Why do the plots of so many Japanese films from the 1930s hinge on the illness of a child? It was the case in three of Yasujiro Ozu's films I watched recently: That Night's Wife (1930), Tokyo Chorus (1931), and An Inn in Tokyo (1935), and it happens again in Mikio Naruse's Every- Night Dreams. In two of the Ozu films, a man commits robbery to get money to pay the child's hospital bills and is sent to jail. The man in Naruse's film also commits a robbery but, wounded and desperate, he commits suicide -- an instance of how much darker in tone Every-Night Dreams is from the Ozu films. It's also different in that the central figure is a woman, rather than the men who seize the focus in the Ozu films. The dominant figure in Every- Night Dreams is Omitsu, played beautifully by Sumiko Kurishima, whom we meet as a single parent, working as a bar hostess to support her small son, Fumio (Teruko Kojima). Soon, however, the boy's father, Mizuhara (Tatsuo Saito), shows up, down and out. She's reluctant to take him back after his earlier abandonment of them, but he's so needy and the boy is so glad to see his father that she gives in. Mizuhara is a weakling in both body and character, however. He searches for work that will allow Omitsu to give up her rather disreputable job -- there's a scene early in the film in which she gets reproachful glares from the passengers on a streetcar -- but he is turned down for factory work because the employer thinks he's not strong enough for it. And then Fumio is struck by an automobile: He survives, but the doctor says he will need extensive therapy to regain the use of a shattered arm. So Mizuhara pulls off a robbery to get the funds, but is wounded by the police in his escape. He brings the money to Omitsu, but she is appalled by what he has done and urges him to turn himself in to the police. He leaves, and the next morning Omitsu learns that he has drowned himself. In a touching final scene, she urges Fumio to grow up strong. Though Naruse is credited in IMDb with 92 titles as director, from short films in 1930 to his last feature in 1967, his reputation in the West has been overshadowed by that of his contemporaries Ozu, Kenji Mizoguchi, and Akira Kurosawa. But Every-Night Dreams displays a fiercely original talent, with a distinct bias toward portraying strong women like Omitsu. In contrast to Ozu, who preferred to work with carefully framed scenes with little camera movement, Naruse favors an active camera -- zooms, pans, dolly shots -- and fast- paced editing: The scene in which Fumio's accident is announced is a series of quick cuts from a toy car rolling off the edge of a table through shots of the boy's playmates running in with the news. He likes narrative foreshadowing: In one scene, a despondent Mizuhara looks out over the harbor as the camera pans from boats and buildings down to the water itself, while in another, Mizuhara urgently signals to Fumio to stay on the other side of a road until a car speeds past and the boy can cross safely. Yet he also allows his actors room to develop their characters: Kurishima builds up our sense of Omitsu's inner strength through her expressions and gestures. The film's story is by Naruse and the screenplay by Tadao Ikeda; the cinematographer is Suketaro Inokai.
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Omitsu (Sumiko Kurishima) works as a hostess in a waterfront dive bar, a disreputable and low-paying job that she tolerates to give her young son a decent life. When the boy's deadbeat dad Mizuhara (Tatsuo Saito) shows up one day after years of absence, he swears that he's turned his life around and that he wants to be the husband and father that Omitsu and the boy hope for. However, harsh reality intercedes, and the duo must make some hard decisions.
These Shochiku dramas are beginning to get a little formulaic: a woman who suffers indignities to provide for her family; a basically decent man who makes bad decisions out of desperation; and children in jeopardy. That being said, this is still worth a look thanks to the good performances by the leads, and Naruse's cinematographic touches. -
kerpan18 July 20051933 was the artistic high point of Naruse's career in silent films. He garnered both third and fourth place in Kinema Junpo's best of the year citations (the most prestigious film "award") this year -- for "Apart from You" and this film, respectively (Ozu took first place for "Passing Fancy" and Mizoguchi second for "Water Magician"). Despite this, he got no respect from his boss at Shochiku, and soon would move on to PCL (the predecessor of Toho), where he would stay (mostly) for over 30 years.
In this film, Sumiko Kurishima plays a woman whose husband had deserted her, following the birth of her child. For lack of any better option, she has been forced to support her son and herself as working as a hostess at a waterfront bar. When her ne'er-do-well husband (Tatsuo Saito) returns, her first impulse is to reject him, but her neighbors prevail on her to give him a second chance. Saito proves to be a thoughtful father and a loving husband, but in depression-stricken Tokyo is unable to find work (and is deeply embarrassed that his wife must support the family in the tawdry way she does). When his child is injured in an accident, he tries to get money to pay for medical care by committing a robbery. His wife refuses the money, urging him to turn himself in. Unable to bear the shame, he drowns himself. At the end, less than a week after Saito's return, mother and son are left alone again.
Kurishima's performance here is simply one of the best I've ever seen. She was the first woman star of the Japanese cinema -- and by this point -- had been at the top of her field for over a decade (not counting early work as a child). Her ability to express herself (despite maintaining great reserve), with both face and body, is extraordinary. Tatsuo Saito's performance in a rare dramatic part (albeit with a few comic moments) is likewise exceptional, capturing the dreamy sweetness of his immensely kind (but unable to fit into the everyday world) -- one has no trouble understanding why Kurishima (whose everyday life is so filled with sordidness) has been attracted to him (and is willing to give him another chance). Supporting roles are (as usual with Shochiku's top tier efforts) superbly filled -- with regulars like Takeshi Sakamoto (as an overbearing ship's captain lusting after Kurishima) and Choko Iida (as the crusty, but ultimately not unfeeling, proprietress of the waterfront bar).
The cinematography (and editing) of this film is as perfect as the performances. This is Naruse's most visually audacious film ever, with an unsettling pattern of repeatedly tracking towards (and sometimes away from) characters, use of extremely deep visual fields -- and some extraordinary cutting. Indeed, Naruse's techniques were so audacious here that (despite critical praise), he was forbidden from using them again at Shochiku (thus, prompting his discontent -- and leading Ozu to recommend that he seize his opportunity to shift to a newer studio which would give him greater support). -
andrenalin_0422 April 2009This silent feature by the esteemed Japanese director Mikio Naruse takes the form of a domestic melodrama. Sumiko Kurishima stars as Omitsu, a barmaid and single parent long-estranged from her irresponsible, out-of-work husband (Tatsuo Saito). When he suddenly returns without advance warning, she does anything and everything in her power to pull the pieces of her shattered family back together. Naruse employs heavy stylization to tell his story, including the repeated use of montage, a fractured chronology, and metonymical close-ups of characters' moving legs. When combined, these elements imbue the motion picture with much tension and a lingering sense of unease.
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net_orders7 May 2016Viewed on Streaming. Music = three (3) stars; restoration = one (1) star. Once again, Director Mikio Naruse rolls out the old-chestnut tale of a prostitute with a heart of gold and (as usual) multiple mouths to feed at home. It's another slice-of-life saga of bar girls, especially one who apparently has just returned to work after an abortion. Nothing much happens in this depression era photo play beyond an apparent suicide at the film's end after which the movie abruptly stops. The Director's stock company of actors is on display. They all seem to turn in competent performances, but it's hard to tell given the condition of the film (see below). Cinematography (narrow screen, black and white) and lighting can not be evaluated given the condition of the film. Piano score quickly becomes off putting due to constant repetition of a not particularly creative composition. Restoration is a joke! It appears that wear and aging artifacts have been removed, but the image looks like a 10th generation duplication. Many scenes are all but invisible in a pervasive gray haze. (Perhaps it was felt that investing in restoration of such a pedestrian film was not worth the cost?) Not recommended. WILLIAM FLANIGAN, PhD.
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chaos-rampant29 February 2012I'll admit I have no use for something like this. I can watch a street view from a window by the hours and remain utterly transfixed, just a view of the world rolling around with its splendor of mundane minutiae. But don't give me flows of life melodramatized to look ordinary. Don't squeeze out histrionics as though insight.
As with contemporaneous Ozu, this troubles me more because it's already sparse enough to let you imagine where emptiness may reside at heart. But instead of being properly empty so that the smallest gesture can ring far and wide with meaning, we have scripted life.
The plot is about a wayward father who returns to take care of his family. The mother is working hard as a hostess to raise her child. Jobs are scarce.
A lot of that brings to mind Ozu's silents except this is much more despondent as a whole. The finale is bleak, pure damaged life that goes unredeemed. Instead of a sacrificing hero, the last memory of the man is as a coward and a scoundrel.
So I'm going to pass on this but want to make a last comment. Two instances visually stand out, in how sudden violence that has taken place far from us is transferred here and now, and merged with our vision. One is the car accident, Naruse's inventive touch is that he renders the thing with a toy car pushed by the father over a dresser. The second is in the finale, where the woman is confronted with bitter news and her sight becomes the blurry waters.
These are nice but again a little slight compared to what was being achieved elsewhere.