One limitation of movies is it's difficult for screenwriters and directors' to show on the screen the true inner feelings of their characters, something literature can convey much easier. Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu had a knack for diving deep inside his characters' inner psyche and capturing their sentiments on film. His trademark was shooting long, lingering static shots capturing the subtle emotions displayed from his actors, a groundbreaking method of photography for cinema. In September 1936's "The Only Son," the director's first film with sound, the simple plot contains layers of conflicting feelings of its characters, starkly seen in this spare tale of a mother and her son.
Ozu's magic on the screen, an acquired appreciation for the modern-day viewers, takes patience yet is rewarding. His unique style consisted of what is known as 'pillow shots', low camera angles positioned eye-level with his actors who are usually sitting on floor mats. Ozu often positions his camera filming through windows and doorways, with brief dialogue bracketed by long periods of silence. The narrative of "The Only Son" examines the inner turmoil each participant goes through by the personal sacrifice of others closely related.
"The Only Son" kicks off with the quote "Life's tragedy begins with the bond between parent and child," and the movie never lets its audience forget that premise. Film critic Roger Ebert notices in Ozu's body of work, "Again and again, he focuses on parents and their children, and often on their grandchildren. A typical plot will involve sacrifice by a parent or a child for the happiness of the other. It is not uncommon for both parent and child to make sacrifices in a mistaken belief about what the other desires." Silk factory worker Tsune (Choko Lida) is a widow whose son has an intense desire to go to high school in Tokyo, an expensive proposition in Japan in those days. The son promises to become a great man, inspiring his mother to make painful financial sacrifices to pay for his schooling. Ozu's film then jumps 13 years forward when her son, Ryosuke (Shin'ichi Himori), invites his mother to his distant homestead for the first time. He kept from her the fact he's married and has a kid. The meager salary he receives teaching at a night school isn't exactly what the mother was expecting from her son, given all the tremendous sacrifices she made.
"Ryosuke is a typical Ozu child: obstinate, cranky, and selfish, utterly unselfconscious and the opposite of the cultural ideal," writes film reviewer Sean Axmaker. But his mother's visit slaps a bit of reality into the struggling son and awakens his desire to fulfill his pledge to his mother. Axmaker adds, "There is no triumph without sacrifice, and the film ends with a reminder of that sacrifice, not with a speech but a slump that communicates a disappointment straight from the soul."
As the simple, yet emotionally deep story unfolds, Ozu's transferred to sound the style of filming he had established in his silent films. "For Ozu, all depends on the composition of the shot," says Ebert. "He almost never moves his camera. He often begins shots before characters enter, and holds them after they leave. He uses evocative music, never too loud. I have never seen him use violence. When violence occurs, people commit it within themselves." Ozu's style is an acquired taste, confesses film reviewer Casey Scott on the director's first audible movie. "With sound," writes Scott, "Ozu begins his tradition of a sparse narrative in favor of simple camera set-ups and quiet scenes of character interaction, often in the domestic space, with deliberate pacing that will either draw you in or repel you into bored slumber. Truth be told, for the longest time, I was in the later camp, but approaching Ozu with one film after another, a wider appreciation for his accomplishments as a director began setting in. I can now count myself as an admirer and follower of his work."
Ozu's magic on the screen, an acquired appreciation for the modern-day viewers, takes patience yet is rewarding. His unique style consisted of what is known as 'pillow shots', low camera angles positioned eye-level with his actors who are usually sitting on floor mats. Ozu often positions his camera filming through windows and doorways, with brief dialogue bracketed by long periods of silence. The narrative of "The Only Son" examines the inner turmoil each participant goes through by the personal sacrifice of others closely related.
"The Only Son" kicks off with the quote "Life's tragedy begins with the bond between parent and child," and the movie never lets its audience forget that premise. Film critic Roger Ebert notices in Ozu's body of work, "Again and again, he focuses on parents and their children, and often on their grandchildren. A typical plot will involve sacrifice by a parent or a child for the happiness of the other. It is not uncommon for both parent and child to make sacrifices in a mistaken belief about what the other desires." Silk factory worker Tsune (Choko Lida) is a widow whose son has an intense desire to go to high school in Tokyo, an expensive proposition in Japan in those days. The son promises to become a great man, inspiring his mother to make painful financial sacrifices to pay for his schooling. Ozu's film then jumps 13 years forward when her son, Ryosuke (Shin'ichi Himori), invites his mother to his distant homestead for the first time. He kept from her the fact he's married and has a kid. The meager salary he receives teaching at a night school isn't exactly what the mother was expecting from her son, given all the tremendous sacrifices she made.
"Ryosuke is a typical Ozu child: obstinate, cranky, and selfish, utterly unselfconscious and the opposite of the cultural ideal," writes film reviewer Sean Axmaker. But his mother's visit slaps a bit of reality into the struggling son and awakens his desire to fulfill his pledge to his mother. Axmaker adds, "There is no triumph without sacrifice, and the film ends with a reminder of that sacrifice, not with a speech but a slump that communicates a disappointment straight from the soul."
As the simple, yet emotionally deep story unfolds, Ozu's transferred to sound the style of filming he had established in his silent films. "For Ozu, all depends on the composition of the shot," says Ebert. "He almost never moves his camera. He often begins shots before characters enter, and holds them after they leave. He uses evocative music, never too loud. I have never seen him use violence. When violence occurs, people commit it within themselves." Ozu's style is an acquired taste, confesses film reviewer Casey Scott on the director's first audible movie. "With sound," writes Scott, "Ozu begins his tradition of a sparse narrative in favor of simple camera set-ups and quiet scenes of character interaction, often in the domestic space, with deliberate pacing that will either draw you in or repel you into bored slumber. Truth be told, for the longest time, I was in the later camp, but approaching Ozu with one film after another, a wider appreciation for his accomplishments as a director began setting in. I can now count myself as an admirer and follower of his work."