Integrity and Impermanence ("The End of Summer")

Yesterday I had a chance to see the film "The End of Summer" by Yasujiro Ozu. It was another meditative and affective investigation of family dynamics in post-war Japan, and carries forth many of the same themes that have recurred throughout his films. His films typically deal with issues of cohesion and integrity, and the pressures that affect these family units are tied to cultural processes that reflect the change of values. This particular work recounts the story of a family patriarch, a widower, who has three grown daughters and who has undergone a transformation towards the end of his days.

As with all the Ozu films I have seen, they seem to suggest a placid surface with deep undercurrents, if I may paraphrase Kurosawa. The characters all seem to lead settled, comfortable middle-class lives, and there is little to suggest the turmoil and the displacement that accompanies modern industrial development. There is a sense of stability and a strong adhesion to cultural rituals that involve not only strongly promoting the formation of new families but also the various displays of bonding that are reflected in, for example, family as well as drinking rituals. We have no overt reference to political or social issues, and yet these come into play in subtle ways in the family relationships. We see this in the growing assertiveness and independence of young people, as well as in the anxieties that are expressed by their elders.

For example, in Tokyo Story we had a film that showed the way in which the generations were becoming increasingly alienated. Their bonds of affection remain powerful, but given the demands of modern industrial society, their grown children seem to behave at times with a touch of distraction if not rudeness when it comes to the interest and needs of their parents. These themes are very much universal, but they are investigated in a telling and poetic way in Ozu's films, and are impact is heightened by the silences as well as the incorporation of still shots that suggest the way in which silence and emptiness lie behind much of the artifice of social relationships that are carefully constructed and maintained throughout a lifetime.

This is not to say that Ozu's films are caustic. Far from it. The films suggest that these bonds remain powerful all the more so because of the vulnerability that they reflect. When conflict makes its presence felt, it does so in subtle ways as times, and the characters frequently find themselves unable to discuss their concerns directly. This may in part reflect the discretness that is imputed to the Japanese, but it also shows a universal tendency among cultures to postpone or in other ways minimize these episodes of conflict, even when they leave a telling emotional impact in the scenes of silent suffering that recur periodically.
In all of Ozu's films I am struck by how often we are presented with characters from both the older as well as younger generations. Both generations are in a period of transition, and they both worry about how their family units will survive and expand in the coming era that somehow threatens their unity. It is almost as if they are anticipating the era of extreme social isolation, where family units will be atomized and the very concept of a family will be subject to desconstruction. There is, furthermore, a hint of anguish over the ways in which Japanese values are changing.

There is very much an focus on values in Ozu's film, something that appears in an understated way but that periodically bursts out into the open in selected scenes. In this particular film, the main protagonist is a man in his late 60s or early seventies who has become more jaunty and energetic of late, something that seems surprising in light of the fact that his company is suffering losses and is in a precarious position. We are greeted with the mistery behind this conduct, while at the same time presented by a situation in which his two unmarried daughters are being courted.

One daughter is married, but the other two are not, and all his daughters seem very protective of their father. These daughters are held back by their own reticence and internal conflicts, and this has much to do with their changing self-image. While traditional values would tend to suggest that the individuals should bury their doubts in favor of recognizing the validity of family wishes, in this case that the women find men to marry, these daughters have evolved a different consciousness that stresses the need to express their own concerns and assert their own individuality. They are both uncomfortable with the candidates who have presented themselves, and are struggling to find ways in which to express their misgivings without contributing to a sense of discord.
It goes without saying that this family is undergoing the begining of a financial crisis. The father owns a small business which is struggling with competition from bigger companies, and it is evident that it may not survive. The jauntiness of the old patriarch hardly seems justified, and his workers seem to be chafing at the lack of leadership. This struggle, perhaps, is paradigmatic of the Japanese situation, as conglomerates are exerting their dominance throughout the economy and putting an end to the era of small business and firms. The managers of the company (family members of the patriarch for the most part) are considering a merger, and are understandably anxious about how this may lead to increased displacement. Can they submerge their own individual focus for the good of the greater social unit? The parallels become painfully obvious because, in a sense, this predicament echos the concerns of the daughters who are being courted.

 

The father, as is revealed at an early moment, is not as alone as we might have thought. He transformation is due to the fact that he has reconnected with an old mistress, one who furthermore has an adult daughter who is said to be his child. The patriarch seems happy, but discovery of this dalliance with an old flame has the family upset, and in particular, it raises the ire of his one married daughter. She will express her frustration in an open way, referring to a history of past crisis that caused considerable suffering in the past. It is alluded that this had much to do with the unhappiness of the mother figure who passes away and whose memory is conserved as a form of vigilant repository of family values.

This discord will lie at the root of the conflict in this film, as the father refuses to renounce his renewed relationship with his old flame and insists on not confirming it openly with his family. He has the priviledge of silence and dislikes being confronted, and would seemingly wish to have this matter effaced from family consideration.  Being a patriarch means that he should have accrued certain priviledges, and perhaps at this point this relationship is precisely what he needs to recover a sense of vitality. He is not ready to become a figurehead, a living repository in contrast to the dead repository represented by his wife. His nostalgia, however, reveals the contrary, an existence that is led outside of time and which is focused on the past. When with his mistress he reminisces about the past, about trips to snow-capped mountains, and about other various experiences from that period. 

The crisis is brought to a head during a trip to visit the shrine to his dead wife. His daughter continues to make pointed comments about his hidden relationship, and this upsets him, provoking as it does a heart attack, one that is not immediately fatal but that foreshadows his impending death. This also provokes grief as well as a moment of clarity for the daughters who are considering their own marriage proposals. How should they face their life-altering decisions?

What I am struck with once again are the cinematic techniques utilized by Ozu. He contrasts his scenes of family interaction with still shots of alleyways, of buildings, of mountainsides and of waterways, and all of these scenes seem to suggest a placid solitude that is peaceful. They suggest a certain eternal quality that is indicative of a grander perspective, one in which family turmoil is only a transitory aspect. A scene of angry discussion, filmed in an understated way, will be succeeded by another one of these still scenes, accompanied by a quiet music that seems almost jaunty as it seems to recall not only the past but also a thread of continuity. It is not a music of abrupt breaks nor of intense moods. It is like the flow of river.

The camera angles seem to be low, and are never from a priviledged vantage point. They don't look down on the characters, they instead seem to convey a form of intimacy, as was noted by one of the critics in one of the first Ozu films that I saw. The colors as well seem muted, and the household decoration, as would probably accord with Japanese households, is spartan and distinctly non-Western. It is indeed logical that in these interior domains, no stranger is allowed to enter. This is the case with the two blond Westerners who are dating the daughter of the mistress. They stand in the foyer of the house, and never intrude. Their presence is jarring enough.

The words of the patriarch, as conveyed by his mistress, seem extraordinarily plaintive. "Is this it? Is this all there is?", if I may paraphrase. They seem haunting, and they reveal in the end an inability not just of this character but of all humans to come to terms with time. The daughters make their own decision, and both of them will decline their marriage proposals. One of the daughters is in love with a business executive who has been transferred to Sapporu, and she will move there in the hope of furthering that relationship. The other, older daughter will decline marriage to the steel executive, and will opt instead to remain single. It is she who had earlier expressed her own view of values, asserting that all that matters in character. "Bad behavior can be changed, but character is permanent."

In the end, the question of values is as ever at play in the films of Ozu, and they are framed precisely as timeless moments that, like the highlights in a stream, momentarily catching the sparkle of the sun.