Late Spring (1949)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Late Spring (1949) – Y. Ozu

One of the first films by Yasujiro Ozu that I saw and a key masterwork that contains some of his central themes, favourite actors, and hallmark techniques.  Ozu often named his later films for the seasons, equating them to periods in our lives – so late spring represents aging youth.  It comes with a heightened sense that time is passing and may be running out for those who need to move on to life’s next stage. Indeed, the plot focuses on the relationship between adult daughter Noriko (Setsuko Hara) and her widowed father (Chishû Ryû); she tends to him as a wife would and feels that he couldn’t get along without her. A busybody aunt (Haruko Sugimura) thinks it is time for Noriko to get married.  Of course, the father, a kindly sort, might actually be better off if Noriko didn’t marry but he too sees the wisdom in helping her to start her own family.  Although there is a potential suitor, things don’t work out and Noriko is urged to accept an arranged marriage – she only resists until she discovers that her father, too, is being encouraged to remarry.  As in other Ozu films, the family relationships are witnessed and commented upon by others; in this case, the father’s professor friend, recently remarried, and Noriko’s high-school friend, recently divorced.  They offer glimpses of what might be (the trials of single women, the possibility of new older partnerships), encouraging Noriko forward.  Setsuko Hara’s acting is exquisite – we feel (but do not actually see) her strong emotions as she resists losing her strong connection to her dad.  As always, Ozu punctuates the scenes in his films with quiet moments, shots that contain no people (still lives), often an empty room before someone enters but just as frequently a geometrically perfect outdoor shot.  In Late Spring, Ozu also offers a glimpse of numerous Japanese traditions – a tea ceremony, several temples of Kyoto, Noh drama.  Critic David Bordwell suggests that Ozu was intimating to the U.S. Occupation forces that Japanese traditions can sit side-by-side a new liberal modernism that features independent women and softspoken men– but a political reading of the film seems less rewarding than a transcendental existential one.  Observing the relationships here – and across Ozu’s body of work, where the same themes reoccur with subtle variations – cannot help but lead one to introspect about one’s own life and relationships, even if the culture on display here is very different from one’s own. Ozu succeeds by honing in on the socioemotional challenges we all face, heightened all the more because his characters tend to suppress their feelings. If you have never watched an Ozu film, this would be a perfect place to begin.