Steady As She Goes

Yasujiro Ozu’s Japanese classic Tokyo Story (1953) presents us with a contrasting change of pace compared to some of the other modern films we have studied throughout the semester. Indeed, known for his ability to craft calm, beautiful and artistic works, Ozu does exactly that in this film. It is the pace (or lack there of) in Tokyo Story that I am intrigued by. Despite being an extremely emotional tale, the film is characterized by a strong sense of serenity. So I started thinking, how does Ozu achieve this?

The opening sequence of Tokyo Story provides us with an early indication of what to expect from the rest of the film in terms of its gentle pace. The credits, for instance, are literally displayed on the screen with no movement or other ‘exciting’ features usually found in modernist films of the fifties. Furthermore, in the first few shots we see a motor boat puttering slowly across the river, children walking peacefully to school and a high-angled shot of a train making its way through the town. Here, it lacks the imposing nature of other trains we have seen such as Rutmann’s depiction of a powerful machine in Berlin. Due to the fact that we are looking down upon the train in Tokyo Story, it merely blends into its surroundings rather than dominating the screen.

Throughout the film the camera takes on a fairly submissive role, acting as an ‘observer’ of the story. What I mean by this is that it is rarely used elaborately by Ozu. His pans are slow and there are very few quick cuts from one character to another. Along with this, the characters are fixated on each other. They never have eyes for the camera and are often looking away from it when they are talking. Because of this almost ‘documentary’ style of shooting, the film’s leisurely pace becomes magnified.

Sticking with Japanese culture, when in their home, Shukichi and Tomi are often seen sitting on the floor. Ozu emphasizes this with his use of ground-level shots, giving the audience the same viewpoint as his characters. Such shots give the film a sense of richness and tradition.

Finally, Ozu often uses an ellipsis to tell Tokyo Story. This is a technique in which important events are not shown on screen and are usually revealed later through dialogue. For example, Tomi’s death is left out by Ozu. In more traditional cinema, such events which are left out by Ozu would usually be the focus of the film. Nevertheless, having to hear what happened via the characters’ speech is yet another way in which Tokyo Story continues at a comforting pace.

I viewed Tokyo Story as a welcomed change from the many highly-charged and quick-paced films I have seen recently. It contrasts the energetic nature of consumer culture and bustling cities often associated with the fifties and leaves you reflecting on an emotional, beautiful piece of cinematography. This is a credit to Ozu’s abilities as a film maker.

Thanks for reading.

Buy Me

Cinematic modernism truly is a flexible, multi-pronged phenomenon. For instance, through Charles and Ray Eames’ series of short films, we have shifted our focus from the grand landscapes of urban cities and exotic pre-historic jungles to the more everyday domestic sphere. This is evident in the Eames works we have looked at such as House: after Five Years of Living (1955), Lounge Chair (1956) and Kaleidoscope Jazz Chair (1960). Such domestication fosters the idea of consumerism; the topic for this blog.

House: after Five Years of Living was constructed using a series of back to back still shots. These shots depict the house’s picturesque Californian surroundings and unique interior. Throughout the film, objects of possession and individual worth are captured on screen. For example, we see a mid-range and a close-up shot of some kachina dolls. Drawing on my resounding knowledge for kachina dolls I can tell you that they are stylized, religious Native American icons, traditionally used to teach children about their religion. Today, however, they are more often used as decorative figures in one’s home. They are a commodity in which their prime function is to be displayed. So, the kachina doll is perfect symbol for the modern consumer culture. While this may be so, the kachina dolls are certainly portrayed on a miniature scale compared to the grandness of the house itself.

The next Eames film I want to look at is Lounge Chair, a quirky, short film which entails the construction and deconstruction of a classic Eames chair. Again, we find ourselves as viewers of a domestic scene and, in this case, the film acts as a clear advertisement for the Eames product. For instance, the task of putting the chair together is made to seem extremely simple through the sped up speed of the film along with its light, up-beat musical accompaniment. Furthermore, the chair is shown to have numerous functions. Relax in the chair. Relax in the chair with your feet on the chair’s footrest. Read the paper in the chair. Read the paper in the chair while your wife sits on the chair’s footrest. The possibilities seem endless. Finally, packing the chair away into its box seems just as simple as its assemblage. After seeing this, who wouldn’t want to buy the chair?

Kaleidoscope Jazz Chair follows in a similar manner to Lounge Chair as it too, is promoting an Eames commodity. On this occasion it is the Eames stacking chair. The film opens with a series of kaleidoscopic images which saturate the screen, ever-changing. The music which plays is a form of jazz, picked very intelligently by Eames. Together, the visual shots and audio sounds combine to reflect change and different ways of seeing and hearing to those of the past. Automatically, these ideas are linked to the Eames stacking chair when it makes its way onto the screen via a stop-motion effect. It is a product of ‘The Now’. A product of change. The chairs embody a sense of wonder as they transform into different colors and dance around the room.

The stop-motion effect works perfectly in this film and is still a popular technique used today. Once again showing off my love for music and film clips, for a more contemporary stop-motion clip, search Youtube for ‘You’ve Got A Lot of Nerve’ by the Red Riders. Despite being separated by almost fifty years you’ll see that there is virtually no difference between this and Kaleidoscope Jazz Chair in terms of technique.

Overall, these three Eames films explore the domestic sphere. Whether it’s through a depiction of the home, or objects within the home, they each convey a certain consumer culture which was prevalent at the time and which I believe still categorizes our society today.

The Lure of the Scullery

Dupont’s silent film entitled Piccadilly (1929) is a highly intriguing work of eye-catching visual shots and expressionistic acting. It is certainly a seductive film with the act of ‘witnessing’ enhancing this feel. This is no more evident than the scene in which Victor (Cyril Ritchard) walks in on Shosho (Anna May Wong) in the middle of a tantalizingly graceful dance. It seems as though she has a special aura right throughout the film. And, when compared to her competition, Maybel (Gilda Grey), she literally steals the show.

As an audience, we share with Victor’s amazement as we spy upon Shosho’s stunning dance in the scullery. It is not only Victor who is taken back by her performance as her work colleagues put Shosho’s dance ahead of their chores, staring with eyes wide and mouths a gasp. Shosho is at the centre of everyone’s minds. Her movements culminate into a form of slow-motioned sensuality. With rolling hips and an inviting smile, she represents the exact dancer Victor has been looking for. One in which the audience cannot take their eyes off. The setting of the scullery helps to further Shosho’s effect on screen. It is dirty. It is hot. It is underground. For elites such as Victor, it feels like a forbidden place. Hence, Shosho becomes highly eroticized. The rips in her stockings, for instance, provide the onlookers access to her body. Furthermore, her long, ‘Nosferatu-like’ hands give her a dangerous ‘other’ feel. Victor is therefore intrigued and rightfully so. Shosho represents everything that Mabel is not.

Indeed, in a contrasting manner, Maybel’s dance which precedes Shosho’s in the scullery is neither exciting nor graceful. She moves almost clumsily around the dance floor with fairly banal music as an accompaniment. Her attire is lavish and overdone, as it seems as though this is her feeble attempt to garner attention. Her dancing certainly does not warrant any. This is represented by the ‘fat man’s’ concern with a tiny stain on his dinner plate. Eventually, the whole scene revolves around him rather than Mabel. It is he who attracts the attention of the hundreds of audience members eating in Victor’s restaurant. Mabel’s demise appears evident from this moment onwards as the dirty plate acts as a catalyst for the rest of the film. That is, Victor eventually finds himself in the scullery because of the plate, where he is infatuated by Shosho. Finally, the portrayal of the restaurant area itself is far less exciting than the scullery. For instance, it is shot on many occasions from the second floor, giving it a rigid, two dimensional feel. The scullery, on the other hand, is far more personal. Shosho’s dance is captured from below, using a low-angled shot, giving her a sense of dominance and character.

As Maybel becomes less desired in the club, she becomes more and more like a screen for other things. Shadows and clothing constantly cover her face projecting different shapes and images. She is an attraction no more.

As the film wears on, it is apparent that Shosho is in fact a brilliant and charismatic dancer. It was the scullery’s lure and sheer sensuality, however, which helped her promote her talent.

All Aboard!

Walter Ruttman’s silent film Berlin, Symphony of a Great City (1927), opens with an extremely effective sequence of a 1920s modern day train making its way from the suburban outskirts of Berlin into the confines of the city. As Billy Stevenson commented in our most recent seminar, depictions of such modern machinery allowed the audience to experience the “thrills of urban life at a safe distance”. Indeed, Ruttman’s portrayal of the railway is a perfect example of this. It is these ideas of ‘experience’ and ‘escape’ that I intend to explore.

Ruttman uses a number of techniques to illustrate the power and speed of Berlin’s modern railway machinery. For example, his use of numerous low camera angles gives the train an imposing presence while the quick camera cuts are used to represent the impressive pace at which it is moving. As trees and telephone lines flash by, one can’t help but gain a slight increase in adrenalin. Here, it seems as though we actually are riding on the train. We are transported from our living room seats into the black and white world of 1927 Germany. Imagine how viewers at the time felt whilst watching these images. They would have been buzzing with excitement at the chance to experience such a muscular machine within the safe confines of their local cinema. To capture such shots, it seems as though Ruttman has attached a camera to the outside of the train, a very effective technique which was just gaining popularity throughout the 1910s and 1920s.

Much like the film’s later scenes involving modern day machinery, the train seems to actually come to life through Ruttman’s extensive use of close ups. Wheels churn, steam rises, and engine parts work rapidly as the rails flash by beneath the train. Gradually the editing becomes slower and we’re able to gain an insight to the surroundings of Berlin’s suburbs as the train propels itself closer to the city. We see industrial-minded suburbs, apartment buildings and even oncoming trains, giving the impression that such fine machinery was in abundance in Berlin at the time. Every shot here is a true reflection of Berlin’s 1927 “rural urban fringe” (Stevenson). The train slows on its approach to the platform and the screen is saturated in darkness with a lone sign reading: ‘Berlin’. We have reached our destination. Time to get off and explore the city.

What follows is a beautifully filmed portrayal of the city of Berlin and its inhabitants (both man and machinery alike). Ruttman captures the city with an extremely artistic style. Berlin slowly awakens and greets the working day. Berlin, Symphony of a Great City is a true homage to Germany’s capital. Being a city boy myself, I thoroughly enjoyed this urban, semi-documentary tale. I hope my next train trip along the north shore line into uni is just as exciting as the one I’ve just discussed.

For another brilliant depiction of a train ride, check out the genius video clip for ‘Star Guitar’ by the Chemical Brothers. Thanks for reading.

Introduction

Hey everyone,

My first ever blog.

Seeing as though this is a course devoted entirely to film, I just thought I'd let everyone know a bit about my fine taste when it comes to the world of cinema.

I've been noting everyone's favourite movies and I can't help but notice a severe lack of Ben Stiller's presence.

Here's my list of Ben Stiller's top 5 films (It's tough to narrow it down from the 33,856 he's made in the last 5 years):

1) There's Something About Mary
2) Starsky and Hutch
3) Zoolander
4) Meet the Parents
5) Tropic Thunder

Seriously though, I do love a good film and here are some of my favourites (in no particular order):

- Raiders of the Lost Ark (Indiana Jones), 1981
- Fight Club, 1999
- Trainspotting, 1996
- Apocalypse Now, 1979
- Garden State, 2004
- Romeo and Juliet, 1996

Thanks for reading and I'll see you next time,

Cam