Walking Kurosawa's Road: The Idiot

The Idiot (aka Hakuchi, aka 白痴) (Akira Kurosawa, 1951)

"Dostoevsky wanted to portray a genuinely good man. Ironically, he chose an idiot for his hero. But a truly good man may appear as an idiot to others. This is a story of the ruin of a pure and simple man."

Kurosawa's nearly three hour adaptation of Fyodor Dostoevsky's semi-autobiographical novel (it was originally 4 hours 46 minutes before the distributor cut it down*), but relocated to perpetually snowed-under modern-day Sapporo Japan, has the feel of a film that has been sashimied by a studio looking to keep the highlights—apparently most of the 99 minutes of cuts is in the first few reels. It certainly feels that way with several overly-expository interstitials, one voice-over commentary, and brutally inserted swipe-transitions, one party sequence has them every seven seconds or so without any sort of transition indicated for time or space. Yes, the screen-wipes feel like Kurosawa moves, but one doubts that he'd have used them so frequently and in such places that didn't need them other than to cut time.

The film is in two parts—chapters, if you will—separated by a convalescence from an epileptic seizure by the titular character, Kinji Kameda (Masayuki Mori), a war veteran who was nearly executed as a war criminal but pardoned at the last minute and now suffers from "epileptic hysteria" (or "idiocy" as described in the film among the laymen). At the start of the first chapter (entitled "Love and Agony"), Kameda is returning home to Sapporo by train after rehabilitation in an asylum, his sleep interrupted by nightmares of waiting for his execution. One of those outbursts wakes up self-described "lout" Denkichi Akama (Toshirô Mifune), who would normally cuff one such as Kameda for annoying him, but the two strike up a friendship of sorts—after all, both are going to the same town.

Their purposes couldn't be more different: Kameda is returning home for the first time since the war, his father is dead, and he is going to meet with Mr. Ono (Takashi Shimura), his "only relative in the world". We'll get to Ono and his family in a minute, but Akama's story is that of a prodigal son. His father was abusive—Akama mentions that he hasn't laughed in years due to his childhood, but two things have brought him happiness: 1) meeting with the friendly Kameda on the train and 2) his meeting Taeko Nasu (Setsuko Hara), whom he met six months earlier. Even though she had been a concubine to the wealthy businessman Tohata (Eijirô Yanagi) since the age of 14—years in which Tohata abused her—Akama was so entranced that he stole money from his wealthy father to buy her a diamond ring. At that time, Taeko ran away from her oppressor and Akama fled the wrath of his father over the theft. His father now dead, Akama is returning to claim his inheritance and to find Taeko again. So, two fatherless men, untethered from their past, are returning home.

In a store-front window, they come across a portrait of Taeko, and Kameda is overtaken by the sadness that he can see in her eyes—Kameda's war-time experience has given him, inspired by the relief he felt at his death sentence being commuted, a gentle spirit reverent of all life, no matter the circumstances. He doesn't judge, as he was judged, and he is always first to see the good in whoever he meets, and responds with heartfelt empathy. Even a "lout" like Akama, he feels great affection for, and, unreservedly, despite Akama's past values him as a friend, something Akama has never known before in his life. Akama can't see the pain behind the eyes of Taeko's portrait, but he admires Kameda's sensitivity.

There are complications—of course, there are complications, as this is Russian Literature, after all, even if set in Japan!—involving just about everybody: Tohata is offering a ¥600,000 dowry to whomever will marry Taeko in order to disassociate himself from her and her bad public persona, and his own wretched behavior (of course!) and guess who's going to take him up on the offer? 

No, you'd be wrong if you thought Akama—this is Russian Literature, not a Grimm's Fairy Tale! Kayama (Minoru Chiaki) is willing to marry her! Who's Kayama? He's the guy renting a room to Kameda...at the behest of Mr. Ono, who also happens to be his employer. That's how our friend Kameda gets mixed up in all this! And, of course, when Kameda and Taeko meet, she's drawn to him because he's the only person in town who doesn't treat her like "used goods", and, in fact, speaks to her with warmth and empathy and no judgment.

Emotions run so high that they can become quite comical,
like this party-guest's shocked reaction to Kameda's selflessness.

All of this happens at the planned engagement party for Kayama and Taeko, much to the consternation of Kayama, Tohata, and Ono and the shocked amazement of the party guests, who act just like the gossipy town-hens in one of John Ford's movies. We won't even get into what happens when Akama (remember him? Mifune!) busts into the party with his gang of cut-throats and offers ¥1,000,000 for Taeko.

Leave it at that, because even there, it gets more complicated without the plot advancing. Because we haven't even gotten into people's psyches and second-guessing each other yet. Both Kameda and Akama love Taeko. Taeko loves Akama but realizes that Kameda is the better man, but since she's a concubine, she thinks she doesn't deserve a better man, but how can she settle for Akama when she's met Kameda, whom she doesn't want to shackle with a concubine and especially when Akama loves Taeko enough that even Kameda thinks she should be with him, except that Taeko thinks he deserves someone better, who is Ayako (Yoshiko Kuga)

Ayako? Who's Ayako?

Well, that is dealt with a bit in Part One, and even more in the second part, "Love and Loathing."  Ayako is Mr. Ono's youngest daughter, who is a bit of a brat and whose emotions turn on a dime, but is still quite a bit taken with Kameda, even though she still keeps referring to him as "an idiot", and who (by the way) is desired by Kayama (the guy who was supposed to marry Taeko?).

Small town, that Sapporo...

To his eternal credit, Kurosawa manages to keep this three-wedding-ring circus straight and easily understood by an audience, even at a length of nearly 3 hours. His compositions are fairly consistently triangular, emphasizing that two people in the frame is company, but three is a crowd, with no straight back-and-forth, but a constant caroming off into odd directions. Nobody thinks to ask what another person might want; they just make the decisions for them, and that can't come to any good. Extended periods of dialogue keep the shifting affections and best intentions clear enough, even if nobody spends any time questioning their decisions. One would think that with emotions at such a high boil, sometime they might simmer to a point of vacillation. But, no, people come to their conclusions and, like the ornate snow encrusting everything in the city, they remain frozen in place.

What works against the story...is the story. The high dramatics are sometimes so over-the-top that one is forced to suppress both the giddiness rising up in one's consciousness and the objective sensibility that might curb the more histrionic decisions that are come to in the course of the movie. Maybe that cut footage might have neutered some of the extremes in the film, but one doubts it, and by the time one gets nearer the end of the film, things have gone to such an extreme that one simple gives up and accepts that this is where the story will go, despite one's misgivings.

Despite its length, despite its histrionics, despite all of that, it was one of Japan's most 10 popular movies that year (it would not be released in the United States until 1963—indeed, the year of The Idiot's release in Japan would see only the first of Kurosawa's films to make its way to the United States, which was Rashomon which premiered here December 26, 1951). Its reputation is a bit dimmer than his other films, but, then, any film would when sandwiched between Rashomon, his previous film, and his next film, which would be one of the greatest—if not the greatest—films Kurosawa ever made.

* Kurosawa didn't want to edit it, but suggested it be released in two parts, instead. The studio insisted it should be one release with the film cut in half. "In that case," Kurosawa answered back, "better cut it length-wise." 

 

When working for the studio again in 1991, Kurosawa looked for the missing pieces...to no avail.

Captain Horatio Hornblower (R.N.)

Captain Horatio Hornblower (R.N.)* (Raoul Walsh, 1951) Supposedly C.S. Forester himself adapted his first three Hornblower novels to make the screen-story for this swashbuckling distillation of the Royal Navy's fictional hero. It is 1805, and his majesty has sent the HMS Lydia on a secret mission. England is at war with Spain and France, and Hornblower must enlist the aid of a mad South American dictator in the war efforts a world away. But, upon arriving, Hornblower's distaste for the assignment and the "El Supremo" (Alec Mango) has him violating the Admiralty's standard orders, and when he captures the massive El Natividad (commanded by a very young Christopher Lee), he is forced to turn over the ship to the mad-man. Heading for home, he finds out that Spain is now England's ally (oops!) and he must re-take the massive ship on open seas, risking his crew and an unwanted passenger, Her Ladyship Barbara Wellesley (Virginia Mayo), sister to tthe Duke of Wellington and betrothed to Admiral Leighton (Denis O'Dea).

The crew is very British (including a young Stanley Baker), but its Captain is played by the very American Gregory Peck,** ramrod-stiff and stoic, so even though the accent is wrong, the attitude is just so—Forrester's Hornblower is a stoic, constantly questioning himself and his failings, reflected in his constant lecturing and drilling of his crew. And Raoul Walsh is the perfect man to direct, as the action director has a keen eye toward the psychological and characters with complicated motivations. Peck has the attitude, but is a bit uneasy when called upon to display the comical aspects of the still-upper-lip Hornblower—his uneasy "harumphs" are constantly dubbed in to make more of them than Peck could convey on-set. But for the brooding and irritation (and the authoritarian air), Peck is fine.

The battles are well-choreographed for the times—one can practically see the wires yanking pieces of ship-railing past the players—and sometimes the falling masts and ropes get a little out of control, but the model-work and staging are excitingly done. A fine way to spend a rainy afternoon.

* The added "R.N." because the British version of the title included them, the American did not. As with the recent Master and Commander, nothing is made of Hornblower maybe having to fight the American Navy, as he might have seven years in the future.

 

** The screen-rights were acquired for a vehicle for Errol Flynn, but after Flynn's previous movies had poor ticket sales (and the actor was proving difficult to manage), other actors (including Burt Lancaster) were considered. Peck got the part. Lancaster would star in The Crimson Pirate the next year.

Don't Make a Scene: Strangers on a Train

The Story: Happy Mother's Day.

For today's scene it was either going to be something from Alfred Hitchcock or Pedro Almodovar, two directors obsessed with mothers.

 

When Hitchcock read Patricia Highsmith's debut novel, he immediately bought the filming rights, but declined her services to adapt it—it was her first book and no one was to know she would have a long prolific career as a thriller writer, and after boiling it down to a suitable treatment (by Whitfield Cook), approached "name" writers to pen the screenplay, approaching John Steinbeck (they'd worked on Lifeboat) and Thornton Wilder (they'd teamed on Shadow of a Doubt) and even Dashiell Hammett.

 

Hitchcock then turned to Raymond Chandler, who had collaborated with Billy Wilder on the screenplay of Double Idemnity. Hitchcock evidently didn't speak to Wilder about the contentious process of creating that earlier script, as the two developed a mutual loathing that resulted in a screenplay that Hitchcock found unusable; he would make a show of tossing the script in his garbage bin.         Chandler's script was tossed—and Hitchcock returned to Whitfield Cook's original treatment—and Hitchcock hired Ben Hecht's assistant Czenzi Ormonde (as Hecht wasn't available). Hitchcock and Ormonde hastily worked out a script along with associate producer Barbara Keon and Hitchcock's "secret weapon" Alma Reville in time to do location shooting.

 

Highsmith initially liked the film (although miffed that Hitchcock bought her first novel anonymously for the relatively small sum of $7500). But, as years went on, she regretted changes to her book—Guy Haines turning from architect to tennis pro, and never carrying out the murder of Bruno's father. She did like the changing of her idea of Bruno to Hitchcock's and had high praise for the performance of Robert Walker.

Walker's work as Bruno is—along with Cary Grant's work and Anthony Perkins' in Psycho—among the best performances by an actor in Hitchcock's output. Given a chance to play something beside "handsome All-American boy," Walker brings an added "something" to the role beyond the typical villain, a relish for the playing that mirrors Bruno's hedonistic fantasy world mixed with self-absorption.* Both actor and role see the world as their oyster and the brio with which Walker tackles it is astonishing.

He had an able co-conspirator with Hitchcock, who used Walker's work to enhance a scene with the actress playing his mother, Marion Lorne. 

Most people remember Lorne as the hapless witch Aunt Clara on the television show "Bewitched" (for which she won a posthumous Emmy Award for best Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series—and her character was never re-cast, as who could possibly replace her?). A veteran of Broadway since 1905, this was her first feature film performance and Lorne's mercurial befuddled expressions made for intricate comedy. Hitchcock staged her intimately with the wily Walker to increase her discomfort, which would lead to more "tic's" of behavior. In selecting shots for this, I favored Lorne over Walker as her extremes are hilarious, but I could not possibly include everything as her reactions are constantly changing.

You'll notice in the script that I moved the "reveal" of Mrs. Anthony's painting to where it actually appears in the film, while leaving the original position crossed out. It's just like the Master of Suspense to draw out the reveal and increase the anticipation of it by having the reaction FIRST, then showing what all the fuss is about. It's the same strategy of telling the audience there is a bomb about to go off, than merely having a sudden explosion.

 

The Set-Up: Guy Haines (Farley Granger) and Bruno Anthony (Robert Walker) meet on a train. In their conversation, they both remark on troubles in their lives and Bruno posits a bizarre scheme—trading murders: Bruno would murder Guy's philandering wife who won't allow a divorce and Guy would murder Bruno's dictatorial and straight-laced father. Guy laughs off the idea, but Bruno takes it seriously.

 

Action.

 

INT. ANTHONY LIVING ROOM 

The scene opens on a CLOSEUP OF A MAN'S HANDS. One of them is semi-flexed and turning slowly, The other is receiving the final touches of a manicure. 

CAMERA PULLS BACK to reveal that these are Bruno's hands, and that, he is studying them moodily, CAMERA PULLS BACK FARTHER to reveal his mother, MRS. ANTHONY, sitting opposite him at a little table in the Anthony living room. She is working with scissors, file and nail buffer. 

Mrs. Anthony is a gentle, once pretty woman, whose pastel exterior harbors a tigress-like determination to protect her son, Bruno is in his robe and is unshaven. There is evidence of long established wealth in the heavy dark appointments of this room. 

MRS. ANTHONY Since you insisted on a manicure, dear, I do wish you'd keep your hands quiet. You're so restless lately. 

BRUNO (almost dreamily as he admires the free hand) I like them to look just right. 

Mrs. Anthony looks up, notices his moody expression. 

MRS. ANTHONY Did I file them too short? 

BRUNO No, Ma. They look fine. Thanks. 

MRS. ANTHONY Then what's the matter? 

BRUNO I'm all right, Ma. Don't worry about me. 

MRS. ANTHONY You look so Pale, dear. 

MRS. ANTHONY Are you out of vitamins? 

BRUNO I bought took a bottle of them yesterday. A whole fifth. 

MRS. ANTHONY (anxiously) But you have that 'look' (dear). 

MRS. ANTHONY I can always tell. You haven't got into any more mischief, Bruno? done anything foolish...

He denies this with a slow, solemn shake of his head. 

MRS. ANTHONY Well, I do hope you've forgotten about that silly little plan of yours? 

BRUNO (sharply) Which one? 

MRS. ANTHONY (smiling) About uh.... 

MRS. ANTHONY ....blowing up the White House? 

BRUNO (his eyes dancing) Oooh, Mom.

BRUNO I was only kidding fooling, Ma. 

BRUNO Besides, what would the president say? 

MRS. ANTHONY (laughing gaily) 

MRS. ANTHONY You're a naughty boy, Bruno. 

MRS. ANTHONY But you can always make me laugh. 

MRS. ANTHONY (she rises) Now get shaved, dear, 

MRS. ANTHONY ...before your father gets home. 

Bruno's fist crashes down on the little table, upsetting it, as he gets to his feet. 

BRUNO I'm sick and tired of bowing and scraping to the king. 

MRS. ANTHONY (placating him) Now, now, Let's not lose control. 

MRS. ANTHONY Come see my painting, dear -- 

(she leads him toward an easel) 

MRS. ANTHONY I do wish you'd take up painting. 

MRS. ANTHONY It's such a soothing pastime. 

They look at the painting. 

INSERT The painting is a horrible mess. Out of the violence of the pattern a man's face can be discerned, wild-eyed and distorted. 

We hear laughter from Bruno. 

BACK TO SCENE 

Bruno's roar of laughter puzzles Mrs. Anthony, 

but she is pleased to hear his good humor. He puts an arm around her.

BRUNO Oh, mother!

BRUNO You're wonderful, Ma! 

BRUNO It's the old boy, all right. 

BRUNO That's father!

INSERT The painting is a horrible mess. Out of the violence of the pattern a man's face can be discerned, wild-eyed and distorted. 

We hear laughter from Bruno.

MRS. ANTHONY (bewildered) It is Is it? 

MRS. ANTHONY I was trying to paint Saint Francis.

Strangers on a Train

Words by Raymond Chandler and Czenzi Ormonde (and Whitfield Cook, Alfred Hitchcock, Alma Reville, Barbara Keon, and Patricia Highsmith)

Pictures by Robert Burks and Alfred Hitchcock

Strangers on a Train is available on DVD and Blu-Ray from Warner Home Video.

* Not to put too fine a point on it—and certainly not to discredit his work here, which is precise, exacting and fluid—Walker suffered from alcoholism and a "mental illness" which seems to be never specified.