An old man, being rowed along a river, sees a field of wild chrysanthemums, and thinks back to when he was fifteen. He recalls his time with, and away from, the girl cousin he grew up with and would have married.
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I couldn't rate it elseways after the globally arresting ambitious Kurahara melodrama I'd just seen (Shuen), but it’s curious here how the actual evolution of the film frame models the narrative chronology, as if relying on an intrinsic code immediately transparent to the viewer: when staging the past, a color movie frequently employs monochrome shots (the in-film past handled by means of previous chromatic cinematic
A beautiful poetic tale of sorrow, those damn Japanese know how to destroy their audience. The whole film I wanted one of the lovers to break out screaming of how unjust their state was, and yet they never did.