Tokyo StoryOne of life's most consistent lessons that is so often repeated is that we never really appreciate what we have until it's gone, and that it is dangerously easy to take our parents for granted. It is natural for children to spread their wings and fly, grow into individuals of their own, and become independent. This is not to say that all children grow callous and indifferent, but that we often do not recognize the needs of those closest to us, until we realize that the opportunity has passed. Tokyo Story is a tale of family and the connections that blur and fade over time, until we are left grasping for them, failing, as if trying to hold onto smoke.
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Tokyo Story begins with Shūkichi (Chishū Ryū) and Tomi Hirayama (Chieko Higashiyama), an elderly Japanese couple planning a trip to Tokyo to visit their eldest children (and late son's widow). While their children are hospitable, it becomes apparent that their presence in the lives of the two eldest is something of an inconvenience. First born son Kōichi (So Yamamura)--a busy doctor--is repeatedly delayed, and his family is ill-prepared to entertain the elderly couple. Daughter and salon manager Shige (Haruko Sugimura) is self-centered and money-obsessed, and passes the responsibility of their care onto Noriko (Setsuko Hara), the widow of their son, Shōji. Noriko is invariably the most devoted of their attendees, and although she has to take time off of work--her living conditions suggest she really cannot afford to do this--she seems to genuinely enjoy their company. Eventually, Shige talks Kōichi into sending them to a hot spring resort--to get them out of the way, which is no mystery to the elderly couple. But the resort is not really their speed--it is a playground for younger people looking to stay up late and gamble--and so they return to Tokyo, only to find themselves without accommodations. The grandparents make do, and eventually return to their home town of Onomichi, stopping off in Kyoto to visit their third son, Keizō (Shirō Ōsaka). But when tragedy strikes, the Tokyo family must journey to their parents in turn, and take stock of their familial obligations.
Tokyo Story may appear jarringly formal on the surface, and there is rarely anything that even resembles a direct conflict or argument, as dramatized in most films. That is not to say that these characters are unfeeling statues, but that their societal norms are reserved and polite...just as ours are in most social gatherings. Even in the company of their family, small talk is the norm for the children, who obviously haven't connected with their parents in a long time. For the children, they are unsure how to entertain their parents; for Noriko--the heart of the movie--she gives selflessly to show her appreciation for Shūkichi and Tomi. Her situation is not great--she has to borrow extra sake cups (and sake) to give them refreshment--but her efforts dwarf those of the elderly couple's own children, and it does not go unnoticed. The elderly couple's relationship with Noriko is full of tenderness and sympathy, although Noriko herself does not consider herself worthy of their affection, a sentiment which is finally expressed at the conclusion of the film during a rare outpouring of emotion between her and Shūkichi. When Noriko even gives spending money to Tomi, she is offering both a metaphorical and literal "widow's mite". And while Noriko's beneficence may seem to be the opposite to Shige's pettiness, Ozu does not simply let us take these characteristics for granted. Shige's attitude toward her parent's visit--especially her father's presence--resembles exasperation and annoyance. However, when a telegram reaches her and Kōichi to come home to Onomichi, she is the most composed and collected of the children, and helps organize the events and prepares for the worst. Over the course of the story, we catch the faintest hints here and there that illuminate the past behind their attitudes, what they hold valuable, and how they choose to honor their parents--by blood or marriage--as well as the past which has influenced the development of Shūkichi and Tomi's children. Although Shōji has been presumed dead for eight years, there are a few moments during conversations with Noriko and the parents which suggest that even though Noriko loved him, he shared his father's love of drink, and this would cause Noriko some distress as it did Tomi, and evidenced later by a drunken return to Shige's salon, for Shige as well. And during Shūkichi's night out with his former drinking buddies moved to Tokyo, he confesses to them that while he wished his son had become a more successful doctor, he is still proud of his children and their accomplishments. Even the composition of shots in Tokyo Story reminds me of postcards from the past, a snapshot of the memories we hold in our hearts of our family; simple moments that leave an indelible impression.
It's not always easy to appreciate those who have built us up in life, those who have contributed to our development--even Tokyo Story, which was made in 1953, did not make its presence felt in America until director Yasujirō Ozu was already dead--but this film fills us with the desire to hold our parents deep in our heart, and reaffirms the importance of family and how ephemeral it can be. Tokyo Story touches a nerve, ironically not by provoking our emotions with manipulative melodrama, but because it is so natural in its portrayal of human emotion and family; you would be hard pressed not to recognize members of your own family via the Hirayamas. The film succeeds in evoking our emotions by honesty and simplicity, by virtue of it's "poetry". One of Ozu's stylistic flourishes is called a "pillow shot", named for a convention of Japanese poetry--an editing technique where the emotion of a scene is given metaphorical resonance by a cutaway to an introspective scene that is relatively still and often devoid of people which bears no direct narrative parallel. The effect is that while emotions may not be directly expressed in most circumstances, the convention grants us as the audience a unique perspective into the interior emotion of the characters by this cinematic language. Tokyo Story is a film which--like its characters--grows wiser with age and deeper, for an audience may interpret the message differently at different times in their lives. I think that the superficial impression of Tokyo Story--and not a wrong one, mind you--is that the grandparents visit their unappreciative, grown up children, who don't reciprocate their affection toward their parents until their mother is on death's door. But another equally important reading is that the children have grown into mature adults as a result of the actions of Shūkichi and Tomi; they are responsible for their respective careers and families, the result of their parents' labors. So Shūkichi and Tomi travel to Tokyo not only to enjoy their time with their children, but also to bear witness to their own accomplishments, and take stock of their achievement as they prepare to close the record.
Recommended for: People looking for some of the earliest roots of Japanese cinema, a touching tale of family and gratitude (or lack thereof at times), and anyone who wants an excuse to go hug their parents after watching this film.
Tokyo Story may appear jarringly formal on the surface, and there is rarely anything that even resembles a direct conflict or argument, as dramatized in most films. That is not to say that these characters are unfeeling statues, but that their societal norms are reserved and polite...just as ours are in most social gatherings. Even in the company of their family, small talk is the norm for the children, who obviously haven't connected with their parents in a long time. For the children, they are unsure how to entertain their parents; for Noriko--the heart of the movie--she gives selflessly to show her appreciation for Shūkichi and Tomi. Her situation is not great--she has to borrow extra sake cups (and sake) to give them refreshment--but her efforts dwarf those of the elderly couple's own children, and it does not go unnoticed. The elderly couple's relationship with Noriko is full of tenderness and sympathy, although Noriko herself does not consider herself worthy of their affection, a sentiment which is finally expressed at the conclusion of the film during a rare outpouring of emotion between her and Shūkichi. When Noriko even gives spending money to Tomi, she is offering both a metaphorical and literal "widow's mite". And while Noriko's beneficence may seem to be the opposite to Shige's pettiness, Ozu does not simply let us take these characteristics for granted. Shige's attitude toward her parent's visit--especially her father's presence--resembles exasperation and annoyance. However, when a telegram reaches her and Kōichi to come home to Onomichi, she is the most composed and collected of the children, and helps organize the events and prepares for the worst. Over the course of the story, we catch the faintest hints here and there that illuminate the past behind their attitudes, what they hold valuable, and how they choose to honor their parents--by blood or marriage--as well as the past which has influenced the development of Shūkichi and Tomi's children. Although Shōji has been presumed dead for eight years, there are a few moments during conversations with Noriko and the parents which suggest that even though Noriko loved him, he shared his father's love of drink, and this would cause Noriko some distress as it did Tomi, and evidenced later by a drunken return to Shige's salon, for Shige as well. And during Shūkichi's night out with his former drinking buddies moved to Tokyo, he confesses to them that while he wished his son had become a more successful doctor, he is still proud of his children and their accomplishments. Even the composition of shots in Tokyo Story reminds me of postcards from the past, a snapshot of the memories we hold in our hearts of our family; simple moments that leave an indelible impression.
It's not always easy to appreciate those who have built us up in life, those who have contributed to our development--even Tokyo Story, which was made in 1953, did not make its presence felt in America until director Yasujirō Ozu was already dead--but this film fills us with the desire to hold our parents deep in our heart, and reaffirms the importance of family and how ephemeral it can be. Tokyo Story touches a nerve, ironically not by provoking our emotions with manipulative melodrama, but because it is so natural in its portrayal of human emotion and family; you would be hard pressed not to recognize members of your own family via the Hirayamas. The film succeeds in evoking our emotions by honesty and simplicity, by virtue of it's "poetry". One of Ozu's stylistic flourishes is called a "pillow shot", named for a convention of Japanese poetry--an editing technique where the emotion of a scene is given metaphorical resonance by a cutaway to an introspective scene that is relatively still and often devoid of people which bears no direct narrative parallel. The effect is that while emotions may not be directly expressed in most circumstances, the convention grants us as the audience a unique perspective into the interior emotion of the characters by this cinematic language. Tokyo Story is a film which--like its characters--grows wiser with age and deeper, for an audience may interpret the message differently at different times in their lives. I think that the superficial impression of Tokyo Story--and not a wrong one, mind you--is that the grandparents visit their unappreciative, grown up children, who don't reciprocate their affection toward their parents until their mother is on death's door. But another equally important reading is that the children have grown into mature adults as a result of the actions of Shūkichi and Tomi; they are responsible for their respective careers and families, the result of their parents' labors. So Shūkichi and Tomi travel to Tokyo not only to enjoy their time with their children, but also to bear witness to their own accomplishments, and take stock of their achievement as they prepare to close the record.
Recommended for: People looking for some of the earliest roots of Japanese cinema, a touching tale of family and gratitude (or lack thereof at times), and anyone who wants an excuse to go hug their parents after watching this film.