In April the Masters of Cinema will release all three surviving Yamanakas on DVD. This is the last one he made but the first one available on DVD individually. I have seen "Tange Sazen" (1935), which is just as accomplished and perfect as this, but I haven't seen "Kôchiyama Sôshun" (1936).
The two that I have seen are a testament of clear vision, clarity of expression, and mastery of detail. His ability to form character is uncanny, as well as his sense of space: in just a few minutes we are with a handful of brushstrokes placed not only in a certain place, the wonderfully enclosed, near-claustrophobic slum and its iridescent inhabitants: some seemingly crooked, some greedy, some haunted; all of them flawed in their own selves. They converse with each other, themselves, their surroundings and events befalling them as real characters, not mere characterizations.
As fun as the film is, there's still an immensely tragic undersong of failure that penetrates the apparent lightness. How Yamanaka is able to weave all this together in mere 90 minutes is pleasantly surprising, and we can be thankful to have three instead of zilch.
There are a few films to which I return time and again for counsel, reinvigoration, perspective. Either when I've been away from cinema literally (not seeing many films) or figuratively (seeing only forgettable tripe). This is one of those films to which I'll return, gladly.
The two that I have seen are a testament of clear vision, clarity of expression, and mastery of detail. His ability to form character is uncanny, as well as his sense of space: in just a few minutes we are with a handful of brushstrokes placed not only in a certain place, the wonderfully enclosed, near-claustrophobic slum and its iridescent inhabitants: some seemingly crooked, some greedy, some haunted; all of them flawed in their own selves. They converse with each other, themselves, their surroundings and events befalling them as real characters, not mere characterizations.
As fun as the film is, there's still an immensely tragic undersong of failure that penetrates the apparent lightness. How Yamanaka is able to weave all this together in mere 90 minutes is pleasantly surprising, and we can be thankful to have three instead of zilch.
There are a few films to which I return time and again for counsel, reinvigoration, perspective. Either when I've been away from cinema literally (not seeing many films) or figuratively (seeing only forgettable tripe). This is one of those films to which I'll return, gladly.