The comparison might startle some here, but Late Spring reminds me of The Wind Rises intimately. I've thought about it at length, and I think it is the examination of the ephemeral quality of life that leads me to form such a strange association.
“Actual moments of joy and sorrow are times where we keep our emotions most to ourselves.” - Yasujiro Ozu
Similar to I was Born, but…, Late Spring falls into the shomingeki genre as well and explores in detail the relationship between a father and daughter through the lens of postwar Japan. Late Spring is a quiet observation of social mutability and our inability to do anything about it. The traditional elements spotted in the film are supposed to be incongruent with the guidelines imposed by the SCAP prohibiting any notions reminiscent of prewar Japan, but it passed the censors nonetheless. I think it got through the censors because this film revolves not around politics but the familial bond between a father and daughter. The social commentary is indirect and subtle. Secondly, the fusion of traditional components with modern ones speaks of Ozu’s attempt to convey the possibility of a habitat that imbues both old and new, East and West influences. This whimsical portrayal of coexistence can be seen as some sort of a compromise Ozu has proposed to the Occupational forces implicitly through this film. The Coca-cola sign, Balboa Tea and Coffee sign, and European-style buildings have all been given their own space to shine. These locations contrast starkly with the rural sceneries from Kamakura, the temples Noriko and Somiya visited and the Noh play, a classical Japanese dance-drama. Noriko, in my opinion, represents the perfect concoction of Western and Eastern influences, sometimes to a degree that’s hypocritical. She’s the one to insist on not getting married even when everyone else is pushing her to (that shows her courage to stand her ground), but at the same time, she also thinks that getting a divorce and remarrying is “indecent” and “filthy.”
While we’re on the topic of Noriko, I kind of agree with what Donald Richie said that oedipal sentiments could be detected in the relationship between Noriko and Somiya. For one, I’m sure a lot of us today wouldn’t give up living our own life the way we want for our parents. The things they tell one another denotes a connection to such an intimate degree I can’t help but find highly unusual. Here are some things I noted that Noriko said to or about her father: “I’m the only one who knows what he needs.”, “I want to stay here with you.”, “I’m so fond of you.” During their last trip together, Somiya acts as if he’s never going to see Noriko again. After reading Donald Richie’s analysis of this movie, I realize that it is appropriate for Somiya to feel that way because the dominant custom in Japanese society dictates Noriko to transfer her familial obligations to her husband’s family once she is married. Her natal bond will be severed, and she is now expected to put her husband’s family first. “If they don’t marry, you worry. If they do marry, they let you down.” This vicious cycle is brought out by the rigidity of the Japanese marriage customs, which I have a feeling is an issue Ozu is trying to invite viewers to comment on by contrasting charismatic Hattori, who I thought Noriko would surely end up with, with a faceless and unwelcome “bear guy” that Noriko seems to have very little interest in. The concluding scene in the film where the father stares off into space in silence after peeling an apple is heartbreaking to watch. As an international student, I can relate to it to some degree. Sometimes I can be doing mundane things like washing the dishes when suddenly I’m hit with the realization that I’m so alone. The silence in the scene magnifies the solitude the father feels. Maybe this is one of Ozu’s lessons about life: At the end of the day, all we have is ourselves. Nothing can stay the same forever.
Ozu’s cinematography is interesting to watch. I noticed as well that Ozu tends to use face-to-face shots when filming characters having conversations with one another. He’ll place the speaker right in the middle of the camera as if it's the audience they are speaking to. With his sharp cuts and static shots, I think Ozu can be said to be a minimalist director - if such a description exists. I think his movies are less about technique and more about underscoring the ordinary stories each character tells. The simple mise-en-scene demands the viewers to focus on the interactions between the characters and the messages behind their actions. Ozu’s directorial style also allows him to omit certain events and characters he thinks make no impact on the story he wants to tell. Namely, we never get to see who Hattori’s or Noriko’s partner is. Ozu’s camera seems to like to dwell on train tracks, hallways, and alleyways as well. These are probably places where Ozu thinks signifies the passage of time. After all, think about it, hundreds of people have to wander past these locations each day to get to where they want to go, but rarely will they think about lingering. The casual passing of a hallway can be equated to the ephemeral quality of life. Time passes by in the blink of an eye, and you’ll never be made aware of it until it’s too late.