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Tokyo Story, a film by Yasujirō Ozu, is currently being shown in cinemas due to several significant anniversaries related to its release and the filmmaker. Celebrating 70 years since its debut, 120 years since the director’s birth, and 60 years since his passing, I decided to sacrifice a couple of hours of sun-soaked vitamin D to attend an afternoon screening.
This slow-paced masterpiece by Ozu tells the story of an elderly couple from the countryside who visit their adult children in the bustling capital. Instead of warm familial greetings, they are met with strained tolerance. Observing their own irrelevancy in a rapidly changing world (despite their grandson learning English after General MacArthur’s departure), the couple decides to return home. One expects conflict across generations, but as is often the case with neglected parents, it’s the undramatic acceptance of their fate that is truly heart-wrenching.
Tokyo Story is widely regarded as one of the greatest films ever made, transcending cultural boundaries despite its initial limited distribution outside of Japan. However, the movie’s portrayal of urban life as a destroyer of human connections and moral values feels somewhat clichéd.
The economic advantages of cities, such as agglomeration benefits, are repeatedly discussed, overshadowing the more profound moral argument. So, allow me to present it here.
The existence of well-organized cities, free of chaotic conditions, is primarily a moral triumph. It relies not on coercion (as no police force can control 10 million people simultaneously), but on trust, goodwill, and at the very least, enlightened self-interest. For a species that only recently began living in settled populations, the inherent familial love cherished by Ozu is expected to be hardwired. Yet, comprehending the countless voluntary obligations that prevent urban disintegration is far more challenging, and their significance often goes unacknowledged.
From my experience, the problem lies in the misconceptions of those who oppose metropolitan living. They fail to grasp the safety offered by these cities. Their grievances against urban areas aren’t solely rooted in wealth and pretentious behavior, but rather in the perception of squalor and turmoil. “How can you stand living there?” they ask, from their deindustrialized abyss or a town where the best restaurant is a Côte. While some bluster may be involved (as we all seek justification for our residential choices), their point is somewhat valid. A city lacking a stable population and shared memories should logically fall apart.
This distrust of cities has ancient roots. (I would call it metrophobia, but that term already refers to a fear of poetry.) The Industrial Revolution, Britain’s greatest achievement aside from Newtonian mechanics, transformed the countryside into bustling industrial centers such as Manchester, leading to the perception of an alien invasion in Eden. Similar sentiments exist in the United States, France, and even China during the Cultural Revolution, where the provinces are considered the true representation of the nation. In the past, I would have argued, “But we urban dwellers pay the bills.” However, I am now more inclined to defend the honor of cities beyond their productivity.
Outgrowing one’s parents is a form of pre-bereavement, a universal toll imposed on anyone seeking upward mobility. But what is the alternative? Static communities? Accepting one’s predetermined place? It is a peculiar moral vision that finds supporters both on the de-growth left and the alt-right. However, neither side comprehends that modernity creates different but equally profound connections and responsibilities that are not based on shared blood or ethnicity.
Except for one scene, Ozu’s camera remains stationary, capturing the perspective of a guest kneeling on the tatami. The film implies that this is the ideal way of life. Even the matriarch’s big, cheerful face is a visual representation of small-town innocence. With a smile on her face, she endures her own humiliations, too meek to ask her children for patience despite her unremarkable life. Unfortunately, the city gradually erodes even that small-town essence. Nevertheless, this eternal work of art derives its emotional power from its restrained portrayal. It is almost inconsequential that it misrepresents urban dwellers, as I find myself blinking in awe at a city that defies all odds and manages to hold itself together.
Email Janan at [email protected]
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