” in 2016.  The guy has been on quite a roll, and it is safe to say that “Blade Runner 2049” is another check in the win category.  Villaneuve’s visuals do justice towards Ridley Scott’s original 1982 vision.  The world of “Blade Runner 2049” is a delicious blend of futuristic noire.  There are more than a few scenes in which K shuffles the streets with the collar of his trench coat popped to his eyes as to keep out rain, dust, or the toxic neon glow of suggestive billboards.  To accompany these visually rich scenes is a chilling score by Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch.  The theme from the 1982 film is also employed to bolster sentiment for admirers of the original.

                However, these incredible facets alone would invoke a tepid response if it weren’t for a rock-solid cast and a crisp storyline.  Ryan Gosling is superb in the lead, and Jared Leto provides an equally compelling performance as Niander Wallace, the sinister manufacturer of replicants.  Harrison Ford makes a return as Deckard nearly halfway through the film, and carries the role brilliantly with his old brooding expression and sturdy stride.  Somehow Ford’s appearance is far more apt in “Blade Runner 2049” than it was in “Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens”.  In the film, Deckard is a pivotal character in a fresh story, rather than merely a familiar face meant to appease the old guard.  In fact, the ambiguity of the original “Blade Runner” serves its sequel well, as the story is able to take surprising turns in an established setting.  The pacing of “Blade Runner 2049” also seems to glide along more smoothly than its predecessor, even with a nearly three-hour runtime.

On the whole “Blade Runner 2049” succeeds in the same fashion as its predecessor, through stunning, noire-ish visuals and an intriguing story.  However, I believe both “Blade Runner” films lack something, as if there is a kind of emptiness ringing out at the core of Ridley Scott’s brilliant futuristic world.  I cannot say, with either film, that I truly understand all facets of the story.  “Blade Runner 2049” certainly brings things into focus regarding the first film, but never ties up all the loose ends.  Perhaps we are being strung along for a few more sequels.  Or, perhaps “Blade Runner” relies on unanswered questions to retain its mystique.  Another Ridley Scott franchise, “Alien”, has reemerged in the past couple years with “Prometheus” and “Alien: Covenant”.  These two films revealed too much information, thereby diluting the creepy unknown that defined the very best movies of the canon.  Ultimately, my biggest complaint with “Blade Runner 2049” may also be a compliment.  The film retains the all-important shroud.  More importantly, “Blade Runner 2049” is a work of fine filmmaking on every level, and offers thrilling entertainment to boot. 

"It" Review

OP-ROB RATING: STARTER

Clowns have never been a particularly strong source of fright for me. Perhaps that is because I grew up decades after Bozo’s Circus would have been on TV and the part-time clown and serial killer John Wayne Gacy committed his appalling crimes. Nonetheless, there is something eerily strange about a full-grown man dressed up in makeup, with dyed hair and a colorful outfit with buttons and tassels.  Furthermore, there is something downright terrifying about one of those men coaxing a small child into a storm drain.  Such a situation is the opening scene of Andy Muschietti’s new horror film, “It”, an adaption of Stephen King’s 1986 novel.

The main characters are the self-deemed “Losers”, a group middle school-aged misfits led by Bill (Jaeden Lieberher), a scrawny boy who struggles with a stutter. Other members of The Losers are Mike (Chosen Jacobs) one of the few black kids in town who is well-versed in local folklore, Eddie (Jack Dylan Grazer) who is overly cautious and seemingly always sick, a fat kid named Ben (Jeremy Ray Taylor), Stan the germaphobe (Wyatt Oleff), the foul-mouthed Richie (Finn Wolfhard) who wears glasses as thick as a window pane, and finally Bev (Sophia Lillis) a pretty girl who has been unfairly outcast as a slut by everyone at school.  It is a big crew, with many of the members being drawn in out of fear for the town bully, Henry Bowers (Nicholas Hamilton), who sadistically terrorizes them with a pocketknife. 

However, it is not Henry Bowers who poses the main threat to The Losers, or their small town of Derry, Maine in general.  The aforementioned child who is unfortunate enough to happen upon the storm drain is Bill’s younger brother Georgie (Jackson Robert Scott), who in the introduction run downs his neighborhood street chasing a paper boat swiftly floating through the gutter in a rainstorm.  The boat takes an ill-fated turn into a storm drain, where upon investigation Georgie is surprised to come face-to-face with an impish looking clown clutching his boat.  The clown introduces himself as Pennywise the Dancing Clown (Bill Skarsgård) and proceeds to entice Georgie to reach into the drain for his boat.  The rest of the scene makes for unpleasant viewing, and the start of many hauntings that will threaten the existence of The Losers.

As far as performances, the kids work together nicely enough, yet the utmost praise goes to Skarsgård in the role of Pennywise.  While his clown attire is nothing short of disturbing, his manner of speech is at once inviting and repulsive.  You can see in the scene with Georgie how his slick tongue is tricky enough to cajole especially younger children.  The most spine-chilling scenes are those in which Pennywise is given the floor to talk without interruption.  Yet the bulk of the thrill is devoted to pop-ups and blatant special effects.  In the horror genre, pop-ups and brief scares can only do so much.  The greatest moments of dread are instead built on patience and sure-handed direction.  Would “Get Out” have the same petrifying effect if Chris’ experience at the Armitage house weren’t a steady escalation of weird situations?  Would the climax of “The Silence of the Lambs” be as thrilling if Clarice were absolutely positive of Buffalo Bill’s house when she knocked on the door?  Obviously not!  Great horror requires great endurance, and “It” lacks such focus. 

The supposed “scariest” scenes in the film are hit-and-run in nature.  Pennywise never traps us in a way that sucks the air out of the theater.  In one of the scenes documented by the theatrical trailer, Pennywise uses a mirage of Georgie to lure Bill into his flooded basement cellar.  Georgie runs into the corner and invites Bill to join him saying, “You’ll float too”, over and over.  Georgie rapidly speeds up his tone as Pennywise rises out of the water and rushes Bill.  The scene is over in seconds and is a prime example of how “It” speeds up where it should slow down.  In too many instances the scares are too rushed.

Though “It” flails around with many scenes, the movie as a whole is superior to your average horror flick.  As we find out throughout the film, Pennywise is not the only monster lurking beneath the warm small-town vibes of the fictional town of Derry, Maine.  Almost every one of the main characters comes from dysfunctional or abusive families, Bev especially.  This David Lynch-ian dynamic is perfectly set up in the opening of the film in which Bill crafts the paper boat for his little brother.  In the scene, Bill waterproofs the cute little boat using wax from a box labeled “Gulf Wax” in 80s style lettering.  Georgie then runs out into the quaint neighborhood with his classic yellow rain jacket, only to encounter a horrifying monster at the end of his outing.  This idea of underlying darkness adds an impressively deep element to an otherwise ho-hum string of jolts.

Even more apparent is the theme of childhood fear, which Pennywise exploits to torment his victims and feed his own power.  Each child in the crew is haunted by a personal ghost.  By the end of the film, the main characters are forced to either overcome their inner demons, or succumb to the killer clown.  Although “It” isn’t a film I would want see multiple times, it bears a compelling message and a unique approach that will endure much as its original material has.