LATE SPRING (1949)

None of us know how long we have on this Earth. It’s a sobering thought that has influenced the likes of Blade Runner (1982), The Seventh Seal (1957), and Never Let Me Go (2010). The uncertainty inherent in living defines the choices we make in life. And one of the best early explorations of our mortality can be found in Late Spring / 晩春, a film that’s perhaps Japan’s greatest contribution to cinema.

Noriko (Setsuko Hara) loves living with her father, Shukichi (Chishū Ryū). In a world that’s constantly changing, it provides both of them with familiarity and comfort. But when her Aunt Masa Taguchi (Haruko Sugimura) suggests Noriko meet a suitor for a potential husband, Noriko balks at the idea: she refuses to leave her widowed father alone in the world.

Late Spring is a heart-breaking film about familial love, as well as the loneliness that inevitably pervades our lives in moments of change. Written and directed by Yasujirō Ozu, who is largely considered to be one of the world’s greatest filmmakers, it’s recognised today as a masterpiece, a meditative ode to personal hardship, emotional turbulence, and mental fortitude, all set within a post-war Japan that was experiencing a crisis in national identity.

The shift in the collective Japanese ethos and the frightening adjustment facing Noriko are both exquisitely amalgamated into one issue: marriage. From the very beginning of the film, it becomes apparent that marital customs in Japan are changing, with people electing to remarry after divorce. When Noriko hears that her Uncle Onodera (Masao Mishima) has remarried, she playfully says the union is impure, even going so far as to label him “dirty.”

The country is transforming. This can also be seen in how Noriko’s father Shukichi considers her feelings throughout the nuptial process; at a time when arranged marriages were common in Japan, Shukichi is cautious about forcing Noriko into something that she doesn’t want. He values her emotional wellbeing, and clearly understands the way she thinks, whimsically revealing that his daughter thinks of marriage as “life’s graveyard.” However, understanding that Noriko may be putting off finding a partner for the wrong reasons, he solemnly intones: “I suppose it’s time for her to start thinking about it.”

The cyclical nature of life is a prevalent theme throughout Ozu’s Late Spring. Side characters are frequently taken aback by seeing how mature Noriko has become. As one character notes: “A little girl all grown up.” This motif draws the looming presence of her decision to the foreground, while also highlighting her father’s mortality. While everyone encourages her to get a move on and start her own life, she’s terrified of missing the last part of her father’s. Most of all, she doesn’t want him to spend it alone.

This theme of change becomes prominent, even in conversations that aren’t about Noriko. As Shukichi talks with his sister, Masa, she laments the way in which people behave in contemporary society. Describing a recent wedding she attended, she decries the comportment of the bride, criticising the way she ate greedily and wept excessively. She bemoans: “Young people today are so different…”

As this film was made during the American Occupation of Japan, the state of society and the threat against tradition was a hot topic at the time. Noriko can even be seen to exhibit traditionally Western ideals, such as individualistic ideation, sexual autonomy, and financial independence. However, Ozu presents such ideas as threats against traditional values and national virtues, suggesting through these dialogues that these ideas have perhaps been adopted too quickly and without adequate forethought.

This state of uncertainty is sublimely conveyed through the cinematography. Ozu and cinematographer Yūharu Atsuta almost always employ a static camera, often placed in corridors. It’s an intriguing choice: why not just shoot from within the room, instead of filming from the adjacent hallway? Perhaps because it symbolises transition, the angles themselves mirroring Noriko’s state of change as she moves from one part of her life to the next.

Both Noriko and Shukichi smile through their sadness. It mirrors the tacit battle between tradition and individual desire, between practicality and raw emotion. As Noriko falls to her knees in their living room, weeping quietly so that her father won’t hear her, he muses softly as he looks out the window: “It’ll be sunny again tomorrow.”

The father is all practicality; rationally, he can see how much he depends on his daughter, but he is in denial of his own feelings out of concern for Noriko. He does not want her compassion to be her undoing. Consequently, personal feeling is supplanted by tried and tested tradition, though it practically breaks Noriko’s heart. Shukichi is pleased to have done his duties as a father. It’s only when he peels himself an apple, a practice that his doting daughter would do for him as an act of kindness, that we see him truly comprehend the loss that he’s suffered.

Senji Itō’s incredible score gives me goosebumps every single time I hear it. The music conveys the tragic passing of time, imparts the great transition that is facing both of our protagonists. It never becomes mawkish or overdone, as one could say of Kenji Mizoguchi’s Sansho the Bailiff (1954). Instead, it’s an understated ode to the innate grief every parent experiences as they watch their children grow up.

Ozu’s Late Spring comes from the shomin-geki drama, a sub-genre that examines the average lives of everyday people as they tackle the modern problems that face them in the contemporary period. In this respect, Late Spring emerged alongside similar cinematic styles, such as Italian Neorealism, and preceded the British kitchen sink drama.

However, it possesses a much more tranquil aspect than both these film movements. There isn’t the frenetic energy or immediate desperation present in Ozu’s family dramas as you could find in the work of Lindsay Anderson, or Tony Richardson. There is a quiet, solemn pathos to the work; emotions are felt, but are mused on in silent, introspective sequences. Noriko dwells on the frightening new emotions facing her—but she never once screams. Her terror and despondency can all be found in the lines of her face, in Setsuko Hara’s mesmerising performance.

If Late Spring isn’t Ozu’s best film, then it’s certainly his second best, behind Tokyo Story (1953). This is an opinion shared by many critics and filmmakers, too. When Sight and Sound released their decennial poll 2012, asking professionals to rank what they considered to be the best films of all time, Late Spring featured on the list at number 15, the second highest-ranking Japanese film; Tokyo Story took 3rd place.

It’s easy to see why. There are simply very few dramas quite like Late Spring. It’s one of the best depictions of a father-daughter relationship: Noriko isn’t quite a house-wife, but she’s more than a daughter; she is Shukichi’s closest friend. They are indescribably comfortable in each other’s company, in a genuine, authentic way. In its wonderful simplicity, it’s my favourite film of Ozu’s: as a quietly sublime exploration of familial love, and a pensive, unexaggerated look at the loss and loneliness inherent in our mortality, it’s a transcendental film.

There’s a bittersweet aspect to Late Spring. As close as they are, what we are witnessing is the vestiges of a connection built over a lifetime. When Noriko marries, they will never live together again. Both of them mention how their holiday to Kyoto will be their final trip together, and it becomes apparent to both of them that this is the last time they will ever be like this. When this father and daughter look at each other despondently, it’s as though they are two sides of the same coin: life and death, beginning and ending.

This is dramatized in how, much like Shukichi, we never see Noriko again after the wedding. The ending always moves me. In one of cinema’s most subtly powerful denouements, we watch as a man slowly recognises that his life has changed forever, that he has lost what was to him the most important thing in the world—and that it had to be done. There is no running to the airport, or any unrealistic, sappy promises of future plans. There’s only a man recognising that he’s become alone.

As such, Late Spring is like a parable—we never step in the same river twice. This life only goes one way, and embracing that fact can often be frightening, infuriating, and deeply saddening. But regardless of how painful it is to experience change, it will happen with or without you. As Noriko walks along the beach, we see how waves will always come in and out. And though it practically devastates Shukichi to send his daughter off into the world, he understands that flowers must bloom, no matter how late spring arrives.

JAPAN | 1949 | 108 MINUTES | 1.37:1 | BLACK & WHITE | JAPANESE

Cast & Crew

director: Yasujirō Ozu.
writers: Kogo Noda & Yasujirō Ozu (based on ‘Father and Daughter’ by Kazuo Hirotsu.)
starring: Chishū Ryū, Setsuko Hara, Yumeji Tsukioka, Haruko Sugimura & Yōko Katsuragi.