TWO
OR THREE THINGS ABOUT YASUJIRO OZU
By Jim Jarmusch
Artforum (October 2003)
"My quietness has a man in it, he
is transparent
and
he carries me quietly, like a gondola, through
the streets."
--
Frank O'Hara, from "In Memory of My Feelings"
(1956)
IN 1984 I MADE MY FIRST VISIT to Japan to
promote my film Stranger Than Paradise. Well
before this trip I had given several interviews
in which I cited Yasujiro Ozy as one of the
film directors from whom I received my deepest
inspiration. After completing several more
interviews in Tokyo I realized that among
the younger, hipper Japanese film critics
and journalists, Ozu was, at this moment,
out of fashion. His films were from the "old
school" stylistically conservative
and thematically stodgy, middle-class and
domestic. When questioned about his influence,
it was as though I had committed a blatant
act of contradiction.
This attitude toward Ozu seemed strange to
me, but it made me aware that I have no real
interest in fashion, but that style, on the
other hand, is of great interest to me. All
filmmakers are, in the end, stylists, whether
they know it or notand those who don't
most often create films with the most uninteresting
of styles. Fashion seems connected to popularity,
while style is inseparable from human expression.
Films made by Ozu (or the works of any masters,
for that matter) may drift in and out of fashion,
but their stylistic strengths and particularities
are not movable.
Near the end of that first visit to Japan
(I have since returned eight or nine times)
I was taken by my friends Kazuko Kawakita
and Hayao Shibata to Kamakura, the town outside
of Tokyo where Ozu lived and often worked,
and where his ashes are buried. Appropriately,
we took the train, and from its moving windows
I saw urban rooftops with lanterns and clotheslines,
parallel sets of train tracks, and passing
railroad platformsimages oddly familiar
to me via Ozus employment of them as
static punctuation in the language of his
films.
Upon arrival, the stations platform
in Kamakura was also eerily familiar. Even
the cherry trees were filled with blossoms.
In a small museum there, an exhibition of
personal artifacts from Ozus life and
work had recently openedthe main reason
for this trip to Kamakura. There were notebooks
fill of writings, ink pens, and scripts also
covered with notes and corrections in Japanese.
(I was struck by the realization that filmmaking
is directly related to calligraphy.) Ozus
pipe was there, along with cigarette packets,
his ashtray, and his preferred teacup, with
the image of a chestnut glazed onto its surface.
His favorite hat was also in display (one
I recognized from a particular on-set photograph)
as was a pair of eyeglasses. In a corner of
the exhibition space was a tripod designed
by Ozu himself. It had only two positions
which locked the cameras height in placeone
position about three feet off the ground (the
approximate eye-level of a person traditionally
seated on a cushion on the floor), and a second
about a foot and a half higher. Ozu had no
need for alternate possibilities. These limitations
would instead define the core of his style.
Also on display were several sketches Ozu
made of interior sets for various scenes from
his films. The sets were then specifically
created around the focal length and depth-of-field
of the single lens that Ozu preferreda
50 mm. Again, alternate lenses were not of
much interest to Ozu, and he almost never
used them. Movement of the camera itself,
whether panning or tracking, is nearly non-existent
in his late styleas are fades, dissolves,
or other optical effects. It is through this
elegant quietness that Ozu navigates his slight
stories around the expected landmarks of dramatic
curves and heightened emotions. Nothing is
forced. All that is left on screen are the
smallest details of human nature and interaction,
delivered through a lens that is delicate,
observational, reductive, and pure.
The themes in Ozus filmstypically
concerning familial relationships and miscommunicationare
fluidly interwoven with the directors
style, and they are as organic as his favorite
natural analogies: the movement of light,
the cycle of life, and the passing of the
seasons (film titles include: Dreams of Youth,
Days of Youth, Where Now Are the Dreams of
Youth?, I Was Born, But
, Late Spring,
Early Summer, Early Spring, Tokyo Twilight,
Equinox Flower, Late Autumn, The End of Summer,
An Autumn Afternoon). Again, Ozu is inclined
to limit his themes just as he does his camera
positions (and his casts, working the same
actors again and again).
After leaving the exhibition of Ozu artifacts,
I found myself in the Engakuji Temple cemetery.
There, a plain black marble grave-marker commemorates
the life of this extraordinary filmmaker.
There is no name on the face of the headstone,
no date of birth or deathonly a single
Chinese character, which Kazuko and Hayao
identified as mu. They explained to me that
its meaning is philosophical and spiritual,
nearly impossible to translate into English.
An approximation, they offered hesitantly,
might be the space that exists between
all things. My friends instructed me,
following tradition, to show my respect by
filling a wooden ladle with water and gently
pouring the contents over the gravestone.
I did, and watched the clear water flow softly
over the angular ideogram engraved in the
hard stone surface, then become absorbed into
the ground below.
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