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<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
DB here:<\/p>\n
Earlier this month, when I was giving a lecture on Mizoguchi Kenji at our university museum, I showed two images from A Woman of Rumor<\/em> (Uwasa no onna<\/em>, 1954). It\u2019s a little-known film of his, and it\u2019s probably not up to his finest, but seeing the stills again on the big screen made me want to write about one scene. That scene displays aspects of Mizoguchi\u2019s artistry that I touch on in one chapter of Figures Traced in Light<\/em> and in the website supplement here<\/a>.<\/p>\n This blog entry constitutes, I suppose, another supplement. After all, I couldn\u2019t include in the book all the moments in Mizoguchi’s work that I find fascinating. But since comparison is a good way to get under a movie\u2019s skin, my examination of a parallel scene from another movie may have more general interest. Even though Woman of Rumor<\/em> doesn\u2019t seem to be available on video, maybe looking at this pair of examples would inspire some readers to take an interest in one of the two or three greatest filmmakers who ever lived.<\/p>\n In the court of Regina<\/strong><\/p>\n William Wyler and John Barrymore.<\/em><\/p>\n What a year 1941 was in the American cinema! We remember it for Citizen Kane<\/em> but it also brought us How Green Was My Valley<\/em> (a better film than Kane<\/em>, I think), and items like Sergeant York<\/em> (the biggest box-office hit), Dumbo<\/em>, The Philadelphia Story<\/em>, Suspicion<\/em>, Ball of Fire<\/em>, High Sierra<\/em>, The Lady Eve<\/em>, Meet John Doe<\/em>, The Maltese Falcon<\/em>, They Died with Their Boots On<\/em>, and one of the most daring movies ever made in America, The Little Foxes<\/em>.<\/p>\n An adaptation of Lillian Hellman\u2019s play, The Little Foxes <\/em>offers a study in unbridled capitalism. It shows how economic interests pit the South against the North and white against black. Psychologically, it analyzes a household gripped by the ruthless domination of the matriarch Regina (Bette Davis), the wiliest member of a family of grasping entrepreneurs. Regina has all but flattened her husband and is trying to make her daughter Alexandra oblivious to the family\u2019s corruption.<\/p>\n The Little Foxes<\/em> was also bold in its style\u2014in its own way, as venturesome as Citizen Kane<\/em>. It hasn\u2019t been fully appreciated because Wyler is still thought of as a rather middlebrow talent, an overcautious director who toned down the flamboyance of Gregg Toland\u2019s deep-space and deep-focus compositions.<\/p>\n Some day I hope to blog in defense of Wyler, middlebrow movies, and Midcult art in general. That would involve a detailed analysis of Little Foxes<\/em>. (1) For now let\u2019s just say that Wyler\u2019s direction of the film won the admiration of no less than Andr\u00e9 Bazin. Bazin taught us to appreciate Wyler\u2019s work, though with some prompting from Wyler and Toland (as I suggest here<\/a>). Wyler was also appreciated by Mizoguchi, who, apparently grudgingly, told his screenwriter Yoda that he admired Wyler\u2019s use of the \u201cvertical frame.\u201d (2) Later I\u2019ll suggest one way of understanding that phrase. Mizoguchi met Wyler at the 1953 Venice Film Festival, when Ugetsu Monogatari<\/em> was up against Wyler\u2019s Roman Holiday<\/em> for the Silver Lion.<\/p>\n One scene not discussed by Bazin or Mizoguchi, as far as I\u2019m aware, has always gripped me. Regina’s brother Oscar has a wife, Birdie, who has turned into a passive alcoholic. Birdie has learned of plans to marry Xan off to Leo, her shallow son. Her will has been broken by Regina and Oscar, but she summons up the courage to blurt out to Xan that she mustn\u2019t marry Leo, no matter how strongly the family insists. Xan, who has no inkling of how her family twists people to suit their ends, protests that no such thing could happen. But Oscar overhears Birdie warning Xan off.<\/p>\n Birdie and Oscar are about to leave at the end of the evening. Wyler begins with a standard two-shot, very slightly off-center. But as Birdie frantically warns Xan, Oscar\u2019s sleeve and pant leg appear in the lower left of the frame, with the swagged curtain at the doorway hiding his face.<\/p>\n For us, this creates suspense. Only after Birdie has babbled out her warning do the two women notice he\u2019s there. Xan, not knowing how Oscar abuses Birdie, heads off to bed.<\/p>\n As she climbs the staircase (very important in the film and the original play, this staircase) and heads off to her bedroom, Wyler\u2019s camera arcs to reveal Oscar. Wyler now cuts to show, more or less from Birdie\u2019s point of view, Xan going into her room.<\/p>\n Birdie watches anxiously, then turns to face Oscar, with a look of resigned apprehension.<\/p>\n Again suspense: Oscar won\u2019t punish Birdie with Xan watching, but the girl\u2019s departure puts Birdie in jeopardy. In addition, Wyler\u2019s shot of her reaction anticipates the wrath she\u2019ll face. (Patricia Collinge\u2019s fluent performance is equal to the dynamics of Wyler\u2019s visuals.) These cuts anchor our empathy; Wyler has been saving the close-up of Birdie for this moment.<\/p>\n We return to the master framing as Birdie heads toward Oscar, passing into a patch of shadow. As she does so, he raises his hand abruptly.<\/p>\n Wyler cuts to a two-shot. Oscar slaps Birdie so hard she seems to bounce against the left frame edge. She cries out and then tries to stifle her voice\u2014a psychologically apt gesture for this woman who muffles her sorrows throughout the film.<\/p>\n Again, Wyler daringly sets a key action off-center. The brutal discontinuity of the cut, which crosses the axis of action and sharply changes shot scale, accentuates Oscar\u2019s violence. It\u2019s also rather elliptical; run the cut slowly, and you never see his hand strike her.<\/p>\n Xan hurries out of her room and comes to the banister, her face on the upper right balancing the placement of Birdie\u2019s in the prior shot. In the next shot, we see, over her shoulder, Oscar stride out. Birdie follows meekly, assuring Xan that nothing\u2019s wrong. The coda of the scene will emphasize Xan\u2019s puzzled anxiety, a phase in her process of coming to understand the domineering fury that rules her family.<\/p>\n Low- and high-angle shots like this last pair recur throughout The Little Foxes<\/em>, and I suspect that these are the sorts of thing Mizoguchi was invoking in mentioning Wyler\u2019s \u201cvertical\u201d space. Wyler\u2019s steep angles activate upper areas of the frame that many American directors hadn’t explored.<\/p>\n The act of overhearing a revealing conversation is a standard dramatic convention, but Wyler has refreshed and nuanced it. We know how it would be normally handled. We’d see either a shot showing Oscar stepping fully into the background, or a series of cuts showing first Birdie and Xan and then Oscar listening and watching. Wyler revises the standard schema, taking it for granted that we can pick up on a subtler cue than usual: just a bit of Oscar\u2019s body intrudes.<\/p>\n As a result we have to be more alert. The information isn\u2019t centered, but rather tucked into the lower left. And this option conceals Oscar\u2019s face. Not that we\u2019re doubting he\u2019s angry, but delaying showing his anger builds up greater tension. Wyler, unlike today\u2019s directors, knows when to build up to revealing things that we anticipate, making the final outburst more forceful when it comes. Further, the rest of the scene continues to deny us a clear view of Oscar\u2019s anger, all of which gets squeezed into his gesture of slapping Birdie. It\u2019s Birdie\u2019s reaction that Wyler stresses, and Oscar’s contempt for her is conveyed simply by his bearing, his gesture, and his manner of stalking out of the foyer.<\/p>\n It\u2019s not too much to talk about rigor here. The schemas dominating today\u2019s filmmaking, the stylistic paradigm I call intensified continuity<\/a>, would demand tight close-ups of everybody from the start. But providing them would make it harder for Wyler to raise the emotion when the startling slap comes. Maybe a contemporary director would render this spike in slo-mo, or with a wobbly handheld camera, but that tends to seem overbearing and pumped-up\u2014as a lot of current stylistic pyrotechnics do. In any case, I\u2019m betting that no American director today would use Oscar\u2019s sleeve in the quietly ominous way Wyler does.<\/p>\n Mizoguchi\u2019s game of vision<\/strong><\/p>\n Mizoguchi Kenji, in glasses, during the making of Ugetsu<\/em>.<\/p>\n Mizoguchi is renowned for his long takes, which are often sustained in distant views featuring considerable camera movement. In the Mizo chapter in Figures Traced in Light<\/em>, I suggest that these stylistic choices spring from his effort to engage the viewer mesmerically\u2014as he put it, \u201cto work the viewer\u2019s perceptual capacities to the utmost.\u201d He asks us to downshift our attention to the finest details of the action, which he then modulates for expressive effect. I draw examples from various films across his career to show how he creates drama out of remarkably slight differences in character position, lighting, and other factors.<\/p>\n But what happens when he foreswears virtuoso camera movements and single-take scenes and breaks the drama up into several shots? Today, many ambitious directors seem to take pride in stretching out their takes, so cinephiles are sometimes inclined to see a cut as a loss of nerve and a concession to the audience. But I try to show in Figures<\/em> that Mizoguchi sustains his concern for nuance when he creates an edited sequence. The modulation of fleeting details is to be found in his closer shots too.<\/p>\n In A Woman of Rumor<\/em>, Hatsuko runs a teahouse that funnels customers to the geisha establishment behind it. She has tried to protect her daughter Yukiko from the shame of her profession. Hatsuko has also been cultivating a young doctor she hopes to marry, giving him money to set up a clinic. Now the doctor, Matoba, has become attracted to Yukiko. The scene I\u2019m examining takes place during the performance of a noh drama. Hatsuko leaves the auditorium and finds Yukiko talking with Dr. Matoba.<\/p>\n As she passes around a screen, she hears Yukiko saying she wants to learn piano in Tokyo. Hatsuko looks left, and Mizoguchi cuts to an approximation of her optical point of view on the couple in the lounge.<\/p>\n So far, so conventional. Mizoguchi seems to follow the intercutting option for treating a scene of overheard conversation. But he goes further. Having laid out the action, Mizoguchi starts the lesson in just-noticeable-details . . . with a sleeve. He cuts to a reverse shot putting Matoba and Yukiko in the foreground. Hatsuko is still back there, though. We can see her kimono sleeve on the left, poking out from behind the screen.<\/p>\n A sharp-eyed viewer might also spot Hatsuko’s shadow on a wall, in the center of the shot, over Matoba’s shoulder. This blow-up shows both the sleeve and her silhouette.<\/p>\n Here, friends, is one reason we want to watch films in 35mm, and projected really big.<\/p>\n It\u2019s now that Yukiko says that she may leave her mother, and Matoba replies, \u201cMaybe I\u2019ll go too.\u201d This is devastating to Hatsuko. The two people whom she loves most seem to care nothing for her. Her shocked reaction is given in a medium-shot showing her shifting out from behind the screen, her face partially hidden.<\/p>\n Mizoguchi has picked one variant of the overheard-conversation schema: shot of speakers\/ reaction shot of eavesdropper. But he\u2019s done so in his own way, using the barely discernible kimono sleeve to signal Hatsuko\u2019s presence in the full shot of the couple. Likewise, the shot of Hatsuko listening is far from the usual close-up. Like other Japanese directors, Mizoguchi was fond of this arresting single-eye image. He used it earlier in his career, as shown in the first frame at the top of this entry, from Hometown <\/em>(Furusato<\/em>, 1930). The second frame is the last shot of his last film, Street of Shame<\/em> (Akasen chitai<\/em>, 1956). Quite a shot to end your career on, I’d say.<\/p>\n Most Japanese directors use this single-eye framing as a one-off flourish, but not Mizoguchi. The device epitomizes his demand that we concentrate on a detail. Isolating half a face gives impact to the slightest shift in the eye and eyebrow. Moreover, the split face reappears as a pictorial motif later in the scene.<\/p>\n As Matoba says he\u2019ll go back to Tokyo for his doctorate, Mizoguchi cuts back to the setup for the second shot. Hatsuko moves left to sit on a chair around the corner from the sofa. This prepares for another, more prolonged game of visibility.<\/p>\n Now we get a thirty-second take of the couple on the sofa. As the scene develops, it becomes evident that Matoba is seducing Yukiko. Hatsuko slips in and out of visibility, her actions responding to and even echoing Matoba\u2019s pressure on the girl. First, as he talks with Yukiko, we see Hatsuko\u2019s sleeve and shoulder, between the vase and his shoulder. But as he slips his arm around Yukiko, her elbow moves aside, in an echo of his gesture.<\/p>\n Then, when Matoba presses his attention (\u201cWe\u2019ll help each other . . . Depend on me\u201d), Hatsuko\u2019s face pops into view as her fingers emerge to grip the edge of her chair. Mizoguchi then lets her face subside, again slicing it in half.<\/p>\n In effect, this shot replays and expands upon the tactic governing the earlier two shots. Again we get the just-noticeable presence of the sleeve, but now rhyming with the action in the foreground. And again we get the facial reaction, impeded by a vertical cutoff, but this time in the distant shot rather than in a closer view. It turns out that those first four shots were training us for this more intricate game of vision.<\/p>\n At the moment Hatsuko\u2019s face is sliced in half, Mizoguchi cuts. Now he prolongs the close view as he had extended the full shot of the couple. In this thirty-second shot, we watch her reaction, played out in slight modulations\u2014changes in her facial expression, changes in the aspect of her face that we see, and changing relations to the curling palm plant in the vase before her.<\/p>\n We get a new angle on Hatsuko, slightly high, as Matoba says, \u201cI\u2019ll tell her.\u201d Hatsuko stands up abruptly and the camera tilts to follow her.<\/p>\n With the simple action of her rising up, Mizoguchi changes his composition sharply. Hatsuko’s position in the frame changes only a little bit, but the massive vase on the left gives way to the curling stalks on the right. Radically refreshing a shot through minimal means is one felicity of Mizoguchi’s art.<\/p>\n Then, as if the full import of Matoba\u2019s betrayal dawns on her, Hatsuko lowers her head sadly. Again her eyes are split up, this time thanks to the twisting stalk. In a characteristic Mizoguchi gesture, she turns from the camera, as if ashamed to face us, but also summoning up reserves for the next emotional shift.<\/p>\n When she turns back, her face burns.<\/p>\n I take this to be the scene’s emotional climax. Mizoguchi could have given it to us much sooner, by having Hatsuko turn angry as she peeped out from behind the screen. Instead, his game of vision allowed him to build patiently toward this unimpeded shot of her reaction. It prepares us for the next stages of the drama, later scenes in which she will confront her patron and launch jealous accusations at Yukiko.<\/p>\n Now we hear the performance ending, and Hatsuko lifts her head. This phase of the scene ends when Mizoguchi cuts to audience members coming into the lounge and greeting her.<\/p>\n By 1954 Mizoguchi had surely seen The Little Foxes<\/em>. Had he decided to redo Wyler\u2019s virtuoso staging in his own manner?<\/p>\n Both directors work with similar ingredients: overheard conversation, depth shots, judicious close-ups, and partial views. But the narrational weightings differ. Wyler\u2019s film aligns and allies us with the people talking, whereas A Woman of Rumor<\/em> ties us to the listener. (3) Wyler\u2019s eight shots take eighty-one seconds; Mizoguchi\u2019s eight shots take about two minutes.<\/p>\n Wyler\u2019s handling is brisk, tense, and remarkably nuanced within the Hollywood tradition. Mizoguchi gives us his scene more sedately, wringing just-noticeable differences out of unassertive performances and simple elements of setting. No slap here, just a drama of wounded pride, lost love, and jealousy played out in the face, back, and sleeve of Tanaka Kinuyo, shifting behind a floral arrangement. What Wyler gives us as one sharp effect, Mizoguchi turns into a delicate, prolonged game of vision.<\/p>\n Am I fussing over minutiae? No; Wyler and Mizoguchi did. We just have to follow where they lead. As I try to show in my essay on blinking in cinema (4), directors attend closely to things that might seem trivial. Our analysis needs to be as fine-grained as their craft and artistry.<\/p>\n Oh, yes: at Venice Ugetsu<\/em> won the Silver Lion. Wyler had to be content with Roman Holiday<\/em>\u2019s three Academy Awards.<\/p>\n (1) I sketch some of the possibilities in On the History of Film Style<\/em> (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), 225-227.<\/p>\n (2) For more on Mizoguchi\u2019s competition with Wyler, see Figures Traced in Light<\/em> (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 134.<\/p>\n (3) I\u2019m referring to Murray Smith\u2019s deft analysis of what he calls alignment and allegiance in our relation to film characters. See Engaging Characters: Fiction, Emotion, and the Cinema<\/em><\/a> (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), Chapters 5 and 6.<\/p>\n (4) \u201cWho Blinked First?\u201d in Poetics of Cinema<\/em> (New York: Routledge, 2007), 327-335.<\/p>\n PS 3 December<\/strong>: Thanks to Michael Kerpan for a name correction, and for the information that Woman of Rumor<\/em> was once available on a French DVD.<\/p>\n PPS 27 February 2008<\/strong>: Good news. Now Woman of Rumor<\/em> is available on the wonderful Eureka! Masters of Cinema<\/a> series, along with the superb Chikamatsu Monogatari<\/em>. The discs come with voice-over commentary by Tony Rayns<\/a> and essays by Keiko McDonald and Mark LeFanu.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" DB here: Earlier this month, when I was giving a lecture on Mizoguchi Kenji at our university museum, I showed two images from A Woman of Rumor (Uwasa no onna, 1954). It\u2019s a little-known film of his, and it\u2019s probably not up to his finest, but seeing the stills again on the big screen made […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[224,4,75,109,1,5,60,65,59,57,23],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1549","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1940s-hollywood","category-asian-cinema","category-directors-mizoguchi-kenji","category-directors-wyler","category-film-comments","category-film-technique","category-technique-cinematography","category-film-technique-performance","category-technique-staging","category-hollywood-aesthetic-traditions","category-national-cinemas-japan"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1549","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1549"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1549\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":34688,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1549\/revisions\/34688"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1549"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1549"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1549"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"wyler-and-counselor.jpg\"](\"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/wyler-and-counselor.jpg\")
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