One of Ozu’s most scathing critiques of gender and power dynamics within Japanese society. It’s easily a new favourite and one I’m suspicious belongs in the upper echelons of his work. There is an abundance of intentionality behind the camera and narrative. Normal Ozu tropes are elevated toward borderline satirical commentary. If it weren’t for the impenetrable austerity of Ozu’s control, this would spiral into something farcical or tonally overbearing.

The progressive revelation of adherence to the unspoken hierarchy feels so divinely decreed it would be absurd if it weren’t so sincere. An early scene starts with a sympathetic Shojiro urging his sister to get some rest after a long night. Without blinking or a hint of irony, Shojiro seamlessly concludes his caring charade with an unrefusable command to make him food. There’s a razor thin layer, just enough to proclaim its existence, of reflective self-aware criticism surrounding the featured family.

The most restrained moment of silent outcry is so subtle, it could be missed. When the mother and Setsuko stay with the first family, Kazuko is revealed to liberally use her buzzer to servants. A later scene, another daughter meets her husband for dinner. The husband unnoticeably grabs a small buzzer to his left; the ring is diagetically silent. But the kicker? An entire shot focuses on the barmaid who silently comes down the corridor, opens their room’s door, and listens (to take their order). It is a breathtaking moment of servitude, poetically linked to a preceeding motif.

Ozu doesn’t seem to shy away from indulgence, relative to his standards. If this kind of comedic mistreatment wasn’t getting old already, another sequential scene triples down on the layer of servitude. The first scene of Setsuko and mother in the rural house features Setsuko give their servant an order to make snacks, with an emphasized ”Hurry!” The cylindrical entwinement of master and servant never disappears.

Ozu’s web of characters is balanced diversely. Consideration of Shojiro, a radical in his own right, anchors and propels the conclusion in a more pointed and sympathetic way. I’m unsure of Ozu’s politics, especially around this time, 1941, but his concluding attitude toward China and its opportunities feel contextually rebellious. There’s a great anger captured here. Everyone is under the thumb of someone else. The only escape seems to be exodus.

One of Ozu’s most scathing critiques of gender and power dynamics within Japanese society. It’s easily a new favourite and one I’m suspicious belongs in the upper echelons of his work. There is an abundance of intentionality behind the camera and narrative. Normal Ozu tropes are elevated toward borderline satirical commentary. If it weren’t for the impenetrable austerity of Ozu’s control, this would spiral into something farcical or tonally overbearing.

The progressive revelation of adherence to the unspoken hierarchy feels so divinely decreed it would be absurd if it weren’t so sincere. An early scene starts with a sympathetic Shojiro urging his sister to get some rest after a long night. Without blinking or a hint of irony, Shojiro seamlessly concludes his caring charade with an unrefusable command to make him food. There’s a razor thin layer, just enough to proclaim its existence, of reflective self-aware criticism surrounding the featured family.

The most restrained moment of silent outcry is so subtle, it could be missed. When the mother and Setsuko stay with the first family, Kazuko is revealed to liberally use her buzzer to servants. A later scene, another daughter meets her husband for dinner. The husband unnoticeably grabs a small buzzer to his left; the ring is diagetically silent. But the kicker? An entire shot focuses on the barmaid who silently comes down the corridor, opens their room’s door, and listens (to take their order). It is a breathtaking moment of servitude, poetically linked to a preceeding motif.

Ozu doesn’t seem to shy away from indulgence, relative to his standards. If this kind of comedic mistreatment wasn’t getting old already, another sequential scene triples down on the layer of servitude. The first scene of Setsuko and mother in the rural house features Setsuko give their servant an order to make snacks, with an emphasized ”Hurry!” The cylindrical entwinement of master and servant never disappears.

Ozu’s web of characters is balanced diversely. Consideration of Shojiro, a radical in his own right, anchors and propels the conclusion in a more pointed and sympathetic way. I’m unsure of Ozu’s politics, especially around this time, 1941, but his concluding attitude toward China and its opportunities feel contextually rebellious. There’s a great anger captured here. Everyone is under the thumb of someone else. The only escape seems to be exodus.