How to balance "Valance"

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, a timeless American Western directed by John Ford and released in 1962, centers on Ransom "Ranse" Stoddard (James Stewart), a lawyer who gains fame for killing the notorious outlaw Liberty Valance (Lee Marvin). But as Stoddard recounts the story to reporters while in Shinbone for the funeral of his old friend Tom Doniphon (John Wayne), much more is revealed. 

Featuring standout performances from Stewart, Wayne, Marvin, Vera Miles, Edmond O'Brien, and Andy Devine, the film is highly regarded for Ford's exceptional direction, which seamlessly blends character development, storytelling, and visual style. Its thematic depth, extended use of a flashback narrative, and cultural impact, particularly the iconic line "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend," have made it a significant work in the Western genre.

Click here to listen to a recording of our CineVerse discussion of this film, conducted last week.

Valance deviates from other venerated Westerns, especially those made by Ford, in several ways. First, it was shot in black and white, something of an anomaly for a 1962 Western. For years, many movies in this genre by this had been filmed in glorious color, often in widescreen, showcasing the painted desert and epic scale of the Old West. Yet, grayscale is appropriate to enhance the murkiness and shades of grey inherent in this story and its characters; it’s also fitting considering that most of the film is told in flashback as if summoning up a bygone time, which black and white lends itself well to.

The movie is rather plain-looking, stagey, talky, and slowly paced, and is not an action/adventure oater. It casts two major Hollywood household names, but both Wayne and Stewart are debatably too old for the younger parts they’re supposed to be playing. This is also not a picture where the land and nature are characters unto themselves, and there’s no majestic Monument Valley of Ford’s past films. It’s more of an introspective character study.

Moreover, this work is less optimistic in tone than many of Ford’s previous Westerns; instead, Valance reads as elegiac, nostalgic, bittersweet, and mournful. Ironically, the cowboys are the bad guys: they’ve hired Valance and his cronies to threaten the townsfolk and pressure their political vote. The film’s tone could be echoing the feeling of the times, an era when the Cold War and Vietnam War were ratcheting up, which helps explain the dark, cynical vibe and cruel violence of the villain. Per DVD Verdict editor Michael Stailey: “For all of Stoddard's optimism that civilized law would prevail against the violent threat of Liberty Valance, he ultimately fails. The murder of Valance is, in fact, the only way to stop him, save Shinbone, and propel Stoddard to Washington D.C. The optimism once found in Ford's films is gone now, as is his sense of grandeur, and it has been replaced with the cold realism of a man who has seen enough to know better.”

Consider how this is a film that both glorifies the past and heroes of the West, yet also criticizes its injustices, cruelties, harsh realities, and racism (recall how Pompey is depicted as a puppet-like character who lives to serve, a peripheral personage who can’t even be served at the bar or permitted to vote).

Many regard this as Ford’s last completely realized work and his final masterpiece, benefitting from many of the director's signature techniques and stylistic tendencies, as remarked upon by Roger Ebert in his review of Valance. “(Ford’s) films were complete and self-contained in a way that approaches perfection. Without ever seeming to hurry, he doesn't include a single gratuitous shot… There is a purity to the John Ford style. His composition is classical. He arranges his characters within the frame to reflect power dynamics--or sometimes to suggest a balance is changing. His magnificent Western landscapes are always there, but as environment, not travelogue. He films mostly on sets, but we're not particularly aware.”

Upon closer inspection, it’s clear that Rance, Liberty, Tom, and Hallie are each representational of a greater message. Stoddard symbolizes the New West, one where the rule of law and the tenets of democracy will bring peace, justice, and civility to a growing society. He’s an idealist who isn’t afraid to not be macho. Valance, of course, is evil and fascism personified. 

Doniphon, meanwhile, signifies the Old West, where guns and violence were used to settle a problem and take care of the men in black hats. He’s a realist, and he knows that it takes more than courage and idealism to defeat the villain. Tom stands as the rugged individualist hero who, as in the Searchers, must sacrifice himself and remain outside a civilized society for that society to progress forward. TCM’s Rob Nixon wrote about Tom’s character: “As theorist Robert B. Ray has detailed, it can be taken as a perfect critical study of one of the most enduring of Hollywood tropes: the outlaw hero (Tom in Liberty Valance, Clementine's Doc Holliday, Rick in Casablanca, 1942) reluctantly drawn into cooperating with the "official" hero (Stoddard, Wyatt Earp, Victor Laszlo) to defeat a common enemy (Valance and the cattle interests, the Clantons, Nazis), usually for the mutual love of a good woman (Hallie, Clementine, Ilsa). Except the outcome in Valance is dark and painful. As some have noted about this story: The hero doesn't win; the winner isn't heroic. Destiny here is more a matter of accident and misunderstanding, and history depends entirely on who's telling it and why.”

And then there’s Hallie, who serves as a surrogate for the audience—the one whom the Old West and the New West are trying to woo. We, like she, are challenged with a choice: to place allegiance behind the values of the Old West or the New West.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is, as you’d expect of a Ford film, chock full of thematic goodies. It’s certainly a story about the conflict between popular myth and warts-and-all reality, and action and violence versus tact and diplomacy or, put another way, vigilante justice versus legal justice. The first image of the film—an approaching train, which stands for progress—clues us into this schism and the idea that the New West is the fertile soil for growing civilized society. Yet the movie reminds us that, while change and advancement are necessary for the betterment of humanity, it’s essential to appreciate how this progress was achieved: by the blood, sweat, toil, and sacrifice of forgotten heroes and the common man.

Lastly, ponder how this picture also depicts a psychoanalytic battle between the id, the ego, and the superego, as personified by Liberty, Tom, and Rance, respectively. The id represents the impulsive aspect of your personality, seeking pleasure and avoiding pain. The superego embodies the judgmental and morally upright part of your personality. The ego, as the conscious part of your personality, balances the demands of the id and the superego, making decisions accordingly.

Similar works

• The Searchers
• High Noon
• Destry Rides Again
• Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

Other works by John Ford

• Stagecoach
• Young Mr. Lincoln
• Drums Along the Mohawk
• The Grapes of Wrath
• How Green Was My Valley
• My Darling Clementine
• Fort Apache
• She Wore a Yellow Ribbon
• Rio Grande
• The Quiet Man
• Mister Roberts
• The Searchers

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Cineversary podcast celebrates 60th birthday of A Hard Day's Night with Ken Womack

In Cineversary podcast episode #72, host Erik Martin is joined by guest Ken Womack—author of several books on the Fab Four including The Cambridge Companion to the Beatles and Living the Beatles Legend: The Untold Story of Mal Evans—as they celebrate the 60th birthday of A Hard Day’s Night, directed by Richard Lester. Together, they rediscover the euphoria of of Beatlemania, examine this film’s widespread influence, and explain why the movie still matters.

Ken Womack

To listen to this episode, click here or click the "play" button on the embedded streaming player below. Or, you can stream, download, or subscribe to Cineversary wherever you get your podcasts, including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Audible, Castbox, Google Podcasts, Pocket Casts, PodBean, RadioPublic, and Overcast.

Learn more about the Cineversary podcast at www.cineversary.com and email show comments or suggestions to cineversarypodcast@gmail.com.

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Fab Four flashback: Celebrating 60 years of a Hard Day's Night

Anyone alive back in early 1964 remembers the pop culture phenomenon that was quickly dubbed “Beatlemania.” Events happened quickly in that year to catapult the Fab Four into the stratosphere as a worldwide sensation, particularly in America. The lads made their television debut in February on the Ed Sullivan Show, owned the top 5 positions on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in April, and released their first film in July.

Yes, it’s now been 60 years since A Hard Day’s Night first hit theaters, and it’s time to celebrate what could be the very best rock and roll film/jukebox musical ever made.

Click here to listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of A Hard Day’s Night, conducted last week. (A Hard Day's Night will also be the subject of the July episode of the Cineversary podcast, posting next week.)  

Released in the UK on July 6, 1964, and in the United States on August 11, 1964, produced by United Artists, directed by Richard Lester, and written by Alun Owen, the film received widespread critical acclaim for its witty screenplay, dynamic direction, and—of course—the unforgettable Beatles performances that help this picture rank highest among the group’s cinematic oeuvre. Other contenders for greatest Beatles movie (films that feature the actual band or their likenesses) include Help!, Get Back, Magical Mystery Tour, Yellow Submarine, Let It Be, Eight Days a Week, and the Beatles Anthology TV series. But most fans and critics would likely vote for A Hard Day’s Night as the foursome’s finest moment on film.

Some also deem A Hard Day’s Night among the very best musical comedies, pop musicals, or musicals, period. The late Roger Ebert cited it as one of the top five musicals, ranking alongside Singin’ In the Rain.

Above all, this film benefits from absolutely perfect timing. It thrillingly captures a zeitgeist moment in 1964—the ascendance of The Beatles as a dominant musical and sociocultural force, just as they were conquering the world with pop hits and charismatic command. It wasn’t shot or released too early or belatedly; the film is a serendipitous beneficiary of a narrow window of time when Beatlemania exploded, and A Hard Day’s Night also helped fuel that explosion.

What makes it particularly special is that, although this is a scripted production, the footage looks impromptu and feels off the cuff as a documentary would. The mock press conference mimics the real press gathering in New York City in February 1964 that occurred just before principal photography, when the Fab Four charmed the media with their witty responses, and the scenes where they are chased by fans are authentic, as are the crowd shots of impassioned attendees attended their performances in the film. The filmmaker’s choice to shoot in monochrome gives it a newsreel/documentary quality, as well.

What also helps give A Hard Day’s Night staying power is its evergreen thematic resonance. Essentially, this film is about nonconformists against the establishment: The four are scoffed at, ridiculed, dismissed, and condescended to by older generations, and the Beatles parlay this disconnect into a cheeky, irreverent rebelliousness that isn’t too threatening to the social order.

Per the Village Voice’s J. Hoberman: “A Hard Day's Night presents a realm in which the Beatles (who are more or less the exclusive representatives of their generational cohort) appear to be the only sane inhabitants. On one hand, the foursome are skeptical children in a ridiculous adult world; on the other, as parents don't exist and the band's admirers are mainly preadolescent kids, the Beatles appear as that world's only possible role models and authorities.”

Significantly, A Hard Day’s Night isn’t just a one-trick pony where the sheer magnetism of The Beatles overshadows every other element. It continues to make us laugh 60 years onward thanks to humorously crafted bits, hilarious one-liners like Lennon’s “Give us a kiss” and “I now declare this bridge open”, and eternally funny visual comedy, such as the running gag of the grandfather popping up from a trap door floor at the worst moment, the older porter in his underwear hiding in the closet, and thief trying to steal the car as the Beatles are chased by the bobbies (once he breaks into the vehicle, a cop ironically orders the thief to drive after Ringo, George, Paul, and John).

Audiences also continue to enjoy how the movie humorously explores mistaken identity, disguises, and missing persons: From Paul’s grandfather posing as a waiter to John donning a fake beard and mustache to George wandering into a producer’s office where he’s mistaken for a focus group subject, playacting and identity misunderstandings abound in this playful romp. Recall how Ringo goes missing, as does Paul’s grandfather, and even the manager loses his band in a repeated pattern of lost-and-found subplots.

Far from merely a trivial pleasure or disposable cinematic confection, A Hard Day’s Night stands as an innovative work worthy of praise for its pervasive influence. This movie essentially invented what we consider “music videos” and the style of content that gave rise to MTV years later. The musical sequences, where songs were performed, shot, and edited in creatively and visually engaging ways, served as precursors to modern music videos, particularly the Can’t Buy Me Love segment.

Also, A Hard Day’s Night could be the first “mockumentary,” a subgenre that blends scripted scenes and fictional elements with a documentary-like style, which imbues the film with a distinctive sense of verisimilitude and immediacy for its time. Yes, a proper screenplay was written and followed, but The Beatles were permitted to improvise. The narrative is more of a loosely connected series of episodes and unimportant subplots that form a cohesive story.

Thanks to its rapid-fire editing, unconventional camera angles, frenetic handheld camera shots, cinema verite style realism, swish pans, crash zooms, fast and slow motion action sequences, and other elements, A Hard Day’s Night reveals a kinship with the bold experimentalism and liveliness of French New Wave cinema.

The film was also one of the earliest to capture and mirror the emerging youth culture of the 1960s. It portrayed the Beatles not just as musicians but as cultural icons, seamlessly weaving their music into the storyline. In addition, A Hard Day’s Night rendered a rare behind-the-scenes look at the lives of pop stars, blending humor with insights into the pressures and absurdities of fame. This was relatively novel and provided audiences with a sense of intimacy with the band.

Slate reviewer David Edelstein wrote: “A Hard Day's Night remains a pop-culture phenomenon: a movie with perfect feelers. Lester and his team pick up and distill everything in the air on the eve of the counterculture: now capturing events with documentary realism, now stylizing them with gleeful surrealism, always managing, by impishly flouting the rules of "proper" storytelling, to keep alive a sense of barriers being blasted…The film will always be in the present tense: a reference point not merely for the birth of the Beatles as a mass phenomenon, but for the emergence of a wildly attractive youth culture that has transformed the world.”

The movie is credited, as well, with inspiring the creation of The Monkee’s TV program, which debuted two years later, and—thanks in particular to its dynamic editing approach, pacing, and visual storytelling—spy thriller films over the next few years like Goldfinger, The Ipcress File, Modesty Blaise, and the TV series Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Films more directly inspired by A Hard Day’s Night include Ferry Cross the Mersey (1964, showcasing Gerry and the Pacemakers), Catch Us If You Can (1965, featuring The Dave Clark Five), Hold On! (1966, with Herman’s Hermits), Head (1968, starring The Monkees), I Wanna Hold Your Hand (1978), The Rutles: All You Need Is Cash (1978, another mockumentary that directly riffs on The Beatles), That Thing You Do (1996), and Spice World (1997, starring The Spice Girls).

Examining influences in reverse, it seems clear that A Hard Day’s Night and the personalities of The Beatles in this film riffs heavily on the Marx Brothers, with John zinging clever, acerbic put-downs and irreverent retorts in snappy fashion like Groucho and the Beatles invoking the anarchic and anti-establishment characteristics of the brothers Marx. Lester’s infusion of surreal, zany shots harkens to the films of Groucho, Chico, and Harpo, too, such as when the Beatles are in the train car harassing the stuffy passenger but are then shown impossibly banging on the outside window of the moving train a few seconds later, or when John is seen bathing but magically disappears from the tub in the next shot. Recall that Lennon, like Groucho, often pushes the envelope with risque humor and double entendres that would have raised a few eyebrows at the time among perceptive viewers: Cases in point—John sniffing the Coke bottle, or, when Ringo is perusing a magazine titled “Queen,” John remarking “Oh, he’s reading the Queen—that’s an in-joke, you know.”

Unlike many previous film musicals, this picture did not employ a formalistic, fictional narrative. Again, A Hard Day’s Night plays more like a documentary or newsreel in which we’re witnessing “you are there” shots that feel unplanned and spontaneous. This doc style is evidenced by the ample handheld and moving camera work, use of real locations, naturalistic lighting, and footage of the band performing.

Previously, many pop musicals—such as those featuring pop stars like Elvis, Frankie Avalon, Cliff Richard, and Pat Boone—followed the tradition of the classical Hollywood musical and its reliance on lip-synched, carefully choreographed performance, wherein many characters “break out into song” as part of the plot or dialogue.

Bob Neaverson, author of the book The Beatles Movies, wrote: “Lester's partial employment of a humorous surrealism (and its resulting disposal of the conventionally ‘realist’ aesthetic) meant that it was no longer necessary, or, for that matter, uniformly desirable, to interpret the central musical numbers via conventionally representational sequences of performers miming to a backing track and pretending to play instruments. A Hard Day’s Night is arguably the first film of its kind to stage central musical numbers which are not tied to performance.”

Also, unlike other pop musicals where Elvis or superstars are depicted as having a female love interest, the Beatles are represented as attainable and available to female viewers, which was important to their image and popularity.

Importantly, John, Paul, George, and Ringo play themselves, not some imaginary characters who have to win a contest, get the girl, or defeat the bad guys. There is no contrived plot or artificial rags-to-riches success story here; this film is a spirit-of-the-time cinematic document that captures the height of Beatlemania and showcases the four real musicians, each possessing distinct personalities. John and George are the clever, sardonic, more intellectual of the four; Paul commands a youthful charisma and energetic playfulness; and Ringo portrays himself as a thoughtful, quiet, and somewhat aloof figure, more melancholic and down-to-earth.

While the Beatles are the engine that propels this powerful locomotive, the engineer flooring the throttle is clearly Lester. The filmmaker distinguished himself by creating a surreal comedy short called The Running Jumping & Standing Still Film, in 1959, which showcases a collection of humorous and disjointed skits and is celebrated for its whimsical and absurd humor—the perfect blueprint for A Hard Day's Night.

Lester, who boasted a comedy background and collaborated with Peter Sellers previously on The Goon Show, was adept at blending humor with music. This was vital for capturing the Beatles' playful and charismatic personalities.

The director’s innovative and unconventional filming techniques perfectly matched the Beatles' image. His use of handheld cameras, rapid cuts, and dynamic editing gave the film a fresh and modern look that resonated with the 1960s youth culture. Lester’s choice to occasionally employ extreme close-up shots of Paul, Ringo, John, and George lends an intimacy to the visuals. His documentary-like style added realism and spontaneity to the film. The filmmaker apparently paid attention to the comic rhythm and silly visual style of silent greats like Buster Keaton, as evidenced by the use of undercranked, slow-motion, and birds-eye shots during the Can’t Buy Me Love sequence. And his decision to leave in mistakes—such as the famous trip-up involving George and Ringo in the opening chase shot, George accidentally knocking over the amp at the start of a performance, or the lens flare shown during the And I Love Her performance—provides a sheen of realism and spontaneity.

Lester said: “I didn’t care that we got everything right. What I wanted to do was catch the moment.”

The director fostered an environment where the band members were encouraged to ad-lib and deviate from the script, especially during dialogue scenes. This spontaneous approach enhanced the film's sense of authenticity.

Additionally, Lester's collaborative spirit enabled the Beatles to contribute creatively to the film, ensuring their unique voices and humor were authentically represented on screen. Plus, he refused to give in to United Artist’s demands to redub dialogue by George, Ringo, John, and Paul out of concern their accents would be incoherent to Americans.

Of the director, Criterion Collection essayist Howard Hampton wrote: “When Lester said that A Hard Day’s Night essentially wrote itself…he meant it was a matter of simply reproducing their private idiom, a coded language that sounded like a law unto itself…He didn’t impose either an aesthetic or his ego on them, instead teasing out a situational approach based on their own proclivities and circumstances, using whatever was needed, whatever would do the trick: An ample helping of mock cinema verité, touches of François Truffaut and Jacques Tati, a pinch of Buster Keaton, a dash of the Marx Brothers, multicamera setups, (and) jump cuts.”

Other films by Lester that evidence his flair for cinematic silliness and dramedy include A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (1966), How I Won the War (1967), The Three Musketeers (1973), The Four Musketeers (1974), Robin and Marian (1976), and Superman II (1981).

Lastly, it’s important to appreciate how A Hard Day’s Night deviates from traditional narratives and our expectations for one. The film relies more on a series of episodic vignettes that combine to form a humorous and entertaining whole of a picture. The plot simply follows a day in the life of The Beatles, and the main story thread is that John, Paul, George, and Ringo have to travel to a TV studio to perform live on camera, but Ringo impulsively decides to wander about just prior to airtime on a personal adventure during which he tests his maturity; the other three then have to find their lost drummer before their live show begins.

While A Hard Day’s Night may disappoint as a cohesive, interesting story, it’s likely more satisfying as an impressionistic pastiche documenting this group’s immense charisma, talent, and popularity at this period in history. Showcasing them as more of their real selves and true personalities is more important to the filmmakers than peddling a ridiculous fictitious yarn.

Ultimately, the film doesn’t need a narrative to succeed: Paul, Ringo, John, and George are fascinating enough on their own merits to carry the film, as any fan of Peter Jackson’s Get Back documentary—in which very little, yet also so much, happens—can testify.

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Drifting thespians in Ozu's winding river

Japanese director Yasujirō Ozu was so enamored of one of his earlier films—A Story of Floating Weeds (1934)—that he decided to remake it in 1959 as, simply Floating Weeds, his first color movie. The narrative unfolds in a quaint seaside town where a traveling theater troupe, led by the aging actor Komajuro Arashi (played by Ganjiro Nakamura), comes to perform. Komajuro clandestinely reunites with his former lover, Oyoshi (Haruko Sugimura), and their illegitimate son, Kiyoshi (Hiroshi Kawaguchi), who is unaware of Komajuro's true identity as his father. The plot thickens as Komajuro's current mistress, Sumiko (Machiko Kyo), grows jealous and devises a plan to sabotage his bond with Oyoshi and Kiyoshi.

To listen to a recording of our CineVerse group discussion of Floating Weeds, conducted last week, click here.

Ozu's direction is acclaimed for its simplicity, elegance, and precise composition as well as his poignant thematic exploration of family, jealousy, and the inexorable passage of time. It deeply delves into human emotions and relationships, particularly the intricate dynamics of familial bonds and the sacrifices made for art and personal connections, with sensitive and nuanced character portrayals adding significant depth.

Ozu considered the movie a test of sorts, challenging him to modernize a timeworn tale by contemporizing it and adapting it for a different studio (Dahei) than he was used to collaborating with. Many Ozu fans and scholars deem this his most visually beautiful film thanks to this chromatic canvas.

Noteworthy is that the color is more vibrant earlier in the film but becomes desaturated as the story progresses. Slant Magazine’s Jake Cole posited: “Miyagawa Kazuo’s cinematography gradually loses its chromatic intensity as backdrops become drabber and the bright objects that once dotted frames disappear from view. It’s the equivalent of watching someone bleed out, the redness in their face slowly draining into an ashen white. In the process, Ozu’s funniest late-period film becomes one of his most haunting.”

The title is much more than an abstract reference to the natural world. "Floating weeds" is a colloquialism that refers to Japanese performers who travel from place to place. The term metaphorically suggests aimlessness, an absence of life's purpose, and the journey through life. Its origin derives from duckweed, a floating plant that drifts with stronger currents and never anchors itself in the soil.

The filmmakers and the actor Nakamura Ganjirō intend Komajaro to be a likable personality the audience will, for the most part, root for. But it’s hard to empathize with or embrace Komajaro when we see how physically and verbally abusive he is toward the female characters; his slapping, pushing, grabbing, slut-shaming, and ghosting are difficult to stomach in 2024, even if these were more acceptable behaviors in a patriarchal-dominant Japan of 1959.

Hallmarks of director Yasujiro Ozu’s style are evident in Floating Weeds, including:

• A preference for static camera shots, avoiding typical movements like tracking, panning, or dollying and emphasizing characters' movements and positions within the frame.
• Shooting from low camera angles, often around three feet from the ground, framing subjects seated or kneeling on Japanese tatami mats.
• Transitioning between scenes with long shots of outdoor environments like rooftops, empty streets, shorelines, and cityscapes, eschewing traditional transitions like dissolves and wipes.
• Allowing shots to linger in empty spaces, defying traditional Hollywood editing rules of seamless cuts.
• Emphasizing everyday life nuances over elaborate storytelling techniques and focusing on human emotions rather than effects or editing.
• Placing the camera between two characters during dialogue scenes, which creates intimacy by having characters look directly at the camera when speaking to each other.
• Ensuring no single character dominates a scene, often showing two or three characters in a row.
• Lingering on characters during their speeches without cutting to reactions from other characters.
• Allowing situations and conversations to unfold naturally without subplots or distractions, focusing on emotions and relationships rather than extensive cityscape shots or detailed events.
• A narrative depicting contemporary Japan, not a period piece or samurai film preferred by peers like Kurosawa or Mizoguchi.
• Elliptical storytelling. “Ozu typically uses narrative ellipsis, giving the spectator just enough information to allow him to make sense of the actions, but no more. Perhaps one of the reasons for the fascination of the Ozu film is that the spectator is so often called upon to bridge the ellipsis, to create a connection that the director deliberately left out, to contribute and hence to understand,” remarked Donald Ritchie in his Criterion Collection essay.
• Presenting narratives that are understated, straightforward, unassuming, contemplative, serene, and often tinged with a wistful or melancholic tone. Works like Floating Weeds harbor profound meaning and unexpectedly deep emotional layers, despite their apparent simplicity.

Text and subtext mingle commonly in Ozu films, and Floating Weeds is no exception. This is a story about generational and hierarchical conflict between parents and children as well as adults and their elders. Komajaro commands respect from his theater troupe, mistress, secret son Kiyoshi, and his lover Kayo, but he often disrespects many of them by exerting his patriarchal superiority, as established and recognized by the class system of Japan.

Floating Weeds also examines the small and large consequences of secrets and lies. There are two major deceptions afoot in Floating Weeds: Komajaro and Oyoshi hide from Kiyoshi that his uncle is actually his father; and Kayo agrees to Sumiko’s request to pretend to like Kiyoshi, although she develops true affection for him despite the charade.

The film is further concerned with performance and playacting. This is the tale of a band of itinerant thespians, but it’s also a narrative concerned with pretense, role-playing, and metaphorical mask-wearing.

Consider, too, how the film probes the rewards and risks of personal reinvention, as evidenced by how most of the major characters choose new paths in life by the story’s conclusion: Komajaro shifts from nomadic actor to domesticated father back to nomadic actor again; Sumiko transitions from obedient, reliable partner to jealous meddler and then back to subservient mistress by the conclusion; Kiyoshi begins as a dutiful son/student/worker but is willing to abandon future aspirations for love, ending the film on a somewhat ambiguous tone; and Kayo, it’s established, is a promiscuous young actress with a poor reputation but proves humble and genuine in her love of Kiyoshi, and we assume she will do right by the young man, per Komajaro’s request, after the story ends. Here, the theme of generational change is underscored, as the older pair transitions in a circuitous pattern while the younger couple faces a more uncertain future but one in which they may avoid the mistakes their elders made.

Similar works

• The Ballad of Narayama (1983)
• Still Walking (2008)
• Our Little Sister (2015)
• After the Storm (2016)

Other major films by Ozu

• Late Spring
• Early Summer
• An Autumn Afternoon
• Late Autumn
• Tokyo Twilight

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