In his tribute to Ozu, "Tokyo Painting" (also known as "Searching for Ozu"), Wim Wenders begins with this sentence: "If there is anything sacred in the era we live in , if there are any hidden treasures in the movie, then to me, the works of Yasujiro Ozu undoubtedly belong to this category."
I agree with this, and even think it is indeed what I think and read in my heart. ; But after careful consideration, such an opening is a bit unclear, so that people start to resist. After all, no one will believe in a person's so-called "sacred" just because of a thoughtless word. And personally, as a matter of fact, what Yasujiro Ozu depicts is neither sacred nor filthy; what he depicts is nothing but a society that keeps turning the rudder. The most mundane, vivid, and inconspicuous details among them. "When facing the camera, the most fundamental thing I think about is to think deeply about things and find the rich love of human beings... It may be too abstract to say that this thing is human nature, but it can be regarded as human warmth." , nothing more than these.
In this respect, "Floating Grass" is clearly the same; however, it also occupies a very special place in all of Ozu's works. On the one hand, this film is Ozu's only remake, and the remake is the second "The Story of Floating Grass" in the "Hiba Trilogy". From black and white to color, from silent film to sound, can the director properly handle the various problems in this transition? On the other hand, Ozu's remake of "The Story of Floating Grass" does not seem to be entirely out of his own desire: in his work "I open a tofu shop, I only make tofu", he clearly stated that "Floating Grass" is the work of Kenji Mizoguchi and Masa Nagata. The work that Mr. Ichi "repeatedly asked for" made Ozu finally "implement his promises over the years". So, can such a work reach the level that the director should have in the later stage?
Facts have proved that all mortals such as me worry about Yasujiro Ozu are superfluous. However, such a remake has also resulted in an unexpected and interesting result, that is, the film has become a late stage of Ozu in form, but the content is completely on the side of the early stage, and the plot is neither flat nor light, but uncharacteristically humorous; Moreover, the intense conflicts rarely seen in Ozu's films can be seen everywhere in the second half of the film, with beatings, scolding, quarrels, crying, laughing, and undisguised emotions. It can be said that this wonderful mixture adds a rich dimension to Yasujiro Ozu in my opinion: to a certain extent, there is actually no fixed pattern for Ozu to make movies at all; he is not proficient in frying. An all-rounder for deep-frying, but he is by no means a lousy cook who can only be a tofu-flavored tofu.
Of course, tofu is still to be made, but the method is different; thousands of ways can't escape tofu, this is Ozu. Here, instead of describing the so-called "tofu" as a peaceful taste and hobby, it is better to regard it as a kind of faith and faithfulness to human love. This kind of love may be the result of the existence of the family or the cause of the establishment of the family; it includes both the affection between parents and children, and the love between men and women. In "Floating Grass", we can clearly see three groups of characters related to this kind of "love": Sumiko to Arashi Komajuro, Arashi Komajuro to his son Aqing, and Aqing to Kadai.
I have to say, Ozu's film is really hard to describe. When I tried to describe my feelings in words, I found that not only was my vocabulary poor, but even my memory seemed to decline, because the infinite number of eyes, smiles and scenes are worth pondering, every standing, turning and staring There are also worth considering! How should one choose? Or perhaps how not to choose? ——In this kind of worrying about gains and losses, I have made a new discovery. Those seemingly non-existent screenwriting, editing, music, scenes... just created an effect close to "nothing". Yasujiro Ozu engraved this Chinese character on his tombstone, which can only confuse future generations. But in any case, Ozu will never pretentiously write a question on his tombstone that he doesn't even know, expecting those ignorant descendants to fill in a stupid answer for himself. This "nothing" is not a puzzle left by the owner of the tomb, nor is it a contrived symbol. He just recorded his only feeling of being alive with a piece of black marble that will probably be passed down for thousands of years. . I think that feeling is not nothingness, not absence, not nonexistence... It can be said that it is the original face of life after all the curiosity about things and all flashy forms have been removed.
Perfection seems to Ozu not to be a problem at all—because the so-called "perfect" is always an illusion rather than the essence of "nothing" he is concerned with-as conveyed in "Floating Grass". kind of thing. Wherever human feelings exist, there must be some regrets. I guess this is the embodiment of Ozu's pessimism and optimism, right? Assuming that the head of the head of the group, Arashi Jujuro and A Qing’s father and son really knew each other, Kadai successfully married into the head of the head’s house, and the family of four hugged and cried, and lived happily ever after. It is obvious that there is no perfection if one person takes it out and makes it only "floating grass". From this point of view, Ozu's softness is not because he can arrange a happy ending for each character, but precisely because he knows how to find the most suitable way and place for them to survive; and in my opinion, although there are some regrets Yes, but it doesn't matter. Since Arakujurou leaves Sumiko to light a cigarette is a problem, since Sumiko's revenge has created a wonderful marriage between Aqing and Kadai, since Arakujurou and Aqing are both uncles and nephews, since there is a father, there must be a son... …then everything should continue as it is, in the most improbable way possible. In the end, life separates people who should be together, but fortunately, life does not leave people alone in empty rooms.
So no matter what, floating grass is still floating grass. At the beginning of the film, Juro Arashi takes a lonely boat to the town. At the end of the film, Juuro Arashi falls apart, just like the seeds from a leaf of floating grass grow everywhere; the floating grass does not disappear, but grows more and more. up. Having said that, we realize again that the two families centered on Arashi Komajuro do not exist in isolation; the entire troupe, together with the women in the town, is its fringe. The formation of this center-periphery, in the final analysis, depends on the responsibility, loyalty and perseverance in the "Ozu-style affection", and this responsibility is the touchstone of all kinds of relationships: the more responsibility, the more indestructible the relationship, the more loyal, The more obvious the sub-heavy. Here, the director blooms two flowers, each representing a branch - in the main plot, the family of Lanjujuro, from male to female, from old to young, are always in love. Change their obsession with the person they love; and in the subplot, the film focuses on describing the pursuit of a good-looking woman in the town by several men in the troupe from the very beginning. This kind of pursuit is nothing more than flirting, it can't be called "love", and naturally there is no responsibility at all. By the end, the actors scattered. It goes without saying that the women who talk and laugh on weekdays must have been left behind and have no contact again; even within the group. Those who are full of benevolence and righteousness run the fastest; those who are hesitant are finally determined. I think this is a kind of irony, and it is also a display and discussion of the core of people, the "warmth of people" in Ozu's mouth.
Love, responsibility, loyalty, all of these, are people the cause or the result of being a "floating weed"? Ozu seems to have given an answer, but it doesn't seem to give.
So, what else can we say? No, let's just call it "nothing" for now.
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