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| Ken the Knife gets tough in Walk Cheerfully |
SILENT OZU: THREE CRIME DRAMAS (Ozu x3, 1930 and 1933)
Eclipse Series, DVD, Release Date April 21, 2015
Review by Christopher S. Long
For reasons I don't quite grasp, the
gangsters in Yasujiro Ozu's “Walk Cheerfully” (1930) like to
perform choreographed dance moves, a group twirl finished with a
jaunty “Oh snap, how do you like that?” gesture. They don't care
that they're in a silent film; they're going to perform a nifty
number for everyone to enjoy. It's a hint that even though our main
character is an imposing thug nicknamed Ken the Knife (Minoru Takada)
this isn't going to be the most hard-boiled of crime flicks.
That's because Kenji (the Knife) barely
qualifies as soft-boiled. He pulls off penny-ante thefts with his
faithful henchman Senko (Hisao Yoshitani) but doesn't put up much of
a fight when the new woman (Hiroko Kawasaki) he falls for demands
that he go straight or else forget all about her.
If you are one of the many viewers
familiar exclusively with Ozu's sound films, it is obligatory to warn
you that you are about to be shocked, shocked I tell you, at what you
will find in this new three film set from Criterion's Eclipse series:
elaborate camera movements, shots from high angles and medium angles,
and even chase scenes. “Walk Cheerfully” begins with a hectic
example of the latter though it ends peacefully enough with Senko and
Kenji walking away from an accusing crowd feeling triumphant and
relaxed.
Ozu will dial up the tension, though,
as the happy hoodlums are forced to question their complacent ways by
the arrival of Kenji's new love, who is as much a problem for doting
Senko as for Kenji's jealous moll Chieko (Satoko Date), coiffed in
vintage Louise Brooks bob. Like all of the films in this set, “Walk
Cheerfully” reflects Ozu's love of American cinema; American movie
posters adorn the walls, English words feature prominently in the
background design and everyone is dressed in stylish Chicago mobster
suits and fedoras. Genre cinephilia was not an invention of the
Nouvelle Vague.
The real strength of “Walk
Cheerfully” is in the characterizations that prove to be more
layered than is typical of a gangster film of this (or any) era with
sidekick Senko being particular memorable in his eagerness to adapt
to whatever lifestyle choices his boss makes. The story, however,
proves to be a pretty formulaic redemption tale (with enough
intertitles to make this silent seem a bit too talky) which made the
film a mildly disappointing way (compared to my sky-high expectations
for any Ozu) to kick off the set.
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| That Night's Wife |
That changes with the second film, the
efficient, moody and all around spectacular “That Night's Wife”
(1930). The film kicks off in the blackness of a city night with
police shooing away the homeless; they will burst into more frantic
action when they catch report of a brazen robbery that leads to a
manhunt that dominates the first half of this short 65-minute film.
The target is Shuji (Tokihiko Okada) who, after fleeing his crime
scene (punctuated by a dolly in to a bloody handprint on the door!),
clings desperately to the shadows, but comes fully into relief in a
spectacular scene staged in a phonebooth (oh, cinema has lost so much
with the shift to mobile).
His face drenched in sweat, Shuji
cowers in the booth while we see the feet of the officers shuffling
through the streets a short way away; these close-ups function almost
like sound-effects on the comic book page, adding sensory depth to
the silent proceedings. He is calling to check on the health of his
critically-ill baby girl who is being tended to by his faithful wife
Mayumi (Emiko Yagumo). A doctor establishes a classic deadline for
him: “You must return home tonight!” Shuji can practically hear
his bed-ridden daughter crying for daddy (we get to see it in
heartbreaking fashion) and heads home though he knows it will lead to
his doom.
The first half of the film is dictated
by the rhythms of the chase; the second half is all stasis, and
manages to be even tenser. A detective ( Togo Yamamoto) shows up at
the family apartment to take Shuji into custody, but the protective
mama bear winds up holding two guns on the copper while insisting
that her husband be allowed to stay with his sick child through the
night. In typical Ozu fashion we soon learn that the detective is a
man of great compassion rather than a cardboard cutout. The camera
explores every nook of this tiny apartment; one series of shots pans
right to left over several still-life compositions of bric-a-brac,
then reverses direction to show both the passage of time and a
surprising shift in power that has occurred in the interim. This
entire film is so very much alive and so very real (I think Ozu and
Satyajit Ray created the most authentic characters of all-time) and
the ending surely qualifies as “transcendental” by Paul
Schrader's definition.
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| Dragnet Girl |
If Ozu doesn't top himself in the next
film in this set, he at least comes close. “Dragnet Girl” (1933)
is expansive where “That Night's Wife” was more carefully
circumscribed. A few years (and many films) later, Ozu's camera work
and editing are quite advanced, but the credit for this film's
success belongs in no small part to a finely-nuanced script by Tadao
Ikeda (from a story by James Maki). Though she is the title character
and the first important character we see, young Tokiko (Kinuyo
Tanaka) quickly recedes into the background as yet another jealous,
small-minded gangster's moll. She's destined to be cut out of the
picture when her tough-guy boyfriend Joji (Joji Oka), an ex-boxer
turned career crook, falls for the sweet, innocent sister of a new
young hoodlum in his gang.
But it's all a clever trick. This will
indeed be another story of redemption, but it will play out in a
wildly divergent fashion from “Walk Cheerfully.” Tokiko initially
seems content to be a stereotype as she confronts the new girl at
gunpoint, but an abrupt transformation occurs. Tokiko will be the one
to change and she, not little Miss Trueheart, will be the primary
agent of Joji's presumptive rehabilitation. In a sincere and deeply
moving scene, Tokiko makes herself completely vulnerable to Joji:
“Love me more!” It's pitiful in the literal sense of the term and
Joji both takes pity on her and on himself. What an amazing way of
shifting both the emphasis and the sympathy in the story; this needs
to be in a screenwriting textbook somewhere. Admittedly, you might
groan when the hackneyed line “We'll do one last job” casts its
doomed shadow over the proceedings, but darned if, after a brief
period of delusion, the couple doesn't realize just what a rotten
idea they've come up with. I guess they had seen as many movies as
Ozu.
Auteurists can't help but study these
films for the signs of the Ozu that was to come, but perhaps it's
better to focus on the Ozu who was, not yet 30 and intoxicated with
both American films and the craft of filmmaking. He was certainly
refining the techniques that would make him one of cinema's greatest
masters, but he was clearly also just having himself one hell of a
good time. And just a few years into his career, he wasn't a half-bad
little director either.
Video:
All three films are presented in a
1.33:1 aspect ratio. Eclipse is Criterion's no-frills sub-label so
these SD transfers have had little, if any, restoration. “Walk
Cheerfully” shows considerable deterioration in many scenes, with
staining and other debris visible throughout. “That Night's Wife”
is slightly-less damaged but still shows advanced degrading in image
quality which is most problematic in night-time scenes that look even
darker than they were meant to; surely we were meant to see more in
scenes where we can just barely pick out the shadow of a tree. Still,
the images are intact and show enough detail to provide some striking
close-ups and to make out the sometimes elaborate background décor.
“Dragnet Girl” is by far the best of the lot. It has its share of
dirt and debris but little of the overall deterioration of the other
two transfers. In general, these films look their age but they're
strong enough to be fully appreciated.
Audio:
These three silent films are all
accompanied by new piano scores by Neil Brand which sound quite
robust and clean. I'm no music expert, but I enjoyed all three scores
quite a bit.
Extras:
Eclipse rarely includes extras but we
do get the usual (and always excellent) one-page liner notes by
Michael Koresky who has been a marvelous guide through these Eclipse
releases for some time now, so three cheers to you, sir!
Each disc is stored in its own slim
keepcase with all three cases fitting into the cardboard sleeve with
graphics for the Eclipse Series.
Set Value:
Next time your movie-loving friend
tells you Ozu always filmed at “tatami level” and hardly ever
moved the camera, you can just say “Oh, really?” and point him or
her to these three films (or, really, most other Ozu silent films).
“Walk Cheerfully” is good but not Ozu at his finest while “That
Night's Wife” and “Dragnet Girl” are pretty marvelous. Just sit
there and smile while thinking about a young, eager Ozu digging and
living out the dream as an up-and-coming talent in an industry he
would soon come to define. And a young pre-stardom Chishu Ryu appears
as an extra “Policeman” in the last two films, though this
partially face-blind reviewer must admit he didn't quite catch him
the first time through.
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