Dier1

Stylistically Kurosawa - Dier

It seems odd that a director of such esteem and influence as Akira Kurosawa, whose

talents were not only recognized but encouraged by such noted cinematic experts as George

Lucas, Francis Ford Coppola, and Steven Spielberg, refuses stylistic identification.

Kurosawa himself has said that he “could not possibly define his own style, that he does

not know what it consists of, that it never occurs to him to think of it” (Richie 229). Like

the characters that inhabit the decaying shantytown in his first color film Dodes’kaden

(1970), Kurosawa lives continually in the present, self-contained in actuality. Discussions of

aesthetics, because they have no bearing on reality, because they are simply generalized

theories of comparison, are found to be clumsy tools and “destroyers of life” (Richie 229).

How then does one begin to define what is immediately identifiable as Kurosawa without

being prescriptive? The substance of cinematic critique and study is ultimately meaning

after all.

As a director self-contained in actuality, Kurosawa’s focus is on the telling of a

story, on directing the placement, angle, and movement of cameras, the mise-en-scene, and

an actor’s portrayal of character. As an editor of his own films, Kurosawa’s focus is on

cutting of shots, transitioning between frames and scenes, and a cohesive narrative

structure. This devotion to practice grounds him in the moment of creation, leaving the

meaning of his work is to the viewer instead. Meaning, for Kurosawa, is therefore

subjective in nature, and is prone to falsity. His films are powerful and strong expressions

of truth, of imagery that cannot be put into words. He balances this imagery through an

auteuristic control of movement, space, and color that elevates his visual narrative beyond

mere documentation, mere storytelling, and into the realm of art. A discussion of the

Dier2

artistic beauty of Kurosawa’s work need not be subjective and false if it focuses on

technique and method; these tools are far less clumsy.

Ultimately,Kurosawausedhisimagestotellastory.Thecameraservesthesimple

purposeoftranslatingKurosawa’simagebasedonthebeliefthat“techniquesarethere

onlytosupportadirector’sintentions.Ifhereliesontechniqueshisoriginalthought

cannothelpbutbecramped”(Prince36).ForKurosawatheimagehadtobevisually

appealingaswellasdramaticallyappealinginordertoaccuratelytellthestory.Hewas

abletobalanceafulldynamicofvisualinterestwithhighlychargeddramaticsthrougha

stylisticallyrecognizableandunmistakablecontrolofmovement.TonyZhoudefines

Kurosawa’scompositionofmovementinfivedistinctcategories:movementofnature,

movementofgroups,movementofindividuals,movementofthecamera,andthe

movementofthecut.Eachmovementisdevelopedthroughconscientiousplanning.First

Kurosawadecideswhatthesceneisabout,thatis,whatemotionalorpsychologicalconflict

ispresent,ormoresimply,howisthecharacterfeeling?Then,hedecidesifsaidconflictcan

beconveyedthroughcharactermovementorgestureinanyway.Next,hefindsawayto

externalizetheconflictthroughmovementintheenvironmentorthroughcontrasting

movementofcharacterwithintheframe.Finally,hecombinesthe“rightmotionandthe

rightemotion”throughsubtlevariationormovementsoasnottooverwhelmthe

audiencewithanunbalancedvisualanddramaticaesthetic(Zhou).

Weather, the movement of nature, has the effect of heightening visual impact and

drama. The natural movement of rain or snow falling to the ground, of fallen leaves or

flames dancing in the wind amplifies the action of a scene by adding motion to still frames

Dier3

but also provides an atmospheric layer of sensual connection for the audience. Kurosawa’s

Dodes’kaden, for example, is “a series of episodes in the lives of a village of slum dwellers

bound together by harsh and hopelessly dreary daily lives” (Richie 185). These individual

stories are brought together through the character of Rokkuchan (Yoshitaka Zushi), the

deluded simpleton who conducts an imaginary streetcar through the rubble of debris and

life. Initially, his departure is void of movement in nature, the focus is on his mimed

performance as conductor and an introduction to the devastation of the surrounding

environment. His tracks pass the many inhabitants, introducing each individually as they

emerge from their shacks and gather around a centralized water faucet. Rather than

repetitively returning to Rokkuchan to advance the narrative temporally, Kurosawa utilizes

movement of nature to renew the image, maintaining visual interest and emphasizing the

emotional depression of the characters conditions. Rokkuchan’s make-believe streetcar

plods along through harsh sun, swarming dust and rain, sounding each stride,

“Dodes’kaden, Dodes’kaden, Dodes’kaden.” Rain falls heavily around Rokkuchan in

straight lines (Fig 1). It splashes off his umbrella and pools into muddied puddles.

Scrapping his feet along the invisible tracks, Rokkuchan sloshes along almost heroically,

refusing the discomfort and irritation.

While visually compelling, the movement of groups serves predominantly to

intensify emotion based on the simple notion that there is power in numbers. Kurosawa’s

Record of a Living Being (1955) tells the story of Kiichi Nakajima (Toshirô Mifune), an

industrialist and his struggle to convince his family to uproot and move to South America.

This family squabble lands the family in the Tokyo Family Court where arguments are

heard and mediated by a judge and two volunteers. The tension caused by cramping the

Dier4

large family, mediators, and court reporter within the small office space, is intensified by

the oppressive heat evident in the constant flapping of fans, dabbing of foreheads, and

growing discoloration of sweat marks on clothing. As Nakajima explains his reason for

emigrating his family is a haunting fear of atomic extinction, the camera holds focus on the

row of officials are seated in line opposite the family. Rather than one look of concern, all

four look up in reaction, all expressing the same concern (Fig 2). Nakajima’s internal fear is

made external and palpable through the choreographed reaction of the group.

Kurosawaissaidtohavetoldhisactors“topickonegesturefortheircharacterand

repeatitthroughoutthefilm”(Zhou).Anindividual’smovementisreflectiveofinner

conflictandallowstheaudiencetoeasilyidentifytheemotionalandpsychologicalstateof

eachcharacter,nottomention,itallowsaudiencetoidentifyindividualcharacterswithin

thegroup.SanjuroKuwabatake(ToshirôMifune)themasterlesssamuraiprotagonistof

Yojimbo(1961)andSanjuro(1962)isperhapsKurosawa’smostidentifiablecharacter

becauseofhisrebelliousspirit,humor,andhabitualshouldershrug.InYojimbo,the

samuraientersatownovertakenbyrivalgangs;theirviolentcorruptionhasensuredthe

onlytownmemberleftinbusinessisthecoffinmaker.Sanjurofacesoffagainstgang

membersinafinalbattlescenethatincorporatesthenaturalmovementofwindswirling

dustandflutteringclothing,thetriangularattackformationofthegroupofgangsters,and

thecharacteristicshouldershrugoftheindividual.Inonlyafewpowerfullungesand

strikes,Sanjuromakesquickworkoftheentiregang.Asingleshrugrelievesthetensionof

thefight,reestablishingacalmorder.Thesameshouldershrugendsthefinalsceneof

Sanjuro,when,inanexplosivedrawofhissword;thesamuraikillsthedishonoredMuroto

(Tatsuya Nakadai). The gathered crowd of inexperienced and naive amateur samurai cheers

Dier5

the brilliance of his kill not recognizing the anguish and torment of death. Sanjuro again,

shrugs his shoulder, this time a sign of his disgust, and walks off into the distance (Fig 3).

PerhapsthemoststylisticallysignificantmethodutilizedbyKurosawaisthefluidity

ofcameramovement.AvoidingtheHollywoodstandardofoverediting,Kurosawainstead

zooms,pans,tilts,tacks,andreframesfromclose-upstolongshotstoovertheshoulder

shotsinasingleunbrokentake.AsTonyZhoupointsout,“eachcameramovementhasa

beginning,middle,andend”thereforetellsastoryofitsown(Zhou).Onesuchexampleis

foundinIkiru(1952),thestoryofKanjiWatanabe’s(TakashiShimura)struggletofind

purposeafterdiscoveringhehasterminalstomachcancer.Watanaberealizes“Allofhis

habits,thoseregularcomfortswhichmadelifebearable,theemptyeighthoursatthecity

officewhichseemedtogivemeaning,thepresenceofasonwhichseemedtoindicate

companionship,allofthesenolongeroffersolace”(Richie87).Onesceneinparticular

capturesthesatisfactionWatanabefeelsafterdiscoveringmeaningthroughdoing.Athis

wake,aguilt-riddenpoliceofficertellsofhisencounterwithWatanabethenighthedied.

ThesceneiscapturedinadelicatesinceritythatismarkedlyKurosawa.Thescene

beginswithadeepfocusshotofWatanabe,inlongcoatswingingintheparkhebuiltforthe

community(Fig4).Aseriesofcrisscrossinglinesofmonkeybarsandfallingsnow

dominatetheforeground,Watanabeswingingbackandforthinthemiddleground.The

cameraslowlydolliesleftcreatingathirdlayerofmotion(snowfalling,Watanabe

swinging,cameradollying).AsWatanabeiscenteredintheframe,thecamerabeginsto

slowlyzoomtowardshisprofile.Kurosawacutsontheupwardmovementoftheswinga

midshotinfrontofWatanabe.Hisbodyglidestowardsandawayfromthecameraandthe

Dier6

slowzoomcontinues,focusingontheexpressionofpuresatisfactiononWatanabe’sface.

Thedelicatecameramovementspromotethesincerityandtendernessofthescene,and

endswithadissolveintotheframedpictureofWatanabeathiswake,effectivelyendingthe

briefstory.

The single cut and dissolve in the Ikiru scene, also serve as examples of the kind of

editing of movement typically utilized by Kurosawa. Cuts are disguised within the

movement of the actors intentionally to avoid distraction. For a profiled perspective

Watanabe swings forward, at the peak of the swing Kurosawa cuts to shot directly in front

of Watanabe still at the peak of the forward swing. Fluid cuts are nearly imperceptible and

transition unnoticeably. Kurosawa also finds transitions between scenes as an opportunity

for visual interest. Instead of simply cutting to reset and advance the plot, Kurosawa cuts

on contrast to create a momentary spark of interest. In Red Beard (1965), Dr. Noboru

Yasumoto (Yûzô Kayama) and a gathering of friends huddle around Sahachi (Tsutomu

Yamazaki), a man whose life of poverty, loss, and heartbreak is ending. Sahachi takes his

final breath and the group constricts tightly into the frame, the trauma of his death holding

them motionless (Fig 5). Kurosawa then wipes the screen to reveal Yasumoto walking

down an alley alone toward the camera (Fig 6). He stops momentarily, looks back,

presumably towards Sahachi’s hut, and continues to walk into a close-up. Not only does

this edit maintain visual interest by jumping from a static to a dynamic image, and by

significantly changing the directionality of motion, it also establishes the dramatic change

occurring in Yasumoto’s character.

“As a general rule, in Kurosawa films we cannot expect to observe stable spatial

fields and orderly visual flow that continuity cutting makes possible” (Prince 42). Instead

Dier7

Kurosawa utilizes camera movement to reorient the audience fluidly and naturally rather

than subjectively cutting into and out of noncontiguous spatial fields. The camera moves,

pans, dollies, tilts, repositioning characters within the space of the frame eliminating the

need to repetitively cut to generic close-ups of characters in conversation requiring

compelling dialogue to maintain visual and dramatic interest. Kurosawa avoids what

Alfred Hitchcock calls, “photographs of people talking,” by layering each shot and

organizing images geometrically (Truffaut, 61).

Using telephoto lenses, Kurosawa is able to maintain levels of focus within each

frame. Generally, these levels are organized in foreground, middle ground, and background

layers, each in focus and distinguishable by depth and motion. Interior scenes of High and

Low (1963) effectively demonstrate Kurosawa’s layering of space. High and Low is the story

of kidnapping and extortion of self made businessman Kingo Gondo (Toshiro Mifune).

After a business deal that will secure his family’s future is all but inked, Gondo receives a

phone call demanding a ridiculous amount of money for the return of his chauffer’s son

(the kidnapper having mistakenly abducted the wrong child).

After a sleepless night, struggling to decide whether or not to pay the ridiculously

large ransom demanded for his chauffer’s child, and consequently ending his life’s work,

Gondo enters the living room space. He is positioned in front of the curtains, which he

opens slightly, just enough to let in a single column of light which casts his body in

silhouette. Gondo invites the officers to sit so that he can explain his decision. The camera

pans right to follow their movement to the couch, dollying slowly to the left, resituating the

entire scene without the necessity of editing. Gondo now sits centered, spatially framed by

the column of light through the window in the background and the four detectives seated in

Dier8

the foreground intently waiting an answer, two on each side (Fig 7). Also important to

mention is the additional psychological effect layering has on the audience, particularly in

fight scenes involving more than two characters, a very common occurrence in Kurosawa

films. The intensity and pace of hand-to-hand combat is exponentially increased when

spaced appropriately. Contrasting movement in each layer creates a chaotic urgency that

heightens the dramatics of the battle.

The previously mentioned geometry of Kurosawa’s spacing is both a literal

interpretation of shape emphasized in the mise-en-scene as well as the blocking of

characters within the frame. Seven Samurai (1954) uses circles to establish multiple points of

focus while the previously mentioned Yojimbo uses horizontal and diagonal lines. This

geometric focus is dramatically affective on the audience because static compositions, those

which use horizontal and vertical lines, have a logical and calming effect. However,

elements like rain and shadow turn such frames into dynamic compositions by confusing

the organization with chaotic mixture of line directions that cause tension and discomfort.

Kurosawa’s The Hidden Fortress (1958), aside from being the cinematic inspiration

for Star Wars (1977), puts geometric spacing on full display in its conceptual use of the

triangle. The Hidden Fortress, originally titled The Three Bad Men of the Hidden Fortress in

keeping with a triangular motif, begins with two “Ludacris, scratching monkeys,

completely impotent, whose rage only makes each the more hideous,” bickering at each

other as they march into the distance, backs to the camera (Richie 135). Having none of the

gallantry and honor befitting a soldier in war these two men are left wandering the empty

plain. They throw insults and spit back and forth, followed by the camera, until a fight

breaks out, closing the space between them. Almost immediately the fight stop, both sets of

Dier9

eyes looking directly at the camera. A cut reframes the scene placing the two fools to the

left, allowing space for the introduction of a new character, a crazed and stumbling soldier

being chased by mounted samurai. The samurai kill the solider and leave the fools alone,

figuring they were not worth killing, and rush off scene. The frame is now composed of the

two fools, failing to comprehend the significance of what they have witnessed. They stare at

the lifeless body on the ground before them, afraid to argue but completing a visual triangle

(Fig 8). The instant shock wears off and the quarrelling begins again resulting in there

separate exits from the scene.

Though not overly stimulating in a visual or dramatic sense, the triangularity of the

scene is stylistically different than the Hollywood standard. Hollywood composition would

have relied on a shot-reverse-shot edit to provide reactionary shots of each fool, visually

isolating the focal points. Kurosawa maintains the spatial connectedness of the three

characters in the scene without the need for separate cuts by simply triangulating their

positioning and moving the camera. This spacing allows for the fluidity movement and

grouping of characters for emotional impact previously mentioned.

Despite the notable difference between his first twenty films and his final seven,

Kurosawa’s use of color does nothing to diminish the artistic aesthetic that has become his

signature. His skill as a painter provides Kurosawa with a unique understanding of the

both the symbolic and expressive nature of color. High and Low may effectively utilize color

symbolism with pink clouds of smoke rising from trash stacks, and Dodes’kaden may

effectively utilize color expressionism by contrasting the drab colors of the slums with

vibrant and surreal color of dreams, but Ran (1985) displays this balanced this

understanding better than any other Kurosawa film.

Dier10

Kurosawa’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s King Lear begins with transference of

power from Lord Hidetora Ichimonji (Tatsuya Nakadai) to the eldest of his three sons.

Each character is identifiable by the color they wear, an outer representation of internal

attributes. Hidetora wears white symbolic of his initial godliness but also of the ghost he

will become and the ghosts he is haunted by. The eldest son, Taro (Akira Terao)

characterized by his golden yellow dress symbolic of his greed, desire for the throne, and the

power that comes with it. The second son, Jiro (Jinpachi Nezu) wears a crimson red

symbolic of his violent nature, blood lust, and the familiar bond he breaks. And the

youngest son, Saburo (Daisuke Ryû) who is quickly banished for honestly expressing his

apprehension and his father’s foolishness for not seeing the corruption of his two eldest,

wears the blue of loyalty and stability. This symbolic division of primary colors extends

beyond kimonos and is painted on armor, flags, and weaponry.

The most visually and dramatically interesting expression of color is captured in a

highly stylized and rigidly organized battle scene between the two eldest sons and their

father. Taro’s first action as lord is to banish Hidetora, ensuring an unquestionable loyalty

by physically dethroning his own father. Hidetora and his followers are then denied

entrance into Jiro’s castle, a strategic maneuver to create a circumstance of conflict the will

provide him an opportunity to kill his own brother. Hidetora takes refuge in the third

castle, emptied by the banishment of his youngest son, fleetingly, as Taro and Jiro armies

arrive and the siege begins, am aesthetic balance of motion, spacing and color.

The overwhelming numbers of his son’s armies, identifiable in the layered movement

of battle only by the color of their armor, force Hidetora and his men off the castle walls

and into the central tower. The horrors of the surrounding destruction, the violent deaths

Dier11

of his soldiers and suicide of his concubines, render Hidetora mad and catatonic. The white

of his face now matches the white of his kimono. Flaming arrows fly past in the foreground

and cling to the walls in the background. Shortly, the entire tower glows with flame, clouds

of smoke billowing from the roof and windows. A long shot captures Hidetora exiting the

foot of the tower, a ghostly shell of his former self. He moves towards the camera, through

the line of yellow and red soldiers, out the front gates, pausing only long enough for the

faming tower behind him to express murderous rage and catastrophic emptiness of the

episode (Fig 9). Color enhances the visual and dramatic appeal by organizing the chaos of

moving parts, but also amplifies emotions already stirred in audience members.

In a video essay regarding the violent motion in Kurosawa films, Andrew Bacon

describes Kurosawa’s cinema as “having a startling effect, a high concentration of drama

and bursts of violent motion” (Bacon). This is certainly the case in the instances of the

Mantis’ attack on Yasumoto in Red Beard or Kaede’s attack on Jiro in Ran. These jarring

examples typify the perpetual shock of motion, space, and color that informs Kurosawa’s

aesthetic. These are as much constructs of meticulous control of technique and method as

they are of aesthetic artistry. “They are not merely exercises in formal extravagance. They

have a relevance to the content, the characters, and the narratives of the film” (Prince 48).

Screen Shots

Figure 1

Dier12

Figure 2

Figure 3

Figure 4

Figure 5

Dier13

Figure 6

Figure 7

Figure 8

Figure 9

Dier14

Works Cited

Bacon, Andrew. “Essay: ‘Akira Kurosawa: Violent Motion.’” Vimeo, 27 Oct. 2017, vimeo.com/139257372. Prince, Stephen. The Warrior's Camera: the Cinema of Akira Kurosawa. Princeton University Press, 1999. Richie, Donald. The Films of Akira Kurosawa. University of California Press, 1998. Truffaut, Francois. Hitchcock. Faber & Faber, 2017. Wilmington, Michael. “Ran: Apocalypse Song.” The Criterion Collection, 21 Nov. 2005, www.criterion.com/current/posts/402-ran-apocalypse-song. Yoshimoto, Mitsuhiro. Kurosawa: Film Studies and Japanese Cinema. Duke University

Press, 2000. Young, Bryan. “The Cinema Behind Star Wars: The Hidden Fortress.” StarWars.com, 27

June 2014, www.starwars.com/news/the-cinema-behind-star-wars-the-hidden-fortress.

Zhou, Tony. “Akira Kurosawa - Composing Movement.” Vimeo, Every Frame a

Painting, 28 Oct. 2017, vimeo.com/channels/everyframeapainting/122702786. ---. “The Bad Sleep Well (1960) - The Geometry of a Scene.”Vimeo, Every Frame a

Painting, 29 Oct. 2017, vimeo.com/channels/everyframeapainting/118078262.