Yasujirō Ozu’s second film in colour, Good Morning (or お早よう in Japanese), I think simply exudes brilliance and charm. This loose adaptation of Ozu’s own 1932 silent film I Was Born, But… (or 大人の見る絵本 生れてはみたけれど in Japanese) follows the lives of many characters living in a Tokyo suburb. Primarily the film focuses on two young boys, brothers who observe the frivolous formalities of the adult world, frequently make fart jokes, and escape English lessons to watch Sumo wrestling on TV over at their friend’s house. Eventually, the boys go on a silence strike in the hope of prompting their parents to buy them their own TV set.
Ozu can be daunting, that’s for sure. His reputation across cinema as a powerhouse of Japanese cinema, a quintessential pioneer in familial dramas, and a beloved filmmaker by others in the industry, as well as critics, may make approaching one of his films a tough task. Furthermore, for Western audiences, there is some worry that the practices of Japanese life, especially in the 1930s-1960s, will be alien and inaccessible to some. I can confidently say that with Good Morning, there is no need to hold these fears. The film’s comedic nature translates impeccably across language and culture barriers (I mean, fart jokes are the basis of the film – a universal type of humour for sure) and provides for an incredibly enjoyable watch. The film is also very easy to digest; its shorter ~94-minute runtime coupled with its depiction of a realistic simpleness to life makes it a breezy and light watch. That tone is an immensely good thing for this film and benefits the narrative and themes perfectly in a gentle and charming way. The subtle satirisation of both the forced niceties of conversation among adults, as opposed to the innocent honesty of children, and the rising consumerism in post-war Japan underscores the film and drives the comedy. To a Western audience, this is not at all alienating. It seems everybody has been in the position where their parents have not let them watch something on TV, or they have been annoyed by the banality of a conversation or the contrivance of it – these universal shared experiences make the film relatable to an extent and certainly allow the audience to identify with the characters, rather than being just observers of a different culture. Here, Ozu invites us into Japanese life through comedy guided by a light tone and plot. The way Ozu positions the viewer into being involved in the, proudly simple, story through cinematography is notable. The direction of actors to deliver lines, often looking to the camera with us in the POV of another character in conversation, places us right in the middle of a scene, which engaged me as much as (and more!) any high-stakes action, unravelling mystery, or Oscar-worthy performance could’ve in a film.
Charm oozes out of Good Morning, particularly in the defiant and immensely sweet performances of the two lead brothers, and the gossiping adults which serve to paint a quaint picture of life. And the frequent repetition of the line ‘I love you’ by the younger boy, in literally the cutest delivery I have ever heard, is wholly endearing – as is the whole film. It’s not hard for me to place this film as a favourite, and certainly as a ‘comfort’ film. Moreover, after watching this, any doubts I had about approaching Ozu’s work have been diminished, and I look forward to watching and hopefully enjoying the rest of his appraised filmography.
Thank you for reading.
MORTFILMS 