Japanese Reviews Reviews

Film review: Floating Weeds (1959) by Yasujiro Ozu

The now-famous opening sequence of „” begins with four establishing shots containing the lighthouse at their centre. It is set in daylight, whilst the film closes with a night sequence. Furthermore, the film opens with an image of a lighthouse, whose purpose, after all, is to guide the ships into the harbor, whereas the final shot of the film presents the taillights of a train leaving the seaside port. Thus, the director frames his story with a perfectly cyclical image of movement and change, and encapsulates, through abstract symbolism, many of the typical Ozu conflicts.

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The film's narrative focuses on a travelling kabuki troupe visiting a small town located by the sea. In a chaotic exposition, Ozu jumps between various characters and confuses the viewer as to who exactly is the protagonist of the film. The initial fifteen minutes of “Floating Weeds” consist of shifting perspectives and dialogues between the characters that never reappear on screen.

We see how the group of actors serve as engines of chaos entering and turning upside down the local community in a carnivalesque release, which is wittily emphasized in the first theatre sequence. The viewer first sees local women sitting in the audience and watching the actors perform. Then, Ozu cuts to a behind-the-scenes view of the same actors looking at women and assessing their beauty from behind the curtains. Although the Japanese director is being revered as a master of transcendental storytelling, we seem to forget about his more down-to-earth, humorous side.

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Enter Komajuro (Ganjirô Nakamura), a middle-aged actor who happens to have an ex-lover Oyoshi (Haruko Sugimura) and a son Kiyoshi (Hiroshi Kawaguchi) in town. His paternity was kept secret to his son, who refers to him as “Uncle”. The film sees Komajuro, sometimes in funny, but often in cruel ways, dealing with his past. He has to fend off his jealous current partner Sumiko (Machiko Kyō), a femme fatale who concocts a vicarious act of revenge via her colleague.

The film's simplistic plot is developed, in Ozu's hands, into a study of conflicted and complex characters. They are being driven by their passions and resentments all the way to the ambiguously bittersweet final that may promise a new beginning for the characters, as well as more of the same hell they were already going through.

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Ozu made “Floating Weeds” with the legendary cinematographer Atsuta Miyagawa (“Rashomon”) in a collaboration which resulted  in probably the most visually accomplished work of the Japanese director. In “Floating Weeds”, Ozu's command of colour seems to be the most fruitful, whilst the visual style of the director remains equally idiosyncratic as his earlier works.

Considered to be one of the most beautiful films shot in colour, “Floating Weeds” achieves balance between pared down visuals and sweeping storytelling. It's Ozu at his finest, and that obviously says a lot.

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