Review of Late Spring

I had never seen an Ozu film before.  Short clips in film classes, yes, but never an entire movie.  As it were, Ozu was known to me primarily as the Japanese director who a) almost never moved the camera, and b) shot mainly from a height of two to three feet off the ground, or the same height as the eyeline of someone seated on a tatami mat.  I was interested, then, when I saw that his film Late Spring was available on Netflix's Play It Now.

The first thing I noticed about Late Spring was the composition of the opening shots, and indeed, the rest of the movie.  It's very elegantly framed and gently evocative.  It's obvious that Ozu and his cinematographer took a lot of care to present the elements of the image in a very precise way.  Often, there are many lines in the sets creating frames within the frame.  I was immediately taken with his style.  At the same time, I was also very conscious of it.  Because I knew that he seldom moves the camera, I kept wishing that the camera would move.  But Ozu never uses it to actively direct your attention.  I admire the discipline and simplicity of this style and eventually gave in to it.

Not only is the film visually subdued, but so is the drama.  The story is low-key and largely internal.  The main character Noriko smiles almost all the time, even when she's not happy.  There is no melodramatic action or sentimentality.  Scenes are quiet and understated.  Most of the time, you interpret the two main characters' feelings more through their eyes than what they're saying.

Watching the story unfold, I found myself unable to decide how to feel about Noriko's situation.  Almost everyone in her life is telling her she needs to marry, but she's reluctant to leave home and her father.  He's uneager to see her go, but joins the others in encouraging her to find a husband.  On the one hand, I can understand why everyone feels she should start her own life.  It seems only natural.  But on the other hand, she's happy to be at home caring for her father.  She might find happiness away from home, but she knows herself well enough to believe otherwise.  The other characters push a strong assumption that marriage is THE ultimate key to happiness, but obviously that's not true for everyone.  What I pulled most from the story was the conflict between change and the familiar.  Which is right?  For Noriko, Ozu suggests through imagery that staying with her father would be best, but we never see any part of her marriage.  Would more time spent with her after the film's end bring new feelings to light?

I really enjoyed Late Spring.  It's not the type of film I find myself watching often, but it struck me how efficiently it's presented.  I'd recommend it for any fan of cinema.  4 stars.

Number rating: 96