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Michael Kerpan wrote:

Narshty wrote:I've seen five of Ozu's films to date, but squeaking flatulence and old men getting tipsy did little for me. Any other humour went right over my head.

There's a lot more humor just in Tokyo Story than is covered by your description (though I personally find the scenes involving tipsy old men in TS quite funny -- among other things).

And fart jokes were far from the only element of humor in Good Morning.

Without wanting to sound facetious, some examples would be helpful.

Narshty wrote:

Michael Kerpan wrote:

Narshty wrote:I've seen five of Ozu's films to date, but squeaking flatulence and old men getting tipsy did little for me. Any other humour went right over my head.

There's a lot more humor just in Tokyo Story than is covered by your description (though I personally find the scenes involving tipsy old men in TS quite funny -- among other things).

And fart jokes were far from the only element of humor in Good Morning.

Without wanting to sound facetious, some examples would be helpful.

Tokyo Story -- a few examples -- the little disagreement over the missing cushion right at the beginning, the misbehaving kids of the older son, the ongoing chintziness of the daughter, the coordination of passengers' head movements in the bouncing tour bus (very Tati-ish), the disgruntlement of the elderly couple at the nosy night-time revelry at the spa ... I saw this with a largely Japanese audience, and they seemed to find lots of funny moments -- until the mood started to shift when the mother got sick.

Good Morning -- honestly, almost every bit of this was funny to me (and my wife and my children). I could give examples I guess -- but what is the point when you profess to finding not a single humorous element beyond the farts (which you didn't find funny). Clearly your sense of humor has almost no correspondence to mine.

HerrSchreck wrote:In Grand Illusion's terms, I do believe the issues are indeed cultural. Frankly I've never fully understood what's so "difficult" about Ozu's style. The man was making films for the great masses of Japanese filmgoers, and speaking to universal themes for all to grasp. But his film's themes and stylistic mannerisms are, I'd say, a little unpalatable in the way eating seaweed for breakfast or snacking on edamame or raw fish-- all staples in eastern culture-- would strike the western individual at first.

I respect your opinion and thank you for the reply, but I don't believe I'm having a culture shock. I may be subconsciously, but that's another story.

For example, breaking from OTS shots or the rule of thirds for framing your mediums isn't exclusively Western, it's the language of cinema. There's nothing wrong with breaking the language of cinema, of course, but bear with me. The effect is nearly direct address with this framing. When you couple that with other factors, that's where the performances start to disintegrate for me.

The next is the line delivery. In the mediums, the characters only deliver the lines at two marks, either staring at a point straight ahead off camera or looking the other character in the eyes. Now, I may be ignorant of the customs of Japan, but I would think there are more than just these two ways for a character to react. For instance, looking down even if keeping a smile while recounting something painful. A character that is reserved can sometimes, even if instinctually, shift their eyes.

Here is where I find the film really discordant because, in the wides, the actors will look down while delivering dialogue. The characters will shift their heads slightly. If their actions in the mediums were truly the result of the customs of stoicism, then they should act that way in the wides as well as the mediums. But they don't always only rigidly turn their necks 90 degrees in the wides and deliver dialogue while staring.

I'm not saying they should be a bobblehead throughout the film, but a performance with variances and rhythms is one that is alive and truthful. Again, because they act within the reserved culture but still instinctively human in the wide shots, I don't attribute this to a culture issue. The cultural reserve is still felt in the wides; but in the mediums it's a stylistic choice moreso than a performance choice rooted in culture.

Because this formalism of style (rather than formalism of culture) is truly only felt in the medium shots, that is why I disbelieve I was having some sort of cultural reaction. I don't believe Ozu is necessarily crossing a huge cultural divide here. It is a question of showing an extremely reserved family. I admit ignorance of post-war Japanese customs, but I do know what it is to be human. And that is just something that most of the mediums do not convey for me.

Tommaso wrote:Yes, the style in itself isn't alienating or challenging in itself, and especially not deliberately so (unlike "Gertrud" or some Godard). What I rather meant is that despite the gentleness and simplicity it might nevertheless prove to be difficult to many viewers, because they are neither used to the meditative quality nor would they particularly understand WHY they should get used to it. This is indeed different to what you call the bold gestures of some western directors, which can be much more immediately attracting to an at first irritated viewer. Example: I have absolutely no interest in the problems of the bourgeois couples in Antonioni's films with Vitti, and -like in Ozu - nothing really seems to happen in these films, but the man's style absolutely dazzles me and left me with a gaping mouth again almost throughout the whole of the length of "Red Desert" recently, although I had already seen the three preceding films and had an idea what to expect.

I quoted this because you're absolutely right about the style (although I would never be inherently disinterested in a film because of the social class of its characters). Most of Ozu's style itself is not challenging at all. I wasn't bored in the film. In fact, there's so much dialogue and the plot arcs conventionally enough that the film shares a lot with Western cinema.

Antonioni, I find much more stylistically "difficult," but the performances still resonate more. I enjoy Antonioni's films, so the fact that "nothing happens" isn't a barrier for me. I'd even argue that a lot happens in Tokyo Story. The only stylistic decision I really take umbrage with is the artificial imposition Ozu seemingly puts on his actors when the camera moves closer. It just happens a lot, and in every single medium shot.

After all that, it may seem odd to say, but I actually enjoyed the film. I just wouldn't put it in my favorites list or call it a "masterpiece." I am not finished with Ozu's films, but hopefully the performances ring more true for me in his other features.

Grand Illusion wrote:I quoted this because you're absolutely right about the style (although I would never be inherently disinterested in a film because of the social class of its characters).

Well, I only used the example for comparison's sake; the social circles of Antonioni's characters are as far away from mine as are the Japanese families of Ozu. But I didn't mean this as a per se denigration of any social class.

Grand Illusion wrote:Antonioni, I find much more stylistically "difficult," but the performances still resonate more.

That's difficult to say, and clearly is due to the viewer's reaction. I can't say that Setsuko Hara's and especially Chishu Ryu's performances resonate less than Vitti's, they are just different and resonate in different ways. But perhaps you and I like the Vitti resonation better? Apart from this I must say that it is less the characters and their performances in Antonioni that create this feeling of awe in me, but the architectural abstractness of his compositions. Thus, my favourite bit of Antonioni is the end of "L'eclisse", which of course has practically no characters at all (and with a lesser director this sequence would be horribly pretentious crap). I was also struck by those immense clouds of industrial fog in "Red Desert".

Grand Illusion wrote: The only stylistic decision I really take umbrage with is the artificial imposition Ozu seemingly puts on his actors when the camera moves closer. It just happens a lot, and in every single medium shot.

It does, but while I can see the reasons for your objection against it, why not accept it as a consciously created formal device that forms part of the director's filmic language? Whether you like that language is a different question, but it's simply not a fault of Ozu's. One might dismiss "Tokyo Story" if it had flaws, if Ozu's language could not fully express what he wants to express, if some scenes were substandard by his own standards. But they are not.
So, while like you I surely don't have "Tokyo Story" on my list of favourites, I'd definitely call it a "masterpiece", and a pretty great one.

I very much like Tokyo Story, though it being a film dealing with big subjects of death means that there is a lot of emotional baggage already present in the material to push and pull the viewer to tears. I did think that tackling such material in a way that emphasised the smaller moments and how these large events affect ongoing overall family dynamics worked very well though.

One of the big themes of Tokyo Story is about taking things and people for granted in an ever changing world. Shige and Koichi, the children who have left and live in Tokyo have their own hectic lives now that don't involve their parents. It doesn't mean that they hate their parents, just that they have many other things occuring to be able to give them their full attention - they live where they work so they don't get the respite from either that even Noriko has in the division between her office job and her small apartment. Her worse situation is what allows her the chance to spend time with her in-laws - she doesn't have her own business to have to keep going and no young family to take care of.

Keizo is perhaps closest to Noriko in that sense but he seems to be in that transition phase that is just as, if not more, precarious than Shige and Koichi's - that of trying to build his own life away from his parents and needing to prove his loyalty to work and find a partner in order to settle down.

While there is some judgement placed on these children for not placing the interests of their parents above these other considerations, I think it is not a damning one - just a comment on the pressures of modern life which take over (families being spread over a wider area breaking apart the family unit as grandparents do not stay in such close contact with their family which redefines their role somewhat making them more distant figures and removes some of the natural deference that children have to closer figures in their lives, perhaps shown most tellingly in the lack of recognition of Koichi's children to their grandparents when they come to stay).

Especially when there is no indication of this time being the last time you will ever see your mother or father it is understandable that the children will take them for granted somewhat over more pressing everday issues. They shouldn't but it is something I'm sure we are all guilty of at some time or another.

I think some of the harsher judgements of Shige, Keizo and Koichi come about from the unavoidable structure of the film itself. We as the audience are primed for a moving film and since our main characters are older people through whose eyes we see being shifted about amongst their children and feeling like a burden we might expect one or both of them to die to 'teach their kids a lesson in filial manners', and in any other film that might be the case. However Noriko is the complicating factor who takes the film from just a simplistic 'these ungrateful kids treating their kindly parents as a burden' comment to a more complicated and realistic idea of this being a fact of life, due to her position outside of the cycle having been ejected from it by her husband's death.

Noriko's final conversation with Kyoko, the daughter who still lives with her parents, is the key to this. Kyoko's understandable anger at her siblings rush to leave straight after their mother's funeral is tempered by Noriko saying that she shouldn't be upset - that Noriko herself would be similarly leaving with her husband or taking care of her children if things were different, and that even Kyoko herself will eventually leave her father and move on with her life.

Becoming a widower is a sad event and without that extended close family network left any more there is more of a lonely future ahead but I'm often left with a general sense of disappointment rather than focusing it on the children.

I'm also not well versed in Japanese customs or behaviours (not even in English customs really! ) but in terms of Noriko's constant smiling and whether this is 'correct' or not I was always under the impression that she felt that she had a tenuous connection to the family now that her husband (Tomi and Shukishi's son) was dead. She is both inside and out of the family and I think this shows itself in her behaviour of treating her in-laws with greater deference than Shige, Keizo and Koichi do - it could also be a way of keeping a small connection with her husband by helping his parents. I think Tomi and Shukishi are aware of this sublimation along with her kindness, which is why they give her their blessing for her to remarry and carry on with life.

On a recent viewing I had the strange notion that the film could be seen as a kind of variation on King Lear, but with the elderly characters coming to an awareness that they are not the most important things in their children's lives any more without being driven mad by that knowledge, just disappointed.

colinr0380 --

Nice discussion.

When I first watched this I had a fairly negative feeling towards the children, but each re-watching (at least 10 by now, I would guess) has evened out the balance of my feelings toward the various characters more and more. Ozu provides a good deal of extenuation for the children's actions -- and also shows us that the elderly parents are not as angelic as one initially assumes.

As to Shige, Ozu stated that she was supposed to provide some comic relief (intended to provide chuckles -- and not indignation).

I think this is where I would take issue with David Desser's commentary. While it is a very interesting listen there are a number of moments where he too harshly judges the characters. The example that comes particularly to mind is when Shige's husband brings home some cakes for their parents. Desser comments during the scene about the heartless way that the couple talk about where they will take their parents while eating the cakes. The comment that Shige "disgraces herself by eating the cakes intended for her mother and father" seems particularly harsh since in the dialogue she is offered a cake by her husband, who also eats one himself. There is an element there to be noted by an audience about the children eating some of the cakes themselves and Shige's comments that crackers would have been appropriate rather than getting such expensive cakes, but I do feel Desser is too harsh on the characters in his comments.

Then at the end of the same scene he says:

Shige's husband is not quite as stingy as she as he decides to bring a piece of cake up to Tomi yet this might not be clear. When he puts the cake on the table he is facing left. As he turns and walks off to the right there is a strange cut that finds him now walking to the left. He looks up, changes his mind and comes back to the right side of the frame. He reaches in and takes the piece of cake out of the box but because the camera is exactly on the other side of the room it is not clear that this is the cake he put on the table a moment ago unless we note the change in screen direction. Ozu simply doesn't care to have such seemingly mismatched action.

Shige never says to her husband not to take the cakes up to her parents and the 180° cut in this case is one from a view from inside the living quarters of the couple's house looking out at the beauty parlor section to one from the beauty parlor looking into the living quaters with a view of the stairs up which Shige's husband will go to the parents. Rather than Ozu not caring this works both on an editing and story level while also demarcating again the line between business and personal spaces - we've been looking from the house into the beauty parlor during the conversation between Shige and her husband. When this conversation is finished and Shige stands up and goes back to work, the 180° cut serves to close off her section of the sequence leaving her husband alone. While Desser describes what follows as a 'change of mind' in which the husband returns for the cake it actually shows the husband going further back into the frame to pick up a towel (he is going to ask his in-laws to go to the public baths with him) before returning for the cake.

As much as I learnt from Desser's commentary I did feel a particular bias against the children's actions coming across even when it ran counter to actions occuring on screen, which was surprising considering the detail which he takes to describe many of the shot set-ups, as you might get a taste of above. Perhaps this particular scene was a case of not being able to see the wood for the trees - of getting too involved in the shot mechanics without properly understanding the context in which they are used, which in the end is the most important aspect of any film.

While I've gone some way in this and my last post in defending the characterisation of the children as uncaring and rude about their parents I should say that I do think there are times when the children are characterised as brusque or unsympathetic to their parents. The cake scene is an important one (a corollary to Koichi's earlier comments about not needing to get sashimi as well as sukiyaki for the big family meal) which does suggest that the children do not feel the need to go out of their way to pamper their parents.

Shige's comments about her mother having changed coming so soon after Noriko says she has not can be seen just as rude but feel more interesting (and real) seen as the polite comments of a more distant relation tempered by the comments of a much closer blood relative who is in a position to get away with a slight teasing of her mother and be more comfortable in doing so.

Shige and Koichi gathering together money to pay for a trip for their parents to the hot springs resort can be seen simply as wanting to get them out of their hair for a few days (of which there is undoubtedly an element) but also there is also a wish to give their parents a nice time while they are there rather than forcing them to stay in their rooms until the children have time for them - similarly the calling in of Noriko is a way of finding something pleasant for their parents to do while they are busy (but which itself suggests that there is little consideration for whether Noriko had to drop any plans - she is just assumed to be free, and doesn't reveal to the family that she has had to request time off work from her boss to accommodate their request).

We shouldn't see the children as completely callous in their treatment, just as we shouldn't see them as completely doting either (I also agree that the parents should not be seen as 'saintly elderly people' but as complicated in their reactions and motivations as anyone). It is much more complex than that - the children really are treating this as a nice visit in which their parents seeing them is only part of the trip, not realising that this is going to be the one and only visit they'll make to Tokyo, which fits in with the idea of not fully appreciating someone until they are gone.

colinr0380 --

I am so glad to find someone else here who interprets this film so much like me!

;~}

I had to quit listening to Desser's commentary, it was so one-sided (and seemingly misguided) that it was just making me too angry.

Ironically, brusque Shige is telling the truth when she talks about how her mother has changed, while Noriko is almost certainly offering a polite fib.

I gained a lot more sympathy for Shige when I really paid close attention to the drunken middle-of-th-night return of her father (and friend). Faced with this event, this self-assured woman reverts to (something like) her childhood self -- and one can see that (as funny as the scene appears on the surface), she is actually re-living a childhood nightmare.

I see Shige's husband as sort of a centering point for the film -- passive, but kind, good-natured and intelligent. His approval of the Atami plan seems to me to say that the plan is, in fact, a theoreticaly sound one. As it turns out, Atami (and similar spa resorts) were comparatively dull places during the war years (and right afterwards) -- but had a temporary boom of popularity with younger visitors in the early 50s (and then soon returned to places best suited to boring old folks) If Shige had visited Atami just a few years earlier (as it seems), she could reasonably have thought it would be a place her parents might enjoy.

It is not clear from the film just how much notice the parents gave to their children prior to their visit -- but I tend to think the decision was an impulsive one (and that only a week or two's prior notice was given). The Atami plan was intended to provide a treat for the parents until later in the week, when the children could devote time to entertaining them properly.

The parents here are not portayed by Ozu as "saintly". They do a fair amount of back-biting -- and seem to have almost no sympathy for their children (complaining that their hard-working son wasn't as successful as they imagined). Ironically, peppery Choko Iida in Only Son is ultimately more understanding than these superficially more placid parents.

I was watching McCarey's Make Way For Tomorrow and was amazed at how much more timeless the portrayal of "siblings leaving parents behind" is in Tokyo Story (and indeed most of the Ozu I've seen) vs the McCarey. Make Way idespite being a beautiful film indeed has problems for me in the first half, in that McCarey loses much of the humanity of the children that Ozu so seemingly effortlessly captures. The kids in Make Way are handled ina way that registers for me nowadays like straight villainous types-- and doing so, McCarey loses much of the tragedy of such a story... because in many ways, and this is what Ozu brings out so smoothly and deftly, the stories these present are the Story of Life. The constant tragedy and pathos flung at the elderly parents in the McCarey, and the way the kids and in-laws hurt (in some cases deliberately) and bamboozle them, causes us to pass too much judgement on the kids (probably McCarey's goal, though) and see them as so much worse than we are. It's much more difficult and prohibitive to see one's self in McCarey's children I suspect-- thus a level of involvement and personal reflection in realtime is removed.

Ozu, despite underlying some moments of meanness and tossing aside, deals in much finer freight... he shows us the little things not done, the words not spoken when a kindness was needed, the ache that we think parents don't feel (or we don't think about their feeling) when we are a little brusque or off-putting yet smile in their face and do our duty at the holidays etc. (Hey it's an accidental Meaningful Thanksgiving Post!!) Young people will forever be self involved-- it's not as much a villainous characteristic as it is part of the sad story of life, and one that Wise Elders (i e archetypes of gentle wisdom resident in both pictures, despite their humanization by both directors with flaws) full well understand. It's this lightness of touch that makes Tokyo Story so truly affecting and authentic, and timeless.

I think McCarey is a bit more interested in the past of the parents. What really makes that film, at least for me, is the final stretch in which the elderly couple walks through a hotel and reminisce about their life experiences. No doubt, Tokyo Story is the better film, but I don't think they're all that similar beyond the narrative setups.

I've always imagined Ozu sitting in Singapore, watching Make Way For Tomorrow and finding himself identifying (or trying to identify) with the children and wondering about what makes them tick. Ozu probably thought it a beautiful film, but just like he asked his one time assistant director Imamura Shohei "is that what a cerebral hemorrage looks like? Have I got it right?" (Imamura's mother had just passed from the same malady) I can see him imagining asking McCarey the same thing: "Is that what losing touch with your children, growing old and dying really looks like? Is that right?"

I just keep finding that last bit of Noriko dialogue important, as she strikes me as the film's "ethical center" in that everyone seems to admire her in some way. Instead of nodding along with the daughter or saying something benignly self-effacing, when she does have a moment of self-analysis to part with it's a very dark bit of business. I see her character basically describing the whole film, "you think you see the good in people, but everyone has their dark side" or something along those lines. Honestly, the same person that delivered Tokyo Twilight just a few years later could hardly be expected of less.

Apparently Make Way is not a film Ozu saw in Singapore (or anywhere else). Kogo Noda saw it (and apparently liked it), however. Moreover, Tadao Ikeda (another Ozu collaborator) was clearly familiar with it -- as there are quite a few parallels to Make Way in Brothers and Sisters of the Toda Family.

Michael Kerpan wrote:Apparently Make Way is not a film Ozu saw in Singapore (or anywhere else). Kogo Noda saw it (and apparently liked it), however. Moreover, Tadao Ikeda (another Ozu collaborator) was clearly familiar with it -- as there are quite a few parallels to Make Way in Brothers and Sisters of the Toda Family.

I could have sworn I read he's seen it, but I'll take your word for it, Michael. Well, I'll let my point stand as a hypothetical! And thanks for the info about his collaborators.

Steven H wrote:I could have sworn I read he's seen it, but I'll take your word for it, Michael. Well, I'll let my point stand as a hypothetical! And thanks for the info about his collaborators.

He certainly would have heard detailed reports from his colleagues -- so he could have gone through a similar thought process even if he hadn't seen it himself.

Narshty wrote:Without wanting to sound facetious, some examples would be helpful.

The sexual double entendres in Late Spring were amusing.

Michael Kerpan wrote:As to Shige, Ozu stated that she was supposed to provide some comic relief (intended to provide chuckles -- and not indignation).

Inspired by this discussion, I decided to re-watch Tokyo Story tonight, and one of the things which struck me hardest, and which I'd never noticed before, is how often Shige seems to be taking behavioral clues from Koichi, her elder brother. In many (but not all) instances, she is aping and amplifying what she sees--or senses--Koichi saying or doing. Practically every time Koichi and Shige are in the same room, this behavior is displayed. She does it, for example, in the sukiyaki/sashimi scene; when Fumiko first suggests augmenting the meal with sashimi, and Koichi says "we don't need that too," Shige almost jumps the end of his comment with her agreement (and then applies a variant of this reasoning to the crackers/cake dilemma, which as Colin has noted above is an echo of the earlier menu decision). Another good example is when they are deciding whether and when the should go to Onomichi. At first, Shige is not sure what to think about the telegram, and asks Koichi if he thinks it is serious. He replies that he thinks it is, because Kyoko used the phrase "critically ill." Several lines later she parrots this rationale as a reason that they should hurry to Onomichi. Koichi demurs, noting that he has a lot to set right before he can leave, and Shige immediately says that she does too, this being her "busiest time." The urgency to leave thus gone, they sit quietly in thought for a time, then Koichi announces that they should leave right away, and Shige immediately and enthusiastically agrees; it is clear that this was her thinking all along, as she's even already considered the possible need for mourning clothes.

This is a pattern of sibling behavior quite common in Ozu films; the children in I Was Born, But..., Early Summer, and Good Morning, to name a few, do it to extremes. Koichi's own children do it, providing an immediate counterpoint to the behavior of their elders. This behavior is laugh-out-loud funny when the children do it, and while it is less slapstick when Shige does it, it is still humorous, furthering Michael's point I've quoted above.

As a result, I feel a little warmer towards Shige. She's undoubtedly self-absorbed and tends toward a "how does this affect me?" view of the world, but so does Koichi (and, indeed, every other character in the film, to different degrees), and viewing her as someone trying hard to be like her big brother makes her a little less obnoxious.

sidehacker wrote:No doubt, Tokyo Story is the better film, but I don't think they're all that similar beyond the narrative setups.

I'm not sure if you're trying to indicate a difference of opinion with me versus my post, but clearly the two films share a great deal in common viz their central themes, and anyone can see that. That they are at the same time very different films is what the point of my post is concerning.

fiddlesticks wrote: Inspired by this discussion, I decided to re-watch Tokyo Story tonight, and one of the things which struck me hardest, and which I'd never noticed before, is how often Shige seems to be taking behavioral clues from Koichi, her elder brother.

{snip}
As a result, I feel a little warmer towards Shige. She's undoubtedly self-absorbed and tends toward a "how does this affect me?" view of the world, but so does Koichi (and, indeed, every other character in the film, to different degrees), and viewing her as someone trying hard to be like her big brother makes her a little less obnoxious.

Wow, great observation!

I never considered this aspect of her behavior (even though my attitude toward her has softened considerably over time).

HerrSchreck wrote:I'm not sure if you're trying to indicate a difference of opinion with me versus my post, but clearly the two films share a great deal in common viz their central themes, and anyone can see that. That they are at the same time very different films is what the point of my post is concerning.

Well, it seemed like you were trying to sell McCarey's film short by saying it made the children seem a bit villainous. It's true, but my point was that I see McCarey's focus not so much on the distance between parents and children, but more on just the parents growing old and getting to another stage in their life. That's why I referenced the final twenty minutes, in which the parents just revisit locations and talk about "better times." The children in McCarey's film aren't as "important" as the ones in Tokyo Story, but of course that's what makes Ozu's film so great. They are similar I admit, but I think the two directors approach the content differently, both are successful. I just think Ozu was more ambitious.

...so I agree with you.

That had also not occured to me fiddlesticks, but seems so obvious now! It makes the end of that scene when they decide they have to go and visit the mother, Shige starts to leave, comes back and has a quick check on what her brother is up to before finally leaving, funnier!

Michael Kerpan wrote:Ironically, brusque Shige is telling the truth when she talks about how her mother has changed, while Noriko is almost certainly offering a polite fib.

Steven H wrote:I just keep finding that last bit of Noriko dialogue important, as she strikes me as the film's "ethical center" in that everyone seems to admire her in some way. Instead of nodding along with the daughter or saying something benignly self-effacing, when she does have a moment of self-analysis to part with it's a very dark bit of business. I see her character basically describing the whole film, "you think you see the good in people, but everyone has their dark side" or something along those lines. Honestly, the same person that delivered Tokyo Twilight just a few years later could hardly be expected of less.

I think this is one of the sub-themes (for lack of a better phrase!) of the film - that people have relationships outside the family where they can sometimes say quite harsh and cruel things about their family, but that relationship between friends and acquaintances which allows such comments to be made in a way is something that points up that these people aren't a part of the 'inner circle' of the family unit.

The bar scene between Shukichi and his old friends is funny because it becomes a familiar mixture of honestly felt bitterness over their children and 'my life is worse than yours!' one-upmanship! Friends can be acceptable people to vent family frustrations on but similarly to Noriko's deference the 'my son is worse than your son' comments can be seen as a form of politeness and trying to sympathise by playing down the other person's difficulties with potentially embarrassing admissions of your own difficulties. (I think the scene in Good Morning is a good comparison where the father comments on the way his children are being badly behaved and has the evils of TV spelt out for him by a friend in a bar, yet still gets the television for them in the end. In that sense we might feel that what is said during bar chatter does not really have a massive effect in family decision making)

It is one thing to say "oh, my son's not the great doctor I thought he was" and another to have a friend say "and your son is a failure too!" That would be the point where people would become defensive about comments being made about their family - someone inside the family could say that about their relatives but for a friend to say the same thing would be beyond the pale!

This of course resonates much more with Noriko when at the end of the film Shukichi tells her that she acted more like a daughter to them than their real children. That is a lovely statement but at the same time it underlines that she is not a full member of their family any more. The gift of the watch that initially seems just a lovely gesture can on repeated viewings seem more and more like a pointed parting gift to Noriko from Shukichi on her last time of seeing him (and if we are in a particularly cynical mood we could get a sense that Shukichi has paid her off for her attentions).

One of the beautiful things about Tokyo Story is that for all its reputation of being Ozu's most melodramatic film, there is a real fluidity of the way the audience can perceive the characters that doesn't push the 'heroes' and 'villains' of the story at us but has a more developing relationship with its audience. The watch, as with many aspects of the film, can stand simultaneously for both the purely kind parting memento and the darker idea of the exclusion of an outsider from the family unit (or a benediction to allow Norkio to depart with a clear conscience) depending on individual audience reaction.

colinr0380 wrote:This of course resonates much more with Noriko when at the end of the film Shukichi tells her that she acted more like a daughter to them than their real children. That is a lovely statement but at the same time it underlines that she is not a full member of their family any more. The gift of the watch that initially seems just a lovely gesture can on repeated viewings seem more and more like a pointed parting gift to Noriko from Shukichi on her last time of seeing him (and if we are in a particularly cynical mood we could get a sense that Shukichi has paid her off for her attentions).

One of the beautiful things about Tokyo Story is that for all its reputation of being Ozu's most melodramatic film, there is a real fluidity of the way the audience can perceive the characters that doesn't push the 'heroes' and 'villains' of the story at us but has a more developing relationship with its audience. The watch, as with many aspects of the film, can stand simultaneously for both the purely kind parting memento and the darker idea of the exclusion of an outsider from the family unit (or a benediction to allow Norkio to depart with a clear conscience) depending on individual audience reaction.

The watch serves a third purpose, which is to draw a clear distinction between Noriko's behavior and that of Shige, who could scarcely wait to ask for some articles of her mother's clothing "as mementos." Noriko asked for and expected nothing and, while Shukichi may have had several ulterior motives in giving her the watch, clearly it will serve as a cherished memento for her. Shige, on the other hand, is being pragmatic at best and greedy and heartless at worst, and is again exemplifying her core "me-first" values, since (as opposed to Noriko) she must already possess numerous items that would serve the purpose she posits ("mementos") equally well.

And of course the watch also serves as a device to establish the ongoing connection between Noriko and Kyoko; in the memorable sequence at the end of the film, Kyoko looks at her watch, then looks out the schoolroom window for Noriko's train; the train passes (in two seemingly mis-matched shots, very typical of Ozu), and then we see Noriko on board, and she then withdraws the watch and looks at it. It seems that the watch serves both as a parting gift from Shukichi and a symbolic beginning of a new relationship with Kyoko, who has already promised to visit Tokyo (and specifically Noriko, one can infer) during her school vacation.

One of the things that I like most about Ozu's filmmaking is that there are always subtle layers of meaning in the simplest of actions.

Speaking of the relationship of the siblings (and siblings-in-law), what significance do you attach (if any) to the scene in which Koichi delivers his prognosis? The doctor has left, escorted to the door by Noriko, and Koichi asks Shukichi and (seemingly as an afterthought) Shige to accompany him to another room, where he tells them that Tomi won't live until morning. Left behind next to her mother is Kyoko, purposely excluded from this exchange. Noriko is probably also left out intentionally; after all, Koichi could have waited until she returned. And since Tomi is in a coma, there's really no need to leave the room, except as a means to exclude the younger women. (Keizo still hasn't arrived in Onomichi.) Does he do this simply because Noriko is "not family" and Kyoko is, in Koichi's estimation, too young, or is there something else going on?

I think the son tells his father the bad news first (and by himself) primarily as a matter of respect towards his father.

I view the gift of the watch as a bit of atonement by the (now-deceased) mother. The visit to Tokyo really brought home to her the fact that she and her husband had failed in their duty towards their widowed daughter-in-law (at least in terms of traditional duties -- which Noriko may not even have expected them to fulfill).

Michael Kerpan wrote:I think the son tells his father the bad news first (and by himself) primarily as a matter of respect towards his father.

Then why is Shige there, too, and at Koichi's (somewhat less than heartfelt) invitation? I guess that's the part that confuses me. I would think it would be just Koichi and his father, or all of the natural-born children. Kyoko's bitter comments about Shige, and her warming up to Noriko (who I'd guess she knew only slightly, if at all, prior to the funeral), make me wonder if there's not some sort of estrangement between Kyoko and her older siblings.

sidehacker wrote:Well, it seemed like you were trying to sell McCarey's film short by saying it made the children seem a bit villainous. It's true, but my point was that I see McCarey's focus not so much on the distance between parents and children, but more on just the parents growing old and getting to another stage in their life. That's why I referenced the final twenty minutes, in which the parents just revisit locations and talk about "better times." The children in McCarey's film aren't as "important" as the ones in Tokyo Story, but of course that's what makes Ozu's film so great. They are similar I admit, but I think the two directors approach the content differently, both are successful. I just think Ozu was more ambitious.

...so I agree with you.

Well, what you're pointing out is whay causes me to think McCarey's is a flawed film vs the Ozu. The McCarey is two films for me-- the first half (and then some) is distinctly klunky for me.. the parents register almost as fucking Oliver Twist tossed into the workhouse or something. The daughter with the old candyshop owner's soup, the daughter in law lambasting the motherand being endlessly, drippingly, oozingly condescending and phony and blameful, all of this is just too weighted down with steaming pathos. For me-- here-- the subject becomes not The Eternal Sadness of Growing Old and It's Inconveniences Versus The Self-Involved Young, but... The Eternal Sadness of Having Fucking Villainous Pieces of Shit Who Like Abusing Old People For Relations.

To it's credit, McCarey's film does show the parents being a bit genuinely annoying here and there, and doesn't try to idealize them (not too much at least). But when the film picks up in Manhattan with the arrival of Bark and they make the rounds, the film just launches into the most sublimely unique and delicate melodrama and it is among the most exquisite ever captured on celluloid, and this section is easily on a par with the best of Ozu.

But as far as the first half, or two thirds, with the parents being split and rendering the living situation with the kids, I don't think it works today.. or not very well at least. The problem becomes not the sad story of aging but having a villain for a daughter (I mean the whole soup thing is just absurd-- is she supposed to be a flat out psycho?), and therefore distracts and clouds the overall thrust of the narrative. At least for me. It just doesn't hold up.

Whereas Ozu in Tokyo Story understands that in order for us to see his tale in the universal, eternal sense intended-- or at least for the themes to register in this fashion-- it was neccessary for him to present relatively inocuous, on the whole, siblings. Despite their flaws. It's amazing to watch them going through their cycles of emotions, from attentive to distracted and back to attentive, from distant and gossipy and not wanting to be bothered to attentive, genuinely emotional and moved... then back to the same old same old.

In other words the transgressions committed by the children in Tokyo Story are rather-- sadly-- typical of many people if not most families. They're not bad children, though some trend more towards arrgance and nancing gossip than others. But in McCarey's film, a couple of the kids in there are flat out rotten shits, and for some reason my mind resists, feeling overmanipulated by such monstrous pathos. Thats why the final act in Manhattan viz the old hotel/haunts, and it's delicacy, is so sublime.

But this feeling of being manipulated is NEVER present in Tokyo Story.

The parents and children in Make Way seem like inhabitants of different solar systems -- whereas the parents and children in Tokyo Story seem to actually be members of the same family.