Kurosawa's Way (2011) - full transcript

KUROSAWA"S WAY

Is that the national anthem?

It's the music from
Seven Samurai.

I was president of the jury.

I think it was...

in 1990.

The head of the Cannes Festival,
Gilles Jacob, said to me...

“We have to give Kurosawa
a truly fitting welcome.”

So he gathered lots of directors
from all over the world.

It was magnificent,

because Kurosawa
walked like a general



past a line of young directors
from all over the world,

all standing at attention.

He was like a general
surveying his troops.

I memorized

two lines in Japanese
that I can't remember now.

It took me all afternoon
to learn those two lines.

I said those lines to Kurosawa

about my respect

and enthusiasm
for this film Dreams,

and my gratitude for his talent.

Everyone loves you
very, very, very much.

He looked at me
and started to laugh,

because I think my Japanese

was ridiculous.



We will soon plunge
into the collective hypnosis

of your Dreams.

Your Dreams will allow us all
to dream with you.

That's what I call cinema...

and for that I thank you...

That was 20 years ago.

I know only one way
to thank you:

I will continue
to make many films.

He was a man of few words.

He used simple words,
which disconcerted listeners

hungry for the concepts
and analyses that he hated.

When Cannes paid tribute
to him in 1990,

I'd been his interpreter
for 10 years.

I often felt helpless
translating his words,

which were like air:

indispensable yet intangible.

But when I subtitled
the dialogue of his films,

I admired its precision,
its richness,

its incredible aptness.

In the 15 years I spent
translating his interviews,

press conferences, and films,

he liked my concrete questions

when I didn't understand
an expression or situation.

And this man of few words
became a fabulous storyteller

with a head full of images

that he wanted to communicate
to foreign audiences

through me
as representative and mediator.

Interpreting
is not just translating words.

It's conveying the inexpressible
from one culture

to another.

! think he liked my work.

So in his 1990 film Dreams,

he wrote for me the role
of the washerwoman

who tells young Kurosawa in the film
the way to meet Van Gogh

and breaks info a laugh
that this lively man liked a lot.

Be careful, sir.

He just got out
of a lunatic asylum.

He would have been 100
in 2010.

He died 12 years before that,
leaving behind 30 films.

Like the young painter
in Dreams,

I wanted to follow
in the tracks of the films

of the man I called sensei...

to grasp their profound necessity

and the mark they left
on contemporary cinema.

And so I met

with 11 filmmakers who were willing

to tell me about their Kurosawa.

I was working
at the Cinémathèque.

I tore up people's tickets.

Henri Langlois said to me...

“I know you're going
to really love tonight's film.”

When I finished work,

I went into the theater
and saw Rashomon.

It was quite an experience.

A cinematic experience.

The narrative.

The way of adding together

what people so tritely call
“flashbacks”

but which weren't at all.

It was one story overlapping
with another, and another, etc.,

creating multiple points of view.

At the end, we didn't know
what was the truth,

or if the truth even existed.

That was my first experience
of Kurosawa.

Rashomon winning the Golden Lion
at the Venice Film Festival in 1951

greatly surprised him,
not just because he knew nothing

about the festival.

He didn't even know
the film had been shown there.

This first international award
for a Japanese film

was welcome recognition
for the master

who, at the time, only knew
the West through its literature,

its painting, and its films.

He was 41.

Rashomon was his 11th film.

His career had begun seven years
earlier with a landmark film,

Sanshiro Sugata,

the story of the inventor of judo

who turned a sporting practice

into a method of self-knowledge.

It was already the story
of a man forging a way.

The film was shot in 1943...

during the war,

when most films were political
and financed by the government.

Kurosawa was already interested
in man and his inner life,

and he managed
to associate a sport

with an inner quest.

What's interesting is

how the eyes of the onscreen
spectators announce

the fighters entering the frame.

That seems very modern to me.

You see the fight scene,
two men fighting,

then we cut
to the spectators' faces.

The fighters' movements
continue in the spectators' eyes,

with the focus constantly
shifting back and forth.

Come on!

I also find it very touching

that the most intense parts
of this confrontation

aren't shown by the wrestlers

but by the spectators' reactions.

And that's what I do constantly:

I always focus on the reaction,
not the action.

He always swam against the tide.

I'm struck by his solitude.

His unique stature in the film world
and his awareness of that

made him a loner.

I was always impressed
by his determination

and his quest for authenticity.

He expressed himself
in simple sentences,

too simple to be axioms,

but hard to forget
when applied to his films.

'A film must be exciting
or the public won't come.”

'An exciting film is a lively story
with unforgettable characters.”

The best example may be seen
in his other emblematic film,

Seven Samurai,

released four years
after Rashomon.

When I was in high school

and gradually becoming

more passionate about cinema,

anew print of Seven Samurai

was screened in a huge theater,

the kind from 30 years ago
that you don't see today,

where you might go see
2001. A Space Odyssey,

with a curved screen.

They were showing
Seven Samurai.

Though it was just
a new print of an old film,

the theater was packed.

It was an amazing experience.

Since the film lasted
over three hours,

a title came up
that said “Intermission.”

The audience was
So engrossed at that point

that an excited stirring
began in the front row

and moved back like a wave

that flowed right over me
and on toward the back.

It was quite an experience.

I wanted then to produce
even a fraction of that reaction,

and I still feel that way.

That's what made me want
to make films.

I think Ikiru is a very good film.

But if you ask me

my favorite film in the world,

Seven Samurai
is the greatest of all.

Whenever I make a film,

whether it's an action film,

a comedy, or a war film,

I always go back to
Seven Samurai.

What I look at

is the way Kurosawa
uses the camera

and how he directs his actors.

I like to see how he makes

every individual in a battle scene

seem so striking.

I study his methods
and his editing.

I often have my cinematographer

watch Kurosawa's films.

I also have my fight choreographer
pay attention

to the scenes of people
falling from horses,

the atmosphere of the fighting,

the human and emotional
dimension of those scenes.

That's why I ask them to watch
Seven Samurai.

I like my cinematographer
to observe

how Kurosawa uses
the long-focus lens

in the action scenes.

His use of that lens
lends the action scenes

a real sense
of opposing forces...

and momentum.

It allows for a fuller expression
of the atmosphere

and a sense
of dynamism and intensity.

So I use Seven Samurai
as a reference

when making all my films,

even one like
Mission: Impossible.

“Meticulous as a Demon,
Audacious as an Angel”

is the title of a book on Kurosawa
that Tsukamoto brought me.

Kurosawa knew that quotation,
and it made him smile.

It describes
his approach perfectly:

“Meticulous as a demon,
audacious as an angel.”

All those details and fine points

really affect me.

For example...

when the bandits
and looters appeared,

I was struck
by their battle gear,

the parts of their armor,

the shapes of their helmets.

It was all very rigorously -

I don't mean
it was historically accurate.

Everything had been
very carefully chosen.

I'd never seen a film like that.

Of course, he had them wearing
anachronistic outfits,

but that was a deliberate choice.

It reflected the anarchy of the time.

In that time of warring states,

you wore whatever you could find.

It was a very fresh approach,

but it had depth too.

And he didn't add shots
just to show it all off.

That audacity really impressed me.

Those things aren't the essence.

They're simply details.

But in them you could see
the filmmaker's determination.

“This is the real thing,” I thought.

Take this village too?

Take it!

I don't think Kurosawa
really liked violence,

but when someone's
slashed with a sword,

the sounds are amazing!

Viewers must have been surprised.

Nowadays it's expected
in period films,

but he was probably
the first to do it,

and everyone was impressed
and copied him.

I think many of the conventions
people follow today

originated with him.

There was a film
I wanted to make

but never managed to.

The film was La moisson rouge

by Dashiel Hammett,

or Red Harvest in English.

I realized there was
something very similar...

to Sergio Leone's
A Fistful of Dollars.

I was friends with Sergio.

I'd written Once Upon
a Time in the West for him,

so I knew him well,
and I asked him...

“What's this about
A Fistful of Dollars?

Your first successful western...

was influenced by Red Harvest?”

He said, “No, it's like this:

Kurosawa said that Yojimbo

was influenced by Red Harvest.

So A Fistful of Dollars
was influenced by Yojimbo,

and therefore by Red Harvest.”

So it was quite an odd little story.

So you see how an idea

from an American novel,
an American thriller...

can travel to Japan,
then come back to Italy

for a spaghetti western!

That's how cinema is.

It's made of interweaving influences
that overcome distances,

cancel out distances.

For me, it's as if there were
just one film called...

“The Story of Cinema”!

One of his sayings that was
so simple as to be enigmatic was...

“The more Japanese you are,
the more universal you are.”

I remember discussions
when he'd say

my logic was too Cartesian

as I'd get lost
trying to figure out

the ambiguity in his very
Japanese way of speaking.

Like all Japanese people of his day,
he was brought up on Western culture,

but he was also
a lover of Noh theater,

Zen Buddhism,
and Japanese literature.

When he adapted
Dostoyevsky's The Idiot,

Gorky's The Lower Depths,
or works by Shakespeare,

he took this axiom to its limit:

“The more you explore your own culture,
the more you attain the universal.”

He had an incredible knowledge...

of the world of Noh theater...

and the world of Kabuki.

Later, much later,

I went to the theater in Japan.

Then I understood what he meant.

And I saw...

the ceremonial side...

and the grandeur of emotions,
like in Greek tragedy.

Throne of Blood...

is Macbeth,

but it's also
a very Japanese story.

If you didn't know -

If no one told you beforehand
that it was Macbeth...

if you saw the film without knowing,

you'd think it was
a completely Japanese story.

I discovered
different aspects of his work.

I discovered
the historical costume dramas,

and recently
I discovered the realist films,

the detective films,

the film about corruption
in big Japanese industries.

Cinema can be prophetic.

And some of his films
are very, very contemporary.

They're realist films

made in a Japan
just coming out of World War Il,

after the collapse,
Hiroshima, and so on.

So they're films
that have a power...

They're like bombs
that never explode.

It's like an explosive force,

but the explosion is always
put off till the next film.

Ikiru (1952)

Seven Samurai and Rashomon

are masterpieces loved by all.

But for me personally,

High and Low
is still my favorite film,

if I had to choose just one.

When Kurosawa took on
the crime film genre,

the result was a masterpiece.

A crime film by Kurosawa
can be so different.

That really amazed me.

I think it inspired or influenced
my filmmaking a lot.

That's a film I revisit
from time to time.

“A textbook film”
sounds too formal.

I's more powerful
and stimulating than that.

Look at the portrayal
of the town as a space.

Kurosawa excels in every area,

but in portraying space
he's the best director ever.

Especially in High and Low...

where the town itself
becomes a character.

The executive's house
is on a hilltop,

while the working classes
live spread out below.

It's masterful
how this portrayal of space

makes the town itself
a character.

The space itself creates the suspense
as various incidents occur.

My film Mother
is an exact inversion of that setup.

The whole village looks down
on the house with the body.

I realized that after the shoot.

I found it surprising and interesting.

I realized I could get
that kind of inspiration or idea...

from the great masters.

I'd been inspired by that film,

whether consciously
or subconsciously,

and realizing that later
was a good feeling.

Kurosawa was always looking
for new forms in cinema,

which he introduced
naturally yet brilliantly.

They can be found
in films made today

by directors
who continue along that path.

It would be sheer egomania
to compare myself to him.

I'm in the dark recesses
of the underground,

whereas he shines brilliantly
at the apex of the sky.

But if I had to say
how he's influenced me,

it was by showing that cinema
was both entertainment

and a place for experimentation.

Seeing that coexistence
or compatibility

was what influenced me most.

The contrast in his films
between black and white is intense.

I realized he really knew
how to use lighting!

I didn't research his methods.
I just watched closely.

That led me to use
very strong contrast in my own films.

That strong contrast has been
an indispensable part of my style

ever since the beginning.

I can't stand flat images.

That's what influenced me most.

What I like most about his films -
and ll like a lot -

is that dynamism.

I'm fascinated
by Kurosawa's mise-en-scène,

which is just staggering.

Perhaps I dreamed of having
that type of talent.

And perhaps he was intrigued
On the Set of Red Beard (1965)

by how I could direct a little child

with a camera and crew present.

He told me about
his trouble directing a child

in a scene
that was to last ten minutes.

He cut it down to eight minutes,
then seven, then six,

and then cut it completely.

I told him that was normal.

“The child comes on the set,
sees all the splendor,

the horses and horsemen,
your stature.

He's overwhelmed
and can't listen to you.

The great distance he feels
between you and himself

stops him from acting.”

In my films,
everything's simple and modest.

We have an old camera,
a small crew.

The child doesn't feel
I'm anyone special,

so he listens to me.

I think
that's the primary difference.

If there's a power in our work,

it comes from our limitations.

His films are remarkable...

because of the emotion
that comes through.

Despite all the gilt,
costumes, and props,

the character's innermost feelings
are perceptible

and dominate everything else.

The setting becomes marginal.

It's just to catch
the audience's eye.

His actors are really very exposed,

as much
as the children in my films.

When I was 19 or 20,

I went back and watched
Kurosawa's films again

and discovered something
more profound in them.

Those films are often seen...

as simple action films,

but they're much more than that.

I discovered they had a lot to say
about the meaning of life.

That's why a film like
Seven Samurai

is so timeless and unforgettable.

What he depicts in his films

is really, in my opinion...

the relationships that unite people.

His films are filled with
a profuse spirit of humanism.

He's concerned
with how human beings

can find the will to persevere

in the midst of suffering, war,
and the struggle for survival,

and the care and affection
that emerge between people

in the midst of all that.

In Dodes ka-den,
I love Roku-chan.

The story is taken from
Shugoro Yamamoto's wonderful novel,

The Town Without Seasons.

You feel his love for all the people
in this neighborhood,

especially Roku-chan,

a mentally challenged boy
who walks around

imitating the sounds
of an imaginary streetcar.

He makes me cry.

Roku-chan can do just one thing,
but he puts all his heart into it.

Kurosawa makes films,

and so do I,
with all my strength and all my soul,

and it makes me cry.

Right to the end
he was questioning what cinema was.

When we talked, he discovered

the difficulty of translating
one language into another.

It interested him even more
because in his films,

the characters' words
were his own words.

He taught me that
everything in a film matters,

including the subtitles.

Everything is about
meticulousness and audacity.

Absolutely everything matters.

In a film, even a single shot

can suddenly pierce
the depths of your soul.

All it takes is a single shot.

And you surrender!

That's how it differs from animation.

Actors have presence,
nuances, shadows.

Those elements can imbue
even a single shot

with something
you recognize as greatness.

Watch too long without glimpsing it
and it's probably a bad film,

but see it and you instantly know:
This film is special.

Many of Kurosawa's films are like that.

I watch one shot and that's it.
“I surrender.”

You have to watch such films
on your knees.

I've felt that way
about his films many times.

Dreams (1990)

Right to the end he ran
through his films in his head,

always preparing the next one.

He loved to tell
of a certain Noh actor

and of Tessai,
a 19th-century painter,

who, at 80,
freed themselves

from overly restrictive
artistic traditions.

He'd say,
'At 80 you become free.”

His 28th film, Dreams, was made

when he was 80.

He felt free at last to play
with cinema as he wished.

Dreams, for example,
is a magnificent film,

and it's very, very free.

It was when digital
was starting, I think.

Yes, it was
his first time using digital.

That's right,

and he was very inspired
in his use of it.

He was like someone
faced with a new language.

Instead of standing back and saying,
“No, I prefer the old style...”

he dove into that new language

with the intensity and curiosity
of a young director.

That's what the example
of Kurosawa tells us:

Go farther and farther...

right to the end.

I'm sure that it Kurosawa
could make a film today,

he'd do it in 3-D.

Possibly.

He would have filmed
an everyday story,

a normal story,

but in 3-D...

which would have made
all the difference.

He was someone
who never stopped searching

and experimenting

and finding different ways

to tell a story.