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The now-famous opening sequence of „Floating Weeds” begins with four establishing shots containing the lighthouse at their centre. It is set in daylight, whilst the film closes with a night sequence. Furthermore, the film opens with an image of a lighthouse, whose purpose, after all, is to guide the ships into the harbor, whereas the final shot of the film presents the taillights of a train leaving the seaside port. Thus, the director frames his story with a perfectly cyclical image of movement and change, and encapsulates, through abstract symbolism, many of the typical Ozu conflicts.

The film’s narrative focuses on a travelling kabuki troupe visiting a small town located by the sea. In a chaotic exposition, Ozu jumps between various characters and confuses the viewer as to who exactly is the protagonist of the film. The initial fifteen minutes of “Floating Weeds” consist of shifting...

The End Of Summer Review: Part I The narrative in The End of Summer is simple: the widowed but impish patriarch Manbei (Ganjiro Nakamura) of the Kohayagawa clan, which runs a small but failing Osaka-based sake company, has taken to seeing an old mistress, Tsune Sasaki (Chieko Naniwa), in Kyoto. Sasaki claims her venal daughter Yuriko (Reiko Dan) was sired by him. The ‘daughter’ has no real interest in Manbei, save for what he can provide for her financially. She also dates American men, which leads to a funny moment between the old man and his lover, who tells him that their daughter ‘sometimes she brings home strange things.’ Manbei has three daughters of his own: two of them, Akiko (Hara) and Noriko (Yôko Tsukasa), are being wooed for marriage. Akiko’s suitor is a business friend, Isomura (Hisaya Morishige), a widowed steel mill owner, while Noriko’s is never seen onscreen.

Kohayagawa-ke No Aki / The End of Summer (1961) Direction: Yasujiro Ozu Screenplay: Yasujiro Ozu, Kôgo Noda Cast: Ganjiro Nakamura, Setsuko Hara, Yôko Tsukasa, Michiyo Aratama, Chieko Naniwa, Hisaya Morishige, Reiko Dan By Dan Schneider of Cosmoetica: When an artist has reached a level of such high art that he and his work can be spoken of as being in the top tier of his art form, something terrible happens: often brilliant — but not quite ineffably so — work is looked upon with a lesser eye by critics and audiences alike. This is not an unnatural development; once treated to fancy cuisine, even a good steak can seem a comedown to most palates. Yet, that is a frustrating development, for sometimes quality is overlooked or dismissed because it is merely an 8 of 10, rather than a perfect 10. Such is the case concerning the critical reception of Yasujiro Ozu’s [...]...