It is not prerequisite knowledge for the enjoyment of any Imamura that he worked as an assistant director to Ozu – most famously for "Tôkyô monogatari" in 1953 – and that it was in part this experience with the mentor-director, largely viewing both cinema and culture differently from the younger radical-apparent, that guided Imamura to his path. But, and this is a rather sharp "but", it lends certain mouth-watering anticipation when Imamura, late in his career, turns to Ozu's era, his lighting, and in many ways the kind of small domestic-centered drama very much in Ozu's preference.
Not to say "Kuroi ame" (1989) is some sort of a homage (which it is not yet as if that were a bad thing) or competition, nevertheless the conversation is there. The film is very recognizably Imamuran in its rich introspection into the Japanese sense of self during a time of losing oneself, how and what society is and what it becomes in times like that, and art in the middle of it – film in the middle of it as a witness. Isn't all of Imamura about this?
As is, "Kuroi ame" is among Imamura's most accomplished works. A testament to his ability not to overemphasize (banalize, sentimentalize), he lets the film unfold with a mere gentle narrative push, and a narrative of such gravity certainly gains its own momentum. Heartbreaking from start to finish, the film is not complacently pulling any strings – making loud speeches or adding cues here and there to let us on when to feel and what and how.
The effect of war; the cause of death, life, suffering. In each Imamura there is that one moment that takes on a life of its own and typifies the whole film, in ways becoming its own film altogether. Here it is that one short scene with the man they meet during their escape from the city. They're in the woods, for the moment lying down, gathering their strength. The man, shell-shocked, recounts how his son was left trapped in the ruins, able only to call for his father to help, the father unable to do anything without risking his own life. He leaves, hearing his son calling after him, facing certain death. As a father this is among the most heartbreaking experiences in film that I have come across, not something I necessarily want to experience again but without which I know I would be incomplete.
So it is with this film. It's amazing really to think of Imamura being able to create works of art from decade to the next. Films of integrity, not pandering to the lowest common denominator (whatever that is or whatever he might have thought it to be), neither risking for risk's sake, rather for the film's sake. It sounds so noble one may be inclined to snort, but just might be the most difficult thing not only in film but in all life.
Not to say "Kuroi ame" (1989) is some sort of a homage (which it is not yet as if that were a bad thing) or competition, nevertheless the conversation is there. The film is very recognizably Imamuran in its rich introspection into the Japanese sense of self during a time of losing oneself, how and what society is and what it becomes in times like that, and art in the middle of it – film in the middle of it as a witness. Isn't all of Imamura about this?
As is, "Kuroi ame" is among Imamura's most accomplished works. A testament to his ability not to overemphasize (banalize, sentimentalize), he lets the film unfold with a mere gentle narrative push, and a narrative of such gravity certainly gains its own momentum. Heartbreaking from start to finish, the film is not complacently pulling any strings – making loud speeches or adding cues here and there to let us on when to feel and what and how.
The effect of war; the cause of death, life, suffering. In each Imamura there is that one moment that takes on a life of its own and typifies the whole film, in ways becoming its own film altogether. Here it is that one short scene with the man they meet during their escape from the city. They're in the woods, for the moment lying down, gathering their strength. The man, shell-shocked, recounts how his son was left trapped in the ruins, able only to call for his father to help, the father unable to do anything without risking his own life. He leaves, hearing his son calling after him, facing certain death. As a father this is among the most heartbreaking experiences in film that I have come across, not something I necessarily want to experience again but without which I know I would be incomplete.
So it is with this film. It's amazing really to think of Imamura being able to create works of art from decade to the next. Films of integrity, not pandering to the lowest common denominator (whatever that is or whatever he might have thought it to be), neither risking for risk's sake, rather for the film's sake. It sounds so noble one may be inclined to snort, but just might be the most difficult thing not only in film but in all life.