Oyû-sama (1951)
Directed by Kenji Mizoguchi

Film Review

Oyû-sama (a.k.a. Miss Oyu or Lady Oyu) was the first film that acclaimed Japanese film director Kenji Mizoguchi made for Daiei Studios, the company for which he made his best known and most highly regarded films, most notably his great masterpiece Ugetsu Monogatari (1953).  By this time, Mizoguchi had long been recognised as one his country's most important filmmakers, as renowned for his elaborate period pieces (jidai-gekis) as for his modern social dramas.  Oyû-sama falls between these two genres - it is set in the past (specifically the Meiji period of the late 19th century) but embraces modern feminist concerns which would have made it extremely popular with a contemporary female audience.

The film is based on a 1930s novel by the important modern Japanese writer Junichiro Tanizaki entitled Ashikari, which translates as The Reed Cutter.  The film differs from the novel is several respects, most notably in its narrative structure - the film dispenses with the flashback format of the book and employs a classical linear structure, which has the unfortunate effect of demystifying the central female protagonist.  Mizoguchi was unhappy with this change and was equally hostile to Daiei's insistence over the change of title, from the poetic Ashikari to the more prosaic Oyû-sama.  Another reason why Mizoguchi disliked the film was that he later felt that Kinuyo Tanaka was unsuitable for the part of Oyû, which demanded an acting style of far greater restraint and subtlety than the charismatic star Tanaka was capable of providing.

Oyû-sama is not one of Mizoguchi's better known films, and it is too easily overshadowed by the more widely publicised masterpieces that the director made around this time.  Whilst it may not have the stylistic brilliance of films such as Ugetsu Monogatari nor the emotional force of The Life of Oharu (1952), Oyû-sama is all the same one of Mizoguchi's more humane works, a beautifully understated portrayal of unrequited love in a society where adherence to a social code must always takes precedence over personal happiness.  So controversial was the subject matter when Tanizaki published his novel in 1932 that it would have been unthinkable for it to have been made into a film at that time.  It was only after the Second World War, and the liberalising influence of the American occupation, that Tanizaki's ground-breaking story could find its way onto Japanese cinema screens.

No one who watches Oyû-sama, including those familiar with Mizoguchi's work, can fail to be blown away by its immense visual beauty and narrative power.  The essential charm of Japanese art lies in its simplicity and so it is with Mizoguchi's films.   Nothing is superfluous or out of place in a Mizoguchi film, every shot is meticulously constructed, every scene reduced to its bare essentials, almost as if it were a piece of Noh theatre.  It is Mizoguchi's use of the camera, in particular his famous long shots in which the camera tracks elegantly across the field of view, making connections between characters and their surroundings, that is the most striking feature of his work.  Mizoguchi's films have a quality of fluidity and elegance that is unique, the cinematic equivalent of the gradual unrolling of a sumptuously adorned Japanese parchment.

Oyû-sama's striking visual composition is apparent right at the very start of the film, in the extended tracking sequence in which the two ill-fated sisters make their way through a sun-dappled grove towards the man who will seal their fate.  Contrast the optimism and ebullience of this sequence with the intensely melancholic closing shot in which Shinnosuke allows himself to be swallowed up by a field of reeds, his illusions shattered, his hopes vanquished, forever separated from the two women he has loved and lost.  The social constraints that impinge so heavily on Oyû and Oshizu are continually alluded to by their positioning on the screen.  Often as not, they are framed by partitions, walls or doorways, a constant reminder that whilst men are free to walk where they will, women are always confined and must submit to the social codes if they are to retain their honour and position in society.  These stark symbols of repression, hardened by the sublime delicacy of Mizoguchi's mise-en-scène, drive home the cruel perversity of any society that places honour before happiness.  Oyû-sama is a haunting evocation of the tragedy of forbidden love that transcends time and culture, a film of rare humanity and poignancy.

Film Synopsis

In late 19th century Japan, a young carpenter named Shinnosuke must choose a woman to take as his bride.  So far his aunt's attempts to find him a suitable wife have failed, but he is no hurry to marry.  One sunny spring day he is visited by another prospective suitor, a beautiful young woman named Oshizu.  The latter is accompanied by her older sister Oyû, and it is Oyû who catches Shinnosuke's eye.  The young man knows that Oyû is the woman he has been waiting for, but she is a widow with a young son, and by the conventions of the time, she is bound to her dead husband's family and cannot remarry.  Oyû plays upon Shinnosuke's love for her by coercing him into marrying Oshizu.  On her wedding night, Oshizu confronts her husband and, knowing how he feels about her sister, insists that they live together as brother and sister.  The sham marriage will allow Shinnosuke to stay close to Oyû, but it is not long before tongues between to wag.  When her son dies tragically, Oyû must return to her home village to avoid a scandal.  Shinnosuke's fortunes also take a turn for the worse, but his love for Oyû will endure right to the end...