One Shot is a series that seeks to find an essence of cinema history in one single image of a movie.
Surrounded by the stillness and tranquillity of nature, anchored by the building facade of her eldest son’s home, Tomi (Chieko Higashiyama) quietly watches her grandson play with the grass of the fields that surround them. This enigmatic shot is from Yasujirō Ozu‘s Tokyo Story (1953), a film widely considered to be the director’s magnus opus and one deeply rooted in the examination of everyday life in 1950s Japan, yet universal in its exploration of familial relations, loss, and the upending of tradition. The story follows an aging couple, played by Ozu regulars Chishu Ryu and Higashiyama, who travel from their tiny town of Onomichi to bustling postwar Tokyo in order to visit their adult children. The couple, however, discover that they are too preoccupied with their demanding lives to spend time with their parents.
In this sublime shot, Tomi and her grandchild stand on a hill outside the home of her eldest son, Kōichi. The image is reminiscent of the final frame of The Munekata Sisters (1950), a lesser-known masterwork by Ozu. Two characters from different generations occupy the frame: a grandmother and her grandson, with a visible distance between them. This precisely composed shot is deeply layered in space, shape, and texture, playfully offering an unconventional but expressive perspective that at once evokes profound intimacy and detachment. The two characters almost exist in their own world, isolated from everything and everyone. Time stands still.
This single shot of Tomi and her grandson is emblematic of Ozu’s oeuvre, one characterized by the exploration of intergenerational relationships and the broader mythos of childhood and old age. In this almost ethereal frame, Ozu transports us to the secluded hilltop outside Kōichi’s humble abode. Backdropped by vast bleached skies, Tomi contemplates the future. It is the first instance in the film we see characters out of the home environment. The change of surroundings denotes a shift in the story, an uneasy sense of foreboding. As Tomi stares at her grandson, she wonders if he will be a doctor like his father. In undoubtedly one of the most affecting moments from the film, she utters, “By the time you become a doctor, I wonder if I’ll still be here.” This quietly devastating exchange is Ozu’s first allusion to the family tragedy that will alter the trajectory of the story. A serene otherworldliness fills the space between grandmother and grandchild. They are separated by years but bound by the inexplicable love between them.
Here, Ozu’s frame captures Tomi towering over her grandson, wordless, like a silent protector, an ancestral matriarch that will always be there, despite the fragility of life and the inevitability of fate. At this moment, Tomi just wants to see her grandson grow up and her adult children to live content, happy lives. She will not live to see him become a doctor, but in this striking image, Tomi dotingly watches her grandson, contemplating a future by his side.