An Appreciation – Late Spring

July 25th, 2012 | POSTED BY Allen Almachar

The placement of the camera in comparison to where the actors are is worth noting. Ozu would almost always have his camera very low to the ground, described as the same eye level a person would have when sitting on a tatami mat. Camera angles were either very straightforward, or at an angle, with the actors facing in the same direction. Most interesting is how Ozu would have little regard to lines of sight. There are many times where he would put the camera directly in front of the actor with them looking back at it; thus, it would make it as though the actor were speaking to the audience rather than to the other person in the scene. And while the camera placement and intricate details of the composition are apparent, we never feel as though we are intruding into this world. We are always observing from a distance, and even during what are supposed to be close-up shots, the camera never feels as though it is getting in the way. In fact, Ozu will even remove us from a scene completely, and focus for a moment on some random shot, scenery, or background, known as “pillow shots.” I believe he does this for us take in and contemplate what we have just witnessed—to gather the information we learned and store it before he moves us on to the next scene. The painterly-like cinematography mixed with the controlled pacing allows the story to unfold in a very deliberate yet natural fashion.

Chishu Ryu and Setsuko Hara were two actors that Ozu would work with a number of times. Setsuko was a constant collaborator with the director, and was so comfortable that she would drop everything for the opportunity to work with him again (she would be one of main characters in Tokyo Story). In return, Ozu so enjoyed working with the star actress that he threatened not to make a film if she were not cast. Ryu was a constant presence in Ozu’s films, appearing in 52 out of 54 films that the director would make, and even starred in his final film, An Autumn Afternoon (1962). That level of comfort and familiarity is realized in this film, as Ryu’s and Hara’s chemistry together felt as real as possible. The beautiful aspect of their performances is in how they can exude so much without having to say exactly what they feel. Words are often restrained for etiquette and politeness, and we sense that just below the surface is agony for both of our characters.

Take Setsuko’s performance as Noriko. Throughout the majority of the film, Noriko is constantly smiling, being happy and playful and full of joy. Even while things begin to fall apart and she starts to lose control, Noriko still manages to keep her smile. But clearly, the smile moves from being a sincere gesture to a mask, barely concealing how she really feels. In one of the most memorable scenes in the movie, Noriko and Mr. Somiya attend a theater performance. As Noriko catches Mr. Somiya nod and smile to another woman across the room, Noriko bows her head in silence and disappointment, and yet still tries to keep her lively spirit around her father. As the movie progresses and we find Noriko set up in an arranged marriage to a man she barely knows (he’s described as “looking like Gary Cooper”), she asks her father—even begging—to keep things the way they are, all the while keeping that constant smile on her face. When her wedding day finally arrives and we see her in her bridal dress, she can longer sustain it. The smile is gone.

Chishu Ryu’s performance is so simple and low key, but that is exactly what makes it so moving. Mr. Somiya is a man void of large movements or exaggeration. Everything about him is controlled and leveled, whether it is writing papers, smoking his pipe, or even drinking alcohol. What makes it work is how he balances what he actually says against what he doesn’t say. When Noriko turns to him, and repeatedly asks him if he feels the same way that her Aunt Masa does, he nods and quietly utters his agreement. His presence and voice never rises, and he always seems reassuring and comforting. That is what we feel when he surprisingly confesses to Noriko that he has been seeing someone else and intends on marrying that person. This comes as a twist for both Noriko and for us, because nothing we had seen prior would hint towards that. There is a reason for this, and it is because there is no other person. Mr. Somiya told Noriko the false story as a means to help her move on from him. In one of the closing scenes of the film, he tells a friend that what he told his daughter was “the biggest lie of my life.” It’s a strange thing, to see a man who cares so much for his daughter that he would go to the level of deception to see her off. But that’s what makes Mr. Somiya such an interesting character, and it would not have worked as well without the actor who played him.

Letting go is a difficult thing. Would Noriko and Mr. Somiya have been truly happy if their lives stayed as they were? Perhaps, or perhaps not. We learn that Mr. Somiya was brought into an arranged marriage himself, and that blossomed into a long, fruitful, and loving relationship. That is the power of Ozu’s Late Spring, in the way he made a film of such emotion and power through a story of everyday life. Describing it would seem like not much actually happens, but what develops underneath the surface is what really connects with us. In one of the saddest scenes you’ll ever see, Mr. Somiya returns home late at night after attending Noriko’s wedding. Without a word and completely alone, he sits down, picks up an apple, and begins to peel it.

Such a small action, but so large in what it stands for.

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Akira Kurosawa, An Autumn Afternoon, Chishu Ryu, Floating Weeds, Haruko Sugimura, Jun Usami, Kenji Mizoguchi, Late Spring, Masaki Kobayashi, Masao Mishima, Setsuko Hara, Tokyo Story, Yasujiro Ozu