London’s Renoir cinema
is about to re-release (December 2003) The Life of Oharu, the 1952
breakthrough film for Western audiences of the Japanese master Kenji Mizoguchi.
This was the first of a string of masterpieces made by Mizoguchi in the
last five years of his life, along with Ugetsu Monogatari, Sansho
Dayu, and Chikamatsu Monogatari (which I have not seen).
The genesis of The
Life of Oharu is fascinating. By 1951 Mizoguchi was drinking
himself to death, but he was so upset by the international acclaim for
Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon that he decided to give up drink, force
himself to live for a few more years, and produce several masterpieces.
For Mizoguchi, Kurosawa was simply a young upstart.
The Life of Oharu
is based on a 17th century comic novel about a woman who, by stages, falls
down the social scale to end up as a prostitute. Mizoguchi turns
it into a serious and passionate attack on both the status of women and
class distinctions in Japanese feudal times, and, by implication, in the
1950s also. The great actress Kinuyo Tanaka gives an intensely moving
performance as the high-born courtesan who, through a combination of male
exploitation and sheer bad luck, ends up as a penniless (or yenless) beggar.
Second billing is given to Rashomon star Toshiro Mifune as the only
fully sympathetic male character. We don’t, however, see much of
him as he is executed 20 minutes into the film.
Mizoguchi’s autocratic
methods are legendary. Filming mostly took place in a bombed-out
park near a railway line, and each take had to be completed within 15 minutes
before the next train passed (dubbing was unthinkable for the director).
An unexpected snowstorm meant that assistants spent several hours sweeping
it all away, until Mizoguchi noticed a snow-capped mountain in the distance
and abandoned the scene completely. A near-replica of a temple garden
was constructed even though the original was available had he wanted it.
Characterised by long
takes, tracking shots, and virtually no close-ups, The Life of Oharu
approaches formal perfection. The viewer, via the camera, is invited to
observe the dramatic events from the middle distance. There are some
striking camera flourishes, such as following Oharu’s despairing flight
through the woods pursued by her mother, and the focussing on the bloody
sword after Mifune’s execution. As in all his great films, Mizoguchi
puts everything into his final shot, here the view of the distant temple
as the wretched woman slowly shuffles offscreen; the temple remains, he
is saying, long after Oharu has gone.
Some of the novel’s comic
elements have been retained, such as the messenger inspecting the local
beauties to see if they measure up to his lord’s requirements for a concubine,
the brothel customer loaded with money which turns out to be forged, and
the woman whose wig is stolen by a cat. The film is episodic, and
is nearly all in flashback after the opening sequence of Oharu as a prostitute
too old to ply her trade.
There is one feature about
the film, however, which genuinely puzzles me; the Toshiro Mifune character.
To be quite frank, it looks nothing like him, except in a very early shot
where his face is superimposed over that of a Buddha. The character
is too tall, he walks and talks quite differently from his roles in Kurosawa’s
great films (Rashomon, Seven Samurai, Throne of Blood),
and his face is different also. I have a theory that he had been
lined up for the role in Oharu but had to be substituted for at the last
moment, and none of the reference books have picked this up. If anyone
can enlighten me, I would be most grateful. Perhaps this will also
be an incentive for others to see, or re-view, this splendid film to see
whether they agree.
Alan
Pavelin