Yasujiro Ozu’s "An Autumn Afternoon"

An Autumn Afternoon (1962) is about a family whose patriarch (Shūhei Hirayama) was subconsciously afraid of marrying off his only daughter (Michiko Hirayama). After seeing his classics teacher holding on to his own daughter for so long that she could no longer marry, Shūhei suddenly feels guilt. Michiko is still young and can still marry. Shūhei then allows her to start finding a potential husband despite her reluctance. The Michiko finally found a match and moved out of the family, leaving the Shūhei in an abyss of loneliness.

In this entry, I want to dive more deeply into Ozu’s cinematography as I think that was the first thing that stood out to me. Ozu is a director known for his “pillow shots.” Pillow shots are transitional shots, usually of the landscape or hallways, used to depict the life that encircles the film’s plot. Most times, it does nothing other than to create a world for the audience to place themselves in. In other words, they may not help advance the plot of the story. These shots are serene, often accompanied by orchestrated music. On first glance, they seem so ordinary, yet their compositions which I believed was consciously planned caught my attention. That is why I want to go deeper into why those shots were so interesting. I went back and took screenshots and then categorized them into different themes. I hope to use my own knowledge of composition in photography to analyze them.

Continuation

While these pillow shots do not usually contribute to the plot, they are often connected. What is interesting about Ozu’s cinematography is that movement is carried from one shot to the other almost seamlessly. Thus, each shot helps establish and add more details to the setting in a smooth way.

The first shot first establishes that we are in a building facing out towards a small alley. Ozu then zooms out to show that the building we are in is a restaurant, indicated by the numerous slippers.

Frames within Frames

Another composition I picked up is that Ozu tries to frame a lot of his shots through “frames.” First, you have the cinematic frame which is the frame of the camera. Inside his shots, he tries to put his settings behind another doorway or window. To me, this effect helps add the context behind the plot. I think it leads the eye towards the subjects as well. I remembered that by the end of the movie, I could somewhat make out the layout of the house in my head.

Hallways

I think one of Ozu’s techniques is to shoot a hallway. While his frames within frames have straight lines to organize information neatly, the hallways have many straight lines leading towards the end of the hall. It strongly pins our attention there. So for the first few times you see a hallway shot, it’s hard to see other details that are part of the shot. Why hallway shots are so appealing to me is because it reveals the personality of the family who dwells in it. Since the movie was released in 1962, a period in which Japan is turning towards globalization, there are more western components blending in with the Japanese architecture style. It’s also interesting to note that his shots use light and shadow to create dynamism on the scene. For example, before Michiko left, the house was fairly lit up so there is more light than shadows. But when she left, Shūhei drinks alone in the kitchen in an island of light, surrounded by darkness. The mood of the characters is thus reflected on how light and shadow are used.

The ending scene depicts the Shūhei sitting alone staring into blankness. 

People

While I tried to focus more on the setting, it’s hard to overlook the human component of the film. The characters often go through disappointment and I thought that their responses to it are very interesting. There were no emotional ugly cries, but the way the characters looked down or sighed has an even stronger effect of communicating the melancholy that they feel.

This is one of the heaviest scenes to watch. After a customer takes Shūhei to another bar because his noodles are not that good, the classics teacher (turned chef) sat down on a stool and sighed. His sighing says it all: from his peak of being a Chinese classics teacher, he now merely sells ramen in an industrial district.

In this scene, after her brother tells her that the man she is interested in already has a fiance, Michiko slowly turns from her brother to herself and looks down, almost at an excruciatingly slow pace. The reason I think this sadness comes off more strongly because the characters are suppressing it despite feeling sadness’s heavy burden. They suppress so hard, yet I feel that it can burst out at any time.

These three shots above depict the stages of sadness that Shūhei went through. Right after the wedding ceremony, he starts to feel the blues, but is able to keep it in. But when he arrives home which is shrouded in darkness, he is struck by Michiko’s departure. “After all this work of raising them, they leave so soon.”

The Funeral

This is not a cinematic shot, but it is my favorite scene in the film. Shūhei visits a bar after Michiko’s wedding. The madame notices that he is wearing black.

To Shūhei, Michiko’s wedding is almost like her funeral because she is almost gone from his life. Since she is a woman, she will become a part of another household instead of his. Instead of taking care of him, Michiko will be taking care of another man. While I’ve never been a parent myself, but Shūhei’s melancholy struck me to the core.

An Autumn Afternoon is a film about letting go. While other films seem to say that letting go will lead to greater happiness, Shūhei feels the opposite. His letting Michiko marry off into another family only makes his life lonelier. It’s a noble sacrifice, but Shūhei takes it very hard. Shūhei has always taken Michiko’s presence in the house for granted, the same way we perceive autumn’s beauty. When she’s gone, he experiences the winter’s coldness first hand.