35 Rhums

(video by Bennie Beretta)

35 Rhums (35 Shots of Rum, created in 2008 by French director Claire Denis) has the subtlety and tenderness of a miniature painting. The charm is hidden in infinitesimal details.

The long opening sequence that watches without haste commuter trains running toward the large city calls in mind Ozu, and, yes, the movie is a tribute to the great Japanese master: a replica to Late Spring, offering at least two surprises.

Firstly, it's Ozu filtered through the lens of Hou Hsiao-Hsien: a replica to Late Spring calling in mind Café Lumière; a French director reenacting a Japanese classic with the sensibility of a modern Taiwanese.

Secondly, while transplanting the Japanese movie from 1949 in today's Paris, 35 Rhums explores other potentialities of the story. Which opens new horizons: after all, the choices made by the heroes in Late Spring raise questions with multiple answers.




Like in Late Spring there is a widowed father with a daughter in her twenties. The father is of African descent, a train engineer at RER (the transit system around Paris). The daughter is studying anthropology. Like in Late Spring, both have a quiet middle-class life in the outskirts of the big city. For the father the same dilemma: realizing that the daughter should leave him and make her own life. Like in Late Spring, there is a prospect groom for the daughter, also a prospect new wife for the father (here is serious, though, while in the Japanese movie the father was faking). The friend who got remarried in Late Spring (a warning against loneliness) became in 35 Rhums a coworker just retired and getting quickly alienated by solitude. Even the father's assistant from Late Spring, briefly viewed as a possible match for the girl, is appearing here in 35 Rhums: a colleague of the daughter, briefly trying to date her.




The two stories keep (loosely) the same line. The quiet and warm everyday between father and daughter is disrupted by a chain of totally unconnected events leading to the same conclusion: the daughter will build her own life, the father will face loneliness (getting space now for the 35 shots of rum). Even the trip made by father and daughter before her marriage can be found in both movies: a trip that offers the chance to talk about the long missing mother. The trip in Late Spring is to the ancient city of Kyoto, while in 35 Rhums it is to mother's birthplace: a German town that kept its medieval allure. But the similarities between the two movies end here.

Unlike the Japanese classic, 35 Rhums is not interested at all in the plot. Without making the connection to Late Spring you wouldn't get it too much. You would realize at some point that both father and daughter speak also German fluently, you should then realize that the mother was (maybe) born in Germany, you wouldn't get it what's with the 35 shots of whatever, and were you to be too stubborn, you wouldn't even get it who's getting eventually married with whom.

And that is because for the French director it is the web of human relationships that counts. Human relations, their warmth, their potentialities, never totally fulfilled, the never told dreams and hopes, the brief looks that speaks tones of volumes where words would say nothing, this is what Claire Denis is looking for in this movie. Discovering the unseen light that comes from within, celebrating it as infinite joy, and infinite ambiguity, of love; celebrating the mundane as scene for this ambiguous, pure, infinite, love. It's Ozu seen through the lens of Hou Hsiao-Hsien, a classic story subtly re-told with contemporary sensibility.

This fluidity of the plot offers room for ambiguity: ambiguity of what's happening, ambiguity of sentiments. Father and daughter have built a universe of their own where they feel perfectly fine, all other relations (the father with the woman who loves him, the daughter with the man whom she eventually will marry) are kept in some sort of a backup, never rejected, never properly treated, just delaying them for later, for that you never know. This while all feel that time never stops, never comes back, never repeats lost occasions.

There is a superb scene that shows all this. Father and daughter, along with their prospects, are going to a concert. The car breaks, it's raining hardly, and they notice a small African restaurant. It's closed, they knock at the door, the owner reopens for them. A drink to get warmed, while the owner prepares some quick dishes, they start to dance, the father with his girlfriend, then with his daughter, the young man with the daughter, the father with the young waitress, each pair is exhaling a sense of intimacy noted with a vague discomfort by the others, while this intimacy is actually filling the whole space, is conquering everybody.

(video by botez)

Well, you would ask me what's about with the 35 shots of rum? C'est une vieille histoire (it's an old story) says the father when asked... but you should see the movie for yourselves to understand.


(Cinéma Français)

Late Spring - The Authority of Nietzsche

Richard Strauss - Also Sprach Zarathustra
(video by schmobot)

When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of his home...

(Friedrich Nietzsche - Thus Spake Zarathustra)

Let's discuss one of the scenes from Ozu's Banshun (Late Spring): the last night in Kyoto. Father (Chishu Ryu) and daughter (Setsuko Hara) are preparing their baggage as the following day they would leave for Tokyo.

They had taken for the trip a lot of books and now they are packaging them. So sometimes they hand books one another, as his books should go into his baggage and her into hers.

And suddenly the daughter said one of the most touching sentences ever, father, even if you get married I'd like to remain with you; I want to be always on your side.

This is too much for him: how could he possibly say no? He is just a father, just a poor being, and he knows very well that he would actually not get re-married, that he would remain alone for the rest of his life.

However he must say no.

It happens that exactly in that moment he has the book of Nietzsche in his hands, Also Sprach Zarathustra. And what follows is like the father takes his forces from that book. He speaks much longer than he did for all the rest of the movie; and he speaks with authority. It is about her duty to build together with her future husband their happiness; it will not be easy, it never was; it will take long, long years, and it will be hard; that is her duty in the world.

How can he speak with such determination?

It is not his will, it is the will of Nietzsche! Unconsciously, he places himself under the moral authority of the great philosopher and he finds there the courage to say what needs to be said.

(video by warong)

(Yasujiro Ozu and Setsuko Hara)

(Nietzsche)

(Richard Strauss)

Micro-stasis in Ozu's Movies

(video by 0wn0red)

I have talked about the transcendental structure of Ozu's movies: banality of everyday, cascading disruptions up tot he point of explosion, stasis. He also uses sometimes transcendental micro-structures, within the global frame, just to balance the cinematic tension.

Here is a fine example: in Banshun (Late Spring), after Noriko was convinced to get married, she and her father make a farewell trip to Kyoto. One of the last evenings starts with a warm discussion between them. Noriko is commenting the events of the day, her father is listening with his usual smile, mix of sophisticated politeness and sincere kindness. From a moment on, her talk is sliding in a direction her father would rather avoid, about her desire to remain unmarried to continue to take care of him, even if he would get re-married. He cannot tell her the truth, that he doesn't think at a new marriage. He cannot insist in lying either: it would be too painful for him, to stand her reproachful eyes. The only outcome for him is to fake falling asleep.

So Noriko hears his quiet snoring and you can read on her face a slight frustration: it is the moment of disruption.

The camera focuses immediately on a superb China vase in the background: the moment of stasis. Her worries would not find a resolve, and daughters leaving fathers to start a new family have been since the beginnings and will be to the end, while that perfect artwork stands there defying time.

---

And here is another example of micro-stasis in the same movie: Noriko's father is talking to his friend and complaining about the fate of fathers - it's pointless to have a daughter, when she grows up someone other will take her as wife, and you remain alone. But we did the same, observes the friend and both of them start smiling. In that moment the camera moves to the yard in front of them: the yard of a temple, with sand and stones. What are worth our sorrows in face of eternity?

(video by warong)

(Yasujiro Ozu and Setsuko Hara)

Ozu: The Transcendental Structure

- Le moment décisif -
(Chishu Ryu in Banshun - Late Spring)

André Bazin studied this movie structure and used the terms of quotidien, moment décisif, and stasis.

The films of Ozu start in the everyday, in the perfect normality, dans le quotidien. Late Spring starts with a ceremony of tea preparation and we learn that the father of one of the young ladies there is teaching at a university and is just preparing a scientific paper. We see then the father working at home on the paper, along with his assistant; the daughter comes from the tea ceremony and asks the two men whether they would like something to drink or eat. Bakushû (Early Summer), starts with a morning scene at home: Noriko is helping her sister-in-law to feed the kids and then is leaving for office. In Tôkyô Monogatari (Tokyo Story) the old parents are preparing for their trip to Tokyo, a neighbor is passing by the window, they tell her that one of their sons will meet them at Osaka.

Ozu takes much care in the rigor this everyday is formalized in his movies: nothing special happens in the starting sequences, nothing is above normality, above banality.

The story then evolves rapidly in disruptions: weird signs suggest that something is not perfect. The son and the daughter are not actually happy with the coming of their parents. Noriko is not married and that's a problem. Or Noriko is a widow and her in-laws exploit her generosity.

These disruptions multiply in cascade and the situation gets more and more off control, up to the point of explosion: the decisive moment, le moment décisif.

In Late Spring the father, now alone, is peeling slowly an apple. It's one of the great cinema scenes of all times! He is silent and serious, at a certain moment we do not see any more his face, his shoulders seem to shiver a bit, then his chin is bowing down and he looses the apple.

In Tokyo Story, Noriko is suddenly bursting into tears.

It is interesting, the disruptions have accumulated up to the point. Some of those disruptions were overwhelmingly dramatic. The decisive moment is coming as the outcome of the whole story: the father will live from now on alone (Late Spring); the widow is realizing the desert of her life (Tokyo Story).

And immediately after the point of explosion, the moment of stasis comes: a frozen image revealing us that anything that happens is not that important in the cosmical order, life goes on no matter what: old folks will remain alone and eventually die, new babies will come to the world, some of us will be lucky, some not, while sea waves will continue their ride over the shore, the clouds will continue to change their shape slowly, there will be sundown and sunset, day after day.

----

And we come again at Late Spring; here is the last scene: the decisive moment followed by the stasis.

(video by wellgard)

(Yasujiro Ozu and Setsuko Hara)

Ozu and Chekhov - Differences

(image from Late Spring)

First of all, Ozu was targeting a very different audience. His system of values was very straight, very traditional; his stories were kind of morality tales: you shouldn't behave badly with your parents; you shouldn't remain unmarried; you shouldn't have affairs; you shouldn't divorce.

Ozu was making popular movies and enjoyed during all his life a huge success of public. The admiration of critics came later, and remained constant, while the public would forget him in the end, as new movies along with TV series were appearing and the memory of the fifties were fading.

Only critics remained constant in their admiration, as they discovered more and more everything that was behind the simple stories.

First of all, there is life, full life in his stories. Yes, the father convinces his daughter to get married and he remains alone (Late Spring); actually he is reluctant to do it, as he fears to remain alone, so the auntie has to push him endlessly; yes, the daughter wants to remain unmarried to take care of his aging father; actually how much is there love and how much the fear of change?

Well, but if we speak about life, with all its complexities, then this is not a difference with the stories of Chekhov :)

The main difference resides in style. I don't mean the simplicity of the stories, targeting a popular audience, I mean the subtlety of the structure on which the story is built. This structure is very different at Ozu. He is the most Japanese of the Japanese film directors.


(Yasujiro Ozu and Setsuko Hara)

(Chekhov)

Late Spring: The Bikes

Two bikes and two traces in the sand. Noriko and Hattori have ridden the bikes and just left them to go further on the shore. And they, the bikes and the traces, know what Noriko and Hattori do not.

Or perhaps Noriko and Hattori know it too, only they lack the courage to acknowledge. It came too late, Hattori is already engaged.

Ozu, the director of Banshun (Late Spring) knew how to make bikes and traces in the sand play in his movies, like humans. Tian Zhuang-Zhuang would have also this huge talent to make active players from objects (Springtime in a Small Town), only Tian had learned it from Ozu.

(video by Cinema Sounds)

I saw this scene long before watching the whole movie. The scene with Setsuko Hara (playing Noriko) and Jun Usami (in Hattori) riding the bicycles, their eyes full of indescribable enthusiasm.

I was watching a movie of Hou Hsiao-Hsien (Hao Nan Hao Nu - Good Men, Good Women): there is a scene taking place in a small modern apartment. A TV monitor, a movie played on TV. Noriko and Hattori riding the bicycles, their eyes full of indescribable enthusiasm.

It was my first encounter with Ozu. I wanted badly to see the whole movie. I did not know the title. I only knew that it was a scene from a movie of Ozu. Hou, the great Taiwanese artist, was bringing a touching tribute to the great master of all times. Later, Hou would make a whole movie dedicated to the style of Ozu: Kôhî jikô (Café Lumière).

One year passed. I watched Late Spring, and the scene was there: Noriko and Hattori riding the bicycles, their eyes full of indescribable enthusiasm.

I watched Late Spring again, a couple of days ago. And I noticed the bikes and the traces in the sand. Telling about love with such restraint! What a great scene!

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Another Japanese movie made in the same year, 1949: Aoi sanmyaku (Green Mountains), by Imai Tadashi. There is a scene with youngsters riding the bikes, Setsuko Hara among them! What a joy!

(video by az8601)

I found the video by pure chance, just browsing the YouTube. The title was with hieroglyphs, it took a bit to find the title on IMDB. I just browsed for movies made in 1949, with Setsuko Hara :)

(Yasujiro Ozu and Setsuko Hara)