Rashômon

Deceitful Rider

Rashômon
Directed by Akira Kurosawa
Daiei Japan 1950 
BFI Blu Ray Zone B

“Women can’t help crying. They’re naturally weak.”
The Bandit

Ryūnosuke Akutagawa's short story ‘In The Grove’, which I have read in English translation but not for a couple of decades now, is the basis for this very important film, Rashômon, by the great Akira Kurosawa. It’s a landmark for so many reasons and, hooray, it has my two favourite actors in this one, Toshiro Mifune as a bandit and the great Takashi Shimura as a woodcutter. 

It’s a film which starts at the Rashômon Gate*, various static shots of which, in the pouring rain, punctuate the opening credit cards. And then we see two characters, Shimura and yet another of he and Mifune’s Seven Samurai co-stars (I think there’s a fair few of them in this, despite the small cast), Minoru Chiaki as a priest. Both are sheltering from the kind of hard rain that only Kurosawa could create and capture (I think with added black ink rather than milk in this case), when they are joined by a third person, played by Kichijirō Ueda, who wants to know why the two are puzzling, despairing in fact, about various witness accounts they’ve just seen in the trial of the aforementioned bandit. 

Okay, so from here the film goes into various flashbacks, both from this refuge and also within the stories from the trial, which tells the tale of a murderous (or possibly even suicidal) forest encounter between Mifune’s bandit, a samurai played by Masayuki Mori and his wife, played by Machiko Kyô. And each person tells a completely different version of the events that the woodcutter himself saw, in his fourth version of the story, which even then is not believed. Each version differing wildly in tone and intent within the same basic set up of a bandit raping the samurai’s wife. Even the samurai who was killed, by one means or another, by the end of the sequence of events, gives his side of the story, being brought back to speech at the trial through a spiritual medium, played by Noriko Honma

Six performances so electrically charged that they positively crackle with energy, combined with what was then deemed, at least by the West, as groundbreaking cinematic technique.

There are a few reasons why people still worship at the cinematic temple of Rashômon to this day and one of them, of course, is that the very phenomena of various eyewitness accounts and people’s memories conflicting with each other has slipped into common usage in the English language, being known now as a Rashômon-like occurrence. I, myself, on numerous occasions where I’ve had to do jury service, have seen how the eyewitness evidence of two or more witnesses can often be diametrically opposed to each other (either that or the police are incredibly stupid... take your pick).

But this is not the only reason why it is remembered...

The film won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival and, two years later, won an Honourary Academy Award, the film often being credited as to why the Academy invented the Best Foreign Movie category. In other words, it was the film that put Japanese cinema on the map (which to the Japanese meant that the film must be somehow deficient, if the crazy Westerners could understand it... and not be a true Japanese product). I mean some film was bound to do that for Japan at some point but... yeah, this was the one. But why?

Well, the first flashback and many subsequent scenes has the moving camera pointing up directly at the sun (with the tree canopy against the sky almost becoming another character here)... often accredited as being the first film to do so (although there were, I suspect, silent films doing that before 1950) but, as importantly, the film uses a lot of hand held camera technique, which was also a bit of an eye opener. I’ve heard many directors tell of the first time they saw this and the way the camera was freed and allowed them to contemplate what else could be done with cinema. Also, in reference to the fact that the different flashback sequences, each eliciting very different performances by the lead actors (it’s quite something when, in the fourth segment, Machiko Kyô kinda goes mad and slips into the trademark, over enthusiastic, wild Mifune laugh from the first sequence which would later reappear in Seven Samurai, and make it her own) and they way the medium of film suddenly seemed so free and flexible. And the rigorous fight between the bandit and the samurai in the first recollection is performed as two inept men fighting comically when it’s observed for the fourth time.

Plus, of course, what Kurosawa could so with a 4:3 aspect ratio is just amazing. Here are just three of the many shots which are utterly brilliant here...

The samurai first coming across Mifune sitting against tree on the opposite side of screen, a huge tree trunk turning the vertical space between them into a thick black separator, framing the actors in their own slivers of space.

Another shot of the upper torso and head of Shimura in close up, centred large in the screen, with two other characters in long shot over each shoulder as they converse. Again, another separator, this time made from one of the characters (see one of the shots pictured above).

Finally, Minoru Chiaki clutching one side of a column in close up, the structure taking up the right half of the screen as an area of darkness. Then Shimura says something and we pan right, the column now taking up the left hand side of the screen as we catch up to a medium shot of Shimura standing in the background all in one motion. It’s like a moving series of frames and all this stuff I’m describing in terms of visual creativity is just a small handful of much of the movie in terms of excellence in shot composition (which, to be fair, you expect from the greatest director in the world... which is, of course, Akira Kurosawa). 

And that’s just about it from me about Rashômon, I think. It’s obviously influential and has also been remade a fair few times... I still need to see the Western remake with Paul Newman and William Shatner entitled The Outrage but, even the great Mario Bava had a crack at this when he turned it into a fairly sexless sex comedy in his film Four Times That Night, if memory recalls (what do you expect when you let Dick Randall produce your movie, eh?). Rashômon, though, is definitely the film that put Japanese cinema and, by default, Kurosawa, on the international map and most cineastes would have surely seen this one by now. But, if you haven’t, you should probably look this one up... it added greatly, I think, to the grammar of cinema in all it’s forms. Another of the great director’s masterpieces. 

*Originally an entranceway to Kyoto but destroyed by storms over the 9th and 10th centuries.