[Contains spoilers and mention of sexual assault and death]
Rashomon (1950) – A Review
Last week, I had the opportunity to see my first (don’t come for me) Akira Kurosawa film, so my husband and I had a cultural outing to the Prince Charles Cinema (and also the National Gallery for their new Van Gogh exhibit that I highly recommend – they have the Philly Sunflowers and The Bedroom and A Wheatfield, with Cypresses AND Starry Night over the Rhone!!!).
Disclaimer: This is not a paid advertisement for either the National Gallery or the Prince Charles Cinema – I am just a huge fan of the independent cinema and also Van Gogh. If you are in London and are also fans of either or both, each is worth the trip, and they are just a few minutes’ walk from one another in central.
Anyway, I saw a Kurosawa and, guys, I get it. I had been Kurosawa-curious for a while, but I had not encountered any opportunities to see his films and I had not prioritised seeing a or multiple Kurosawa films over expanding my Hollywood horizons during my PhD. But I get it now. I loved Rashomon (1950) and I have been thinking about it for a full week.
So, if you will indulge me as you have been for the last few weeks and months, I wanted to go through some of my thoughts in a review touching on gender, social identity, self-perception, and memory in one of the most thought-provoking films I have ever seen. This review will have a lot of plot summary because it’s very difficult to talk about this film without relaying the plot, so if you have not seen it and want to unspoiled, please seek it out first!
For those unfamiliar, Rashomon opens on a priest (Minoru Chiaki) and a woodcutter (Takashi Shimura) despairing over the death of a samurai that had occurred three days prior. Each were called to testify to the police and hear the testimonies of the witnesses: a notorious bandit named Tajōmaru (Toshiro Mifune), the samurai’s wife (Machiko Kyō), and the ghost of the samurai himself (Masayuki Mori). The priest and the woodcutter are relating the testimonies to a passerby, a commoner (Kichijirō Ueda) who has stopped under the ruins of a city gate in which the three are taking shelter from a severe rainstorm.
This is the framing device: three individuals who are unnamed, unaffiliated, and identified only as their roles in relation to society and who are trapped by a natural phenomenon in a man-made structure ruined by a man-made war are discussing what they believe to be a symptom of a society in decline. Their despair is deafening and echoed by the pounding rain all around them and their choice not to go out into it.
The framing device is almost more interesting than the testimonies, and we will get back to it, but let’s follow the film chronologically. The woodcutter relates that he came upon the dead body of the samurai three days earlier in a clearing in the woods, a statement that we later learn is a lie which it seems the priest already assumes from the start. Next the priest says he saw the couple travelling on the day of the death, and the bandit is dragged in in chains after having been captured on the beach with the couple’s horse. The bandit spins his tale of his own cleverness, desires, and ruthless brutality – traits that become questionable in the subsequent testimonies. The bandit tells that while he was resting under a tree, the couple passed him and a cool breeze blew the wife’s veil open, allowing him a glimpse of her face. He blames this cool breeze for his actions in which he devised a scheme of convincing the samurai that he had hidden swords in a cave not far from their location and would sell them to him for a cheap price. The samurai, who had been escorting his wife as her protector, leaves her in the woods alone to follow this obvious bandit whom he had allegedly been wary of prior, all to look at some cheap swords. Once alone, the bandit attacks the samurai, tying him up, and eventually raping his wife in front of him before his death.
This set up is never questioned. It is never related in a different way. The diversion point is after the rape and before the death. I could spend 3 full reviews just on this set up and the fact that it is never questioned, but the testimonies are what are questioned, so let’s move on to the death. The bandit wants to reinforce his reputation as a violent, fearsome killer and thief. Assumptions have been made that he has killed before, but the audience is left just with the rumours to believe or not. His version of the death is a valiant murder: after forcibly “seducing” the wife in front of the samurai, she begs him to kill her husband so as not to live with that dishonour, and acquiescing, the bandit cuts the samurai free, duels him expertly, and wins by killing him in the clearing.
Speaking second, the wife is riddled with guilt and pain, having been raped and dishonoured before her husband. She relates that the bandit left immediately after the assault, leaving her to confront her husband who does nothing but look upon her with “disgust” and “hate”. His eyes to her are piercing, but for the audience, they look almost unfazed, betraying her tale while emphasising the torment she projected onto her husband. Unable to live with his gaze, the wife releases him and claims to have fainted and awoken to find her own dagger plunged into her husband’s chest.
Third, a medium (played brilliantly by Noriko Honma) relates the story of the ghost of the samurai whose story overlaps in part with each of the bandit’s and wife’s testimonies. The samurai says the bandit was enamoured with his wife and asked for her hand in marriage after the assault. To his great shame, his wife accepted under the condition the bandit kill her husband first. The bandit is immediately disgusted by the wife for even suggesting he murder her husband – despite having just raped her – and turns to the samurai to give him the option of letting the wife go or allowing him to kill her. The wife flees in fear, and, in apology, the bandit releases the samurai who then claims he plunged the wife’s dagger into his own chest, later feeling it removed by an unidentified person.
These three testimonies seem to be the core of the story. They are the three involved in the death of the samurai and all three claim to be responsible for it. Up to this point, with these interesting complications and the complexities of human memory and overlapping testimonies it would be a good film. BUT THEN it becomes a great film.
Back to the framing device. The woodcutter reveals his lie as provoked by the commoner who’s only interest is gossip and passing the time as the rain beats on. The woodcutter claims to have seen it all and accuses all three involved of lying about their accounts. In his version, the bandit did beg the wife to marry him after assaulting her, as the samurai said. The wife frees the husband expecting him to defend her, but he is disgusted and refuses to defend a ruined woman, similar to the account the wife related. The wife, affronted, then spits at the men and dares them to live up to their reputations as a notorious bandit and a samurai, calling into question their honour, word, and masculinity. The two, coerced into putting action to their words fight a shaky sword fight, neither exuding confidence or skill or a notion that they have killed before. Ultimately, the bandit gets the upper hand and kills the samurai with a sword, as the bandit related in his version.
The woodcutter admits that he hid the truth from investigators because he did not want to get involved. SUDDENLY, a baby cries, thus far silent. The commoner steals the blankets from the baby to which the woodcutter charges forward and admonishes him for the theft. The commoner erupts that he hasn’t forgotten about the wife’s dagger, unrecovered from the scene of the crime, alleging that the woodcutter lied to the police because he did not want to admit that he stole the dagger for himself – how could he accuse the commoner of wrongdoing when he too is a thief? (This movie is so fucking good.)
The commoner, sick of the roundabout stories and feeling prideful in both his theft and deduction, sets off into the pouring rain. The woodcutter tells the priest that he has six children and would like to take the abandoned child home to care for it as his own, suggesting that his refusal to testify was likely a combination of his and the commoner’s reasoning: he did not want to involve himself or his family in the evolving murder investigation and also he stole the dagger to sell to support his large family in these times of economic and social strife. The priest hands over the baby, telling the woodcutter that he has restored his faith in humanity. The rains stop and clouds part as the woodcutter carries the child home.
I know I just recounted most of a film and that’s not a review, but it is essential. My written summary also does not really even compare to viewing the film. The shot composition is wonderful, but the facial acting, the breathing, the sweat, the physical blocking, the differences in the sword fights, the visuals are an entirely different story in themselves. (I still recommend seeing it if you disregarded my earlier warning and read the plot summary.)
So, let’s talk about this. The framing device is so brilliant because we don’t even know if the stories are accurate to the testimonies as they are being related by two individuals who did not believe them even when they heard them. The commoner and the rain and these simple symbols of malicious curiosity and the unrelenting pounding of the natural pressures bearing down on people to live up to their roles in society. For instance, the wife is raped in front of her husband, dishonoured in the eyes of society but, more importantly, personally brutalised. In her version of events, she is worried about how she will be perceived if she does not project herself as a docile woman overcome with guilt for dishonouring her husband, as opposed to the woodcutter’s version in which she is righteously livid for both the rape and rejection from her husband because of it.
The film never commits to a version of events that is true, and it is entirely up to the audience to decide for themselves who is responsible for the death and whose version is true. I personally believe the woodcutter’s version (with the caveat that he is the one whom the samurai’s ghost felt take the dagger). This version feels the most human with the samurai and bandit feeling trapped by the nature of their own roles in society, feeling the need to protect as promised or kill as reputed. They are exposed as frauds, the wife is exposed as rightfully pissed, the woodcutter is exposed as a complicated figure trying to do right by doing “wrong”. It’s the most compelling tale for me.
I didn’t make much of the rain at the time, but realising its use as a trapping device, I have come to realise how clever Kurosawa is. Human nature is a trapping device of performativity in social situations. When we are perceived in a way that we believe is positive – as a notorious bandit who doesn’t actually have to kill to be feared; as a dedicated and obedient wife who doesn’t actually have to love her husband to be protected; or, as a noble samurai who doesn’t actually have to be a good swordsman or morally-upstanding gentleman to be respected – we want to nourish that perception, even if it traps us in the metaphorical ruins of the mind in which competing versions of the self try to make sense of reality. The priest, the woodcutter, and the commoner are on a spectrum from good to nuanced to bad, standing in the ruins of a liminal space (the gateway of a lost city), arguing over the differing testimonies of each witness’s proclaimed self, trapped by the deafening, pounding symbol of human nature. Until a baby, unassigned of a role in society, leads the nuanced woodcutter out of the despairing echo chamber of the ruins and into an emerging sun.
Come on. Brilliant. Beautiful. It really is an example of the best cinema can be, the depths of humanity that can be portrayed so simply on screens with good storytelling, nuanced acting, and thoughtful set design. I get it. I’m hooked. I’m moving Kurosawa up the priorities list. What a beautiful experience.
Note: Next year will be the 75th anniversary of the film, so if you are interested in seeing it in a cinema, I’d recommend having a look at your local indies to see if they’re hosting an anniversary screening.