Ikiru (Kurosawa) BFI Blu Ray 2 Disc set
Ikiru has been translated as Living or To Live. Earlier on in the 1950/60’s it was Living and living with a six month’s only death sentence (The film’s protagonist is terminally ill with stomach cancer). However this elderly bureaucrat is, according to Kurosawa’s off screen narrator, already dead. Watanabe has had the same monotonous local council job for over thirty years for which he mainly rubber stamps endless forms. Work has killed his spirit. How is he able to live – find meaning in life?
At first it’s having a good time, clubbing and going to bars with a bohemian writer and then innocently flirting with Toyo, a clerk in his office who’s just resigned. Neither work out. In his final attempt to fully live he pesters other departments and confronts his higher ups, including the mayor, to approve the clearing of a cesspool and the building of a children’s playground for a group of parents. Now, in the face of a meaningless life, the presently translated title To Live is appropriate. Watanabe’s choice is responsibly existential – he must create a meaningful life for himself alone.
Since the film’s release in 1952 Ikiru has received great critical and public acclaim. Many people place it in their lists as one of the greatest films ever made. It’s certainly on mine and the test of time has only deepened my admiration for Kurosawa’s masterwork. Yet although Ikiru asks how we confront death, in a totally unsentimental way, at this viewing what I felt uppermost was the crushing effects of a deadening and inhuman bureaucracy. From this perspective Ikiru feels like a much darker, even cruel, film. Kurosawa appears closer to Kafka: Joseph K’s attempts to get justice and Gregor Samsa obtain human dignity. Watanabe joins their struggle.
In spite of Takashi Shimura’s tendency to look a little too wide eyed in horror or grief his performance is overall superb (Watanabe’s final moments where he sings, whilst on a swing, during a snowfall, in a playground, is hauntingly iconic.)
All the film’s performances are true and beautifully pitched – especially Miki Odagiri playing Toyo. And I love Kurosawa’s choreography of Watanabe’s colleagues at the funeral wake. How they drunkenly sway, laugh, protest, and self deceive themselves is a marvel to watch. All the while Kurosawa keeping the action tightly framed so as to reinforce his critique of their behaviour and the futile jobs they endure. Many people who love the first two thirds of the film, and some Kurosawa detractors, have complained that this sequence drags. I disagree for Kurosawa needs time to carefully analyse the strengths and failings of the office workers. His critique is carefully graded down from the highest official to the lowest employee and Kurosawa systematically shows their inability to learn and change.
Another great sequence is when Watanabe reflects on his relationship with his son Mitsuo, after the death of his wife, and when his son is taken into hospital for an operation. Kurosawa’s editing and emotional incisiveness is magnificently realised. The shots of their car following mother’s funeral hearse, with the boy Mitsuo telling them to hurry up as mother’s car is getting ahead of them and Watanabe’s initial pride and then disappointment, in Mitsuo losing in baseball, are unforgettable.
Throughout Ikiru Kurosawa frequently employs wipes. This technical transition is inspired for its sense of encroaching death and the wiping clean of memory. And the film’s imagery is always dense and revealing of character, time and space (The amazing packed dance hall scene works like a creature, of this conglomerate mass, almost suffocating the clerk who failed to live well.)
This BFI 4k restoration comes with a booklet containing astute essays by Tony Rayns and James-Masaki Ryan and other revealing extras. It easily supersedes previous editions of Ikiru.
If you already know and love Ikiru you’ll be delighted and if it’s your first encounter then be prepared to be moved by a disturbing, heart rendering and affirmative achievement of world cinema. It’s still perhaps Kurosawa’s best film.
Alan Price©2024.
Ikiru (Kurosawa) BFI Blu Ray 2 Disc set
Ikiru has been translated as Living or To Live. Earlier on in the 1950/60’s it was Living and living with a six month’s only death sentence (The film’s protagonist is terminally ill with stomach cancer). However this elderly bureaucrat is, according to Kurosawa’s off screen narrator, already dead. Watanabe has had the same monotonous local council job for over thirty years for which he mainly rubber stamps endless forms. Work has killed his spirit. How is he able to live – find meaning in life?
At first it’s having a good time, clubbing and going to bars with a bohemian writer and then innocently flirting with Toyo, a clerk in his office who’s just resigned. Neither work out. In his final attempt to fully live he pesters other departments and confronts his higher ups, including the mayor, to approve the clearing of a cesspool and the building of a children’s playground for a group of parents. Now, in the face of a meaningless life, the presently translated title To Live is appropriate. Watanabe’s choice is responsibly existential – he must create a meaningful life for himself alone.
Since the film’s release in 1952 Ikiru has received great critical and public acclaim. Many people place it in their lists as one of the greatest films ever made. It’s certainly on mine and the test of time has only deepened my admiration for Kurosawa’s masterwork. Yet although Ikiru asks how we confront death, in a totally unsentimental way, at this viewing what I felt uppermost was the crushing effects of a deadening and inhuman bureaucracy. From this perspective Ikiru feels like a much darker, even cruel, film. Kurosawa appears closer to Kafka: Joseph K’s attempts to get justice and Gregor Samsa obtain human dignity. Watanabe joins their struggle.
In spite of Takashi Shimura’s tendency to look a little too wide eyed in horror or grief his performance is overall superb (Watanabe’s final moments where he sings, whilst on a swing, during a snowfall, in a playground, is hauntingly iconic.)
All the film’s performances are true and beautifully pitched – especially Miki Odagiri playing Toyo. And I love Kurosawa’s choreography of Watanabe’s colleagues at the funeral wake. How they drunkenly sway, laugh, protest, and self deceive themselves is a marvel to watch. All the while Kurosawa keeping the action tightly framed so as to reinforce his critique of their behaviour and the futile jobs they endure. Many people who love the first two thirds of the film, and some Kurosawa detractors, have complained that this sequence drags. I disagree for Kurosawa needs time to carefully analyse the strengths and failings of the office workers. His critique is carefully graded down from the highest official to the lowest employee and Kurosawa systematically shows their inability to learn and change.
Another great sequence is when Watanabe reflects on his relationship with his son Mitsuo, after the death of his wife, and when his son is taken into hospital for an operation. Kurosawa’s editing and emotional incisiveness is magnificently realised. The shots of their car following mother’s funeral hearse, with the boy Mitsuo telling them to hurry up as mother’s car is getting ahead of them and Watanabe’s initial pride and then disappointment, in Mitsuo losing in baseball, are unforgettable.
Throughout Ikiru Kurosawa frequently employs wipes. This technical transition is inspired for its sense of encroaching death and the wiping clean of memory. And the film’s imagery is always dense and revealing of character, time and space (The amazing packed dance hall scene works like a creature, of this conglomerate mass, almost suffocating the clerk who failed to live well.)
This BFI 4k restoration comes with a booklet containing astute essays by Tony Rayns and James-Masaki Ryan and other revealing extras. It easily supersedes previous editions of Ikiru.
If you already know and love Ikiru you’ll be delighted and if it’s your first encounter then be prepared to be moved by a disturbing, heart rendering and affirmative achievement of world cinema. It’s still perhaps Kurosawa’s best film.
Alan Price©2024.
By Alan Price • film, year 2024 • Tags: Alan Price, film