Tokyo Story | Tranquility of Time

I believe the professor of film at the University of Texas in Austin, Charles Ramírez Berg, put it most succinctly in his description of Tokyo Story - 

“As you watch, it seems nothing is happening. When it’s over you realise you’ve just seen an encyclopaedia of the human condition” 

It is hence interesting that Ozu’s popularity in the West came about upon the publication of Paul Schrader’s Transcendental Style in Film, with the director not experiencing the same international exposure as Kurosawa or Mizoguchi, having been branded as “too Japanese” in the 1950s. But this style of little camera movement, low camera height and shots linked through overlapping space exemplifies the delicacy and patience of Ozu and serves in Tokyo Story as evidence that one can do more with less. 

There’s a peacefulness to the film that accompanies its tempered pacing, a slowness that many of Ozu’s characters cannot relate to. Koichi, a doctor, makes plans that he can’t commit to - his profession, whilst a noble one, leaves him unreliable, although something to brag about amongst father’s old friends. The poised Shige is as tightly wound as the pins in her clients’ hair - she's careful not to neglect her parents on their visit, but it also can’t be her responsibility to care for them. Like her older brother, she’s just too busy and akin to another sibling in distant Osaka, she’s never truly there. However, Noriko - a wonderful Setsuko Hara - exists on the hard shoulder of the Hirayama family, the barrier being her late husband’s death in the Second World / Greater East Asia War, and her inability or lack of interest in remarriage maintaining her status as their daughter-in-law. Despite her suffering and loneliness, Noriko has a kindness in her heart and although she can’t afford to financially, she is willing to embrace the people around her in the time that they have afforded her. 

Ozu places emphasis on location but not in the way that is typically expected. Trips to Tokyo‘s city centre with Noriko or visits to nearby Atami for a spa and sauna are underwhelming and, whilst offering a great deal of beauty, are only glanced at. Instead, focus is drawn to parochial bedrooms or intimate living rooms; ordinary places where souls exist, rather than characters. And again, when Ozu does depict such, he does so with a particularly comforting rhythm in the editing and always places the camera ever so slightly lower. A viewing of Tokyo Story is hence not seen through the eyes of another human being, quietly observing as the subtle drama unfolds - but instead that of the inanimate which are merely placed around the Hirayama family. 

To return to the Berg quote; if anything happens at all in Tokyo Story, it is the inevitability at the end - not that of the narrative, but that of life. It happens as a shock; a single phone call before an unrelenting demise and makes us guess again about everything we’ve seen prior. I’ve found it’s an occurrence in reality too; death is the end and so what was before? There must be a narrative, something to follow, it must make sense otherwise what point is there? It doesn’t at the moment in time itself but eventually, it will. In his essay “Tokyo Story: Compassionate Detachment” for Criterion, film theorist David Bordwell concludes - “momentous revelations are tempered by the poetic resonance of everyday acts and objects. Shukichi greets a beautiful sunrise - signalling another day of brisk fanning and plucking at one’s kimono. An ordinary wristwatch links mother, daughter, and daughter-in-law in a lineage of hard-earned feminine wisdom. And the roar of the train headed back to Tokyo dies down, leaving only the throbbing of a boat in the bay”. 

A distinct memory of mine is just how relaxed I felt watching Tokyo Story, slouching in a comfortable cinema seat with a perfect central view of the screen. Ozu’s mastery of composition and editing lends itself well to the tone of his film, where the focus is the tranquility of life, despite the tumultuous turmoil of any family affair, with such bleeding through the screen. After all, there are decades where nothing happens and weeks where decades happen - Ozu is ultimately captivated by how significant moments often can’t be anticipated; our bustling lives only halting for the greatest of surprises, in which we can finally draw a line in the sand.

Written By Harry J. Wormald | IG: @harryjwormald