Directed by Yasujiro Ozu

by Shiguéhiko Hasumi, Aaron Gerow (Introduction), Ryan Cook (Translator)

First published in 1983, Shiguéhiko Hasumi's Directed by Yasujir ō Ozu has become one of the most influential books on cinema written in Japanese. This pioneering translation brings Hasumi's landmark work to an English-speaking public for the first time, inviting a new readership to engage with this astutely observed, deeply moving meditation on the oeuvre of one of the giants of world cinema. Complemented by a critical introduction from acclaimed film scholar Aaron Gerow and rendered fluidly in Ryan Cook's agile translation, this volume will grace the shelves of cinephiles for many years to come.

Genres: Film, Nonfiction, Japan, Japanese Literature

389 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1983

Reviews

[Ben · Rating 5 out of 5]

Simply a masterpiece. Hasumi works to deconstruct the “Ozuesque”and argues for a way of watching cinema that retains the sensitivity of the eye, unhardened by the rigors of trained, acculturated forms of interpretation.

[Carlos Valladares · Rating 5 out of 5]

I haven't been this excited by a text on film since reading Manny Farber at 18. Brilliant, clear, delicate stuff.

[Taylor Ross · Rating 5 out of 5]

I often find myself rolling my eyes while reading books on cinema, but this book made me do so far less often than most. The author outlines his objectives at the outset and does a good job of adhering to the guidelines he has imposed, focusing on the cinematic content of Ozu’s films, what we actually see on the screen and how that affects the narrative flow of the films, rather than indulging in interpretation that may lead to seeing something that was never actually presented on the screen.

The author does a great job of discussing recurring themes in Ozu’s films in an effort to understand exactly what is meant by the term ‘Ozuesque.’ This results in very in depth discussion of seemingly simple things such as what it means when two characters look in the same direction, how laughter is used to introduce a change of scene but is rarely directly depicted, and the rules that govern the upstairs rooms of unmarried daughters of widowed fathers. I feel that after reading this book I have a better appreciation of what makes Ozu films unique, and very much look forward to watching his films again with the topics discussed in this book in mind.

I find Ozu’s films almost strangely enjoyable. On the surface they are very simple and often repetive, but for whatever reason I find them comforting and endearing. I think that a large part of my enjoyment is likely just getting to see the beautiful japanese homes and scenery, but there must be something more to them than that. It seems strange to so enjoy watching these films that so often seem like just another angle on the story of a father wanting to marry off his daughter, but somehow Ozu creates something far more interesting than just what is contained in the script without resorting to anything the least bit flashy.

[Patrick McCoy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Yasujiro Ozu is considered one of the giants of cinema and, as recently as 2012, Tokyo Story was named as “the greatest film of all time” according to a director’s poll from Sight & Sound. Ozu still has a robust following today as 2023 saw many tributes for the 120th anniversary of the director including film retrospectives. In this volume, first published in Japanese in 1986, Shiguehiko Hasumi analyzes the films of Ozu and discusses his findings in context with those of other significant critics to date-these include authors such as Paul Schrader, Donald Richie, David Borderwell, Noel Burch, and Kiju Yoshida among others.

Hasumi is something of a legendary figure in Japanese intellectual circles. He is well-known and well-regarded as a Japanese literary critic, film critic, French literature scholar, and novelist. He began his career as a French literary critic focusing on the work of Gustav Flaubert and quickly moved onto studying contemporary French philosophy by the likes of Gilles Deleuze and Michele Foucault. And since the 80s he has been active in film criticism. He is especially linked as an advocate for Rikkyo University film graduates who later went onto success as film makers-Kiyoshi Kurosawa, Masayuki Sudo, Shinji Aoyama, and Kunitoshi Manda are among them.

The introduction by Aaron Gerow and translator notes by Ryan Cook are useful in creating a context for these musing son Ozu. Gerow points out that Hasumi’s academic work has been based on rejection of established forms of film study and film theory since he sees them as obstructions to the “indefinably of the cinema in set theories and fields.”

The book starts with “Prologue: The Rules of the Game” and then is segmented into chapters on different aspect of Ozu’s films. These include seemingly pedestrian aspects such as: 1. Negating, 2. Eating, 3. Changing Clothes, 4. Inhabiting, 5. Looking, 6. Holding Still, 7. Radiating, 8. Getting Angry, 9. Laughing, 10. Being Surprised with Conclusion: Pleasure and Cruelty. The volume also includes an Appendix with an interview with cinemaphotographer Yuharu Atsuta, notes, an index, as well as a note about the author.

Hasumi makes many interesting observations about the films of Ozu throughout his analysis. For example, he states that Alfred Hitchock was a master of suspense for displaying stair in his films while Ozu disturbed cinema by keeping them hidden. He points out that while other director such as Akira Kurosawa and Kenji Mizoguchi were known for including torrential rain and fog in their respective films the absence of extreme weather is central to Ozu’s vision. He concludes that Ozu’s shots are laid “bare under the radiating brightness of the midsummer sun.” The melodrama of Ozu, according to Hasumi, is often understated in comparison to other directors and he notes that “getting angry” is a privilege only allowed by those who are outside the insular family in the films of Ozu.

Overall, Hasumi’s book is a good overview of the critical responses that have proliferated under the screenings of one of cinema’s giants who continues to remain relevant. Although Hasumi makes many interesting and original observations about the films of Ozu, one of the strengths of the book is that he also discusses the validity and groundless observations of previous scholars of the seminal director.

[Diogo · Rating 5 out of 5]

After finishing this I'm wondering if I've ever watched an Ozu film at all. Hasumi simulateneously analyses both the devices that make Ozu films what they are and the popular perceptions of what Ozu is/isn't in the Western world - it's a cornerstone for anyone remotely interested in him.

[Annas Jiwa Pratama]

Hasumi elaborates a total rejection of interpreting Ozu in terms external to his crafted cinematic experience. He refuses to place Ozu's body of work in historical, social, cultural, or biographical context, and forces us to interrogate his film in the almost solipsistic language of cinema.

Language is an apt metaphor here. The way Hasumi examines Ozu is most akin to seeing someone constructing an interpretation of a found language. More often, this consist of examinations on how certain elements are constructed, restricted and controlled by Ozu to an almost clinical detail, and when and why deviations exists to those elements (e.g. the use of a detached second floor of the house as sanctuary for women, the devotion towards as little emotional outbursts and anger as possible from inner families, stillness and uniform motion). All of this are in service of interpreting how these elements grammatize cinematic narrative flow; tension and release, monotony and surprises.

Though he insists in eliminating external contexts, it's not as if the book itself exists in a vacuum. He often cites other interpreters of Ozu and challenges their views. Most entertaining to me is his often sarcastic and caustic responses to famed screenwriter/Facebook shitposter Paul Schrader's Zen Buddhism-laden interpretation of Ozu's films. One can very easily think that this book is at least partly a reaction towards these, in Hasumi's mind, more shallow readings. A frustration at people for only seeing the Ozuesque, and even towards orientalism, rather than the moving picture in front of them.

In Hasumi's own words:

The eye that has given up on seeing turns to playing with things Ozuesque, just as if these things were the films themselves. And when this kind of play starts towards things Japanese, it strays even farther from Yasujirō Ozu... The reason there is no end of people attempting to play with things "Ozuesque" through haiku or mono no aware or yūgen is because they make a choice: they choose to integrate themselves into stories that never at any given moment actually exist on the screen, rather than to open themselves to the images exposed there as the constantly renewing present.

This book is the most radical writing I've read last year. Hasumi's insistence on consistently confining his scope of interpretation towards narrative flow is an extreme departure from how I tend to view and interpret Ozu's films, which is to say a more personal, emotional attachment to the domestic melodrama of the film as well as a fascination towards the historical context in which Ozu's films take place in, the post-war Japan. To his credit, Hasumi does not impose any judgment of right or wrong on any kind of interpretation of Ozu, only whether they are actually seeing Ozu. (although in one section he did comment on the plot themselves as 'monotonous'). Will this improve my palate or make me a more incisive viewer of Ozu, or cinema in general? I don't know really, but it's nice to get a slap in the face every once in a while.

Tangents
- The introduction states that reading the book itself can be considered an Ozuesque experience and I've gotta agree. Especially for the disciplined organization of the book followed by a deviation via that unexpected interpretation of the vase scene from Late Spring in the final chapter.
- I loved that slide about how Hasumi rejects western interpretation of Ozu as the 'most japanese' of the golden age directors, since almost all of his films are under clear, almost harsh, skies, while his contemporaries are more particular towards lyrically using fog (Mizoguchi) or storm (Kurosawa), which are more aligned with classical Japanese aesthetics of literally being very damp.

[Dino Sun · Rating 4 out of 5]

an excruciatingly long book on common themes that we would see across Ozu's film career with the last 15% being the saving grace of the book, dedicated to an interview between Hasumi and the DOP of most of his movies.

[Matt G · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is officially the best critical survey of Ozu available in English. Also just a superb work of film criticism full stop.

[Simon Popek · Rating 5 out of 5]

4,5 ⭐️