Ozu Yasujirō’s masterpiece Late Spring (1949) begins with a tea ceremony; this will be one of many instances where practice and ritual are expressed throughout the film. Somiya Noriko (Hara Setsuko) speaks with her aunt, Taguchi Masa (Sugimara Haruko), and the conversation revolves around a pair of moth-eaten pants formerly belonging to Noriko’s father, Somiya Shūkichi (Ryū Chisū). Masa and Noriko discuss how the pants will be mended, by Noriko, and fashioned into a pair more suitable for Masa’s young son, a boy affectionately called Bu-chan. This small instance of showing that an item will be passed from adult to child gestures towards how practices and rituals are also inherited, regardless of each party’s willingness — or lack of willingness — to acquiesce to tradition. Aside from ritual and tradition, viewers should also take note of the community present in the tea ceremony; most are characters that we will not see again over the course of the film, but Ozu shows their importance in the hallowed way Noriko and Masa engage with the other participants. However, the seriousness present is not a harsh one; in fact, a late arrival by Miwa Akiko (Miyake Kuniko) is brushed off with smiles from all of the attendants. There is a pleasure and calming serenity in the ceremony. Eventually, after certain deliberate actions are performed, the audience is greeted with the first pillow-shot of the film, and if Ozu’s work tells us anything, no pillow-shot should be ignored.
The term “pillow-shot” was first used by the film theorist Noël Burch in his 1979 text To the Distant Observer: Form and Meaning in the Japanese Cinema, and the term itself comes from the Japanese poetic device known as kakekotoba, or “pivot-word.” In the poetic sense, pivot-words are commonly used as transitional moments in a poem and can depend on the context of the preceding or following lines or have no meaning at all. While Ozu employs these shots in a transitional way, similar to the kakekotoba, each pillow-shot’s composition is more than a device to join two scenes together. Rather, they are moments where the audience is invited to reflect, whether they decide to think about the preceding scene, what is to come, the transition itself, or simply focus on the pillow-shots. Obviously, this is not the first time that elements from other art forms have been adapted for the screen. Speaking specifically of Japanese cinema, Ugetsu director Mizoguchi Kenji’s style has consistently been described as an unraveling scroll, a cinematic text echoing the emakimono, or picture scrolls, of early Japan. Not to be glib, but this goes to show that in a macroscopic artistic sense, the past informs the present, and artistic (read: film) production evolves; however, this particular informing is also grafted onto the film Late Spring in both a visual and narrative way. What ends up mattering is this: there are tools available to artists, and when a master is engaging those tools, everyone should pay attention. Ozu’s pillow-shots are one such tool, completely tailored to his specificites. In fact, they are so elegantly employed, so special, that they are exactly what an audience needs in these times of COVID; this will hopefully be revealed in full with what follows below.
Over the past year and a half, communal and familial connections have changed. Obviously, some people are not as affected as others: those that live with their family, chosen or otherwise; folks that are used to an unforced or forced disconnection; those that have revealed themselves to be Zoom and organizationally savvy; people that prefer solitude; etc. However, all would probably agree that the COVID pandemic has fundamentally altered how and when we are able to connect with others. I find myself scheduling calls and virtual hangouts even at this stage in the pandemic. Perhaps I’m more careful than some, but with the talk of new variants both inside and outside the United States, I’d rather be safe than sorry. As a result, I have ventured out into a theater only twice during this slog, despite the recent premieres of some seemingly great works and the presence of choice repertory screenings in Chicago. More than anything, I have continued to engage in an activity most cinephiles undertook early on in the pandemic: I’ve been revisiting favorite films, sometimes over and over. I always turn to Ozu for comfort as his films are a consistent balm, despite many of them having tragic elements. As readers of this essay can already guess, my favorite of his corpus is Late Spring (1949). The film is about connections, whether they be between child and parent, past and present, or — as hinted above — known or unknown.
Referring to the first of this trio leads one to examine the relationship between Shūkichi and his daughter, Noriko. Somiya-san is a professor, a widower, and Noriko’s charge. Ryū plays the role with a reserved amusement, almost as though he’s always in on something the other characters aren’t aware of; however, this sometimes reveals itself to be cluelessness, especially when it is regarding Noriko’s opinion of marriage. Noriko is 27 during the course of the film, and she has been hesitant to marry due to her relationship with her father. She cares for him deeply and fears he will not be able to live without her. Their relationship is displayed in moments of tenderness, often revolving around the aforementioned rituals populating the film, but also includes frank discussions about their life and what it means to be happy; there isn’t room for patronization between them. These moments are usually devoid of unnecessary exposition because Ozu trusts his viewers. One such instance is a scene slightly before the midway point of the film. Noriko expresses that her father needs her to take care of him. Ozu then cuts to a scene showing Somiya-san hanging up his clothes and clipping his nails. In addition to performing these tasks, we see a woman named Shige (Takahashi Toyoko) enter the scene. It is revealed that she is a maid who serves the Somiya household; immediately after Noriko expresses her worry, we are given a scene that shows that her father can fend for himself and are introduced to someone who is tasked with tending to the home. In fact, another instance shows that the outside of the house is taken care of by a gardener. Somiya-san is quite literally surrounded by people employed to take care of him, but Noriko knows what neither her nor her father want to admit: it’s not just the rituals, but the love in them that is important.
Past buttressing present, that second item in the above trio, cannot be escaped through the course of the film. Even during the initial scene showing the tea ceremony, the present rushes in to meet the past with Miwa’s arrival: she missed her train. Having been implemented in Japan since 1872, railway systems were a little more than 70 years old at the time of Late Spring’s filming. While not a specifically “Western” invention, this initial mention by Miwa coupled with the tea ceremony shows the new (or at least newer) meeting the old; this is further bolstered by the fact that Late Spring’s initial frames are of a train station. The present not only intrudes upon the past, but surrounds it. This movement is not one-way, however, as the past must necessarily rear its head. A past illness of Noriko’s is referenced consistently, the notion of an arranged marriage is central to the plot, and the characters travel by rail of Kyoto and Tokyo, revealing past trips along the way.
It is during one of these trips that the final pair in our trio, known and unknown, is really brought to the fore. Noriko and her father travel to Kyoto on a celebratory last trip before she weds; we never meet the husband-to-be, but he is described as a good, handsome, stable person. We’re even told the bottom of his face looks like Gary Cooper! Ozu lets us fill in the gaps and picture the man Noriko will end up with because the film isn’t interested in who she marries, but whether or not she marries. Returning to the trip, before turning in for bed, Noriko and her father discuss her marriage, but also Somiya-san remarrying; both have been points of contention for the father and daughter, but Noriko appears to be coming around to her father finding someone else. Except, we never see that revelation or learn how she feels. Somiya-san falls asleep before Noriko can finish, and she is left with her thoughts. In one of the most famous pillow-shots in Ozu’s oeuvre, Noriko gazes at a vase across the room and the camera cuts so we can see the object. Ozu then cuts back to Noriko, on the verge of tears. In an almost reversal of the Kuleshov effect, the meaning/expression of the still vase is what changes for us. Ozu uses this object as a point for Noriko to pivot her feelings about her father and their future. Moreover, this speaks to the deftness of Hara’s ability as a performer; earlier on in the film when Noriko and Somiya-san take in a Noh play, Hara expresses more with an eyelash than most people can with their entire bodies. The film ultimately concludes with Noriko and her father separated, with a final heartbreaker that shows how deep their love runs, all conducted in a few silent, poignant gestures by Ryū.
But, during these times, we needn’t focus on lost or even changing love. If there has been anything gained from the last horrid year and a half, it’s that we all could use more reflection. This reflection may be painful, as displayed by Noriko’s scene with the vase. However, what I want to advocate for is more along the lines of the first pillow-shot I mentioned above. After the tea ceremony, Ozu transitions to some seemingly superfluous shots of the surrounding landscape: trees, flowers, structures, etc. As should be clear, nothing about Ozu is superfluous. After the tremendous amount of subtle foundation-laying present in the tea ceremony scene, Ozu gives the audience time and room to breathe and reflect: on the past and present’s intersection, on family, or on what is to come. The pillow-shots are necessary as we navigate the tremendous toll that we all have been subjected to. Art is necessary in tough times. So if you’re able to in the near future, take some time for yourself. Watch Ozu.
