Retro Review: ‘Late Spring’ (1949) — The Bitter Nature of Impermanence

Yasujirō Ozu’s early masterpiece on family balances zen and emotion perfectly.

Credit: Shochiku

★★★★★

“I want us to stay where we are.”

Yasujirō Ozu’s study of familial love and the passing of time remains my favorite of the master’s works. Following a father/daughter relationship from blissful routine to painful change, Late Spring offers a brilliantly crafted look at individual happiness vs societal expectation, as well as the bitter nature of impermanence in our lives — from personal ties to outer community, politics, places and culture.

Honestly, what can I write about Setsuko Hara that hasn’t already been said far better? One of the greatest gifts to cinema. An actor who interlaced emotion and psychology like a tapestry below the surface of her characters; every gesture, look, line delivery rich in complexity and meaning.

Credit: Shochiku

As steadfast daughter Noriko, living with and taking care of her widowed father in a peaceful and relatively independent existence, Hara gives what I still consider to be her finest performance. How she portrays sincere contentment in the opening acts, her heart and warmth laced with subtle feistiness and self-assurance, immediately draws us to Noriko. And when the heart and warmth become a shield, guarding darker thoughts and emotions — uncertainty, constraint, despair — her duality of smiles and spoken words vs the raw expression in her eyes and composure is nothing short of magnificent.

Ozu complements this beat for beat in style, his signature zen-observational storytelling subtly betraying the film’s rite of passage framework. What on paper could’ve easily been realized as a hopeful rom-dram tale of entry into adult womanhood is fleshed out with ambiguity, hurt and melancholia. Noriko’s pressure to go against the life she loves for one that family and broader society expect of her — leaving her father behind for an arranged marriage — is played out with gripping humanity, the nuance of her character only matched by papa Shukichi.

Credit: Shochiku

What can I write about Chishū Ryū that also hasn’t already been said far better? Another gift to cinema, and a persona whose chill cigarette and saké absorption of life, conversation and nature I try to model my own after (just with a lot more sarcasm and swearing). Like Hara, he was a virtuoso of layered performance — almost always keeping a reserved surface that held behind it a plethora of thought and feeling.

Here as Shukichi he adds a key component to the narrative that makes it even more flesh and blood. As we’d expect he wholeheartedly loves his daughter (Ryū and Hara are a gem together), is a household klutz without the presence of women in his life, and in typical dad fashion grunts in agreement of the arranged marriage and pushes it through despite clearly seeing Noriko doesn’t want it. But there’s a heavy-hearted altruism to his actions that is slowly and carefully revealed to us. He is quietly devastated by the loss of his wife, realizes his age and perceived burden to Noriko, and puts his stock tragically in separation being the best for the two — preparing his daughter with her own life before his inevitable passing.

[embed]Credit: Kultas94

This only fully hits him — and us — in that heartbreaking final moment. The power of Ozu can nearly be summed up in these last two minutes. In Shukichi retiring to a room filled with emptiness. In the sigh dropping from his breath and the formality fading from his composure as he takes a seat. In his peeling of an apple, its skin hitting the floor and leaving the fruit naked to the elements; the one organic fusion separated for the first time as two. In his crumpled body and heavy eyes. In the waves outside continuing to crash, their movement and destruction as natural as their stability and peace.

Makes me cry every time.

Credit: Shochiku

Ozu’s compositions and editing are phenomenal as ever in Late Spring, his use of poetic cinematic language drifting wonderfully between distance and intimacy. The symmetry and division of interiors are contrasted beautifully with the open spaces of nature and rough, expressive details of accessories; inanimate objects speaking just as deeply to us as the humans behind them.

His breaking of filmmaking tradition with eyeline and placement of camera might be jarring for some, but I absolutely love it. There’s a sense of characters conversing and emoting directly to us that can’t be captured with over the shoulder coverage or side mediums. If it was done every time, it would burn itself out. But Ozu uses it with such precision it remains fresh and engaging, balanced perfectly by all-time great partners in crime Yûharu Atsuta (DP) and Yoshiyasu Hamamura (editor).

Credit: Shochiku

The script by Ozu and other boss frequent collaborator Kōgo Noda is equally grand, giving Hara and Ryū tons of characterization to work with. Its structure threads each scene strongly into the next, while allowing breathing room for some comedy and more playful moments.

Ozu’s meticulous, laconic style — sometimes dubbed anti-cinema — might not be for everyone. But if you’re new to him, and looking for a place to start, Late Spring is an excellent choice. An arthouse banger from start to finish. And, despite being separated by three other films in between, really the prelude to his central masterpiece Tokyo Story.

Credit: Shochiku

Bonus points for the debate of westernization vs Japanese tradition constantly stitched into the background. That cleverly placed Coca-Cola sign — framing Noriko and a suitor bicycling through a lovely spring day like a cheap and hollow ad — is such a sweet and snarky middle finger to the Occupation’s persistent censorship during production.

I don’t think the film easily aligns itself with either viewpoint, despite Ozu being more a personal traditionalist. But his sneaky satire on western culture is always a treat.

Where to watch **Late Spring. Follow me on [Letterboxd](https://letterboxd.com/lennfilm/) **for daily reviews, lists and fun.