The Curious Quiet and Peculiar Cut-scenes (Furnish)
Our modern conception of filmography is blinded by theatricality: every scene is clear, concise, and attention-grabbing.Theatricality often overlooks the true banality of life, which is something Ozu sees differently as a director. Rather than shying away from what most directors would deem boring or too realistic, Ozu runs towards it with enthusiasm and some degree of recklessness. The transitions in Tokyo Story show us one of the clearest examples of Ozu’s deliberate choice to spurn traditional formats and show you what he’s really interested in showing: the full picture.
Ozu often shows scenes that are entirely unnecessary to the story he is telling. We see Kyōko at the start of the film, after exiting the room where her parents are packing, leaving the house. From a theatrical point of view, this shot serves no purpose: seeing Kyōko leave the house adds nothing to the story that leaving the room with her parents didn’t. If this was a modern film, we might mistake this for bad editing. But Ozu takes it farther than this. Not only do we see Kyōko leave the house, but we are left to sit in silence for a few seconds after the fact, staring at nothing but the walls of the house: no people, no action, nothing. Only quiet. It’s almost awkward, at the very least with regard to our modern conception of proper filmography, where almost every second must be spent either furthering the plot or grabbing the viewer’s attention stylistically. But there’s nothing attention-grabbing or plot-forwarding about the silent nothing in the transitions between scenes. It feels like an attempt to take us out of the mindless movie-trance we often find ourselves in and actually pay attention.
This shot of Kyōko leaving the house is only one of countless examples in the movie where a scene is either completed, or in some cases interrupted by what seem to be awkward and jerky transitions. I’m sure there must be intent behind these decisions, and I find myself thinking about the awareness Ozu has for what is going on both inside his story and out: the world exists outside these characters, but the world outside is not disconnected from them either. It is in fact integral to their daily lives, and we are forced to confront this with every scene.
Very well expressed. Not only is the human being IN time and space, but also there is circumambient time and space that are themselves not interested in people. So our empty room expresses us just as much as the occupied room.
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