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Ozu's Kabuki actors (A Story of Floating Weeds) are saltimbanques lugging private dramas from town to town, Kenji Mizoguchi's are bluebloods whose company mirrors the regimentation of a landscape not quite out of the old century. The theatrical lion (Gonjuro Kawarazaki) tops the dynasty, expected to carry his mighty name is the adopted son (Shotaro Hanayagi), a bad actor "born defeated" and surrounded by flattery. The cocoon is pricked by the family maid (Kakuko Mori), a low-angled lateral tracking shot of the couple walking at night traces the effect her honesty has on the proud clod (cf. Abe and Ann Rutledge along the fence in Young Mr. Lincoln). Out of Tokyo and onto the road, years of struggle and discovery. "An actor must be adored by the public." "I'm tired of adoration!" Technique by itself does not an artist make, the craft cries for some spark of risky emotion, the thespian's realization is the extinguishing of the muse. All of this is analyzed via a highly developed style, distanced yet emotive: Superbly detailed interiors in auditoriums and trains linked by stately movement, a view of the lovers at the flophouse held for minutes at an elevated angle (Wyler has it in Carrie), a dialogue scene staged as a tight tableau until a pan reveals the rest of the world. The pit and the pendulum of success, the sound of applause as a loved one's death rattle, a most trenchant showbiz perspective. The celebrated actor bows painfully to the camera at the close, but the magnificent moment is irony comes earlier: Powdered, bewigged and crammed into an oversized kimono, the protagonist wields a fake blade before an audience, and the sharpest of cuts gives way to the heroine alone backstage, crouching in the dark, Mizoguchi's true warrior. Cinematography by Minoru Miki. With Kokichi Takada, Yoko Umemura, Tokusaburo Arashi, and Nobuko Fushimi. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |