The Master is evident right from the first shot. We see an outdoor walkway, perhaps a park, with railing and streetlamps beautifully framed by large trees. A few people walk, one at a time, into the scene from the left and out on the right. Pure Ozu.

How wonderful it is to have this early gem saved from the dustbin of cinema history. The print is in sad shape, but at least we have it! This interesting little wartime story of fathers & sons, teachers & students does not disappoint.

The geometrical nature of Ozu’s frames and sets, in which only a few items (umbrellas in a hallway, laundry on a line) are not delineated by straight, clear edges is presented right off the bat with a wonderful transition from a shot of almost pure vertical poles and horizontal crossbars backed by a phalanx of trees which cuts to a geometry lesson taught by the lead character. “Do you understand?” says the sensei. Yes. We do.

Later there’s a scene in which the father sits at home surrounded by a sequence of at least four frames created by walls, windows, doors, etc. The effect focuses the viewer’s attention on the man at the center who stretches, sighs and says: “I feel wonderful.”

And it’s not just the angles and the edges. In the second of two fishing scenes, father and son stand at the edge of a rock-strewn, rushing river moving their fishing rods quickly back and forth in unison to allow the bait to drift on the surface of the quickly moving water. The sound is not that of a rushing river however, but is a carryover from the previous scene: we hear chorale singing and chimes which gives the scene a wonderful devotional feeling.

All of this adds up to more than just eye candy. I was surprisingly moved by the story’s conclusion.