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.