The BFI release two newly restored films, presented on
Blu-ray, I Was Born, But… (1932) and a longer, previously unreleased
version of There Was a Father (1942). An Adult's Picture Book View —
I Was Born, But... to give its full title was Ozu’s 25th film and he had 30
more years of filmmaking to go but, already, he was an absolute master of the
form with so much gorgeous technique and a way with actors of all ages that
brought out such warmth and humour.
I Was Born, But… (1932)
This film is a journey of discovery for two young brothers and
yet they teach the adults as much as they learn. Tomio Aoki and Hideo Sugawara
are two fine actors and are clearly well-directed in delivering relaxed and
believable performances with Ozu’s camera and eye pulled down to their level,
we well remember school days like these. Ozu was a master of the family dynamic
and here, as in his later works, you see a fully rounded unit built on love,
disappointment and stretched by social obligations. In some ways, it’s a slight
story but told with almost novelistic attention to detail – it feels so rich.
Sugawara and Aoki play Ryoichi and Keiji (the youngest
although he was actually slightly older), the two sons of a businessman,
Kennosuke Yoshi (Tatsuo Saitō) and his wife, Haha (Mitsuko Yoshikawa) who have
moved to the Tokyo suburbs – an area with improved education and where they
will be closer to his boss Iwasaki (Takeshi Sakamoto); such are the obligations
of working life.
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| Hideo Sugawara and Tomio Aoki |
Almost immediately the boys encounter difficulties with the local children who take against them in the way children do. The biggest boy pushes Keiji down and he runs to get Ryoichi to stand up for him. Sheer weight of numbers plays against them but, as the Yoshi’s escape, the boys promise to get their full revenge in school. One of the smaller members of the gang is played by Masao Hayama who is now 98 and hopefully still up to no good!
The next day their courage fails them as they sight of the
gang at school leads the boys to play truant and forge their schoolwork. The
plan almost works until their teacher tells their father who, on hearing their
reasons for avoiding school tells them to ignore the bullies. But, as every
child knows, this tactic rarely works and so it proves. But the boys are made
of stern stuff and after fighting back and being helped by an older delivery
boy called Kozou (Shoichi Kofujita) the biggest boy is despatched. Kozou won’t
do anything about Taro (Seiichi Kato) the son of their father’s boss and also a
very good customer of Kozou’s company.
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| Lads... |
The playground hierarchies are, as we grow to learn, not
that dissimilar to adult ones and the boys become alarmed to see their father –
seemingly – playing the fool to win favour with his manager, Iwasaki when they
go along with Taro to watch cinefilm at his house.
Disgusted they both confront their father and ask why he
must be subservient – he’s my director and he pays me… says the father and the
boys say he should refuse to accept the pay and pay his director… Not one I’ve
tried I’ll admit but, as the two come to terms with the sacrifices their dad
must make they realise that compromise and ambition aren’t necessarily
incompatible. By the same token Kennosuke accepts he must keep his eye on his
own goals…
Not a lot happens but a lot happens… it’s an Ozu
classic!
There Was a Father (1942)
I told them it was dangerous, but if I’d been sterner and
firmer, I could’ve stopped them…
As Adrian Martin explains in his detailed commentary, this
film existed in two forms until its recent restoration: one made at the height
of the Second World War with references to that conflict and a propagandist
brief and another recut to remove these elements after the American occupation
post-war. The film has now been restored to its original form and we can see
for ourselves how skilfully Ozu dealt with issues of loss and responsibility
even within the constraints of the Imperial regime.
Family being always such a strong concern for the director,
even in these circumstances he was exploring the issue of honour and duty as
well as when and how one should express emotion as Martin says; when you are
able to surrender to sadness and cry. There is also the question of duty and
whatever the circumstances, continuing to work and to continue to contribute to
the state no matter the impacts on personal status and advancement.
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| Chishū Ryū |
The film begins with the death of a student in a boating
accident and the teacher in charge, Shuhei (Chishū Ryū, who famously appeared
in 52 of Ozu’s 54 films) takes responsibility even though no one, not even the
young boy’s parents blame him. He feels that he has no other honourable course
than to resign and to find another way of contributing to society and looking
after his son, Ryohei (Haruhiko Tsuda) making sure he gets the best education.
There are some beautiful settings as you’d expect from Ozu
and none more so than when father and son are fishing, moving their lines in
unison in a wide, low-running river. Shuhei is talking to his son about his
exams and then discussing his move to the middle school where he will have to
board. The realisation makes Ryohei pause and the last cast is made by his
father alone, such a powerful way of showing the first beginnings of the
inevitable separation of the two. “Rhyming between one of them and another…” as
Martin describes it.
Shuhei goes to Tokyo to work in as a clerk in an office,
leaving Ryohei behind to his schooling. The film jumps forward a few years to
his meeting with old friend and former boss at his old headmaster, now retired,
Makoto Hirata (Takeshi Sakamoto). The two socialise at Hirata’s house meeting
his 21-year-old daughter Fumi (Mitsuko Mito) and her bratty younger brother. Ryohei
is now 25 (and played by Shūji Sano), graduated from university and teaching at
a technical school… one cycle is complete.
Father and son live apart and as elsewhere in Ozu, loneliness
and obligation are an eternal tension within families. As in I Was Born But…
trains also play a part, here reminding Ryohei’s students of their potential
journeys home just as in the former film, trains come between characters as
signifiers of a divided future.
Whatever or wherever, treat your job like it’s your
calling… with no complaints. Everyone has a role to fulfil. Abide by it.
Ryohei comes to visit and the two enjoy a spa bath before a
hearty meal, a few too many drinks and a cigarette… relishing each other’s
company. They both want to live closer together but Shuhei says that work is
your duty and must not be sacrificed, his son must not complain and must abide.
Trials and tenacity bring true happiness. The two go fishing again and the same
coordination is seen between the two, their understanding running deep.
The final third of the film concerns a school reunion as
former pupils now based in Tokyo, arrange to meet with Shuhei and Hirata, and
introduced wonderfully by a shot of dozens of hats, all discarded in the
cloakroom for the event. Here will be a chance to look back but also resolve
future directions.
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| Chishū Ryū and Shūji Sano |
The film critic Noel Burch describes Ozu’s downplaying of
melodrama as “de-dramatisation” (in his book To the Distant Observer:
Towards a Theory of Japanese Film (1975)) and also describes There Was a
Father as “a film of excruciating sublimation…” A great deal of what
happens takes place off-screen, the death of the child, Ryohei’s time in
university they are not the centre of the personal drama that must play out at
its own pace.
There is a mournful beauty in Ozu’s method and whilst this
is not at the same level as his finest work it still packs a punch and, along
with the older film, makes this new set essential viewing for admirers of his
work and cinema at its purest!
Special features
- Newly restored and presented in High Definition
- Newly recorded audio commentaries on both films by writer and film critic Adrian Martin
- First pressing only an essential Illustrated booklet with essays by Bryony Dixon and Tony Rayns, and by Ed Hughes who composed a new score for I Was Born, But…, credits
It Was Released, But…
This collection is, of course, a must for any fan of Ozu and
silent film in general and that limited edition booklet provides every
incentive for you to head straight to the BFI shop off* or online and grab your copy as soon as you can right here.
* It’s released on 22nd April 2024.
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