Review #1,378: 'The Life of Oharu' (1952)

Although much of Kenji Mizoguchi's early work is now lost, the Japanese director is regarded as one of the country's finest thanks mainly to a handful of films made in the 1950s, many of which are considered masterpieces. The likes of Ugetsu Monogatari, Sansho the Bailiff and Street of Shame will no doubt be known to anyone with a keen interest in cinema, but none have the same lasting impression as The Life of Oharu, Mizoguchi's tale of one woman's plight in 1600's Japan. He was considered one of the first feminist directors, and much of his life was spent writing about their mistreatment at the hands of a matriarchal society rooted in class tradition. He was also known for frequenting brothels, but rather than paying for their services, Mizoguchi would instead listen to their stories. We meet Oharu (Kinuyo Tanaka) as a middle-aged prostitute, spending her nights by the city's gates begging or trying to sell her body to drunken wanderers.

She tells her friends how earlier that night an older man had brought her to a home full of young men, displaying her ageing face to the group as a way to convince them not to pay for prostitutes. They ask Oharu about her past, but she doesn't want to talk about it. Visiting a Buddhist temple, she notices that one of the statutes of Buddha bares a striking resemblance to her one and only love, a lowly retainer named Katsunosuke (Toshiro Mifune). Decades earlier, Oharu was a woman of high station, and shunned the advances of the young page simply because society wouldn't allow it. She could not resist true love however, and the two are eventually caught. While he is sent to the chopping block, Oharu's family are stripped of their status and forced to live out in the country. Her father (Ichiro Sugai) blames Oharu, but his attitude changes when she is chosen to produce the heir of Lord Matsudaira (Toshiaki Konoe). However, she is banished after giving birth to a boy to return to a family who will soon sell her into prostitution.

What transpires is a series of cruel punishments inflicted on our protagonist, and tragedy is born out of the fact that Oharu makes few of her own choices. There seems to be no place for true love in this society, something that still effects many countries today. A system seems to be in place that deflects the blame from the men who usher Oharu into these positions. She eventually serves as a maid, but loses her post when she is recognised from her days as a prostitute, and is even turned away from becoming a nun because of her 'sinful' past. The plot may sound like pure melodrama, but Mizoguchi is careful to avoid using broad strokes or losing focus of the larger picture. The camera is mostly still and precise, and also keeps its distance. Mizoguchi isn't interested in grand emotive close-ups - he wants you to see the whole picture as Oharu is shoved through her life like a puppet of little value. Most of us have gone through our lives making choices based on our core values, having the opportunity to stand up against anything that may threaten our moral code. The Life of Oharu is about a character completely stripped of this freedom, and her strength to bend rather than break. It's incredibly bleak stuff, but a masterpiece of measured character study.


Directed by: Kenji Mizoguchi
Starring: Kinuyo Tanaka, Tsukie Matsuura, Ichirô Sugai, Toshirô Mifune
Country: Japan

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,064: 'The Quiet Man' (1952)

It's a cliche to say, about a movie especially, that "they don't make 'em like that anymore." But in the case of The Quiet Man, a gentle comedy drama from John Ford, they really don't. If it was made today, this romantic tale set in the luscious green countryside of Ireland would no doubt star some square-jawed pretty-boy as the male lead, with the role of the leading lady going to some vacuous up-and-comer hoping to make the transition from TV into film before fading into utter obscurity. Back in 1952 they got two of cinema's Golden Age powerhouses, John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, who sizzle with chemistry, charisma and charm, combining to help create one of the finest films of its time.

Something of a departure for Ford and Wayne, who were most famous for delivering tough horse operas in the Old West, the film was only made by Republic Picture on the promise that Ford make a western for them first to make up for question mark looming over the box-office appeal of The Quiet Man. He obliged and made Rio Grande (1950), before setting off for Ireland to make the passion project he purchased the movie rights to back in the 1930's. He brought Wayne with him too, but he would kill no injuns and saddle no horses (although he does get to briefly ride one) here, but instead play Sean Thornton, the 'quiet man' of the title - a dashing, friendly American who retreats to his birthplace of Ireland carrying a dark secret on his shoulders.

Soon upon arriving, Sean is struck by the beauty of the temperamental Mary Kate Danaher (O'Hara), the sister of landowner Squire 'Red' Will Danaher (Victor McLagen). When Sean quickly purchases the cottage in which he was born, he finds himself immediately at odds with the loud-mouthed and brutish Will, who has had his eyes on the land for years. Sean and Mary Kate are soon in love, but Will stubbornly refuses to consent to the marriage. Local drunk and matchmaker Michaleen (Barry Fitzgerald), sympathising with the two lovers, hatches a plan with the other locals to manipulate Will into thinking the marriage is in his best interests, and they are soon wed. But when Will uncovers the plot and tries to sabotage the marriage, Sean must face the demons of his past and confront the bullying tyrant.

Winner of 2 Academy Awards and nominated for 5 more, The Quiet Man was a roaring success and is loved by many to this day, but was undoubtedly a massive gamble by Ford. People paid to see John Wayne punch bad guys and get the girl, but this was a film about a man who makes an active decision not to fight and, although he gets the girl early on, he struggles to keep a hold of her. Funnily enough, this is one of Wayne's best performances, a rare opportunity to see his warmer, gentler side, and his interaction with O'Hara, who is also terrific, is one of the movie's main strengths. The slow pace pays off at the end, climaxing with one of the best fist-fights in cinema. It's played mainly for laughs and no one draws blood, but the absurdity and the sheer length of it is a hoot. Perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon.


Directed by: John Ford
Starring: John Wayne, Maureen O'Hara, Barry Fitzgerald, Victor McLaglen, Ward Bond
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #696: 'Ikiru' (1952)

As difficult as some Japanese films can be, Akira Kurosawa was always welcomed by Western audiences due to the director's embracing of the cinematic, as opposed to, say, the static, conversation-heavy work of Yasujiro Ozu. Still known primarily for his samurai action films and his film noir homages, Kurosawa's movies were action-packed and grandiose, shot beautifully through a lens that brings to mind the great American westerns or the shadowy mise-en-scene of Orson Welles, making them almost Western in tone. Ikiru, one of Kurosawa's most spiritual and tonally dark films, took a few years to make it across Pacific Ocean, and it's not hard to see why. Although, in my opinion, this is probably Kurosawa's greatest achievement, the subject matter is sobering, it's satire alarming and it's story-telling techniques unconventional.

The film opens with an X-ray of our protagonist, Watanabe (Takashi Shimura). The narrator tells us he has stomach cancer, but he does not yet know this, and so we join him, reluctantly, as he goes about stamping his papers in his stagnating job as a bureaucrat. Quiet and eternally hunched, Watanabe is an introverted man, spending little of what he earns to the frustration of his selfish son. When he learns that he has only about a year to live, Watanabe goes through the familiar stages of acceptance as he drinks, parties, fails to turn up for work, becomes involved with a much younger woman and angers his family. But he soon turns his attention to building a children's playground, a project he has seen passed around by the many pencil-pushers in the various departments within the council he works for, which has frustrated the residents of the decaying area.

It's with this shift of focus that comes the true masterstroke of Ikiru. Up to this point, we have been with Watanabe every step of the way, but suddenly, as the narrator informs us, he's dead. We no longer get the first-person perspective, but the third-person perspective, as various colleagues and political players gather for Watanabe's funeral. The film becomes less a human drama, and more of a social-political statement, as the other dead-eyed civil servant's in his office slowly come to realise the greatness of the man. The deputy mayor is there, claiming Watanabe's work was within the confines of his job and proving the bureaucratic machine works. This, of course, is simple electioneering, but the others reminisce and the truth begins to slowly reveal itself in the final months of Watanabe's life.

A lot of the film relies on the performance of Shimura, a long-time collaborator with Kurosawa. He is utterly magnetic here, remaining a hushed presence and developing his persona into a weapon to ensure his work gets done before he bites the bullet. In a heart-breaking moment, he croaks a quiet song in a packed bar for it to fall silent. The young hipsters slowly move away, while Watanabe's companion, a booze-addled writer, looks emotional. Kurosawa, only 40 at the time, was also making a comment on the post-war social outcasting of the elderly, embodied in the aforementioned bar scene and in Watanabe's success and money-drive son. Ikiru is many things, but it's the humanity of the story that will linger on in your mind after the credits have rolled, and it ends with one of the finest closing shots in history.


Directed by: Akira Kurosawa
Starring: Takashi Shimura, Shin'ichi Himori, Haruo Tanaka, Minoru Chiaki
Country: Japan

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #547: 'Othello' (1952)

Considering that Orson Welles's debut feature, Citizen Kane (1941), is often cited as the best film of all time in critic lists for the past few decades, his subsequent film career was erratic to say the least. From studio interference and in cases re-editing, to funding problems, his film output was sparse, but his status as a true genius in the medium has never dissipated. Othello (his second Shakespeare adaptation, after 1948's Macbeth), was shot over a three year period largely due to the forthcoming bankruptcy of the films Italian backers, which closed production, but extra funding came from Welles himself, who used money made from acting jobs. But with the capricious production a rich and beautiful film of the Shakespeare tragedy was brought to the screen.

My knowledge and relationship with the work of the Baird is very limited. Outside of the cinema I have read 'Macbeth' and 'King Lear', and I saw a fringe production of Macbeth at the Battersea Arts Centre starring Corin Redgrave. Aside from these very narrow experiences, my other connections with the material is through film (which again mostly centre on Macbeth - Throne of Blood (1957), or Roman Polanski's version, - or Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet (1996)). Therefore my knowledge of the text of Othello was set at absolute zero, resulting in a fresh experience of the intricacies of the plot, and the relationships between the characters.

The story involves four central characters. Welles plays the title character, a Moorish General to the Venetian army, his wife Desdemona (Suzanna Cloutier) whom he secretly married, his lieutenant Cassio (Michael Laurence), and his ensign Iago (Michael MacLiammoir). After displaying his charm to the detractors off Othello and Desdemona's marriage, convincing them that he did not win her love through witchcraft, but through fantastical stories. A web of deceit builds within these characters, as they all tussle for control of both the situation and the affections of Desdemona. As the complexities of all the relationships begin to fuse, and the rage and jealousies of Othello erupt, Desdemona's want for individuality and freedom from male dominance leads to bloody conclusions.

With the erratic production came some incredible choices of production design. Filmed in Morocco, Italy and Venice, Welles made fantastic use of real locations, giving the images some urgency and architectural splendour. Filmed in black and white, the images justify the filmic function as light and shadow, the bright whites contrasting with the strong and powerful shade and silhouette. In the opening scene, the funeral procession moves in stark contrast to the burning sun in the sky. It is beautifully shot, utilising the remnants of building and the weaving canals through the structures of Venice, it is (I assume) a wonderful introduction to this very elaborate and involving narrative. Now I think I need to read some more Shakespeare.


Directed by: Orson Welles
Starring: Orson Welles, Micheál MacLiammóir, Robert Coote, Suzanne Cloutier
Country: USA/Italy/France/Morocco

Rating: ****

Marc Ivamy