35 Shots of Rum (Claire Denis, 2008)

At the end of 2009, I noticed somewhat of an anomaly in Sight and Sound. Ranking the best films of the year, the magazine highlighted two films by director Claire Denis within the top ten: White Material and 35 Shots of Rum (on the festival circuit in 2008, 35 Shots was released in 2009 in the UK). In fact, 35 Shots of Rum earned joint second position alongside The Hurt Locker (The Prophet trumped both at No.1). Therefore, in a recent ‘Jim Jarmusch and Friends’ season, the BFI took the opportunity to screen the film again to celebrate her influences. And Jim Jarmusch was more than an influence too as she worked as Assistant Director on Down by Law only two years before her own directorial debut.

In the case of 35 Shots of Rum, though it focuses on relationships akin to Jarmusch, it holds a central story that evokes the quiet tenderness of Yasujirō Ozu. Living within a small, tight-knit community is Lionel (Alex Descas) and his daughter Josephine (Mati Diop). We see an evening routine as the two return home from a long day. Lionel, a widower, works on the metro while Josephine studies. Their relationship is very close and it is clear that they depend on each other. We are introduced also to a neighbour, Gabrielle (Nicole Dogue). She has feelings for Lionel, and has had these for a long time. The young man in an apartment below, Noe (Gregoire Colin), is detached and unsettled. He doesn’t know whether he is coming or going, but we know Josephine means more to him than he lets on. These four characters depend on each other and we glide through their lives and await a change – or as Roger Ebert put it in his review, a “shift”.

What makes 35 Shots of Rum so engaging is the calmness of the story. The opening moments, as Jo and Lionel busy themselves in the cramped apartment, is almost without words. In fact, the only reason we realise they are Father and daughter is the passing, flippant “Merci, Papa”, noted by many as a shock when revealed. While this personal story can be considered poetic on its own small-scale, Claire Denis hints at larger themes that have always interested her. The use of transport alludes to a different social standing between the characters. Noe drives his own car; something that Lionel seems unimpressed to hear. Lionel himself is an experienced train engineer while Gabrielle operates her own taxi. Their clear connection to public services show roots of socialism that no doubt pulls the two together. Lionel’s passing remark, “we have everything here” as Noe leaves their flat assures us that he is aware of young men and their reliance on material possessions – opposed to strong, loving relationships and the importance of playing a vital role in society. Noe’s treatment of his cat, for example, seems somewhat shocking.

But Denis doesn’t force the issue. These are nuanced characteristics that float in the back of our minds. In a city whereby hot drinks steam in the windy weather and shabby interiors are almost claustrophobic, 35 Shots of Rum feels true. A contrast between the open plains of a beach coast against the urban city mirrors Ozu’s influence further, but 35 Shots of Rum stands on its own and deserves the praise it receives. Subtle and personal, 35 Shots of Rum is a film that tells of the inevitable changes to come and its effect on a family – and the unexpected future they will have to accept.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth

An Autumn Afternoon (Yasujirō Ozu, 1962)

Capturing the calm and thoughtful manner of a father, reflecting on his duty to his daughter, is a moment rarely seen on film. Director Yasujiro Ozu though, is a filmmaker who has effortlessly caught this type of moment throughout his career. From the generational divide seen in the family in Tokyo Story (widely considered one of the Greatest Films of All-Time) to the widowed men in An Autumn Afternoon, it is clear that reflecting on your life in your twilight years is a rite of passage. An Autumn Afternoon was Ozu’s final film - and his sixth in colour. Considering he remained single his entire life, living with his mother during her final years, it is perhaps surprising that he manages to capture the sense of family so well.

An Autumn Afternoon tells the story of Hirayama (Chishu Ryu), an older man, who has three children. His eldest son, Koichi, is married and lives away from home, while his daughter Michiko and college-son Kazuo remain at home. He works within a factory and meets with his friends Kawai and Horie over sake and . The three friends spend a night with a former teacher, referred to as ‘The Gourd’, who lives alone with his daughter. ‘The Gourd’ works in a noodle shop, his daughter is older now and will clearly not marry as she has dedicated her life to look after her father. Kawai tells Hirayama that this could be him and his daughter. This becomes the drive of the story as Hirayama has to release his daughter from the boundaries of home, and marry into another family – as Hirayama will have to learn how to look after himself.

Ozu’s unique direction is apparent within An Autumn Afternoon, as it would be within the majority of his films. Indoor locations, low-framing and static shots are part and parcel of his oeuvre. The style of filmmaking makes you analyse and hone in on the characters emotion. A final shot of Hirayama sipping tea switches our thoughts – we wonder what he is thinking. Indeed, a calm and slow structure forces a viewer to work harder at considering the purpose of each sequence. This isn’t a flaw in any respect, merely an observation from a viewer who is fed on the fast-paced, urgency of modern filmmaking.

Ozu ranks amongst the very best filmmakers of all-time, alongside Welles and Hitchcock. His inspiration reaches to Jim Jarmusch, Claire Denis and Wim Wenders. An Autumn Afternoon balances the personal story of Hirayama against the larger context of the change in tradition within Japan. While the arrangement of marriage is an important role for parents – something Hirayama holds dear, it is clear that the traditional role of husband and wife is vastly different within the younger marriage between Koichi and his wife, Mariko. He helps with the chores and food-preparation, literally wearing the apron, while Mariko is happy and content to dictate where the finances will, and will not, go. This larger context provides a fascinating angle to the story – and something that a small, domestic story rarely demonstrates.

Ozu, for many years, was considered “too Japanese” for Western audiences. The year his films were screened at the Venice Film Festival, was followed the following year by his death. International films, and especially Ozu, are a great example of watching a film that in every respect is rooted in Japanese culture and tradition. But what is clear about An Autumn Afternoon, is how themes still resonate with Western audiences. Caring for parents may not be as traditionally expected as it is in Japan – especially in 1960’s, but our duty to our family against our own ambitions and aspirations, for a family or otherwise, can often be a conflict. This tender story, though distant, is recognisable and will remain relevant for as long as family exists.

This post was originally written for Flickering Myth on 15th May 2014

Tokyo Story (Yasujirô Ozu, 1953)

"Honour your parents while they are still alive"/"You cannot serve your parents when they are in the grave."

Introduction

We go back. Back to the Sight and Sound Top 10 Films of All-Time. The list that is infamous as Citizen Kane always comes up top. The list that claims that Vertigo is Hitchcock's finest film and The Searchers is the best Western piece of filmmaking. Yes, we agree it is all opinion - but it is opinion of those in the film criticism industry. Ozu's Tokyo Story is one of those films. It has appeared in the aforementioned Top 10 list twice and is regarded as Ozu's masterpiece. Though, in fairness, I haven't seen any other Ozu films.

From Hollywood to Tokyo

I remember when I first comitted to researching and exploring cinema in more depth, that Hollywood looks at the 50's as a bit of a bad-time. Hollywood trotted out Musicals and Epics primarily - in reality the fifties not only showed us Hitchcock at his best (Vertigo in 1957) but also saw Kurosawa rise up in the East with Seven Samurai appearing the same year. Tokyo Story appeared in 1953 too - so it appears that cinema, in terms of longevity, seemed to churn out many important films. I think Hollywood was the problem - not cinema itself. Maybe during these dull-days of Summer blockbuster, we should turn our heads towards international cinema - as in the fifties, it was international cinema that was making waves.

I wrote, only recently, about Leo McCarey's Make Way for Tomorrow and noted how it became a huge influence for Ozu when he made Tokyo Story. At the time I wrote that statement, though I knew this to be the case, I had not seen Tokyo Story to know exactly what was influential. Indeed, Tokyo Story presents, initially, the visit two aging parents have to Tokyo when they visit their children (unlike Make Way for Tomorrow whereby the film begins through news that the parents are forced to be separated due to the recession). The parents have many children - their youngest daughter Kyoko housesits for the parents when they visit Tokyo. Koichi and Shige are the children who reside in Tokyo and both find it too difficult to entertain their parents - unlike the widow daughter-in-law Noriko, who manages to take them on a sightseeing tour of Tokyo and even gives Mum a back rub.

Mondrian Meets Ozu

Having mentioned Kandinsky when discussing Fantasia, (and as an Art teacher) I do believe it is incredibly important to try and incorporate Fine Art and Contemporary Art with Cinema. This week, I bring you Piet Mondrian. His iconic images of vertical and horizontal lines have been imitated many times since their creation in the early 20th Century. Throughout Tokyo Story we see vertical and horizontal lines in many pieces of architecture - though the lack of colour negates any clear correlation.

It nevertheless shows a certain consistency in composition in Ozu's film - the controlled and specific lines give the impression of precision and perfection. This provides an interesting contrast to the expectations and attitudes of the parents and children too.

Industry Against Tradition

Another interesting contrast is the use of establishing shots. Usually these shots would show the area a sequence takes place but there is something at odds with these shots in Tokyo Story. They often consisted of two shots - one showing the traditional Japanese architecture and then cutting away to an industrial building or refinery. This reminds you of the bigger consequences of the future that is at hand - the lack of importance of the family at odds with the capitalist and business focus of others. The children are often 'too busy' to be with their parents - whether it be tending to the beauty salon or on an immediate call-out for a pateint. Jobs is what gets in the way of these family members to merely make time for their own parents.

Hope

The daughter-in-law, who has lost her husband, appears to be the most humble, kind and considerate - and yet Noriko still blames herself. She claims she is selfish because she doesn't think about her deceased husband enough (whilst we have never heard the other family members mention him even once). The perspective that she thinks about others so much that, the one time she lapses, is apprently a horrendous thing puts things into perspective. Maybe there is hope yet. Then again, the Grandchildren are exceptionally problematic - insulting their Grandparents at one point and becoming exceptionally rude to their own parents.

In one shocking exchange, we see the Daughter almost tell her Father off for merely drinking an alcoholic drink following the death of his wife. Shige is so patronising and, rather than considerately thinking about the heartbreak he may feel, she is casting his mind back to a history he had many years prior and the one instance that inconvenienced her in Tokyo. And yet she has the audacity to assume that her parents enjoyed their stay in Tokyo.

There is a touching moment whereby the youngest son, Keizo, realises he didn't do a great job as a son - but this fits nicely with the expectation he places on himself running parrallel with the expectations the parents had of their children - maybe we simply cannot live up to the expectations of others. Especially as family members see every side of you: the good and the bad.

Best Film Ever?

Make Way For Tomorrow seems to explore old age and the passing of time - and tje selfishness of children as they get older. Tokyo Story goes further and explores the ramifications and expectations of parents on their children and how it is possible that these expectations are too high - even lying to impress other friends in some cases. Tokyo Story incorporates the parrallel between industry and its affect on the family. Tokyo Story shows the actual consequence of actions - the regret you cannot change if have not honoured your family and parents while they are alive. There is even a hint at the political problems within Japan as parents discuss the loss of their children during the war.

People do say it is the 'Best Film Ever'. And the slow-pacing and very calm and patient characters seems at odds with what many people consider their favourite films now. Rotten Tomatoes has the highest critical rating for the film, Paul Schraeder rates it 'gold' and John Walker (former editor of the Halliwell's Film Guide) placed Tokyo Story at the top spot of his Best 1000 Films Ever Made. The list goes on - but you have to ask yourself why? An incredible documentary presented by Barry Norman on the UK Citizen Kane DVD fills in the blanks as to why Citizen Kane often tops the polls (and, once you watch it, you do realise that it deserves the coveted spot) but Tokyo Story appears to be much more inaccessible - I think that on multiple viewings it gets better and, already, I know the story will stick with me in the future.