#90
Post
by Sloper » Sat Jan 07, 2017 8:52 am
On the first viewing, I was a little confused by the climax as well: it seemed so much like a deathbed scene, I was sure Chobo was going to die. But then there’s the rather muted news of his recovery, and no real attention paid to the fallout from this. It’s as if the scene is a hybrid of nihilistic tragedy (of the kind we see from Kurosawa in the 80s) and something more optimistic. Throughout the film, we see the clinic dealing with society’s cast-offs, and there’s a recurrent question (articulated most cynically by the Takashi Shimura character) about whether they can really accomplish anything. Is society too badly governed, too individualistic and materialistic, too lacking in empathy, to allow Red Beard to make a significant difference? He is painfully conscious of the limits on what he can do, and it’s significant that at the end, he says that Chobo has vomited the poison, but they’ll have to wait and see if he survives the night; then ‘the poison has left his body’, not ‘we’ve removed the poison’; so yes, it’s largely a palliative, even quite passive role. If Chobo died at the end, that would imply a despairing overall outlook. Chobo would be a small, innocent child killed by poverty, but he’s also a lifeline for Otoyo, a chance for her to build healthy relationships with other people (beyond Masumoto), so such an ending might have indicated a bleak future for her as well. In the event, the film is more optimistic, and the ‘calling down the well’ scene clarifies the source of this optimism.
The central issue is that the clinic does good work, but it’s situated within a callous community; the latter threatens to cancel out the achievements of the former. I think the women who work at the clinic come to represent a sort of microcosm of that community. When they shout at Otoyo shortly after her arrival, Kurosawa makes sure to have Masumoto there as a conspicuous witness – and it’s very striking that he doesn’t intervene or rebuke the women for being so judgemental, much as Red Beard didn’t rebuke him in the early part of the film, but allowed him to figure things out for himself. As the women learn more about Otoyo (and Chobo), as they are exposed to the plight of these poor and abused children, they quickly develop more empathy for them. Their experience in this regard echoes that of Masumoto, and of us, the audience: Masumoto and the servant eavesdrop on the touching conversation between Chobo and Otoyo, and their passive, transformative revelation is similar to the one this film wants us to have, and similarly extreme. One of the problems I have with this film is that its sentimentality is so blunt and over-the-top. For instance, it’s not psychologically plausible (to me) that someone as severely abused as Otoyo would so quickly develop the emotional and moral sensitivity she displays towards Chobo in the washing-line sequence. But I do realise this is integral to what the film is saying.
All that society needs is to see how poor people live, and they will become empathetic; and thanks to their empathy, even the most damaged members of society can be healed, perhaps healed quite easily. People can arrive at this empathy for themselves, without being told to, because it’s a natural reaction to the sight of others’ suffering. The film wants to show how extreme and tragic the problem is, but it also wants to make the solution seem like it’s within our grasp. I agree with a lot of what ando says, and yes I think the shot of the women’s reflections in the well prompts questions about both the efficacy of their efforts to help Chobo, and about ourselves, the deepest levels of our being. Who are we, really, as individuals or as a community? What is at the core of human nature?
Here’s how I read it: there hasn’t literally been any miracle here, so when we look down the well all we see is water, and a reflection of the women, who fall quiet and stare at themselves; but those women stand for the community at large, and their concern for Chobo indicates that there is hope for the future, hence the film lets him live (to underline that sense of hope); the women’s compassion is signified by the single tear that falls into the well, which makes ripples (a little compassion goes a long way – less corny the way Kurosawa says it...), and dissolves and multiplies the image of the women, perhaps emphasising that they represent something beyond themselves. The water imagery is also important given that one of the main services the doctors can provide is giving water to their patients. The tear in the well echoes the tiny amount of water Chobo is able to suck from the damp cloth. Kurosawa likes the idea of a small but powerful redemption: the baby at the end of Rashomon or the modest playground at the end of Ikiru spring to mind.
It’s an incredible film, and like others I’m always amazed at how quickly the three hours go by. Some of the imagery is amazing, especially in the Sahachi flashback. Somehow, though, I’ve never been able to do more than admire it. I think it’s because I find its optimism (as I read it above) profoundly unconvincing, however much I would like to buy into it. This means that I always feel a bit lied to and manipulated by the film. But maybe others see the optimism/pessimism dynamic in different terms? I don’t always mind Kurosawa’s over-egged sentimentality – Ikiru reduces me to tears every time, perhaps because I find the central character’s transformation more believable, and the contrast between his new perspective and the callousness of his peers more poignant.