Choeur de Tokyo

Tokihiko Okada is a salaryman at an insurance company in Tokyo. He has a wife, Emiko Yagumo, a son, a daughter (played by Hideko Takamine) and a baby. Money is tight, but a bonus is coming his way. Unfortunately for him, a fellow worker is fired in a manner that suggests the boss wants him gone before his pension vests. Okada goes to speak to the boss, gets into a shoving match with him, and is fired himself.

At first it seems that it will be a matter of picking up a new job, but he soon finds himself one of the "Tokyo Chorus" of the unemployed. Matters grow worse and worse...

This movie starts out as a comedy, with Physical Education teacher Tatsuo Saitô terrorizing his students -- including Okada -- like a cop in a Hal Roach comedy writing tickets. As the movie goes on, the tone begins to take on a more serious tone, with outbursts of real problems -- like when Miss Takamine has to go to the hospital -- amidst the comedy, which grows ever more wan. When Okada goes to work for his former teacher, handing out leaflets advertising his restaurant, his wife sees him doing so, and is humiliated; Okada, who starts this movie like Harold Lloyd trying to keep up with the Joneses, has crashed through the floor of the educated middle class, into the lower class; this is not America, where he can be redeemed and restored, but Japan, where appearances are more important than the reality. This is no longer a comedy, but a tragedy.

The print I saw on TCM was certainly not pristine; the titles were worn, and there was extensive chipping. The story was also far more episodic than fluid. This is not the Ozu of the 1950s, but a different one, with slapstick and tracking shots. These last points raise an issue I have been thinking of. Ozu is famous for the way he directed his later movies: long, still takes shot from floor level. Why the change? The late introduction of sound movies into Japan meant that the problems of moving cameras had been solved by the time Ozu made his first sound feature in 1936. He only gradually abandoned tracking shots, and was still using them as late as 1949.

I have concluded that a good movie is composed of story, character, incident and camerawork, and as Ozu entered the 1950s, he settled firmly on character and the interactions between them as his interest. With his often-repeated plots, his people's relationships were the stuff that fascinated him and his audience. Incident (in the form of slapstick comedy) and camera movement were matters that distracted viewers from the people, and made it too easy for them. By removing the overt comedy, Ozu removed the distraction. By removing the camera movement, he made his audience work harder at understanding the characters, which invested them in the process

Anyway, that's my understanding at the moment. What's yours?

The more time goes on in Ozu's career, the more purely Ozu his films feel, even when he's making a dramatic comedy that takes place mostly outside the house. It's a combination of small moments and the overall dramatic push of the film that give Ozu this unique feel of quietly embracing the smallness of everyday life, not seeing it as a bad thing but something to be celebrated in its own little ways. It's life-affirming and warm, and it's a wonderful way to spend 90 minutes.

Shinji (Tokihiko Okada) is a young professional, fresh out of college, and dealing with a family that includes his eldest son (Hideo Sugawara) who wants a bicycle like all of his other friends. Shinji promises him that bicycle with his bonus money, which should be coming that very day. However, Shinji gets into an argument with the company president about Yamada (Takeshi Sakamoto), an elderly employee who's being let go a year before his pension kicks in because of a mistake he made. The argument spirals, and Shinji gets fired. The rest of the movie is the little things Shinji has to do to break the news to his family and make ends meet. His wife, Sugako (Emiko Yagumo) loves him, but she's very Japanese and can't stand to see her husband lose face. So, when he takes a job helping his old professor, Omura (Tatsuo Saito), market his restaurant by parading around with a flag and handing out flyers, she's embarrassed at his status.

Where the joy comes in this is in the small moments. First, there's the light comedy that Ozu liked to sprinkle through his films. The early parts of the film are dominated by the office with the workers getting their bonuses, but Japanese culture encourages privacy on pay matters while also being filled with curious people. So, it becomes this dance as people take their bonus check envelopes and try to open them in private. The comic height is one opening his envelope in the bathroom and accidentally spilling the bills into the urinal.

Then there are the human moments. Shinji, on one of his many walks looking for work before running into Omura, finds Yamada handing out insurance advertising bills on the street. They sit down in a park and start to talk about life. There's suddenly frantic word about a bear having escaped nearby, but Shinji doesn't stir from his spot. Instead, he says, a bear won't save their lives. So, Yamada sits back down, and they continue to talk with the two barely moving. It's about embracing those small moments in life and enjoying them with people. That gets mirrored later with Shinji and his family. Penniless and without hope for work, he sits down at home and starts a game with his children, sitting in a circle and singing a song. There are smiles all around, even from Sugako, and life moves on.

Of course, there's an ending to this where Shinji's prospects brighten instead of darken through all of his suffering and efforts, and it's the kind of warm thing I'd expect from an Ozu film. However, it can't all be roses and cocktails. Shinji's efforts to help Omura's restaurant included bringing back all of his classmates to help, and Omura is faced with losing his students once again. It's all just played on faces, and it works surprisingly well.

My only problem with it is that Omura, aside from a brief appearance in essentially a prologue, didn't appear in the film until about an hour in. And most of his scenes are played for laughs (them bickering about who has to hold the heavy flags is amusing). So, the impact isn't that strong.

Also, like most of Ozu's comedies, they're not that funny. They're amusing. They have a nice feel as people navigate comedic situations, but they're not Keaton's death-defying stunts or Chaplin's intricately choreographed setpieces. His movies work best in their quiet moments, but it seems obvious to me that while Ozu was doing everything to make these films his own, he was still a cog in a studio machine, making films in genres he could manage but wasn't naturally inclined to make himself. So, he does the assignment well, but the really interesting stuff is where he can bend the film to his whims most. The precursors to the films that made him famous in the 40s and 50s. He might not have been blooming just yet, but Ozu's films were showing serious potential for growth while entertaining in mostly slight ways at the same time.

This Ozu guy...he's REALLY good at this movie making thing. The more time goes on in Ozu's career, the more purely Ozu his films feel, even when he's making a dramatic comedy that takes place mostly outside the house. It's a combination of small moments and the overall dramatic push of the film that give Ozu this unique feel of quietly embracing the smallness of everyday life, not seeing it as a bad thing but something to be celebrated in its own little ways. It's life-affirming and warm, and it's a wonderful way to spend 90 minutes.

Shinji (Tokihiko Okada) is a young professional, fresh out of college, and dealing with a family that includes his eldest son (Hideo Sugawara) who wants a bicycle like all of his other friends. Shinji promises him that bicycle with his bonus money, which should be coming that very day. However, Shinji gets into an argument with the company president about Yamada (Takeshi Sakamoto), an elderly employee who's being let go a year before his pension kicks in because of a mistake he made. The argument spirals, and Shinji gets fired. The rest of the movie is the little things Shinji has to do to break the news to his family and make ends meet. His wife, Sugako (Emiko Yagumo) loves him, but she's very Japanese and can't stand to see her husband lose face. So, when he takes a job helping his old professor, Omura (Tatsuo Saito), market his restaurant by parading around with a flag and handing out flyers, she's embarrassed at his status.

Where the joy comes in this is in the small moments. First, there's the light comedy that Ozu liked to sprinkle through his films. The early parts of the film are dominated by the office with the workers getting their bonuses, but Japanese culture encourages privacy on pay matters while also being filled with curious people. So, it becomes this dance as people take their bonus check envelopes and try to open them in private. The comic height is one opening his envelope in the bathroom and accidentally spilling the bills into the urinal.

Then there are the human moments. Shinji, on one of his many walks looking for work before running into Omura, finds Yamada handing out insurance advertising bills on the street. They sit down in a park and start to talk about life. There's suddenly frantic word about a bear having escaped nearby, but Shinji doesn't stir from his spot. Instead, he says, a bear won't save their lives. So, Yamada sits back down, and they continue to talk with the two barely moving. It's about embracing those small moments in life and enjoying them with people. That gets mirrored later with Shinji and his family. Penniless and without hope for work, he sits down at home and starts a game with his children, sitting in a circle and singing a song. There are smiles all around, even from Sugako, and life moves on.

Of course, there's an ending to this where Shinji's prospects brighten instead of darken through all of his suffering and efforts, and it's the kind of warm thing I'd expect from an Ozu film. However, it can't all be roses and cocktails. Shinji's efforts to help Omura's restaurant included bringing back all of his classmates to help, and Omura is faced with losing his students once again. It's all just played on faces, and it works surprisingly well.

My only problem with it is that Omura, aside from a brief appearance in essentially a prologue, didn't appear in the film until about an hour in. And most of his scenes are played for laughs (them bickering about who has to hold the heavy flags is amusing). So, the impact isn't that strong.

Also, like most of Ozu's comedies, they're not that funny. They're amusing. They have a nice feel as people navigate comedic situations, but they're not Keaton's death-defying stunts or Chaplin's intricately choreographed setpieces. His movies work best in their quiet moments, but it seems obvious to me that while Ozu was doing everything to make these films his own, he was still a cog in a studio machine, making films in genres he could manage but wasn't naturally inclined to make himself. So, he does the assignment well, but the really interesting stuff is where he can bend the film to his whims most. The precursors to the films that made him famous in the 40s and 50s. He might not have been blooming just yet, but Ozu's films were showing serious potential for growth while entertaining in mostly slight ways at the same time.

This Ozu guy...he's REALLY good at this movie making thing.

In "Tokyo Chorus", Ozu interplays two major of his long-standing themes - economic status and the everyday realities of family life.

The plot is simple (warning, spoilers): A young salary-man loses his white-collar insurance job trying to cover for an aging colleague. Unfortunately, it is 1931 and the Great Depression means few other employment opportunities. He has difficulty covering the expenses of his family. After misadventures, he runs into his former professor-now-health-food-café-owner who promises him aid if the young man assists him with the café. Part of that assistance is handing out handbills in the street, a major loss of economic and personal status. Unfortunately, his wife sees him and is greatly shamed by the family's loss of status. Gradually, she accepts the need for sacrifice and also begins to assist in the café. During the large opening banquet at the café (guaranting it's success), the old professor receives word that the young man has been offered a teaching post, albeit one in a small and distant town. The movie ends on this hopeful yet downbeat note.

Ozu does not hesitate to attempt to show us the realities of Great Depression unemployment. Indeed, he is more truthful than any comparable American movie of that time or ours. Ozu is willing to attempt to dig into the nexus between employment, self-identity and status that is prevalent throughout capitalist economies. This was his primary theme at the beginning of the Depression, in this movie along with his early masterpiece "I Was Born, But..." and "Where Now are the Dreams of Youth?" and "Passing Fancy". In addition, Ozu also flexes his unparalleled ability with family scenes. Excellent performances from Ozu regulars Tokihiko Okada, Emiko Yagumo, Tatsuo Saito, as well as a winning child performance from future star Hideko Takamine. Watch out for the world's cutest fat baby!

I don't have much to add to the other fine reviews, just two things:

(I) I rarely like silent films, but this one kept me entertained (and moved) throughout. I guess Ozu is just that good.

(2) There's a fascinating reference by the lead character, a salaryman for an insurance company where business has been slow in Depression-era Tokyo, to "Hoover's policies" not helping Japan as yet. I'm not sure if it was ironic or not -- I'd be surprised if it was meant to be an argument for a more Keynesian policy, but I'm not certain. In a way, I suppose the mention shouldn't come as a shock -- the world economy was sufficiently integrated in the 1930s for US economic policy to have a significant impact on Japan. Still, it was a reminder of, well justified or not, the importance of the US in the outlook of the typical Japanese.

Here we follow the tragi-comic story of one Shinji Okajima, a young Japanese man who seems more destined in life for clowning about than being a responsible, productive worker. We meet him early on, in his college years (which some people may mistake for a military training camp), acting pretty much the goof-off or "class clown," basically doing everything he can to diss his exasperated instructor while at the same time hamming it up for his beloved classmates.

Fast forward a few years, and we now find our hero married, with children, and working for an insurance company. One fine day - bonus day, at that - he takes it upon himself to stand up to the boss, who has just fired one of Shinji's older co-worker who seems adept at writing policies for people who promptly die or somehow meet a quick demise, forcing said insurance company to pay out big yen. The boss apparently doesn't have a yen for doing that on a regular basis. Our hero passionately (TOO passionately) sticks up for the older man, which in turn ends up costing him his job as well. The story continues from there, showcasing the travails of our not-so-happy-go-lucky hero and his young family as they soberly tread the muck and mire of Depression-era Tokyo, rife with unemployment, stodgy with traditional Japanese values and honor, treacherous with impending shame if you do the wrong thing in the eyes of your family and peers.

There's a poignant scene in which Shinji, erstwhile white-collar professional, is reduced to plying the streets of Tokyo, carrying an advertising banner and passing out leaflets for a small restaurant run by his former college teacher, whom we met earlier. When his kids and wife become aware of this "degradation," the shame of it all nearly devastates the family.

This movie is a fascinating portrait of a man, of a time, a place, a culture, that all seem so foreign yet so instantly recognizable. Like many silent movies from this era, this movie is NOT in good condition, heavily marred here and there with scratches and "salt and pepper." And yet you sometimes have to remind yourself that the movie was made some 80 years ago in pre-war Japan: in spite of conspicuous examples of an earlier Japan - people wearing kimonos or being transported via rickshaw - there are nevertheless ample scenes of modernization and Westernization. You'll almost do a double take when our hero is served a plate of rice and curried pork chops, and is then given not chopsticks, but a large spoon with which to eat it. In some of the scenes where the men are gathered and dressed in crisp Western-style business suits and ties, you almost expect any one of them could whip out a cell phone and call a client across town…

The point is, the movie is nearly timeless in its keen observations of the human experience, and that's what makes it such a joy to watch. Not to mention that it ends on basically a hopeful and uplifting note. One sad note is that the actor, Tokihiko Okada, who plays our hero, died a mere three years after this film was made. He was only 30! I marvel at what wondrous films director Ozu could have made with him, had he lived on.

Anyway, with this film Ozu has crafted a wonderfully hopeful world, and in so doing gives the viewer a chance to glimpse inside that world and be a part of it for nearly 100 minutes. Those, in my opinion, are 100 very well-spent minutes of your life. See it if you get the chance.