The Gold Rush: Cynical and Tender Comedy

When watching Charlie Chaplin's 1925 The Gold Rush at the Dryden Theatre, I was surprised to hear during the introduction that the critics who were not fans of the film denounced its ambition and lack of simplicity that his earlier shorts relished. Having watched this film many times as well as his later works, I never quite thought about The Gold Rush as an ambitious film, coming from the director who made The Circus, City Lights, Modern Times, and The Great Dictator. Yet, keeping those words from the critics in mind as I watched, for the first time, the non-narrated version of the film, I saw the film wholly. The Gold Rush combines cynicism with tenderness to create comedic diversity and a rich narrative, one that flourishes with a plethora of enunciated simple feelings.

The film's narrative can be partitioned into two halves, though, of course, they mesh together in the end. The film's first half treats us with the Tramp as he tries to survive with two other gold diggers in the harsh environment of the relentless winter. It is well known that The Gold Rush got much inspiration from an actual story of a group of gold diggers who reverted to cannibalism after being stranded in the middle of a harsh winter. The gags that make up this portion of the film create an undertone of cynicism. Consider the scene where Chaplin thinks Big Jim has eaten the dog (who has a very lavish coat of fur, if I may add). The gag creates a cautionary hilarity that ironically visualizes the physical and mental states of the three men in a position of survival. Chaplin succeeds in producing comedy by extracting the absurdity of the moment and generates something playful; much of the comedy seems motivated by human desperation and is constantly being played upon.

Unlike the first half, the second half has comedy is mostly influenced by human tenderness, focusing more on the Tramps love for Georgia. Similar to City Lights, the gags are amplified through the growth of relationships between the Tramp and the other characters. The touching scene where Georgia accepts the invitation to the Tramps New Year's Eve party which causes the Tramp to go crazy, making a mess all over the cabin, is one that absurdly amplifies the enjoyment felt by our protagonist. I feel it also works since, looking at the story as a whole, we begin to see the small triumphs of the Tramp even in the onset of survival. Though the film does amplify simple feelings with a touch of tenderness, the famous 'Dance with the Rolls' is so brilliant because of its mysteriousness it is imbued by. Of course, the Tramp wants to entertain his guests and especially Georgia, yet the act is quite random and the facial expressions we see Chaplin do are subtle and engrossing. Take note of his eyes and 'feet', the most expressive parts of his body since most of it has been substituted for the rolls and the forks. But, boy, his eyes have a certain enigmatic quality; they seem to stare into space with somber latency. In fact, I will go as far as to say this is the closest I've seen Chaplin resemble Buster Keaton (who had a nickname of 'The Great Stone Face') with this pantomime.

Nonetheless, the second part of the film remains endearing for its humorous love story. Though I do want to bring an intriguing theme up since, after many viewings, it has risen as something to think about when I watch it. In a sense, there is a notion of survival and adaptation or, stay with me now, Darwinian mechanics working within this story that fits well with the survival in the first half. This second half is more within the species while the first applies to their given environment. Now, I know there is much that can be said about that that would somewhat taint the attitude of the film, but I will acknowledge the similarities. Competition is apparent in both, it is just the motivation for such competition that is different, hence the thematic importance of the title of the film.

The stories converge at the end, complete with an ingenious gag that has the cabin leaning over a cliff, and what we are left with is a convergence of comedic exploration rendered successful by Chaplin. There is one thing to say about the version I just recently watched over the narrated one I am use to seeing and the one that has populated circulation. The last shot came as a pleasant surprise to me, seeing that the Tramp kisses Georgia, albeit slightly awkward due to the circumstances. I'm not sure why Chaplin cut this from the re-edit, but I feel this film does need to have that and, of course, be completely silent. The Gold Rush is a masterpiece on many levels and has become an equal, in my eye, to his more heavy films. The story is enriched with many perspectives on comedy; the Tramp overcoming the obstacles of survival and the obstacles towards winning the hand of Georgia. He sets off to Alaska to find gold and finds a treasure far more crucial and jovial in Georgia. I marvel at the craft and perfection Chaplin infuses this film with, combining dark humor with lighthearted romance, all packed into a story of struggle against all odds. Freidrich Schiller, a German poet and philosopher, uses the phrase, 'sublime pathos,' to conceptualize such a story. Sublime pathos and poignancy dominate this brilliant piece, the film Chaplin said he would want to be remembered for.

The Social Network: Life and Humanity Digitized, Moving as fast as Refreshing a Webpage

When Mark Zuckerberg, played by Jesse Eisenberg, starts to get the ball rolling in constructing his site, 'The Facebook,' his dorm is laid out with boards and papers and, of course, computers constructed an ever-growing matrix of society. Zuckerberg uses popular intrisnic motivations of current society as foundations that he would then interpret into programming code and expand upon. In one scene, Mark explains to his best, and only, friend Eduardo, why he inserted the 'Relationship Status', saying, "This is what drives life at college, 'Are you having sex or aren't you?' It's why people take certain classes and sit where they sit and do what they do. And at its center, you know, that's what The Facebook is gonna be all about." We never actually much of Facebook in the film, but, since we know what it is, anyways, we see reflections of it or residue. The brilliance of David Fincher's masterpiece, The Social Network, is this cultural and ideological interplay between the creation of Mark's and the reality in which he lives in.

I need to make a disclosure before I continue to discuss the film. There is much scrutiny delivered about the film that it is inaccurate about the origins of Facebook and about Mark, himself. The existence of the girlfriend, Erica, is totally false and all that. Well, I say to you, this film isn't about being as close to the truth as possible. If you want that, you should probably find a documentary or the book The Accidental Billionaires. The point is being missed when you are trying to find trivial information about the rise of Facebook. Again, the actual site hardly appears in the film. The effectiveness the film held in swaying you in that direction or the opposite direction is essentially up to you, but look at the way dialogue is given as well as the editing and I think it is safe to say triviality is something this film doesn't hold securely. Moreover, a film staying true to a story like this would involve a more predictable and definable conclusion.

Consider an early scene where Mark begins to create Facesmash. There is crosscutting between a provocative college party and Mark's analytic hacking across Harvard's social network. It is crucial to present this dichotomy since what seems to be going on is this deconstruction and reconfiguration of the sensationalism of the party. The spontaneity of the party culture is reinterpreted as instantaneous with Mark's Facesmash and eventual Facebook. Mark describes, in his swift, monotonous voice, how he hacks into the individual constructs of the social network, sometimes overlapping with the slow-motion shots of the party, where girls take off their clothing on top of tables, drugs are being taken, and alcohol consumed at ludicrous rates. This is essentially this reconfiguration of the reality Mark sees. It passes him by without much activity from him, but it is being dictated by him, nonetheless. This sort of set up is echoed when Mark and Sean, played well by Justin Timberlake, talk in nightclub, where they also discuss the impact of their technological ventures. Moreover, that scene can be said to echo the first scene where Mark and Erica break up (consider the use of the environment sound and how it seems overpowering).

Unfortunately, I won't go into that, but let's get back to the scene first regarded. When Eduardo comes in, Mark asks him for an algorithm to finish the program for Facesmash. This site, a reactionary entity constructed by the fumes of Mark's anger is also an algorithmic illustration of a specified social interaction, one that is a reduction of the integral value that it is interpreted from. In this case, how men perceive beauty in a girl. What drives Mark though is the sensationalism it would cause as well as the network it can grow. The idea of the HarvardConnection brought forth by Winklevoss brothers was the spark that opened Mark to a whole new way to see, well, civilization, a network that can grow indefinitely. This first scene shows the methodology to his madness, or logic, or illustration of reality that leads to Facebook and the philosophy that holds this together. This philosophy is cynically portrayed through Mark, himself, as well as a projection of the reality around him.

It is worth noting the biting, machine-gun-shooting, coldly amusing screenplay. The ferociousness and velocity of the deliveries is intense and gripping. If you went into this film taken by surprise by such characteristics, I suggest looking at Hollywood films of the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Films like Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, and the scathing Sweet Smell of Success, since this film takes much from this style. But in this film it speaks to the instantaneous of Mark's mind, of the internet and the speed at which individuals live their lives in this day in age. Eisenberg is superb at his analytic and disconnected or fragmented portrayal of a man built not necessarily of human interaction but more for human constructs.

This film, not to feel repetitive, is about the emerging generation but also about our culture, both national and international, since this network can expand anywhere ("Bosnia has no roads, but it has Facebook."). Sean Parker tells Mark that we are digitizing our lives, it becomes a reorganization of our identity into windows and buttons as well as a reduction of our feelings and experiences into status and shortened phrases. Fincher used Mark as a vehicle to touch upon this observation. Mark's weakness in the film is the inability to see outside his network, outside the fragmentation of reality. So much he didn't even see his severance with his best friend. In addition, our lives revolve around the sensationalism of the moment ("You can now live the party on Facebook...") as well as the instantaneous nature of the internet, itself. The last scene embodies this theme. It all comes back to Erica, where Mark finds her Facebook page, friend requests her, and then continuously refreshes the page to see if she accepts. As much detachment Mark enabled throughout the film, especially towards Eduardo, he see him slightly fall from his fame and notoriety into a more sympathetic realm. Yet, he is tailored to his creation, as we all are in this generation; his life and his actions are determined by the speed of the internet connection.The friend request replaces the intimate contact of face to face interaction. There is so much to be said about many other scenes and their thematic content. This film is one of the most important films of this generation and it is and will be a document of our global culture for the future. It is a testament to a new way of looking at ourselves, humanity, and reality as a whole, the dis-assembly of the physical and reassembly of the way we connect with others.

I grew up with Facebook. I remember, early on, how tentative I was to send friend requests or accept requests because of the actual relation (ha, what does 'actual' signify in this day in age, anyway?) I had with that person. If that person wasn't a real friend why would they be one on Facebook? Now I have two hundred and something friends and most I don't talk with; I have already purged my friend list many times. I see status updates on things that are trivial and bare hardly any significance to me, whatsoever. I've seen posts of pictures that include starving children, oversexed scenes, homophobic remarks, religious tension, life as a party, and hallow rants. I see pictures of people's lives and events; the term 'Facebook stalking' has risen (though, in my opinion, if it is on Facebook it isn't stalking, at all, but that's a different story). Those pictured can be staged or more objective, taken in many parts of the world, with many different emotions involved. I see relationship statuses, the motivation for some great dialogue in the film, and I will admit that it has and does grasp my attention to whom it may concern (that's another story, too...). Facebook has changed the way I have looked on reality, perhaps irreversibly. When I watched The Social Network, the way in which it observed its characters without much sentiment and the way the film is constructed and edited, I saw remnants of my way of thinking. I saw some of myself in there. I think, in regards to my generation, we can see some of ourselves in it as well. I don't know if the film inspired thought and reflection on how we perceive others around us. I know it did for me.

For a superb analysis of shot and composition analysis, go here http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/2011/02/networking_the_frames.html

Also, and I'll blog about it the next time I see it, the film Moneyball carries similar themes and is one of the best films of this past year, easily.

Oldboy: A Tragedy in Vengeance

You know, it strikes me as strange that I was introduced to a collegiate department of film with Korean filmmaker Park Chan-wook's 'Vengeance Trilogy'. Since then, I don't think I have ever seen anything more intense. I can't lie, after watching these films, I was worried that the serious mindset of college would have me watch films with this magnitude of seriousness and intensity, if that makes any sense. Nonetheless, that is how I felt. It took a while for these films to settle into my memory with understanding; my view of these harsh films had been negative for the most part. It wasn't really because the film was bad, it was more so that the films were so effective that I had a hard time coming to terms with such a deplorable topic of the sordid marriage between torture and vengeance. That being said, I have finally come to terms with this trilogy and the only film I truly accept as a masterpiece is Chan-wook's second feature, Oldboy, though this film still reverberates in my mind with such evocation for the feelings I once felt for this story.

Describing Oldboy's story is slighty amusing considering what happens to the main character, Oh Dae-su. We are introduced to him as a drunk making an irking ruckus at the police station. He is bailed out by his friend and as the friend makes a telephone call in a booth Oh gets kidnapped. Oh awakens to find himself in a lackluster room with a bed, TV, desk, et cetera. No one tells him why he is there, they only give him fried dumplings every, single day. He tells us the only life you have in this situation is through the television, where he finds out he 'killed' his wife, his daughter was sent to a foster home and that when, or if, he is released he would be a wanted man. He slowly begins to sculpt his body so that when he is free he can immediately seek vengeance, punching the walls until his knuckles bleed. Every night a song is played in his room, where gas is released and Oh loses consciousness, awakened to a cleaned room and a new haircut. This process continued for fifteen years, when he is unexpectedly freed. Thus begins his terrible journey of uncovering the truth to his capture and the truth about himself.

This film is heavily stylized, far more that Chan-wook's first feature of the trilogy, the grisly Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, in which much is visualized on the internalization of conflicted, anger, and disorientation. The film doesn't just isolate the physical action of taking vengeance, which a lot of mainstream Hollywood films tend to do. Rather, it observes the physical as well as the psychological turmoil Oh involves himself with. Nevertheless, the physical violence in this film is brutally complex, and it feature's one of the most amazing fight sequences I have ever seen. Oh fights off many of his captors in a cramped hallway. The camera is at a full shot looking into the hallway from the side. The camera tracks left and right slowly to follow Oh's destruction and blind ambition; even a stabbing to the back doesn't stop him. The foes fall over, get back up, stumble over each other, but all of this seems so real and savage, even if we are viewing this event from an unimaginable point of view. Chan-wook loves to mesh pervasive, realistic violence with a hint of the absurd, or the insane. This is an action sequence with substance and style, where the physical is the psychological and vice-versa.

The narrative is just as stylish, where linearity is not a main facet of the function. There are many plot twists I will not dare to utter in this essay if you have never seen it, but I will say that they function more than just the sensationalism that comes with, the initial shock of the unexpected. These twist only amplify the turmoil of Oh and his self-destructive quest of getting equal. By the end, Oh becomes degenerated into something other than what he was, which is what usually happens in these sorts of stories. Yet, the process, both mentally and physically, is carefully constructed into a unique observation of an individual's struggle. After watching this film for the second time, I couldn't help but recall our genre of torture porn that seems to pervade into many cinemas across the country, the Hostels, Saws, and Final Destinations. Much of Oldboy is about torture and is torturous, yet the torture is encapsulated by the mentality of the main character as well as the antagonist. The reality we witness is warped and obfuscated in the ways and means that characters procure; it is a world of distress and tumult. Torture porn is all for sensation; a series of scenes that indulge in the immediacy of shock. There is no motivation, no lasting significance, just the torture. Oldboy is the type of film we may never see in the United States mainly because of the intensity in the sex and violence, but also because of the narrative; our filmmakers stray away from this sort of substance in fear that the film may seems to real. Nonetheless, Oldboy, with all of its stark pandemonium and internal turbulence, it has its grasp of humanity, done so with such style and technique I have only seen Chan-wook succeed in. I still feel much of the horrors I felt when I first viewed it my freshman year. I think the reason for this now is because of how tragic the film becomes.

The Band Wagon: "The World is a Stage! The Stage is a World for Entertainment!"

In 1953 Fred Astaire was fifty-four years old and it is safe to say his prime had passed; the fantastical age with Ginger Rogers has vanished, his stardom faded. The film, The Band Wagon, even begins by directly addressing this facet; the first scene has the famous top hat and stick Astaire was known for in his 30s films being auctioned off. It turns out that not even if the bets started at fifty cents would the people want to bid for it. It is a strong, albeit amusing, testament to Astaire's lasting image, a man of the museum, as Cyd Charisse's character says so in a later scene. Yet, even though physically and athletically, Astaire doesn't match his roles of yesteryear, he never loses one ounce of his slick goofiness as well as his well-deserved hubris he seems to carry around. Take note of his first dance number, "Shine On Your Shoes", where he masterfully moves within the active space, whether it just be confined to the shoe shining chair or the rest of the congested penny arcade. His interaction with co-star Leroy Daniels is phenomenal and bursts with joviality as well  as nigh-miraculous timing. The Band Wagon is not only a colorful musical with complicated numbers and exquisite dancing, but it is a film on how individuals approach the craft; the film becomes a reflective account of this approach to dance. It not only draws from the classic suave of Fred Astaire, but it also draws on the sublime seductive trance of Cyd Charrise, comedy, tragedy, and much more. In the end, it is all about they way in which individuals compromise for the good of the entertainment.

It is crucial to note the writers of this film, Betty Comden and Adoph Green, since they were responsible for what I consider the greatest musical of all time, Singin' in the Rain. Their screenplay and the numbers insinuate more than just the present state of mind of the characters. In this film, specifically, it is geared towards the arts. The whole number of "That's Entertainment" expresses the diversity of form in which entertainment can take the shape of, whether it be a slapstick or 'Macbeth'. The film itself delves into how a film and a play is made, although that is secondary to the actual numbers. Nonetheless, the screenplay brings out these observations and it is a joy to see a film, like Singin' in the Rain before, that is self-reflexive and builds upon such a perspective.

Basically, the story goes that Astaire, now a washed-up song and dance screen actor, is called to New York city to be apart of a musical his friends have written the screenplay for. They choose to get the hot auteur Jeffrey Cordova to direct the musical. Cordova, who begins to distort the original screenplay into a modern day  rendition of 'Faust'. He says the leading lady must be the ballet dancer on the rise, Gabrielle Gerard, play by Cyd Charrise. Astaire and Charrise don't see eye-to-eye at the beginning, their differences come with how they approach their craft. Yet, it takes the famous 'Dancing in the Dark' number to free them of their conventions and work together. It is quite endearing to see how this number starts. Charisse and Astaire dawdle in a park, both looking different ways. You can see Charisse's face and body slowly start to sway with the rhythm of the music. Then, causally, she spins to the side with Astaire, just as casually, following. The rest of the number is elegiac and intimate. The way it ends too is absolutely brilliant.

The play is a bust, yet Astaire gets the idea to stick with the original screenplay as they showcase the musical across the country, where the film ends with a series of numbers, including the strangely involving "Triplets" and the masterful "Girl Hunt Ballet". Much in the same realm as "Broadway Rhythm" in Singin' in the Rain, "Girl Hunt Ballet" is abstract and surreal, the sets are distorting and expressionistic. It is basically an expressionistic noir ballet, combining the grace of the art of dance with the stark composition of film noir. This number can only be done on film, the tricks the filmmakers and choreographers did are astounding and immerse the viewer with such vibrant visualization. The dancing is the epitome of such a visual feast, where the piece in which Astaire and Charisse dance in the bar/brothel is done with such intensity and action. Astaire enters the local with a guise of absurd lust. Charisse becomes a seductress (once again when regarding her role in Singin; in the Rain). Though when she is just acting she seems restrained and has a hint of innocence. When she is dancing, she becomes dominant and sensually imposing. The last number in the film encapsulate her characteristics. What makes the dance so enthralling is that Astaire and Charrise dominate the dance, their physicality doesn't combat each other but, instead, amplifies their relationship and interactivity.

As I stated earlier, this film is a story about how we approach the craft of art or, rather entertainment. The three most important characters, the one's of Astaire and Charisse as well as Cordova, all initially have different feelings and perspectives on the musical they set out to make. Entertainment only works when everyone is on board, and that is exactly what happens in the film, amid the plethora of diverse dance numbers, which is apt because the film approaches dance from several different angles.


The Band Wagon is one those films that is just more than a good time, and it is such a good time to watch. It has continuous activity within each dance, lyric, and set-piece. There is much to be said about art in this film, and I think it is gracefully handled. There are many different ways one can approach a story or a feeling. One thing is for sure, Astaire and Charisse knew their approach and they delivered such serenity and conviction. In regards to Fred Astaire, he showed the world he still had it, both within the film and outside of it.

Local Hero: The Sea, Sky, and Human Nature

At first glance, Scottish director Bill Forsyth's 1983 film, Local Hero, could be considered a standard film about the tension between preservation of nature and industrial progress. Moreover, it could also be categorized as simpler folk versus the fragmented city folk. From here, one would expect where things could head in the narrative and pick out what will happen to the characters based on their stereotypical personalities. This film has none of that. In fact, this film is far from a conventional Hollywood film that one has seen often. This is a story about how we perceive both humans and nature and how we unite them in our moment of reverie. Not only that, and I'm safely assuming you haven't seen many Scottish films, this film is a window into the rich culture of Scotland, not just their vibrant language, but their mannerisms and temperament.

A swiftly rising young exec, Mac (played by Perter Reigart, who many of you may have seen in Animal House), is given the task to close a deal for the oil company that he works for that would buy up an ample portion of coastline in Scotland; he must travel to the place and negotiate the deal. The oil company is run by the eccentric Felix Happer, who is played by Burt Lancaster with such subtle goofiness. Even though Happer owns an oil company, he finds the stars far more interesting and tells Mac, when he goes to Scotland, to update him whenever he can on a comet that he is searching for. The small Scottish town Mac visits is nestled comfortably between the soft, green mountains and the pale brown beaches. The buildings are all mostly white and small, yet their interiors seem cozy and intimate. The locals here are just as interesting, who live a life of multiple jobs and discussion at the local pub. Mac negotiates with the town's innkeeper/bartender/accountant/mayor Gordon Urquhart, who idealizes places he sees better than this and also really loves his wife. Him and the rest of the residents, upon hearing the news of Mac's reason to visit, smell the money that could be available if the deal goes down. So here is an element within this narrative that doesn't necessarily follow conventionality. Most of the simpler folk want to get out of this simple, yet hard life on the coast and start a new life. They are not idealized for the purpose of thematic function; they are humanized.

Forsyth gently advances the story between moments of sublime presentation, giving us nothing that tries to take a hold of us. Instead, we as the viewer absorb it. And it is not so much that Forsyth advances the story with only crucial plot devices. Rather, just like Mac, who must stay a little longer in the town because negotiations are taking longer than expected, the narrative is propelled by the subtle immersion we have with the area; the combination of the mysterious and colorful skies, the comforting sea receding off the cushioned sand, and the simplicity of the people regarding their worries, joys, and conflicts. The comedy of this film is treated in much the same way. There is a unique and strange sense of intimate absurdity within the world Mac ventures into. The scene of the party embellishes such a trait, where there are many shots of the locals just being themselves, yet sometimes to great comedic effect. There is a charming scene where to old men play a game where one makes a face and the other tries to guess which famous Hollywood actor he is. There is another scene where Mac talks with a group of men outside near the docks. Among them is a baby in stroller. Mac asks whose baby it is; all he gets are blank stares. These moments never seem forced but reverberate the serenity of the moment, of what Mac himself begins to feel as he spends more time there.

The conflict really arises when negotiations halt since one of the land owners, Ben, does not agree to sell his large plot of coastline; his family has owned it for over four hundred years. Ben is a philosophically driven man who appreciates what he has and also has a knack for the skies just like Happer. The culmination of thoughts and opinions of the characters results in an unconventional ending that some would question, but I applaud. Let's just say that the pacing is much quicker, but for good reason. Moreover, its ending, or at least the motivation for the ending, is ambiguous enough to entice the viewer into thinking. All this culminates into a story about humanity and nature, but not in a way where it just gives us opposite poles of perception. No, it tells us more about how we change our perception on humanity and nature, where we see our individual importance among a larger construct. The film is deeply self-reflexive in that both the protagonist of the film and the viewer experience this feeling; it is a truthful feeling. The ending only solidifies our feelings with the world we observed for only a moment in our lives. And, again, it is not just nature we care about but humanity, too. Consequently, Local Hero is one of the finest comedies I have ever seen. Through an act that runs perpendicular to provocation, Bill Forsyth creates a story that allows us the draw it into ourselves, letting us witness what we may take for granted in our lives. And, boy, have I thought more about the people I interact with because of this original film.

By the way, there is an asteroid that was coined the name 7345 Happer in honor of Burt Lancaster's character in the film.

Ikiru: A Story of A Life and Life Itself

In my own self-conscious way, I wonder sometimes of how people speak of me. Not necessarily in a negative fashion, but just in general. Why? Well, here is a situation where interpretation and assumption can go haywire and paint a picture of me that con be as far from the truth as it possibly can, but it wouldn't matter if it was false if everyone believed it. My self-conscious quality inserted that last line, encroaching on my individuality and determination that drives through such anxiety. This anxiety, if it takes on a domineering role, can leave an individual motionless, stiff with fear of change and responsibility, or in other words, unforeseen consequences. Thus, the individual takes on immobile role, reducing into a mere vegetated state. There are no quarrels, only banal tranquility appeased by the individual, nothing to fear but fear itself, literally. This is the role Watanabe takes on in Akira Kurosawa's definitive masterpiece, Ikiru.

I say definitive not in a manner such that it's his best work, some would say Seven Samurai and others would say Yojimbo. This 1952 film of his is my personal favorite strictly because it is personal, as the introduction paragraph explains. That, and the beautifully constructed scenes as well as the insightful observation this film has on the theme of 'to live', which is what Ikiru means in Japanese. Watanabe, played by the great Takashi Shimura, is a bureaucrat who works at a public affairs office that deals with citizen complaints. He mainly sits at his desk and stamps pieces of papers, an infinite loop given the way his workplace is visualized. He has been doing this for thirty years and, as the narrator explains, he has been dead for thirty years. When he finds out, rather harshly, that he has stomach cancer and half a year to live, he starts to scramble and figure out what to do with his life.

Now, this plot to you may seem uninspiring. Yes, this narrative focus has been done and redone many many times to the point where one may consider it best to have cancer and then your life can be so much more risk-free...Anyways, Kurosawa takes this plot and constructs one hell of a study and illustration. This doesn't come close to the conventional Hollywood films we would see with this plot. Most of those films are about a life and one life only, usually using this individual to see life, in general, differently, be happy or at least content with the new image and then give a lasting catchphrase to make the audiences feel inspired. See, Ikiru is not just about a life, no, that's only half of it. It is about many lives and how they may interpret a life. Anachronistically, Kurosawa employs a meshing of both existential thought as well as structuralist thought in two halves of the film, though these philosophies were probably not in the mind of the director. We see Watanabe figure out how he can live his life through himself. Then, we see how other people interpret this individuality. In both instances, we view a kaleidoscopic realm of emotions and thought, except one stems from one person and the other stems from multiple people.

Kurosawa constructs scenes with such care and deliberate significance that each shot seems to be expressing some crucial aspect of living and thus we, as an audience, can only reflect this upon ourselves. One sequence involves Watanabe, who gets drunk as his first attempt to deal with his new direction in life, visits with an  astray author a dance hall. It starts out as a medium, high-angled shot of Watanabe dancing with an unknown woman in a cramped crowd. The next shot then is a high-angled shot of the piano playing, which starts off the song everyone is mindlessly dancing to. The piano is in the foreground and we see how big the crowd is now as the frame is larger in relation to the dancinf people; Watanabe is nowhere to be found. Then, it cuts to a shot of men beating drums as the drums enter into the song. Again, a high-angled shot that peers over the drummers in the foreground and the large crowd above. Lastly, the sequence cuts to shots of the horn section as the stand up and play loudly. The composition, with its foundation as a high-angled shot, of course, has the horn players in the foreground, the drummers directly below them, then the piano, and finally what has become a sea of people dancing stiffly in the background. Though, I use the word background loosely in this case since Kurosawa employs this composition to have a flat look such that every element described within the frame looks as if they are all ontop of each pther, furthering the claustrophobic feel. Nevertheless, describing this sequence in words does not justify such beautiful execution of space, composition, sound, and thematic significance. Watanbe, in this portion of the film, has lost all sense of individuality much like he had in the public affairs office. Moreover, such immobility exhibited by the mechanical dancing restricts Watanabe of any active role, leaving him as passive as the crowd wants him to be.

This first half of the film, which includes the sequence discussed above, is Watanabe trying to understand what it means to live, having forgotten this after thirty years of nothing. He is mostly controlled by someone else, never motivated by his own will until the very last moments of this first half, where he realizes what he must do. Now, I will go ahead and spoil what happens next, because it is not really a twist yet the function of such a plot device is ingenious. Midway through the film Watanabe dies. We do not witness it. Instead, we witness his wake, where many men from his work sit around a serene picture of Watanabe, discussing the truth of his death and the significance of his role in creating a new park in a low-income neighborhood. This is really one long sequence, I think spanning around forty minutes, but it is one of the greatest scenes I have ever seen on film. Slowly, but surely, each man comes to their own realization of Watanabe, of course, as they get drunker. Yet, as I mentioned before, this kaleidoscopic construction of this scene is as honest as I have ever seen in a film about life. Kurosawa explains that a life is separated into what the individual feels and acts and what other people perceive these feelings and actions, yet it is the individual causality that brings life into an individual. Nonetheless, this is the most important dichotomy we think about everyday, just not as direct as this film shows it. Thus, this film takes on anything but a linear construction; this sort of scene would never be acceptable in Hollywood, mind you.

Ikiru is not a typical film about life, but it is far more truthful. Nothing is glamorized and ambiguity is everywhere. The lasting shot a viewer may have (the one that is on the side of this page now), of Watanabe gently swinging and singing in the snow, is supreme since it does not delve to closely into the character, but just enough for us to feel inspired. It is one of the most human films I have ever seen, and a film that, time after time, I feel strongly about and has made me reflect for days on end. I find encouraged with such storytelling, and Ikiru is one of the reasons I haven't folded under my own anxeity and become immobile.