Dissolving the Importance of Feudalism

In 1932, director Yasujiro Ozu released his film “I Was Born, But…” to Japanese audiences. Within its context one can explore ideas of feudalism, class conflict and the basic struggles of adolescence. These are minutely detailed and elaborate films, one’s whose depth and internal meaning could be scrutinized all on their own. What is so shocking however is a collective meaning I was able to achieve across three of the films we’ve watched. There is an amazing expansion of awareness in the minds of Japanese society as documented by Ozu’s work as well as Kurosawa and Ichikawa’s filmic expressions. While first beginning in the dilemmas of being a child, films like “The Burmese Harp” concentrate on complex moral difficulties of being a human being. This movement of thought development is indicative of not just the structure of society during the golden age of Japanese film, but the structure of the people’s very minds.

A wheel spins desperately in the muddy ditch as an engine fights to work its way unstuck. Two young boys, Keiji and Ryoichi help their father push the truck free. This is the opening scene of “I Was Born, But…” Interesting how we are exposed to Ozu’s core concepts in the first five minutes of the film: a cyclical struggle. The suburbs of Tokyo are decidedly inglorious with barren landscapes greeted with abandoned skeletons of trains and industrial buildings. Mr. Yoshii, the boy’s father has the first impression of flawed professionalism. Although his suit suggests that he is higher up on the chain of social Darwinism, a careful audience will note his stained attire and generally sloppy presentation. The boys slowly become aware of their father’s undesirable status and begin to question him. In stark contrast of the Yoshii household (which lacks spaciousness and finesse) the two boys and Mr. Yoshii go to his bosses’ house. Mr. Iwasaki not only has a projection screen but delicate Victorian style interiors with luscious color. Ozu does a lot with cinematography and color in order to convey his messages. Tokyo’s outskirts are barren and visually bland while the Iwasaki’s estate is luscious and full of color. A Marxist would really tear into this kind of thing – it is clear what, by conventionalities, is considered a valuable lifestyle. The juxtaposition between the comfort of “stuff” and the comfort of family is done well here. While Iwasaki might lack any sign of stains on his suit, his life seems to be for focused around material goods. While having the Yoshii families over they are seen crowding round a screen, rarely interacting with each other. When we are given glimpses of the small household Mrs. Yoshii is quiet, obedient and productive. The boys play with one another. They live their lives. And life is the key word here – Ozu shows both the struggle and beauty of lower class living. Conflict can be both devastating and unifying all at once – a concept explored not just by Ozu.

Unification through conflict has yet to be better explored then in Kurosawa’s film “The Seven Samurai.” The film begins with a small farming village lamenting over the attrition attacks by surrounding bandits. What seems like the whole town has congregated to pine their challenging and fatal circumstances. One striking shot is of a crying woman bending down to her knees before her neighbors. The camera, however, is located directly behind her; the audience doesn’t see her lips moving. By not giving the woman a face to look at we’re able to achieve a general consensus from the group. Alternatively it acts as another way for Kurosawa to represent how tight the community is and how everyone is worried about the same things. Even the village is placed low geographically with the heart placed right at the foot of a grand mountain. We’re given a very literal representation of the feudal clash as the bandits roll over the hill.

The introduction of the samurai was not exactly the way I expected it. The archetypal picture of a samurai is of nobility and highest wisdom – but the group doesn’t come off that way. Many of the samurai have been dressed with their own colorful personalities (most notable is Heiachi, a wild hothead that lacks conventional battle strategies). With Ozu’s film we see happiness succeeding beyond the class structure. Here we see something similar with the revelation of a new idea: even the upper class is dotted with their own conflicts. Basically, being someone of higher status does not guarantee one happiness (as previously explored by Ozu’s Iwasaki scene). The audience’s impression of the samurai is to be amazed and dazzled, but that is because they stand in contrast to the meek farmers we’re familiar with. In truth, even the samurai must respond to the daimyo – no one is really on top here.

These concepts help dissolve the ideas that there is one class that is “better” than another. Some classes are restricted by their abilities, but all people, upper or lower class, are subject to a higher power. A scene with a distressed samurai displays this. Kneeling in the water before a burning barn we hear him recall his own tragic past and loss of innocence. A sub-plot that explores a rejected affection between a simple farmer girl and the (assumed) prestigious samurai helps reinforce the abstraction that people are all at the mercy of emotions. After shoving out the bandit threat, the two remaining samurai stand looking over the farmer’s newly achieved freedom. This ending is passionate and undoubtedly muti-faceted. The samurai seem unshaken from their victory and lack any kind of pride. Instead, the camera crawls to the burial of the fallen warriors on the hill and the audience is given a moment to reflect. Perhaps the samurai’s heightened awareness about the world’s function that they do not revel in victory. Buddhist philosophy tells us that “life is suffering,” it is all a part of existing on planet earth. The Samurai know this and do not let joy sweep them away. He says that the true victory is in the hands of the farmers – but of course it is. They are less in tune with this concept that life is a struggle.

There is an interesting ladder of awareness across our director’s focus at this point: Ozu staples down the base struggles of class and status. Kurosawa expands on this postipulation by expanding of the core scope. Instead of people being at the mercy of other people, we have people at the mercy of their own emotion. Emotion is a broad stroke, though, and I would care not to leave it at that. In 1956 Ichikawa released “The Burmese Harp,” a beautiful film that shows a soldier’s awareness of the violence in Burma expand to a crucial life decision. The man’s name is Mizushima, a skilled harpist and scout. Reconnecting the idea of emotional power gaining ascendency over class structure is important here. Mizushima uses the universally communicable power of music to unite the British and the Japanese (speaking only though emotion, no doubt). Throughout the film we see his character blossom from a respected footman to a wise monk. Upon witnessing desecration of the conflict he begins adapting Buddhist philosophies quite rapidly. This philosophy tells us to live with less in order to live with more. Quite literally Mizushima’s wardrobe decreases down to nothing more then a light sash and the harp around his shoulder. In the end he decides to live even without his family and to dedicate his life to healing the land and natives. Mizushima draws the conclusion to live through action and not through possession, actions are indicative of who we are, class is not (especially when considering the achieving of high status through lineage).

I like to believe that there is an overall message to be extracted when looking at these three films collectively. Mr. Yoshii may not have been a rich, successful businessman, sure. But he was a confident father and patient husband. Kurosawa gages this idea a little more with the conceptual notion that emotion is a power that rides above any feudalistic structure. And finally Ichikawa ties everything together: if emotion is really in the driver’s seat of us all then one should make it a top priority to generate as much positive emotion as possible. There is some really amazing instruction from these three films together. Be not concerned with spot on your suit. Instead, be concerned with your ability to act selflessly. Selflessness and the promotion of good sentiment is something that any upper class citizen could attest to, after all, we aren’t here to consume we are here to provide.