THE STORY OF THE LAST CHRYSANTHEMUM (Mizoguchi, 1939)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Sep 13, 2016
Review by Christopher S. Long
Director Kenji Mizoguchi draws
audiences closer by keeping them at a distance.
The camera in “The Story of the Last
Chrysanthemum” (1939) certainly maintains a discreet distance,
often in long master shots that frame the actors' bodies as small
elements within their environment even over the course of a lengthy
intimate conversation. In one repeated set-up, the budding lovers
Kikunosuke (played by esteemed stage actor Shotaro Hanayagi) and
Otoku (Kakuko Mori) talk while strolling along a wharf. Shot from
below, their heads barely reach halfway up the frame, with rooftops
and the blank night sky (in a studio, I presume) filling out the rest
of the image. Though their faces are visible at times, Mizoguchi
never cuts into a close-up (or cuts at all), and the scenes derive
their power not from facial expressions, but rather from the posture
and movements of the actors and a raoming camera that relentlessly
tracks alongside, but never too close to them.
The camera assumes many vantage points
throughout the movie, filming performers from below, at diagonal or
perpendicular angles, and even in clinical overhead shots, but
close-ups are deployed sparingly. In part, this is because Mizoguchi
was inspired by both kabuki and shinpa theater, but I also feel like
he simply trusted the power of the meticulously composed image over
the blunt force of teary-eyed pathos. Though his films feature
suffering protagonists, especially women (mothers, sisters, wives)
who sacrifice everything for the men they love, his films grant
viewers space to breathe and react rather than grabbing them by the
collar and commanding them to wallow in close-up misery. Mizoguchi
encourages, even requires, an active viewer who doesn't need to be
guided every step of the way. As usual, the great David Bordwell puts
it most succinctly, “Mizoguchi refuses to beg for tears.” But he
sure generates them.
Based on writer Shofu Muramatsu's
story, the film opens in 1880's Tokyo with a kabuki play starring the
great Kikugoro (Gonjuro Kawarazaki) and his not-so-great son
Kikunosuke (usually called Kiku), both real historical figures. While
various hangers-on mock Kiku's performance behind his back, they fawn
in person over the young master who wastes his days out drinking with
his sycophantic entourage and consorting with opportunistic geisha.
Only the pure and innocent Otoku, nursemaid to Kiku's infant brother,
dares to tell the dilettantish fop that he stinks on ice, but she
does so in hopes of inspiring him to commit to his art and become as
great as his father, as great as she sincerely believes Kiku can be.
Kiku's prestigious family does not
approve of the working-class Otoku and dismisses her when the
relationship comes to light. Risking permanent ostracism from his
family, Kiku runs away to pursue both Otoku and his craft, a perilous
apprenticeship requiring five years of poverty and unhappiness before
Kiku can emerge as a better actor. Kiku falls off the acting wagon
several times, settling for mediocrity and indulging in self pity, a
bracing reminder that it's easy to vow to dedicate yourself to a
cause, far more challenging to decide each day to stick to that vow.
As is typical in Mizoguchi films (and
the shinpa tradition that influenced him), the woman exists primarily
to support the man, and noble Otoku never asks for anything in
return, fulfilled simply by serving as Kiku's muse. She even
encourages her husband to abandon her when Kiku has a chance to stage
a heroic comeback on stage in a magnificent, prolonged set piece in
which Mizoguchi showcases kabuki theater in all its glory. The viewer
who took note of Otoku's persistent cough about halfway through the
movie won't be surprised that she is not destined for the same glory,
meeting the same fate that awaits most Mizoguchi heroines. Are we
nonetheless intended to view the closing scenes as mutual triumphs
for protagonists who achieve their respective goals? Mizoguchi
doesn't tie a ribbon on it.
Though the final kabuki performance,
with Kiku wowing audiences in a challenging female role, features a
few strategic close-ups and traditional continuity editing, the
camera keeps hanging stubbornly back through most of the film, and
long takes roll on uninterrupted, sometimes for a few minutes or
more. These stylistic choices forge a detached perspective that
eschews easy judgment of the sometimes petulant Kiku and the passive
Otoku, and thus invites a deeper level of compassion, one of the
defining hallmarks of Mizoguchi's extraordinary career, about half of
which has been lost to the vagaries of film preservation. Thank
goodness this fragile flower survived.
Video:
The film is presented in its original
1.37:1 aspect ratio. Considering that many Mizoguchi films from this
period or earlier didn't survive at all, it's not a surprise that the
source material has some issues. According to Criterion, the
restoration was sourced from “a 35 mm fine-grain positive and a 35
mm duplicate negative” so it's possible the original negative no
longer survives, and with multiple sources, the image quality
inevitably varies. This 4K digital restoration provides a major
improvement over most earlier available versions of the film, but the
image is soft in many scenes and it's just not possible to achieve
the same sharp detail we've become accustomed to in 1080p. The
black-and-white contrast is somewhat muted too. However, the overall
image is as perfectly fine and likely as good as it's going to get
without artificial boosting that wipes out too much of the original
information.
Audio:
The audio is linear PCM Mono and it's a
bit warbly and occasionally drops out, but that's a product of the
audio source. Optional English subtitles support the Japanese audio.
Extras:
The only extra on the disc is a June
2016 interview with film critic Phillip Lopate which covers a lot of
ground in a short time. I took almost a full page of notes. I'll just
list one. Lopate says there are only 140 shots in the entire
143-minute film and some advanced math indicates that tallies up to
an average shot length (ASL) of about one minute. Not a record
holder, but a world of difference from the modern blockbuster with
its average ASL in the 2-3 second range.
The slim foldout booklet includes an
essay by scholar Dudley Andrew.
Final Thoughts:
Mizoguchi's films had historically been
more difficult for many viewers to access than those of other
Japanese masters like Kurosawa and Ozu, but Criterion has done a
fantastic job of making of making several of his greatest works
available over the years through releases of “Sansho the Bailiff,”
“Life of Oharu” (1952), “Ugetsu” (1953)”, and the nifty
four-film Eclipse box set “Kenji Mizoguchi's Fallen Women.”
“The Story Of the Last Chrysanthemum”
is the latest addition to their Mizoguchi collection, and if we're
spoiled enough to wish Criterion could have found more extras to
include, let's not take for granted that we know have a fine high-def
version of perhaps the first truly great Mizogushi film. Although it
should be noted that he had already shout about fifty films by then.
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