Review of Ozu's Classic Film, Ukigusa Monogatari

Ukigusa Monogatari, as the first black-and-white film I've sat through in several years, made for a rather entrancing experience. Ozu's cinematography seems to transcend the monochrome; whether this be by virtue of the "exotic" setting, the props used and their placement, or a combination of the two, however, is difficult for me to say. Particularly in scenes such as the play performance or those scenes with the actors at leisure Ozu creates a feeling that the viewer is privy to an intimate cross-section of a vanished way of life. While that may not have been the case in Ozu's day, the black-and-white certainly augments the feeling that one is watching a dramatic documentary on the now-endangered pastoral milieu.

I was further wary of Ukigusa Monogatari due to its being a silent film; while I confess I am a piano player who found the unobtrusive accompaniment truly moving, I venture the guess that Ozu again transcends the seeming hindrance of silence by the relatively swift pace of his storyline and its dramatic intensity. Rather than miring the viewer in lengthy exposition or superfluous flashback--common missteps even of today's filmmakers--Ozu's predilection is decidedly toward sparseness, a frugality in information and words that rings truer and more natural to how real life progresses.

This pace and frugality is refreshing and engaging, and where the drama hits, Ozu again succeeds in taking his time with the raw emotion displayed by his actors. Whereas in a "talkie" an angry character might simply exclaim a line and then turn away, Ozu has his characters stand with a single, brazen emotion bared for a full few seconds until the audience can appreciate the intensity of the moment. Such is the case with scenes between Kehachi and his new girlfriend, in which Kehachi's fury and embarassment at his impetuous lover's meddling are more communicated than shown.