An Autumn Afternoon

My favorite Yasujiro Ozu film is BANSHUN. And so, as I sat watching SANMA NO AJI, I quickly realized that this film is essentially a retooling of BANSHUN. Both films are about a devoted daughter living quite happily with her widower father. The father, however, realizes that the daughter is giving up a lot, so it's his goal to get her out and married for her own good. There are some differences, though, in the films. In SANMA NO AJI, it's not just the father but also the young lady's employer who sees a need for her to marry. In addition to taking care of her father, there also is a younger brother in the home. Still, it is essentially the same story with a few twists--and in color.

It's also highly reminiscent of many of the mid to late Ozu films in a variety of ways. Like his usual style, the camera is stationary and often is at floor level--with cuts instead of closeups. You may not notice this at first, but it's clearly the director's trademark. In addition, the film has the typical slow and gentle pace and is about the conflicts between modern Japanese life and tradition. In this sense, there's not a lot that's too new about the film other than a light and modern (for 1962) soundtrack--very bouncy yet gentle.

As for the film, the father (Shuhei) has a pretty nice life. He has a nice job, often goes out with friends to drink and Michiko (the daughter) takes care of his needs at home. However, as the film progresses he notices in other people's relationships that something is missing. In particular, meeting with an old school teacher from 40 years ago is a wake-up, as this old man also lives with his unmarried daughter--and his life is a bit pathetic. Shuhei is afraid that in later years, his and his daughter will have a similar relationship. So, he and his married son go about trying to arrange a marriage for Michiko--who does want to marry, though judging by her outward appearance and insistence that she wants to stay home and take care of her father, you's never know it.

Overall, it's an incredibly slow but satisfying film and a nice end to Ozu's career, as it is his last film. Well worth seeing and full of lovely and realistic vignettes. For those who are looking for action and excitement, you may not like this film. For those who can appreciate a slower and more deliberately paced film, this is hard to beat. A lovely portrait of life in Japan circa 1962.

By the way, is it me or did those people in the film really drink a lot?! Wow!

When I first saw this film it struck me as being a very unusual and odd little movie. The camera work was direct and straightforward, as if the director were composing a still life painting. With the passage of time I remembered this film not as a whole but as a series of vignettes, the sailor marching in the bar, the unrequited lovers waiting for a train on the platform, the father staring into his daughter's empty room. I have recently seen An Autumn Afternoon again, and was not disappointed. Each scene has an almost indescribable longing, an ephemeral quality that speaks to the beauty and sadness of everyday life. I love this film, it is a true work of art.

This was one of the first Ozu films I saw, and is one of my favorites. Ozu's themes - a family adjusts uneasily to the rapidly shifting traditions of life in middle-class, postwar Japan - are handled with great subtlety, and many dark ironies are to be found beneath the fragile quietude at this film's surface. This isn't just applicable to Japan, and this realization gives this film a sad sting that stuck with me long after the movie was over. Ozu's famous 'look' - no closeups, no crane shots, a still camera fixed at 3 1/2 feet off the floor or ground also gives this film an unforgettable grace and beauty. DVD please???

Ozu's final film is his most visually beautiful, and among his most somber. Aside from "Tokyo Story," "Late Spring" and "A Story of Floating Weeds," this is my favorite Ozu film. There are several stories at work in this movie, but the primary involves a middle-aged father whose adult daughter is reluctant to marry. Long detached from her, the father realizes, only too late, that with her departure, goes the happiest chapter of his life. Ozu's style is extremely refined at this point, and "An Autumn Afternoon" shows the director at the height of his artistic prowess. As such, this movie is a terrific introduction to Ozu, and it is a rewarding farewell for fans. Visually speaking, this one is a stunner, and every frame of the movie is a stand-alone composition. Many of the Ozu stock company make appearances, including Chishu Ryu and Keiji Sada, as well as some new faces, such as Kyoko Kishida from "Woman in the Dunes." The story is a classic Ozu meditation on family, marriage, and nostalgia, and the ending is among his most remorseful. If you appreciate Ozu or are just curious about this quiet master, "An Autumn Afternoon" is a great choice. This film is a serene, graceful masterpiece.

As in Ozu's LATE SPRING, widower Chishu Ryu decides it is time for his youngest child, daughter Shima Iwashita, to marry. It comes on him suddenly in the midst of his comfortable routines -- the well paid executive position, the drinking bouts with his old friends, the nightcap at the inevitable bar around the corner -- that time is passing. She is 24. At first she resists. What will he and her younger brother do without her? He replies that they will manage.

Unlike the earlier movie, this one isn't about the daughter, but the father. Before the war Ozu had worked in many genres, with his largest influence seeming to be Leo McCarey. After the war he settled into a series of meditations of the Japanese family in a changing Japan, concentrating on first one member, then the other. As he grew older, so did the focus of the story.

Some people say Ozu's technique, which had favored ecstatic moving shots in the late 1920s, grew simpler. He set his camera on the floor, looking up at his subjects, and let the drama and comedy play out before it. I don't think so. I think that his interest in story grew less and his interest in character increased, and he found the tricks of camera movement, crane shots and structuring the background for composition, to be a distraction. And so, here, we come to know Chishu Ryu's character, even though he says little, orders nothing, yet clearly commands love and respect from all who know him.

Ozu's mother died, and he was trying to deal with cancer while he worked on his next movie when he died on his sixtieth birthday, December 12, 1963. For lovers of his films, there would be no WINTER. Instead, we may imagine the bar around the corner, the same family -- with Chishu Ryu perhaps now a great-grandfather - still caring about each other and coping in a constantly changing Japan.