Good afternoon friends,
Let's talk about a movie I watched earlier this month: Yasujirō Ozu's "Late Spring" (1949).
I stumbled onto this movie and its counterparts while browsing the international and Criterion Collection selections included in HBO's streaming service. "Late Spring" is apparently the first of three installments in Ozu's Noriko triology, which is comprised of films whose central character are all named Noriko, although they are not meant to be the same person across all three films.
The main premise of "Late Spring" is that everyone in Noriko's life is concerned that she is unmarried. After the deprivations of World War II significantly weakened her, Noriko is now living with restored health, caring for her father, and enjoying her relationships with her friends and extended family. She feels no sense of urgency to marry, and in fact would prefer to remain by her father's side with her life remaining as it is.
I found "Late Spring" to be intensely enjoyable and watchable. The performances are strong, and I felt myself completely drawn into the quotidian drama of a young woman being pressured to make big decisions by everyone who cares about her, but who has her own ideas about what she wants out of life. It was also enjoyable as a historical and cultural artifact, allowing us to see facets of everyday life in post-war Japan.
Perhaps surprisingly given this premise, in its original context of the 1940s, "Late Spring" feels like a deeply feminist movie: its primary conflict is the main character's wish for self-determination based on what gives her a sense of pleasure and fulfillment, not simply to proceed with marriage because that is what society demands of young women. With a broad and obliging smile, she endures the remonstrations of everyone around her to marry and proceeds with her life as she sees fit.
As the film continues, it becomes clear that that very smile is in fact one of Noriko's primary defenses against her autonomy being overridden; if she is sweet and agreeable, perhaps she will continue to skate by for another day without having to leave home committed to a stranger. It's only later in the film, when her smiling facade begins to fall away and her face gradually reveals her inner torment, that she says out loud how deeply she does not want her life to change.
Noriko's very limited options also reveal this to be a starkly realistic feminist movie: she can either remain her father's caretaker, or she can marry. Although she very briefly considers pursuing a career as a stenographer like her divorcée friend, it is clear that she is only considering this out of desperation when she learns her father may be remarrying and fears her own displacement and ousting from her home. In the post-war 1940s, the options for most women were likely this narrow. Acknowledging the claustrophobia of this narrowness is also profoundly feminist, as it forces the audience to temporarily live within the constraints it placed on women, and therefore to hope ever more fervently that Noriko at least gets some degree of agency to choose between her very limited options.
It's rare that a film makes it so clear how much society's imposition of gender roles forces people into a rigid and unnatural symbiosis comprised of preordained and limited life paths. No matter what she chooses, Noriko is locked into a role of subservience toward men, whether she is preparing their meals, running their errands, or taking dictation, whether she is their daughter, wife, or employee. And as Noriko's worries for her father make clear, men are locked into dependency on women's labor, utterly unable to care for themselves. While a patriarchal society dictates that men are treated as superior and their needs are treated as paramount to the profound detriment of everyone else, "Late Spring" reveals that patriarchy nevertheless harms and limits both women and men.
Interestingly, the film thoughtfully expresses ambivalence about these dynamics. Noriko's father talks with his friend and colleague about the futility of having a daughter--that fathers are expected to raise and care for them, only to have them leave to join their future husband's households. The men then remark to each other that they both, of course, each married someone else's daughters, acknowledging that they are implicated in this pattern both as aggrieved parties and as beneficiaries.
It would be too simple to view Noriko's story with patronizing pity. Yes, she has few choices, but many feminists would argue that her wish to be a caretaker for her father is equally valid to any other life pursuit so long as that is truly her wish. As Noriko becomes a more vocal advocate for herself throughout "Late Spring", it is clear that she is not blindly pursuing the life of an obedient daughter, but instead that she sincerely finds purpose and joy in caring for her father.
Ultimately, however, society nevertheless prevails. Noriko comes to see consenting to marry as her daughterly duty, as a way to ensure her father does not have to worry about her. She even accuses herself of being selfish for wishing to remain by her father's side. This moment of self-recrimination--the expression of Noriko finally internalizing and succumbing to society's pressure--stings. While the ending with Noriko's marriage is framed positively by the film, it lands with a complexity and wistfulness that paradoxically enrich this quiet, pleasant, slice-of-life film.
I gave it a 5.
{Heart}
No comments:
Post a Comment