by Allan Fish
(Japan 1950 87m) DVD1/2
Stories in the rain
p Jingo Minuora d Akira Kurosawa w Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto story “Inside a Bush” by Ryonosuke Akutagawa ph Kazuo Miyagawa ed uncredited m Fumio Hayasaka art H.Motsumoto
Toshiro Mifune (Tajomaru), Machiko Kyo (Masago), Masayuki Mori (Takehiro), Takashi Shimura (firewood dealer), Minoru Chiaki (priest), Kichijiro Ueda (commoner),
There are very few films in history that can truly be said to have become a word in themselves; Rashomon-like being a term applied to a plot that shows a tale in the past tense and from more than one angle. In the case of Rashomon itself, four ways, a method repeated in the awful US remake, The Outrage and, coincidentally or not, in the 1957 musical Les Girls. It opened doorways with regards to the restructure of cinematic narrative, quite appropriately considering the Rashomon of the title was a medieval gate.
In 11th century Japan, three men – a priest, a woodcutter and a commoner – gather under the ruins of the eponymous gate to shelter from the rain storm. The commoner finds the priest and the woodcutter shell-shocked and learns that they have been discussing the events of a few days previously that they have been party to. They relate the tale of how a famous bandit, Tajomaru, happened across a samurai, Takehiro, and his seemingly virtuous young bride, Masago, deep in the woods. With Takehiro found dead, all three relate their side of the tale (Takehiro by way of a medium), but is it the woodcutter, who saw everything unseen, who really knows the truth?
Rashomon is a film which revels in human weakness (“it’s because men are weak that they lie to themselves…”), from lust to pride to outmoded honour. Humanity is seen to be sorely lacking throughout, so not for nothing does Kurosawa introduce the crying baby at the end to restore the balance anew. But weakness can also lead to violence and that in itself, though weak, is terrifying. As the commoner says “the demon living here in Rashomon fled in fear of the ferocity of man.” Just as the gate lies in ruins, further destroyed by the commoner tearing planks off to light a fire to keep warm, humanity could also be seen to be in tatters. The woodcutter is in the end ashamed of himself for not telling all at the trial, but that is his weakness. The bandit’s weakness is his vanity in his reputation and in his lust for a woman. The samurai’s in dying and being overcome, losers always being painted as being weak. The odd one out here is the woman who seems weak yet is far from it, hiding an inner desire that can at best be described as dangerous. She’s the spark that lights the fire, sending the bandit into such lust that he rapes her, the samurai into such disgust he deserts her and, if we remotely believe her side of the tale, both of them into rage at each other by playing on their macho pride. The weakness is summed up perfectly by Mifune’s bandit when he admits “whenever I wanted to do something bad, I did it. That way it hurt less.” Weakness can thus be construed as taking the easy option.
Taking the easy option was something Kurosawa would never contemplate, not only in his characters but in terms of his narrative. Not only was his flashback structure revolutionary, so was every other aspect of the film; Hayasaka’s score seems to give a different theme for each character (with Kyo’s woman given a dreamy theme similar to Ravel’s Bolero) in a way later used by Morricone, Miyagawa’s photography is so far beyond gorgeous as to be in the next county. Among the iconic cast, Kurosawa’s two favourite actors, Mifune and Shimura, are superb in a big departure for them at the time (see Drunken Angel & Stray Dog), and Kyo likewise is unforgettable as the incendiary Masago, a vision with shaved eyebrows and dark haired mop, peering ghostlike from under her net (could this image have influenced Mizoguchi to cast her in Ugetsu Monogatari?). As for the film itself, unlike the characters in the film it has no apparent weaknesses. Acting, direction, script, music and photography combine to produce a film that knows that “a human life is as frail and fleeting as the morning dew” and, if maybe not quite as rich as his greatest films, it’s still an unquestionable masterpiece.
I think this may be Kurosawa’s most famous film along with Seven Samurai, but it’s structure has been emulated so much through the years, that it seems to have lost some of its unique quality.
Peter I think hits the nail on the head for why I commonly refer to this as one of the most overrated “classic films”; it’s impossible to view the chopped narrative with the same freshness that it must have possessed hitting the screen in 1950, and so it strikes one now as an indulgent gimmick (I confess that noisy postmodern films like “Run Lola Run” have forever ruined the discordant point-of-view technique for me personally). I also think Kurosawa bungled an essential lyricism present in the source material — particularly the superlative short story “In a Grove” — by seemingly attempting to redeem his characters from their weaknesses rather than simply revealing them as inscrutable facets of human nature (this is most obvious in the ending, where the woodcutter assumes guardianship over the baby and “renews” the priest’s hope in mankind). That having been said, as the astute Allan points out, the performances and cinematography are uniformly excellent, so it’s hard to complain too much.
I like the point made that “Weakness can thus be construed as taking the easy option.” As Oscar Wilde wrote, the only way to rid one’s self of a temptation is to yield to it. What he didn’t mention is that in the aftermath of yielding we rewrite our own histories to both exonerate and damn ourselves; memory can be conceptualized as stimuli rearranged in the brain to align with the guilt and pride clashing within our respective self-images. I think “Rashomon” falls short of thoroughly examining this, but it might come the closest that any film ever has, and for that alone it deserves much praise.
It’s still one of the great films in Kurosawa’s career, and though I accept the points made above by Peter and Jon, and despite my own prefering several other Kurosawas above it, it’s still some kind of special.
A film often imitated and emulated is no less brilliant for doing it first. Kurosawa brought his whole game to Rashomon and in doing so, singularly revolutionized film and to some extent postmodern storytelling in the broader context.
I saw this film a year or two ago for the first time and loved it. Every element is exquisitely crafted.
Nice review, Allan.
While it’s true that this film may no longer have the freshness nor immediacy it once had, it’s still an engrossing and technically dazzling work of cinema.
There is another perspective here. Kurosawa is also exploring truth and memory. Each character recounts their memory of an event, and in the telling, we realise there is no reliable account of what occurred, and if each character is self-serving there is not the chance of redemption. Is it weakness necessarily that is operating here, or wilful mis-deeds justified after the fact.
Jon, I think perhaps your complaint of a “chopped narrative” is off-base insofar as Kurosawa’s intent is to make that very point – that in reality, unlike conventional cinema, there is not one flowing narrative but many choppy versions. As to “bungling”, Kurosawa always has a moral vision, and that includes the possibility of redemption, and for me that is a strength not a weakness.
I don’t agree with Oscar Wilde on temptation. Not yielding means sublimating desires that are selfish or harmful to something of greater value.
Apparently Allan is retired for the evening.
Jon Lanthier, Jenny Bee, Tony, Peter and Frank Gallo have all contributed wonderful comments under his RASHOMON review.
Jon, you have yet again raised the bar with your thought-provoking assertions. I understand where you are coming from with the RUN LOLA RUN disclaimer. There are many modern films that also have adopted this device. Perhaps Jon, your most persuasive point is this, even though you subsequently admit the film’s craftsmanship may be somewhat overiding:
“I also think Kurosawa bungled an essential lyricism present in the source material — particularly the superlative short story “In a Grove” — by seemingly attempting to redeem his characters from their weaknesses rather than simply revealing them as inscrutable facets of human nature (this is most obvious in the ending, where the woodcutter assumes guardianship over the baby and “renews” the priest’s hope in mankind).” Most fascinating observation if I may say so.
As far as the Oscar Wilde reference, which Tony rejects, I am not quite sure yet how to respond to it, but will give it further thought. I do appreciate the embellishment much.
On the other side of the coin is this equally astute position by Jenny Bee, which is also most impossible to contest, coming from that direction:
“A film often imitated and emulated is no less brilliant for doing it first. Kurosawa brought his whole game to Rashomon and in doing so, singularly revolutionized film and to some extent postmodern storytelling in the broader context. ”
Frank Gallo, another WitD regular, who has graced us for months with his insights pretty much shares Jenny Bee’s sentiments.
Similarly, the ever-observant Tony D’Ambra points to truth and memory as a vital concern in this film, as a number of film scholars have through the years. It is a strong position.
Excellent comments one and all.
As for me, I still believe this film on balance to be a formidable achievement, even if it wouldn’t be among my top five Kurosawas.
Some great comments here, and I can’t say I disagree with any of them. Just a few responses:
Jennybee, you are absolutely right, and we can’t quite take the film’s style to task for being so heavily duplicated. However, as a critic I have to trust both my gut reaction to a film and examine the limitations or peculiarities that may have led to the response in the first place — thus my claim that it’s impossible for me to be “fair” on “Rashomon”, since I’m so soured on “chopped narratives” (I didn’t meant to criticize Kurosawa’s choppiness, by the way, Tony — I was more vilifying the style in general, the “children” of “Rashomon,” if you will). It’s me, not Kurosawa. The fact that I hold the film so highly in spite of this I think says a lot (although I still would not put it in the upper rung of film art).
I also cannot deny the power of Kurosawa’s morality; however, it also seems to me that the author of the original text was making a different point from the director, a point which I personally consider superior. I doubt that I’ve explained this sufficiently, however, and to do so would probably require revisiting the film and the short story (conveniently both are available in the Criterion release, which I have!).
Finally, Oscar Wilde. To sublimate a desire is not to eradicate it. The only way to eradicate a desire is to fulfill it. That was, I believe, the point he was making, not that all desires deserve to be, or should be, fulfilled. We could argue back and forth about whether a temptation can be repressed to the point of disappearance, but I think the basic concept is an apt one. Actually, Tony, I think we’re making the same point — willful misdeeds justified after the fact. Precisely! After yielding to a temptation, we both curse ourselves and resolve ourselves from sin through memory and interpretation. Spontaneous autobiography, if you will…and therein lies some of the building blocks of self-image. Which incidentally is one of man’s weaknesses.
Thanks Jon. I undestand your position more clearly now.
But re Oscar Wilde, I should have also said that you cannot get rid of or eradicate desires. Sublimation or yielding are the only choices.
But re Oscar Wilde, I should have also said that you cannot get rid of or eradicate desires. Sublimation or yielding are the only choices.
I see your point, Tony. And I don’t know about you, but when the desire involves cinema it’s an easy choice… ;)
Thanks, Tony, Jenny, Jon and co for the good stuff here. Sorry, retired early last night, but I agree with Jon, cinema’s to be yielded to, not resisted. Unless it’s High School Musical, of course.