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Yasujiro Ozu’s Good Morning
Yasujiro Ozu is second to none in his uncanny ability to capture life’s little banalities and, by simply committing them to celluloid, make profound observations about the way we live. Some have called his films “too Japanese,” and this might be true—Ozu works within the confines of Japanese society and does not stray from his culture in a way that explains itself to those who don’t live in it. But how different, really, is the human heart, even from culture to culture, and how literate do we have to be to watch the lives of people and not, at least on some level, connect with them? This connection, despite cultural barriers, might be Ozu’s greatest achievement—to a Japanese audience, he is working within their boundaries to establish the simple truths of their lifestyle. To the rest of us, he provides an insightful (and educational) slice of Japanese life and reveals, by simply placing his camera in front of these normal people and recording their interactions, that none of us are really so different. What makes Yasujiro Ozu’s Good Morning (which is a funny little title—does it mean that Good Morning is a film by Ozu, or that in the film, Ozu will be shown having a good morning?) so interesting is that it crosses the barriers between Japanese and American cultures in a way that will be difficult for American audiences to notice, but perhaps obvious to Japanese viewers. The film is set in a very Americanized suburb a la the 1950s in a Japanese countryside in which houses are seemingly separated only by thin sliding doors, and things seem very similar to American life of the same era: The women spend most of their days fretting when their neighbors “gossip too much”—never realizing that they are gossiping themselves, the husbands come home from work and think about their retirement plans, and the children make fart jokes and sneak away from their homework to watch the television. The overall flavor is, of course, decidedly Japanese, but in contrast to other Ozu films (Tokyo Story, Floating Weeds), American culture has clearly leaked in and is leaving an impact, for better or for worse. In many ways, Good Morning is about that impact, compared and contrasted to the Japanese culture that it has infiltrated. The American flavor of Good Morning is particularly fascinating because Ozu seems to see it as a wrench thrown into the clockwork of Japanese society. The central story concerns two brothers who are so obsessed with their neighbor’s television set that they openly rebel against their parents, refusing to bend until the reluctant adults buy them a TV of their own. Their mother doesn’t want to spend the money, and their father insists (perhaps correctly) that the television entering into Japan will “create a million mindless Japanese,” but the children will not be shaken: They will have their sports shows in their own living room, and until they do, they will not eat family meals (though they sneak rice here and there), they will not do their homework, and they will not speak—even at school when they are called upon by their teachers. The parents are baffled at their children’s behavior, and why shouldn’t they be? This sort of manipulation seems common for American children, but it is definitely out of place for the more civil, respectful Japanese families. The film essentially becomes a battle of wits between the parents and the children: Either the parents must break down and buy their children a TV set, or they allow the children’s stubbornness to starve them enough that they give in. And all this trouble over live sumo-wrestling programs on a television! I have often watched the characters in Ozu’s films, so engrained in Japanese culture that emphasizes honor, order, and quiet expressions of emotion, and wondered what would happen if a Western person, so loud, vocal, and crass in comparison, was thrown into the mix. “Fish out of water” films like this have been made before (mainly as shameless comedies like Gung Ho and Mr. Baseball), but at that hands of a master filmmaker like Ozu, a fascinating and perhaps definitive comparison could be made between the cultures, because he would take both cultures seriously without reducing them to stereotypes. Good Morning is as close as Ozu ever got to making such comparisons; there are no Americans here, but there is at least an infiltration of the American mentality. The neighborhoods parents are shocked that the family that owns the television wears their bedclothes all day and take walks around the little neighborhood, singing loudly. Their eccentricity is clearly of Western influence, and it triggers a reaction within the characters of the film that creates significant rifts in the Japanese-family unit. But if we see the television as a sign of impending American culture interjecting itself in Japan, then such interjection is clearly inevitable: The houses and neighborhoods are already Americanized, Ozu shows, and so are the working and living habits of the adults. If the parents are still Japanese in their souls and ethics, their material world has already steered towards Western influences. By simply recording the conversations and the daily interactions of the people in this neighborhood, Ozu reveals the loss of Japanese society. But these ideas are never forced or glaring—in typical Ozu fashion, he only observes these peoples’ lives and lets this slice of their daily lives speak for itself. Good Morning is first and foremost a comedy; Ozu certainly focuses a great deal on the lighthearted antics of the children, and their cute “rebellion” is played for laughs (refusing to eat, but sneaking rice in a park when they are sure that their parents aren’t looking)—particularly when it is contrasted with the parents’ reaction, which consists of so many bemused flusters that we cannot help but crack a smile. As in Tokyo Story, Ozu also reveals the drinking habits of retired Japanese males, albeit with a more comical tone than found in the former film: At one point, a drunken man wanders into the wrong house and looks bewilderedly at a child that is not his. The joke, of course, is not only that he has bumbled deliriously into the wrong house, but also that it is difficult to blame him for doing so: All the houses, after all, look the same—another sly poke at the Americanized suburbia creeping unexpectedly on older Japanese residents. Still, there is an underlining gloominess to the film, mainly out of each character’s impassiveness to life and the embracement of shallow lifestyles instead of deep, meaningful ones. The saying “Good morning” is heard so often that it becomes a catchphrase in the neighborhood, yet no one seems able to register any depth or good wishes behind the statement. It is simply a meaningless phrase that has come to be said out of courtesy rather than sincerity. That the children will take such a righteous stand for a television and not something with more significance also implies an overall shallowness that the characters are unable to see in themselves. The Americanization of the neighborhood ultimately seems like a symptom to this shallowness rather than the cause: Certainly Western Civilization has crept in, and certainly it is making drastic changes, but it seems to have arrived because no one has demonstrated the nerve to stand up and challenge its authority. One of the film’s final sequences, in which a man and a woman who are clearly in love meet at a strain station, is simultaneously cute and heartbreaking: Cute in the way they shyly flirt with simple, shallow words; heartbreaking because we know that this is as deep a conversation as they are ever likely to have. Good
Morning is one of Ozu’s last films, and one of his
few ventures into color. It creates an atmosphere of simplicity
and subtly that we are used to in his works, but it also provides
more lighthearted moments than we usually see in his films, and
perhaps a bit more emphasis on theme over characters. I don’t
think that the film has quite the caliber or the emotional potency
of Tokyo Story, his most celebrated and heart-wrenching
work, but it does continue Ozu’s love for his culture and
the people who inhabit it. It is impossible to watch Ozu’s
films and not feel a strong tug towards the people we are watching,
as they go through their everyday lives and hardly register that
every moment of existence is a magical experience, capable of
being filmed and cherished. As we feast on Ozu’s cinema, we
connect with these people, and we love them: Sometimes we laugh,
sometimes we cry, and sometimes we simply nod, but we are always
reacting. Cast: A film by Shochiku Films Ltd.
Directed by Yasujiro Ozu. Written by Ozu and Kôgo Noda.
No M.P.A.A. rating (contains no inappropriate content). Running
time: 94 minutes. Original Japanese theatrical release date: May
12, 1959. In Japanese, with English subtitles. |
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