Author: khansen

Tokyo Sonata (Tôkyô sonata), released in 2008, is a film that can be classified as gendai-geki in its strong contemporary setting dealing with highly relevant topics of today’s society, and alarmingly realism despite its dramatic storyline. Written and directed by Kurosawa Kiyoshi, its depiction of the effects of economic society on an ordinary family stays true to the themes seen in most of his movies, making the film significant to an audience living in a similar reality. Concentrated on one particular family, the cast is quite small and intimate, mainly including prominent actors Kagawa Teruyuki and Koizumi Kyôko, as well as new talents Koyanagi Yû and Inowaki Kai. Full of dramatic tension from beginning to end, the film’s greatest strength lies in what is not said or directly explained, with Kurosawa creating a greater final impact by presenting the audience with storytelling that is not too excessive, and allowing the truth and depth behind the story to develop in a natural, subtle way.

The film focuses on the lives of the Sasaki family – father Ryûhei (Kagawa Teruyuki), mother Megumi (Koizumi Kyôko), eldest son Takashi (Koyanagi Yû), and youngest son Kenji (Inowaki Kai). Presented as a relatively average family, the Sasakis’ lives all begin to change in a domino effect after Ryûhei loses his job as Administrative Director in his company, and attempts to keep his sudden unemployment a secret. Showing Ryûhei’s struggle to stay fed, find a job, and retain his dignity, Kurosawa highlights the sad reality that many face in today’s competitive economic society. Shortly after Ryûhei discovers that his good friend Kurosu (Tsuda Kanji) is in a similar predicament; he has no choice but to resort to the same dishonesty and denial that is helping his friend survive. Meanwhile, signs that his wife is also having problems of her own go unnoticed by Ryûhei, and he fails to see Megumi’s growing frustration at her robotic-like existence and her longing for adventure. Their eldest son, Takashi, in a similar quest for meaning in his life, turns to enlisting in the US Army with or without his parents’ approval, and shows no interest in remaining close to his family. Kenji, the youngest, expresses his interest in practicing piano, and goes against his father’s wishes by taking lessons paid with monthly lunch money, unbeknownst to anyone. The web of lies, deceit, and rebellion amidst the family eventually escalates to the point where the Sasakis are completely apart from each other, each trapped in their own version of suffering and feeling hopeless. As truths come out and the recognition of reality sets in, they each discover that there are indeed two distinct answers to the resounding question that is constantly asked in the film: “From this moment on, do you think I can start over?”

Much of the film’s strong impact is a result of Kurosawa’s focus on subtle details, which can be seen in his cinematography. Throughout the film, Kurosawa’s camerawork includes several shots that linger and concentrate on very specific images, often doing so without any accompanying dialogue or explanation. By using this style of filming, Kurosawa allows the audience to pause along with the camera, emphasizing the emotions evoked in the moment. An example of this can be found in a scene when Ryûhei returns home late one night to find his wife asleep on the couch. After he wakes her up and asks her why she hadn’t gone to bed properly, she begins to explain that she was worried and was waiting for him to have dinner. Within the wide shot of the camera, the audience sees that Ryûhei simply ignores her and heads upstairs to bed, leaving Megumi alone as she raises her arms, asking for him to help her up. The camera then takes a lingering close-up shot of her raised arms – from Megumi’s first-person perspective – as she asks, to no avail, “Somebody, please help me up.” By making the audience focus on this simple moment and literally come closer to the character’s personal perspective, Kurosawa hints at the emotional suffering that is slowly surfacing in Megumi, and the viewer is able to share her feelings of emptiness and loneliness. Although a rather small incident, the strategic camerawork adds depth and significance without excessive explanation, leaving a lasting impression that also contributes to the overall storyline of Megumi’s character.

Such moments also present metaphorical images that shed light on important themes of the film. For instance, there are several shots of borders that are roughly hand-carved into the wooden floor around the perimeter of each of the boys’ rooms. These images of borders are never truly explained by the boys or any of the other characters, but can be seen as symbolic references to the idea of longing for security and protection, which can be seen as one of the key themes in Tokyo Sonata. They may also just as easily be a representation of the private lives that each member of the family leads, lacking any true openness or communication. In a sense, the viewer is free to explore his or her own opinion of what makes the focal image significant to the film, and is not coerced with explanations within the dialogue to come to one particular conclusion, but is merely guided by the director’s camerawork.

A more literal way in which the film can be seen to draw strength from what is unsaid is through the lack of open communication among the characters. Not only does a refusal to admit the truth dramatically affect the relationships between characters, but it also creates a feeling of constant tension and uncertainty that is critical to the tone of the film. When Kurosu (who has been faking employment for almost three months) invites Ryûhei to his house for dinner in an effort to ease his family’s suspicions, there is an overwhelming sense of discomfort throughout the scene. With the audience aware of Kurosu’s elaborate methods of lying to his family in a desperate attempt to maintain his dignity, the scene becomes truly poignant and tragic. Adding to these strong feelings is the tremendous amount of guilt that is obviously felt by Ryûhei, who is not only helping his friend temporarily fool his family (and perhaps even himself), but is also coming to sadly realize what he in turn is doing to his own family. In this way, the storyline of the movie is just as much driven by what is not said as what is said in the dialogue and actions of the characters. The lack of communication and honesty between characters creates a tension within the film that continuously escalates, and makes the film unpredictable and moving as it builds up to a powerful ending.

Kurosawa’s method of holding back and not using explanations and dialogues to excess also applies to his choice in scoring the film. Although the film’s title alludes to music and would suggest a strong presence of music throughout the film, this is not exactly true. Instead, the events of the film mostly take place in silence. Kurosawa limits the use of music within the film to specific critical scenes, and even then, most of these instances are quite short, quiet, and relatively unnoticeable. As a result, the audience is encouraged to put more focus on the finely tuned camerawork and limited dialogue, and the music that would normally fill in any gaps or pauses is instead replaced by an overwhelming silence, adding to the sense of tension and suspense. By the end of the film, when the use of music becomes more significant, it becomes obvious that Kurosawa strategically refrains from its overuse in order to create a stronger impact, and to reach a point where he then allows music to speak for itself in turn.

Having won several awards, including Best Film at the 2009 Asian Film Awards and an official selection for the 2008 Cannes Film Festival’s Un Certain Regard, Tokyo Sonata is undeniably recognized by many to be a great film. Although its overall message is powerful and hard-hitting, Kurosawa gradually builds up to this lasting image of the film through the subtle and strategic usage of camerawork, dialogue, and music. By making the audience continuously derive their own meaning from the film, he also brings attention to the truth and reality behind the characters of Tokyo Sonata, proving that the film is relatable and significant to the modern audience. Much like the idea behind a Sonata in its title, the message behind the piece is not simply sung or directly stated, but instead allows its feelings and emotions to come about naturally from the audience, letting their own individual experiences bring meaning to the film.

The 1996 gendai-geki film by Suo Masayuki titled Shall We Dansu? (Shall we Dansu?/Shall We Dance?), is a dramatic, contemporary portrayal of an everyday Japanese “salaryman” (businessman) (Sugiyama Shohei, hereon Sugiyama) expressing his self-worth and cultivating it through dancing. The joy and satisfaction it brings makes him feel complete and fulfilled, bringing a sense of meaning into his life as a whole (i.e. work, family). Sugiyama, the protagonist of this film is played by Hashimoto Kōji, known for his role in the US films, “Memoirs of a Geisha” and “Babel” (2005, 2006 respectively). Kusakari Tamiyo (a famous Japanese dancer from the Maki Asami Ballet Company) is the beautiful woman whom is responsible for drawing Suigiyama to the dance studio where he begins to allow himself release his inhibitions.

The plot of this film is focused on Sugiyama, who is portrayed residing in the bustling city of Tokyo, where he has accomplished all that a salaryman as an individual within a collectivistic society (Japanese society) hopes to attain. It is when Sugiyama successfully attains everything he’s hoped to gain over the years, working hard as an accountant (devoted wife, loving child, a house he owns), a revelation occurs where he still feels a sense of incompleteness internally despite his external accomplishments. A reoccurring scene shows Sugiyama going about his daily routine where he goes straight to work and back home again only to eat, sleep, enjoy the ofuro [bath] and religiously start the day over again without deviating from this.

Shall we Dansu? is a reoccurring theme on its own that is brought to the forefront repeatedly.  It is represented in a variety of different forms to emphasize its importance; firstly, the title of this film is appropriately named Shall we Dansu?, secondly, it is the name of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s song titled “Shall We Dance” in the 1956 film The King and I which is frequently played throughout the film, thirdly, there is a poster Mai makes and posts on the dance studio’s window so Sugiyama can see it and read it as he looks up from the train station to convince him to continue to dance, and lastly as each dance number is performed throughout the film, whether during rehearsal or during the competition, it is repeatedly asked if not physically gestured (palm facing up, arm extended towards partner).

The emergence of the contemporary stereotype of the typical Japanese man as a salaryman is also another theme distinctive to this film. Depending on an individuals’ cultural background, one may interpret the film differently, mainly noticing cultural traits familiar to oneself. Myself being westernized and a Japanese, I contemplated that a westerner who may not be privy to extensive knowledge of contemporary Japan may miss the key elements and may not even know the concept of salaryman, which is usually described as the modern-day samurai: disciplined, hard-working, and loyal to the company. There is a misconception that samurais always exercised bushidō (the way of the samurai) however it wasn’t until the Meiji period (1868-1912) until Japan’s interaction with the West (involving war) did they feel the need to be disciplined and focused. Typical traits of a salaryman, to name a few that are represented in this film, are their religiously rigid daily schedule, constant overtime at work, after hours socializing with co-workers, long commutes home, and arriving home late, only to go straight to sleep to start the same routine again. Most westerners might not think anything of Sugiyama’s reoccurring habits and routines but they are very much characteristic of a Japanese salaryman. You will find that the only mode of interacting and socializing with the outside world Sugiyama has would be limited to his immediate family and his co-workers alone until he participates in dance class. I recommend reading Tetsurō, Kato’s ”Sayonara Salaryman” in the January 5^th edition of the Economist to better prepare oneself to watching the film to provide adequate enough knowledge to get the full experience of the film.

I must clarify that this film is not limited to Japanese culture alone, but it is imperative to distinguish the differences in perspective (the West vs Japan) regarding ballroom dancing; the focal act central to this film and to Sugiyama’s personal escape. Western culture seems to perceive ballroom dancing as old-fashioned and very much accepted in the norm whereas in the beginning of this film, we are quickly informed by the voiceover that Japanese culture believe otherwise; they use the word ‘suspicious’ to sum up their description. While westerners feel quick to conclude that Sugiyama is suffering from a mid-life crisis, Japanese people will disagree, quietly relating to Sugiyama on a personal level. There is a reason why the opening scene was of ballroom dancing done in the West and not in Japan, the sheer judgment society has on such an activity is still very strong today. Japanese people will most likely make out the message of this film to be indirectly expressed through ballroom dancing which is to be true to oneself, to allow oneself to find a sense of fulfillment as an individual in a society where it is considered shameful to think just for oneself and in Sugiyama’s case, it is his curiosity to learn the art of ballroom. Sugiyama does not mention his new-found after-work activity to anyone at work let alone his family. There is a point where he starts the beginners’ class where you’ll find the other male individuals too are making up reasons to join the class when the reality is that  they have ulterior motives. The harsh judgment of individuals wanting to express themselves is so strong that only later does Sugiyama discover his own co-worker, Aoki in incognito as a long –haired, tanned, Latino-like man (you’ll have to screen the film to find out why!) when he is naturally a bald, pale, nerdy-looking individual.

As you’ll soon discover, Sugiyama represents the everyman that every cultures’ male individuals’ can relate to on some level. The film’s ability to transcend to other cultures enables its success to reach out and captivate a larger audience. I would not consider it a Japanese film at all but very much an international one for its capacity to convey a universal message. The casting choice of Hashimoto Kōji was a successful pick, I could not picture any other actor to communicate and express Sugiyama’s character nor do the film justice as a whole. I highly recommend watching Shall we Dansu? and then watching the 2004 western version: Shall We Dance? starring Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez to see cultural differences and how they’ve interpreted them in the West.

Bibliography

Paterson, Colin. Shall we Dansu? – Shall we Dance?. Businessmen in Japanese Culture. N.p. April 2004. Web. 20 Oct. 2010.

Shall we Dansu? Dir. Masayuki Suo Perf. Kōji Hashimoto, Tamiyo Kusakari. Toho Company, 1996. DVD.

Tetsurō, Kato. “Sayonara Salaryman.” Economist. January 05, 2008: 68-70.