In terms of movie making, Ballad of Narayama is not unlike shooting of a live play, with sets of distant mountains, stage lightning, and actors at a distance. There are however also close ups, where required, so that we know that we are watching a film rather than a live shooting of a play.
Most effective is the narration of the story through a ballad, in the kabuki style. Very loosely, I suppose one can compare it with Cat Ballou, in the sense that at intervals, the ballad takes over in moving the story forward. But the music is obviously entirely different. In Narayama the desolate style of the kabuki singing and haunting mood of the Japanese lute add so much power to some of the heart wrenching scenes.
The story is an allegory on the most fundamental of human tragedies, the insufficiency of resources. By tradition and custom, old people of the poor village are taken to the distant mountains of Narayama and left to die when they reach seventy. In this story which brings us right into close-up contact with a family, the old woman Orin's son had just lost a wife through accident and about to take a new one, a recently widowed woman from the next village. Meanwhile, his young son wants to marry. Both involve adding another mouth to be fed, in a year when harvest is particularly poor. But while the son and new daughter-in-law, in their love for Orin, want to delay taking her to Narayama, the callous grandson wants to get rid of the old grandmother as soon as possible.
The old woman, in hope of easing her son's agony, always talks about going to Narayama cheerfully as if it's like the Elves going "into the west". Her enthusiasm may even spread to the audience, although her son knows exactly what it means and tries to hold back his anguished tears every time the subject is mentioned. When this finally comes, we see the son carrying Orin on his back, struggling up rugged mountain paths and begging his mother to speak to him one last time. Orin steadfastly refuses to say anything, knowing that any exchange would just make the parting that much more painful. At the ghostly desolate mountain top, he leaves her, among scattered skeletons of those who went before and preying carrion crows, and dashes sway in tears, running madly downhill, when snow starts to come down. And that's a good sign, because the soil will be better next year for a better crop. A most heart-wrenching scene.
When we read about famines that kill millions, it's something that is in such a macro scale that it is beyond a personal experience. Watching Narayama, the audience sees how the village can only afford to eat pure white rice just once a year, during the Narayama Festival. We see how the next village is anxious to send over the widow to Orin's family as early as possible because she can start eating there. We see how the heartless grandson can only think of getting rid of the grandmother to make room for his own wife. We see how eating is the biggest ritual, the single most important thing is life, and a bowl of white rice is consumed with almost religious zeal. We see all these, as well as the resulting Narayama ritual.
The ultimate irony is that Orin, approaching 70, is as productive a member of the family and any other, because she possesses skills of catching fish nobody else does. She also has a full set of perfect teeth. In order to prove that she qualifies to go to Narayama, she deliberately crashes some of her front teeth on a stone mill. Is this the noblest of human sacrificing spirit or simply the love any mother would have for her children? You can decide.
Most effective is the narration of the story through a ballad, in the kabuki style. Very loosely, I suppose one can compare it with Cat Ballou, in the sense that at intervals, the ballad takes over in moving the story forward. But the music is obviously entirely different. In Narayama the desolate style of the kabuki singing and haunting mood of the Japanese lute add so much power to some of the heart wrenching scenes.
The story is an allegory on the most fundamental of human tragedies, the insufficiency of resources. By tradition and custom, old people of the poor village are taken to the distant mountains of Narayama and left to die when they reach seventy. In this story which brings us right into close-up contact with a family, the old woman Orin's son had just lost a wife through accident and about to take a new one, a recently widowed woman from the next village. Meanwhile, his young son wants to marry. Both involve adding another mouth to be fed, in a year when harvest is particularly poor. But while the son and new daughter-in-law, in their love for Orin, want to delay taking her to Narayama, the callous grandson wants to get rid of the old grandmother as soon as possible.
The old woman, in hope of easing her son's agony, always talks about going to Narayama cheerfully as if it's like the Elves going "into the west". Her enthusiasm may even spread to the audience, although her son knows exactly what it means and tries to hold back his anguished tears every time the subject is mentioned. When this finally comes, we see the son carrying Orin on his back, struggling up rugged mountain paths and begging his mother to speak to him one last time. Orin steadfastly refuses to say anything, knowing that any exchange would just make the parting that much more painful. At the ghostly desolate mountain top, he leaves her, among scattered skeletons of those who went before and preying carrion crows, and dashes sway in tears, running madly downhill, when snow starts to come down. And that's a good sign, because the soil will be better next year for a better crop. A most heart-wrenching scene.
When we read about famines that kill millions, it's something that is in such a macro scale that it is beyond a personal experience. Watching Narayama, the audience sees how the village can only afford to eat pure white rice just once a year, during the Narayama Festival. We see how the next village is anxious to send over the widow to Orin's family as early as possible because she can start eating there. We see how the heartless grandson can only think of getting rid of the grandmother to make room for his own wife. We see how eating is the biggest ritual, the single most important thing is life, and a bowl of white rice is consumed with almost religious zeal. We see all these, as well as the resulting Narayama ritual.
The ultimate irony is that Orin, approaching 70, is as productive a member of the family and any other, because she possesses skills of catching fish nobody else does. She also has a full set of perfect teeth. In order to prove that she qualifies to go to Narayama, she deliberately crashes some of her front teeth on a stone mill. Is this the noblest of human sacrificing spirit or simply the love any mother would have for her children? You can decide.