Abschied in der Dämmerung

Komajuro Arashi and his acting troupe arrive in a small fishing village on the coast of Japan. Komanjuro goes to visit a woman who runs a sake bar, and who, we learn, is a former lover, and with whom he fathered a child, though the child is unaware of this fact and believes him to be his uncle

Their son, Kiyoshi, has just finished high school, and Komanju comes to see him as much as his former lover. He hopes that Kiyoshi will be able to become something in his life and not end up like Komanju himself, a washed-up actor drawing small crowds for his failing samurai productions.

When Komajuro talks with his gorgeous young son, we can see the excitement in his eyes, in his face. The acting here is all rather flat, or better, it's reserved. (Ozu adds a little joke to this later in the film, when on a fishing boat Kiyoshi accuses his father of being "too muggy" in his performance.) This adds to the impact of the few emotional (and physical) outbursts later in the film.

The conflict in the film is that of Komajuro's double lives. When his current mistress, Miss Sumiko -- a jealous and conniving witch of a woman -- discovers that he's been seeing some other woman, she's enraged, and plots what she believes will be his sort of downfall. By hiring a young woman, Kayo, to seduce Kiyoshi and embarrass Komajuro, she plans on making the two seem like different generations of the same person, both relating with unimportant actresses, thereby ruining Komajuro's hopes of his son becoming somebody important.

Unlike most, Ozu is an auteur because of what he doesn't do. His unmoving camera, which is famous, sits placidly, observing the characters with interest. I do sometimes wish that the camera would move around curiously, interested in the conversations of the characters, but maybe Ozu's point was that his camera is (or we should be) too interested to move, and that the events of everyday life need not be jazzed up for entertainment purposes. (He seems to mock this idea when he has Komajuro say to Kiyoshi about his plays that, basically, modern audiences can't appreciate good drama.) The entire film is restrained; on the rare occasion when people cry, they cover their faces and softly whimper.

The ending shot of a dark blue sky, with red lights from a rolling train, reminds us that whether it's 2003 in North America or 1959 in a small Japanese fishing village, we're all the same people with the same problems.

In and of itself, the film is terrifically simple: a simple story, with simple acting, simple music, and made even more simple by the simplicity of the static camera. But what makes the film something special, rather than just some family drama, is the honesty. Ozu isn't after anything big here. Any enlightenment comes from Ozu's realization that the most important conflicts are in the home, the ones no one sees, the ones we all feel.

****

I wrote this after I saw my first Ozu's film, "Tokyo Story" about a year ago: "As with every great work, the film has its own unique perfection in style, rhythm, details, and artist's vision - but Tokyo Story is very universal in its appeal, simply put, it is for every parent, every son or daughter - for everyone. It was made 50 years ago in Japan, about people who lived far away, but it is also about all of us, our families, our problems, our guilt and our search for love and meaning. Ozu's film does not require one to be a movie buff or to try to solve complex symbolism to appreciate and love it. It brings smiles because it is a comedy (for at least the first 2/3) and sadness with a high drama of the last 1/3 of the film."

I feel absolutely the same about "Floating Weeds". The film is quiet and deceptively simple but its simplicity reminded me the words of Michelangelo Buanorotti. When asked how he created the perfect statues from the shapeless marble lumps, he answered, "It is very simple, you just cut off all unnecessary pieces".

Ozu's films are perfect - they touch us with rare warmth, soft enveloping tenderness and power of human emotions not necessarily with striking visual or sound effects. "Floating Weeds" is a remake of earlier silent black and white Ozu's film "The Story of Floating Weeds". The story is simple: an aging, traveling actor who is the manager of a kabuki troupe returns to a remote village where he secretly meets his former lover and her 19 year old illegitimate son, to whom he is known as "uncle." The older man finds happiness in communicating with his son who turned to be a fine young man. His current mistress, filled with jealousy because of his attachment to his secret family, hires a young beautiful girl, the member of a troupe to seduce a boy. Something in this story attracted Ozu so much that he remade the film twenty five years later.

"Floating Weeds" is a beautiful color film and it is the first color Ozu's film for me. The colors are bright and fresh, tender and kind - they match the director's style perfectly. The delightful music by Kojun Saito reminds me of Nina Rota music in Fellini's films - nostalgic, innocent and rhythmic.

Floating Weeds by Yasujiro Ozu is an exquisitely restrained film about a failing acting troupe that travels to a small town and engenders a conflict of generations in a Japanese family. As the film opens a boat moves slowly into the harbor a Japanese coastal village. A Kabuki troupe arrives and begins to pass out leaflets announcing their opening performance. Sadly the opening crowds are small. Komajuro (Ganjiro Nakamura), the principal actor in the troupe, goes off by himself to visit Oyoshi (Haruko Sugimura), a former lover who runs a Saki bar. She has an adult son, Kiyoshi (Hiroshi Kawaguchi) who Komajuro had fathered many years ago. Komajuro has hidden his identity from the boy because of his shame at being a traveling actor and Kiyoshi only knows of him only as "uncle".

When Sumiko (Machiko Kyo), Komajuro's mistress and leading star, finds out about this relationship she goes into a jealous rage and hires a young actress, Kayo (Ayako Wakao) to seduce Kiyoshi in order to humiliate his father. Kiyoshi, however, falls in love with Kayo. Komajuro disapproves and shows his anger but cannot exert parental authority since he has not told his son the truth about his parentage. As the troupe continues to draw small crowds, Komajuro's inner pain becomes visible and he strikes out physically against Kayo, Sumiko, and Kiyoshi. It is only in the surprising conclusion that he seems to regain some sense of acceptance of his circumstances.

Floating Weeds is a very intimate experience. The camera does not move but remains focused on the characters as they engage in discussions about commonplace events. As in Bresson, the actors show little emotion and speak in a monotone with long silences between questions and answers. The overall effect, however, is not banality but a sense of the natural rhythm of life. Ozu is a loving observer of human nature not a moralist. There are no saints in this film and each character is vulnerable and deeply human. Komajuro has been stripped of his career, his relationship with his son, and his female companions who still beg him for forgiveness. He is alone but he has retained his humanity and we feel only compassion for him. The ending is, in the phrase of Donald Richie, "a kind of resigned sadness, a calm and knowing serenity which maintains despite the uncertainty of life and things of this world". Floating Weeds is a masterful film from a director who truly respects his audience.

This, one of Ozu's last films, has all the elements of a Shakespearean tragedy played out among people living simple, workaday lives: deceit, jealousy, betrayal, vengeance, love, hope. It's all there. The acting by an all-star cast (at the time) of Japanese actors, including the gorgeous Ayako Wakao, is uniformly excellent. The cinematography may be the best I've seen for any color film made in the 1950's. The overall pace was a bit too slow for my liking, but it works well with a static camera taking every shot below eye level. This gives the viewer a visual perspective similar to looking at the actors on a slightly elevated stage, just as the audience does when watching the plays put on by the itinerant group of actors that centers the film. Overall, a well-crafted work by a recognized master, but not for the 'explosions & car chase' crowd. Rating: 8/10

This close remake of Yashijuro Ozu's silent 'The Story of Floating Weeds' from 1934 which was made under the aegis of Shochiku studios is a far mellower work which reflects not only its director's maturity but also the cheerier tone preferred by Daiei. He also has the benefit here of utilising Daiei's senior lighting cameraman Kazuo Miyagawa whose colour cinematography is ravishing as well as two of Daiei's leading performers Ganjiro Nakayama and Machiko Kyo as master and mistress Komajuro and Sumiko. The sunnier treatment is heightened by the wistful, nostalgic score by Fakandu Saito which would not be out of place in a Jacques Tati film.

Taking its title from the Japanese name for itinerant actors, this has all the hallmarks of Ozu's oeuvre, in terms of serenity, humanism and a profound understanding of the human heart. As usual the camera is static and placed a little below the actors whilst the compositions are nothing less than painterly. For this viewer at any rate one would have wished a few scenes, notably the confrontation between Komajuro, Oyoshi, Kyoshi and Kayo, to have been a little more animated but that is simply not Ozu's way. The argument between Komajuro and Sumiko whilst sheltering from the rain is masterfully handled as is their final touching scene in the railway station. The splendid images that open and close the film linger long in the memory.

By all accounts Ozu never aimed for an international audience and indeed his films were not really appreciated in the West until the decade after his death. His work is very much one of variations on a theme and as avowed Ozu devoteee Roger Ebert has observed: "To look at any of his films is to glimpse the whole."