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The camera techniques in this film are amazing. Rashomon is full of deep focus shots, and long takes. So not only do we get to see everything on screen in perfect clairvoyance, we get to watch the actors in a natural state. Another thing that is unique to this film is the use of flashbacks.

The entire movie is about two religious men and one traveler, trying to stay out of the rain, and recollecting the stories of which they heard earlier that day. Those of the murder and rape. So flashbacks are necessary to show said events. There are multiple layers to these as well. The first layer is of the trial, the second of the events in the individual POV of the ones on trial.

As the film progresses we find that every story is different. But all stories are self incriminating. We then get confused on why everyone would lie in order to get punished for something they may, or may not have done. This film truly makes you think about why people lie, even yourself.

While each does mark themselves as guilty, for some crime, with their story; Each is telling the truth too. This paradox is true of reality too. “Human beings are unable to be honest with themselves about themselves. They cannot talk about themselves without embellishing.” Even if we must lie, we have to make ourselves look good and honorable while doing so.

This film is something everyone must see, if not own. With my parting words, I must say my favorite part is the acting by Toshiro Mifune. His mocking laugh, is drunken movements, everything that is does in Rashomon is acting at it’s best. It’s no wonder why Akira Kurosawa had him appear in so many of his films.

sunday with the giants

Kurosawa Akira’s Rashômon (1950), a jidai-geki or ‘period piece’, is both a profound examination of the human condition, and a phenomenological meditation about the nature of reality, perception, and truth. The film stars Mifune Toshirô as ‘the bandit’, Tajômaru; Kyô Machiko as ‘the samurai’, Kanazawa Machiko; Mori Masayuki as ‘the wife’, Kanasawa Takehiro; and Shimura Takashi, Chiaki Minoru, and Ueda Kichijirô as ‘the woodcutter’, ‘the priest’, and ‘the commoner’ respectively. The famous Japanese cinematographer Miyagawa Kazuo (Ugetsu, Sansho The Bailiff) worked extensively with Kurosawa in the making of the film. In 1950, Rashômon, a film based on two stories by Akutagawa Ryu-nosuke, was screened for and admired by American audiences; it was awarded the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival, and received an Academy Honorary Award at the 24th Academy Awards. Retrospectively, it can be said that Rashômon introduced Kurosawa and Japanese cinema to Western audiences.; it was released in America in December 1951 as a ‘mystery-crime-drama’.

Kurosawa utilizes multiple narrators and flashbacks to tell the story of Rashômon; this storytelling technique serves both the plot and the theme – the second of which I will get into shortly. On its surface, Rashômon is a crime-drama about a murdered samurai and the ensuing trial. The film begins with three men, a woodcutter, a priest, and a commoner, seeking refuge from rainfall in the former gatehouse of Rashômon. The woodcutter, who discovered the body three days earlier, and the priest, who witnessed the man alive that same day, recount the “horror stories” testified by the three supposedly only direct witnesses: the bandit, the samurai’s wife, and the dead samurai himself – who testifies through a medium. With the use of flashbacks, each of them tell their side of the story; the three stories differ significantly, sharing little in common – only that the bandit tricked the samurai, tied him up, and raped his wife. The stories lack conformity in respect to the moods, facial expressions, behavior, and actions of the characters, as well as the murder instrument and the killers identity. Later, the woodcutter reveals that he actually witnessed the whole thing; a flashback of his story is then shown, but, even his story, the one most likely to be genuine, has holes.

While Rashômon is a murder story on the surface, the deeper philosophic themes are remarkably more important. The murder story is utilized as a means for examining the human condition; the contradictions in the four stories reveal a horrifying truth – that the human ego is responsible for their inconsistencies. At the most basic level, each of the four storytellers could be lying, and, to some extent, they likely all are. However, even if they are not lying, even if they genuinely believe they are telling the truth, their stories will still not corroborate. This is because, as Kurosawa reveals with the utilization of flashbacks, each character’s story relies on their subjective experience of the world. However, this reliance is not dependable, given that phenomena, such as reality, perception, and truth, are distorted by the human condition – the ego. Along with all its attributes, such as, emotions, thoughts, and memories, the ego distorts one’s perception, which in turn distorts one’s reality, which distorts truth. The truth is that there cannot possibly be a subjective account of truth – the fallibility of the human condition does not permit this. The two versions of the swordfight between the bandit and the samurai illustrate this notion that the ego distorts perception, reality, and truth. The bandit reveals a story fitted to his liking, while the woodcutter does the same for himself. To some extent it’s because of deceitfulness, but, to some extent, it is because of how they unconsciously choose to perceive things. The bandit unconsciously chooses to believe that he is a powerful warrior because, deep down, he wants to believe it is true. As the commoner states, “it’s human to lie…most of the time we can’t even be honest with ourselves”.

Moreover, in Rashômon, Kurosawa and Miyagawa utilize several camera techniques and aspects of cinematography to help illustrate the story. First of all, each of the flashbacks are shot slightly differently in order to show that reality is different for each person; noticeable differences in camera movement, angle, length of shot, length of take, and image location express that each of the stories are distorted by the characters subjective experience of the world. For the bandit, quick cuts, close ups and lots of action is used., for the samurai and his wife, longer takes are used, and the length of the shot changes formulaically – a good example of this is the long shot of the tied-up samurai that slowly cuts to a medium-shot, which slowly cuts to a close-up – and, for the woodcutter, camera techniques are the least exaggerated. Moreover, Kurosawa often presents the characters on screen in a triangular formation – this is particularly noticeable in the present-day scenes. I believe this triangular formation is implicative of Plato’s tripartite soul – a much earlier examination of the human condition. The three desires can be easily applied in Rashômon – the bandit pursues appetitive desires; the samurai, spirited; and the woodcutter, rational. This understanding also explains Kurosawa’s intentions behind the aforementioned modifications in camera techniques during each of their stories. Lastly, in each of the four flashbacks, there is a recurring shot of the sun through the trees. These shots brought Kurosawa much fame and recognition, but they are not merely used for aesthetic value. The sun through the trees is the only consistent image throughout the four stories; this implies that only nature, all that is non-ego, can be revealed truthfully.

Several years after my first viewing of Rashômon, it remains one of my favourite films. I believe that the philosophic themes within the film are beneficial to the cultivation of any bright mind. Furthermore, Kurosawa’s concise and thoughtful use of aesthetics, characters, and storytelling make the film both captivating for the casual film-viewer and archetypal for the avid cinephile. For these reasons, I highly recommend the film to anyone.

5/5

As I somehow managed to miss seeing this film it was an amazing revelation to see a restored version recently. The multi viewpoint narrative clearly inspires Yimou’s ‘Hero’, and the sparkling black and white photography is consistently beautiful – lots of great close ups and overhead shots as well as the inspired fast moving action sequences through the forest. The 2 fight scenes are very impressive not least since the first (Mifune’s version) seems to pander to the usual stereotypical macho contest as depicted in numerous action movies, whereas the final ‘real’ fight is more desperate and terrifying for the protagonists (swords shaking in fear?) and hence probably more believable. The acting is great and Mifune is a real star here. On top of all of this the plot really grips, not something that can be said for many so-called ‘classics’

It seems that RASHOMON is a film that experiences some backlash from cinephiles. There was recently a 35mm print screened here in Memphis by Janus Films as part of the Indie Memphis Film Festival, and an article in the local newsweekly accused the film of being “intellectually suspect” and stated that the musings of the monk, the woodcutter, and drifter feel like sophomoric undergrad examinations of human nature. A lot of people misremember things about RASHOMON, which is amusing given the nature of the story itself. The set-up for the tale is told to us once and is never altered, it is the act of murder that is altered constantly by the people re-telling the story. Their lies make perfect sense, as each version makes the person telling the story appear more noble. While it’s hardly subtle, it doesn’t really need to be, and its story frame is an excellent one. It’s also not the perfect film people make it out to be, even with its short running time there are sections that drag and could’ve been cut down, but it’s an excellent film and deserves to be regarded as such.

“It’s human to lie.”

This quote stands out amongst the dialogue in Akira Kurosawa’s first international hit, Rashomon. The premise behind this film is one most Western audiences are already familiar with: an incident happens and multiple witnesses tell their version of the story. The only problem is that the audience is not quite sure who to trust . . .

Kurosawa helps to build this uneasiness through many ways. For instance, whenever the characters explain their tale to the court, they are positioned in front of the camera and look directly into it, as if they are trying to convince the viewer the circumstances of what happened. And that’s not all, as there are many tracking shots in this film that follow the characters as they walk, passing through tree branches and shrubbery, as if we, the viewer, are also tagging along, trying to see the story through their eyes.

The present setting of the story takes place under the ramshackle Rashomon gate, a gate that, according to myth, used to be controlled by a demon until he fled from the ferocity of man. It is raining out as our three characters explain the unfortunate events that led to the death of a noble (?) samurai, and the dilapidated gate serves as a metaphor for their fragmented stories. The three characters consist of a woodcutter, a priest and a commoner who could possibly be a bandit (they hinted at it once in the film). After the commoner says the line quoted in the first paragraph, he follows it up with, “I don’t care if it’s a lie, as long as it is entertaining.” No wonder the demon fled from mankind.

Godard is known for messing around with the conventions of cinema. With his film Rashomon, Kurosawa toys with the idea of the narrative. If you can’t trust any of the characters, then can you trust the film itself? One could watch a film, say Empire Strikes Back. The events in that film all happen in real time in that galaxy far, far away and we know for a fact that Luke Skywalker had his hand chopped off. When people watch a film, they assume that what they are seeing is true in the little universe that contains the film. Since all of the stories here blur together (minus the scenes at the Rashomon gate) and could be all false, Kurosawa has created something along the lines of the anti-film. A film that gradually pulls the viewer in, but ultimately tricks them.

Every character has their own story to tell, and even the characters who are supposed to morality are contradicted by their own personal beings. Kurosawa paints us a portrait of lies and deceit, but by the end of the film the rain has stopped and the woodcutter and the priest are left with the child, thinking of what to do. It is, however, ultimately up to the viewer to decide the fate of these characters.

A friend and I were discussing film the other night when our discussion led us to art house films. When discussing this, my friend stated that up to what he’s seen so far, Ingmar Bergman strikes the best balance of telling a cohesive story while also stating his clear philosophical viewpoints, culminating in intelligent entertainment, a very rare occurrence. I agreed with him at the time, but I must say that Kurosawa’s Rashomon, in my opinion, has transcended the boundaries of entertainment AND intelligence, providing the viewer with a smart, tight story about what truth really is. If I were to compare this film to anything, I would have to say that Memento owes a lot to this film thematically. The brilliance of the flashbacks coupled with some very inventive cinematography and the always brilliant Mifune on top of his game make Rashomon Kurosawa’s smartest film yet.