Title: Tokyo Story aka Tokyo Monogatari
Genre: Drama
Director: Ozu Yasujirō
Format: Movie; 136 minutes.
Dates: 3 Nov 1953

Synopsis: The Hirayamas, Shikuchi and Tomi, are an old couple who raised their five children in a small town called Onomichi. Their youngest daughter Kyoko still lives with them, but the other children have moved to Tokyo and Osaka, where Shikuchi and Tomi are preparing to travel to visit them. However, when they arrive, they find that their two oldest children, Koichi, a doctor, and Shige, a beautician, are too busy to show them around town. Instead, that responsibility falls to their daughter-in-law, Noriko.

The Highlights
Directing: Ozu employs an unconventional style that suits the subdued tone perfectly.
Script: Subtle, but extremely deep; existential and pragmatic in philosophy.
Acting: Sublime; all the characters portrayed as genuine and human.

Ozu Yasujirō 1953’s film, Tokyo Story, is almost universally considered a masterpiece, and ranks prominently on many movie critics’ lists of greatest all-time films, and after seeing it for myself, I’m certainly not going to dispute that sentiment. Tokyo Story is a masterpiece, and is easily the greatest Japanese film I’ve seen. A minimalist film at heart, its serene tone and slow pace nurture a story which manages to be both philosophical and heartfelt, with a cast of characters as human and realistic as I’ve ever seen in the medium.

Ozu pioneered a style known as the “tatami-mat” shot where the camera is placed at sitting level and held stagnant for as long as possible. It’s distinctive, and lends itself to the subdued tone of the movie. It’s particularly effective indoors, where the camera is aimed down tight hallways or through opened sliding doors, creating a cramped feeling as the characters walk in and out of view, all while keeping focus on whoever’s sitting down at the time, usually the parents, Shukichi and Tomi, which resonates with the central idea of the movie that their children are too busy to pay them attention.

The acting is simply phenomenal. The amazing thing about the ensemble performance is how believable all the characters are: the family dynamics are all extremely fleshed out down to the point that an individual’s idiosyncrasies or personal tastes are rooted in a past event that we’re told about when the characters reminisce. Two actors in particular stand-out: Ryu Chishu plays the family patriarch, thoughtfully sighing before each statement, while Hara Setsuko (the inspiration for the late Satoshi Kon’s 2001 anime Millennium Actress) is brilliant as Noriko, the kind-hearted war-widow of the family’s deceased son.

Tokyo Story is a thematically rich film which examines family, growing old, and the gap between expectation and reality which diverges with time. It makes statements on all these themes that are surprisingly “matter-of-fact”, but its refusal to be overtly emotional makes it all that more compelling. One can’t help but reflect on their own family… on one’s parents for those who are older than me, and on one’s grandparents for those who are younger. Despite its stances, the movie avoids demonizing any of its characters: when the two eldest children discuss which parent would be most convenient to die first, they do so not out of neglect or a lack of consideration, but out of pragmatism.

While he might not have intended it at the time, in his quiet film about a dispersed family’s oldest living generation, Ozu has managed to capture Japan in time of flux. Now more than fifty years old, Tokyo Story has value as a snapshot of life at the time – shots of billowing silos and Tokyo’s rising skyline are symbols of Japan’s upheaval into an industrial power. A brilliant film from Japan’s Golden Era of Cinema, Tokyo Story is filled with humanity and a mix of thoughtfulness and heart that’s rarely rivaled in any storytelling medium. An impeccable, yet subdued mix of unconventional direction, realistic acting and an inspired, enriched script makes this one of Japan’s greatest cinematic triumphs.

The Rating: 10

Reviewed by: Sorrow-kun