Life of Oharu (Saikaku ichidai onna, 1952)
Mizoguchi Kenji
Japan
137 min, black and white, Japanese (English subtitles)
This touchingly sad film is an unforgiving look at the harsh reality of the heartless world of 17th century Japan. The usually compassionate Mizoguchi does not flinch in depicting the complete ruin and utter despair of a woman, who falls victim to social norms, jealousy, bad luck, and misfortune. To call the film a tragedy would be wrong. It is much more depressing than a tragedy in that there is no heroism, no optimism, no redemption. The director is well known for his sympathetic portrayal of women in a male-dominated society, but LIFE OF OHARU is not a simple critique for although men make Oharu a play-toy, it is the scorn and hatred of women that causes her deepest pain.
The film's opening scene is timeless: an aging prostitute walks slowly through the barren streets, unable to attract a client, and unsure she even wants to. When one of the statues in the nearby temple reminds her of her long lost lover, his image triggers the flood of memories. The film's coda revisits the same walk before the profoundly bleak ending.
Oharu (Kinuyo Tanaka) is a young and beautiful lady-in-waiting at the Imperial Palace in Kyoto. She falls in love with Katsunosuke (Toshiro Mifune), a young page. This love cannot be according to the rigid rules of social stratification that prohibit, on the pain of death, relations between persons of different status. As a page, Katsunosuke is far below Oharu, but his passionate love knows no bounds and she succumbs to his charms. During a spot inspection of a local inn, their illicit affair is discovered. Oharu and her family are banished from the city, and Katsunosuke is beheaded. Oharu's mother prevents her daughter from committing suicide, and when a messenger from Lord Matsudaira arrives from Edo to pick the concubine to bear his Lord's child, it would appear that Oharu's luck has come.
The scene where the messenger looks at a bevy of beautiful women as though they are horses he's buying (as indeed they are), is gut-wrenching. "This one has a mole, that one's feet are too big, this one's face is too long..." Eventually, however, Oharu gets picked and, against her wishes but with the consent of her family, is sent to Lord Matsudaira's fief as his new concubine. Predictably, Lady Matsudaira resents the newcomer, but suppresses her feelings for the "good of the clan". Since she can't bear a child, then someone else must. When Oharu "is caused to bear a son," to use a revealing expression from the film, the retainers plot against her and Lady Matsudaira adopts the son, while Oharu, now useless to the clan, is sent back to her parents.
Her father, financially stressed because of debts he had incurred expecting the large fortune to come to him through his daughter, sells Oharu as a courtesan to a geisha house in the Shimabara district. Oharu's refusal to entertain a bawdy guest puts her owner over the brink and he fires her. She returns to her parents, who put her in the care of an acquaintance, whose wife at first takes to liking Oharu and reveals a shameful secret to her. However, when the truth about Oharu's stint as a courtesan is discovered, the wife quickly comes to suspect her husband of being privy to the whole affair. Her suspicions quickly come to fruition as he forces Oharu into sleeping with him. In revenge, Oharu indirectly reveals the wife's secret and is banished from the house. Returning to her parents again, she marries a shy, but honest, fan-maker. The happy idyll is rudely interrupted when thieves murder her new husband, and his family turns her out without any recompense. In despair, she attempts to become a nun, but after being forced to satisfy the same man's appetite's again, she is banned from the temple as well. Some prostitutes take pity on her and she becomes one herself.
The final cruel blow comes when her son becomes the new Lord Matsudaira and allegedly asks for his real mother to come live with him. His retainers, however, fearful that Oharu's shady past would reflect badly on the clan, banish her into exile, permitting one last stealthy look at her son. The closing scene follows the fifty-year old Oharu, walking despondently door to door as a raveling mendicant.
As a counterbalance to the bold statements of honor, loyalty, and self-sacrifice, Mizoguchi's film is without equal. It reveals the other side of these traditionally praised virtues and the heartless subjection of women they entail. Unlike the vociferous Western counterparts, Oharu is silent throughout most of her ordeal, completely resigned to her fate, unable to put even token resistance to the doom that befalls her. Yet, is it not precisely that, which is expected of a "good" woman? All the more depressing is the fact that many find such forbearance admirable. To me, it was desperate resignation, as each twinkle of hope is quickly stifled by the next adversity.
Mizoguchi is probably the only director, who could make elegant films like this. There is no overt bold statements that usually come off as bland, and vexing, slogans. The story is told in a very linear, highly unpretentious narrative. The audience sinks deeper together with Oharu and yet, our Western thinking cannot but rebel at her submissiveness. It is a cruel life, despite all its elegance and exquisite beauty.
May 13, 2001. BLS