Japan Blossay - Formal Analysis of Late Spring and Ikiru

                Auteur theory is the idea that film directors express things that are unique to their personal creative vision through their particular way of conceptualizing and putting together the elements of a film.  The director, as the auteur, places a bit of him/herself in any work that he/she creates.  It should be recognized that many other people are involved in the making of films, and they too have the capabilities of expressing their own unique way of doing things, but the fact that the director is at the head of creative operations allows us to consider that their personalities, perspectives, and ways of thinking are predominantly expressed.  I think that it is reasonable and appropriate to consider both Yasujirō Ozu and Akira Kurosawa as masterful auteurs of film.  Evidence can be provided through a formal analysis of their films, and while I can’t yet say that Late Spring and Ikiru (respectively) are the best examples of their auteurship, I will certainly argue that they can provide ample evidence.

                It is seemingly impossible to formally analyze Yasujirō Ozu’s Late Spring without bringing up the focus on the low-angle shot, which in Ozu’s case has earned the name “tatami shot.”  We see it throughout the film, and many scholars have discussed it while still not being truly sure of Ozu’s true intent and meaning behind it.  I think the low-angle shots do a lot to help present a view that reinforces the feeling of it being a naturalistic observation.  To me, the point of view is not of one sitting on a tatami mat, as it is too low, instead, it is the point of view of a piece of furniture or object.  The view comes from something that belongs within the given setting, and is not intruding upon anything.  Its relative position to the characters of the film implies a respect or reverence.  We can see these elements very well in the scene in which Shukichi comes home from work and Noriko assists him in his usual routine.

                Through Ozu’s meticulous choice in fixed shots from different low-angle perspectives throughout the household, we become voyeuristic observers in the ordinary lives of the Somiya family.  Our view is not one of a privileged position, as the shot stays fixed even when Noriko has her back to us and is completely obscuring Shukichi from view.  This seems to be done with a sense of purpose, and it makes sense in context when we consider Late Spring’s genre classification as a shomin-geki, meaning that it is a Japanese film that focuses on the ordinary lives of working class people.

    One of the most memorable feelings I felt throughout my viewing of Late Spring was a sense of serenity and calm.  I would argue that one of Ozu’s fundamental aspects is that the film itself doesn’t overload the senses.  Music, for example, is used somewhat sparingly, mostly heard in transitions, and avoids melodramatic accentuation.  The music itself tends to be peaceful and cheerful, but does become a bit more sweeping and emotional at the very end.  As for visuals, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of camera movement at all.  Some of the static shots he employs are called “pillow shots,” which are transitional shots in which objects and settings are shown that have symbolic relation to the narrative, but aren’t necessarily part of the story.

    These shots add to a sense of unhurried thoughtfulness.  It makes me feel as if Ozu wants the audience to essentially “stop and smell the roses,” to help us get the most out of what he intends to show us.   Most of the indoor shots and some of the outdoor shots have the camera in a fixed position.  A scene that stuck out to me in which these aspects are portrayed in a remarkable way would be where Noriko and Hattori are riding their bikes together.

                This scene is particularly interesting because it actually has camera movement, but many of the shots, particularly the ones in which Noriko or Hattori are shown alone, are shot in a way in which the characters are framed in a fixed space.  I read that Ozu would drive his cameraman to tears by his insistence in the synchronization of the movement of the camera with the movement of the actors during a tracking shot.  Why would he be so insistent on such a thing?  I can’t say I know for sure, but as a true auteur, Ozu seems unwilling to compromise on the way he wants things portrayed.  Some say that his approach is contrarian to the typical Hollywood approach of making film, but I honestly think the differences are circumstantial rather than intentional.  Ozu knows how to effectively portray what he wants on screen, and anything extra or superfluous would detract from his vision.  Therefore, he would have no reason to stick to more typical filmic conventions.  Ozu’s works are simple and elegant while containing a lot of thoughtfulness and meaning.

                While Ozu may have more tangible consistency in the extent of what makes him an auteur, Akira Kurosawa’s passion and commitment to being involved in all aspects of film design compels me to also consider him an auteur.  Both directors pay meticulous attention to detail, but they do it in very different ways.  The mise-en-scène of Ikiru’s office spaces highlights the inefficacy and problems of the bureaucratic system by having mountains of paper and cramped spaces with disinterested workers, portraying a systematic chaos and perpetual futility.  Ozu finds integrity in the simple and modest, while Kurosawa goes the extra mile to cram his mise-en-scène with many little details for a complex authenticity.

                In the scene in which the concerned mothers are redirected to all manner of departments, only to return to where they started, we can clearly see aspects of Kurosawa’s auteurship.  Every single shot has something going on in the background to provide verisimilitude and dynamic elements.  This scene in particular also has one of Kurosawa’s well-known trademarks, the wipe.  He uses the wipe for every transition in this scene, making each prior shot linger as we move on to the next one.  In this particular scene, it helps accentuate the ridiculousness of the situation as they move from one department to the next.

                As opposed to Ozu, Kurosawa’s camera is much more dynamic.  He uses a lot of tracking shots and has cameras filming from multiple perspectives and angles at once, allowing for a great variation of shots.  He seems to favor the eye-line shot and a frequent use of close-up shots, likely highlighting the expressions of his very capable cast of actors.  One thing that Ozu and Kurosawa share is their penchant for having the same actors and actresses star in many of their films.

                The scene in which Watanabe finds out about his cancer contains a lot of interesting elements.  From the start, we hear the clank of medical equipment and the eerie hum of the x-ray viewer.  Once Watanabe hears the dooming phrase of his affliction simply being an ulcer, it quickly cuts to Watanabe dropping his hat, while we hear a pounding beat.  All of this serves to unnerve the viewer, helping them to empathize with Watanabe.  The camera cuts from one person to another, having the viewer give greater consideration to what each of the characters may be thinking and feeling during this tense and uncomfortable scene.

                I’ll be honest here, it is difficult to go into as much depth as I’d like to in regards to how Ozu and Kurosawa are auteurs without actually watching their other films.  However, with Late Spring and Ikiru being as rich and expressive of their respective directors as they are, I feel like it was a worthwhile venture to explore these two works in such a way.  When I imagine Ozu at work, I see a clarity and confidence of vision.  He breaks down film into the essential, and with great discipline molds and constructs his works according to his own tight rules and parameters, not those of typical filmic and supposedly crowd-pleasing convention.  Kurosawa at work is a man who considers all facets of the cinematic process and stops at nothing short of the best.  He gives great consideration to detail, creating worlds that seem to live of their own volition.  His camera work is fearless, using the vast range of motion and perspective that film has to offer.