The exquisite sadness of Yasujiro Ozu’s 1953 film, now re-released for its 70th anniversary, does not get any more bearable or less overwhelming with time. With each repeated viewing, the film of tears obscuring my own view of its star Setsuko Hara appears earlier and earlier, making her heartbreakingly decent, courageous smile shimmer and wobble. Ozu’s distinctive and stylised idiom, with low shooting angles and direct sightlines into camera, creates something mesmerically formal to match the drama’s emotional restraint, which is more devastating when the dam is breached. When Hara’s smile finally drops, it is like a gunshot.
Chieko Higashiyama and Ozu’s repertory stalwart Chishu Ryu play the elderly Tomi and Shukichi, who live in the quiet town of Onomichi; they are gentle country mice, almost childlike in the calm, smiling way they address each other. This heartbreakingly modest couple have taken the decision in the evening of their lives (although apparently only in their 60s: Ryu was in fact just 49 when the film was first released) to make the arduous and bewildering journey to Tokyo in the sweltering summer to visit their grownup children.
