Tokyo Story, in contrast to the other films presented to us so far this semester, examines modernity through the thematic focus of the family. Compared with Walter Ruttman's Berlin, in which the forces of modernity are highlighted and championed, or Eames' Toccata for Toy Trains, in which industrialised forces of modernity, at least in toy form, have entered the home, Tokyo Story as a film resists this. There is a quiet, underlying sadness permeating the film, embodied in the figures of the Shukichi and Tomi. One of the final dialogues of the film is between Kyoko and Noriko, where Kyoko states "Isn't life disappointing?" to which Noriko replies "It is." It's this sort of quiet despair that seems to be the dominant mood of the film. It is after all made in the aftermath of World War 2. You can't help but feel the Hirayama's sense of loss as their children, drawn closer and closer to modern life and the ceaseless pace of work and industrialisation, gradually drift further and further away.
Throughout Ozu's film, the symbol of the house is a near-permanent fixture within every shot. One of the earliest scenes is a long shot of Kyoko, walking to work and framed on either side by domestic houses. Apart from a few selected scenes, for example when the Shukichi and Tomi are at the hot-baths, or when they are travelling through Tokyo by tourist bus, the family home is present in every single scene. The dominant shot is the low-angled mid shot framed by wooden panels. There are other symbols repeatedly thrown in besides the house, such as smoke-stacks, powerlines and that other familiar trope of modernity the train, but these serve more as background or as distractions from the main preoccupation of the Tokyo Story: the family unit.
Throughout Tokyo Story, the characters are framed by doors and hallways, the bulk of their time is spent sitting down in the company of their family whilst the camera positions us almost as a silent member of the Hirayama family.
The prolific use of low shots whilst the Hirayama family are sitting places us directly at their table. Furthermore the shot-reverse shots employed position the film’s characters directly in the centre of the screen, and by extension directly in our field of vision, just as if we were seeing things from Noriko's or Shukichi's or Tomi's view. Something else Ozu employs is the reversal of camera angles, often we will be viewing characters from one side of a room throughout their conversations, only for their to be a 180 degree flip to the other side, signalling the end of the scene.
I suppose how I viewed it was not that Ozu was evangelically preaching that the forces of modernity would lead to the collapse of the family (a shift in how we conceptualise the family has arguably arisen however) but that with any great technological progression there accompanies with it a lamentation for what has been lost during as a result of it. Sentimentality in other words. But also something else. One of the moust touching scenes in the film occurs roughly half an hour in: the grandmother, having taking her brattish grandson out to play in a field whilst trains and powerlines exist blurrily in the background, muses over what she thinks his occupation will be when he grows up. She asks if he will be a doctor when he grows up and then, quite poignantly foreshadowing her own death, muses “By the time you become a doctor, I wonder if I'll still be here”. There's a certain duality within the film I think between the industrialised exterior spaces of Tokyo and Osaka and the seemingly pre-industrial familial interior spaces.
Something I think prevalent in Tokyo Story is this idea of families as a burden. Both Shukichi and Tomi, whilst wanting to spend time with their children, are wary of being a burden upon them. In contrast with the feelings of Koichi, Shige and Kaizo however, there feelings arise out of guilt. There is also a sense that Koichi and Shige regard their parents as burdensome, particularly Shige, who suggests that her and Koichi pay to send them to the hot springs. As well as this, it is Shige who calls up Noriko asking her to take Shukichi and Tomi sight-seeing and who demands of Kyoko Tomi’s finest clothes after her death. It's not this sense of families as a burden is neccessarily bad, I think it's quite a common experience. I know I've definitely felt so at times. In some sense it is depressing though, and I am constantly reminded of a Patrick White quote from The Tree of Man. The daughter of the novel's protagonist, having received a visit from him and seeing him home, "puts him on the train and resumes her life", or something along those lines.
Overall though Tokyo Story is an extremely tender film. Despite being seemingly gloomy, and the selfishness of the children being almost grating, Noriko does exist as a figure of balance. But the film does end with a sense of isolation. The final scenes are Noriko alone on a train back to Tokyo, whilst Kyoko stares solemnly through her classroom window as it passes and Shukichi kneels alone in his house, tears welling in his eyes, followed by a long shot, which interestingly is one of the few high-angled shots employed in the film, of the Hirayama home in Onomichi, a steamboat passing by.
