Thursday, May 2, 2013

Ikiru


Ikiru

Ikiru will make you feel inspired to make the world a better place, and then Ikiru will punch you in the fucking stomach for feeling that way.

Kurosawa has never pulled any of his punches. I wanted to start this review by talking about some of his other movies, aside from those based on Shakespeare.

In Seven Samurai, there’s a moment that nearly knocked me out of my chair the first time I saw it. Throughout the movie, one assumes that the seven samurai fighting to protect the village will emerge triumphant. As time goes by and it becomes apparent hat this won’t happen exact as you expect, you start preparing yourself for a heroic sacrifice. The samurai will all die in battle and the samurai in love will ride off with his sweetheart, despite their class differences. But then, none of that happens, because did you think this was a movie or something?

At the end, 4 of the 7 have died. If some samurai are to die, and not all, none or one, you have an idea about who it will be. You know what I mean. Most people can tell within the first five minutes of being introduced to a character whether or not that character will die. But the movie subverts your expectations entirely by killing off some characters that you thought couldn’t possibly die and keep one character alive whose name you can’t even remember. Even from a realistic standpoint, you would imagine that the best fighter at least would survive, but nope. He’s offed too. The characters are killing off seemingly at random, almost like a real battle, where staying alive is more about luck than fighting ability or how much other people like you.

Anyway, the line. The three remaining samurai are staring at the graves of their fallen comrades, marked only by their swords. The villagers are off celebrating. Kambei, the leader of the samurai remarks that they have lost. It is the villagers that have won, which is why they’re celebrating in honor of their victory, and no one but the samurai mourn the barely marked graves of their friends. The young samurai in love is even rejected by the peasant girl he’s fallen in love with. (Accounts differ on this. My swayable opinion is that she – and by proxy, the peasantry – rejects him – and by proxy, all warrior class – due to his violent nature.)

After bleeding and dying for these people, they can’t even gain acceptable, or at least a flower for their graves. It is a jarring, realistic ending unencumbered by movie logic where righteous actions will be rewarded. They will not, but the actions remain righteous nonetheless.

You can regard the ending of Rashomon as being much of the same as Seven Samurai. By the end, ideas about heroism, fidelity and honesty are scrutinized and found to be imaginary. You are not as badass or tough as you think you are, and instead of being a sword-swinging legend, you’re a pants-pissing coward. Your wife will leave you in a second for the first cooler guy who looks at her the right way. And you’re so greedy that you’ll steal off a dead body to put a few coins in your pocket. These are not movie truths; they are human truths.

So is Kurosawa just throwing depressing shit at his audience? Well, yes, but not without a purpose.

One of the things I love about Ikiru (and there are many things I love about Ikiru) is the simplicity of its story. An aging bureaucrat has been diagnosed with cancer and has about 6 months to live. The first half of this movie deals with his acceptance of this fact, as he comes to terms with his impending death. You might get tricked into thinking this is the subject of the story, but you would be very wrong.

The movie expends most of its energy depressing the shit out of you. Suddenly, maybe about an hour and a half in, the main character, Watanabe, discovers a purpose; he will build a new park using his position in the local government. The movie is promptly uplifted. He rushes out of his office filled with purpose and an important goal. He is struggling against his own death. There’s even a version of the happy birthday song in the background. As soon as he leaves the office, the screen fades to black and the narrator informs us that five months later, our protagonist has died. You’re punched in the stomach at the exact moment you feel most hopeful.

Surely the park was built though, right? Yes, but, not as you’d expect. During Watanabe-san’s funeral, we’re shown flashbacks of him working tirelessly to get this park built, and the various bureaucrats that impeded his progress. At his funeral, these same bureaucrats are congratulating themselves for all the hard work they did for building the park. They go on and on. “No, no, you were the most important person in building this park.” “No, you were.” “Well, let’s just agree we’re all pretty amazing.” This, at the man’s funeral. We are even told that Watanabe-san was seated in the bank during the opening ceremony, publically snubbed.

“Ikiru” in Japanese means “to live,” and this is ikiru: You will work hard, you will die, nobody will care, and drunken coworkers will take credit for your deeds. See what I mean about being punched in the fucking stomach?

Perhaps there is hope. Before the funeral scene closes, the bureaucrats are seen promising themselves not to let Watanabe-san’s death go to waste. The audience feels the same. We all feel like going out and making a difference goddammit before we die. The bureaucrats seem ready to do something great, and we are too. Of course, nobody does anything, including you. After the funeral, during the following day’s work, we see all of them just as lazy and worthless as they were before. An opportunity to be great even presents itself but they intentionally let it slip by. In this sense, Ikiru is speaking to its audience. You might feel inspired now, but when you sober up tomorrow morning, you will go back to doing what you did yesterday.

So where does that leave us? Is everything pointless? Are we just drifting through life? No, although he was snubbed, Watanabe-san achieved his goal. The park was built and the citizens love it. And that is the part that matters. We are all faced with impossible tasks under terrible circumstance, yet we must see them through to the end. We will, at best, die without accolades, but dying with accolades was never the goal; doing the right thing is.

The Empty Glass


Imagine for a second that you’re sitting across the table from me, and there’s a glass of milk between us. For about 15 seconds, you close your eyes and plug your eyes, and for the sake of this mind experiment, let’s pretend that no information can get through to you. After 15 seconds, you open your eyes, unplug your eyes and, aside from the milk in the glass being missing, nothing in the room is changed.
Now, having no information about these 15 seconds and no way of every really knowing, you’re forced to take a guess as to what happened, but, for the sake of this thought experiment, think of ever. Possible. Thing. That could have happened to that milk. It’s not possible to actually imagine each and every possible event, since it would be nearly infinite, so just imagine how many there and how many of them are weird. You might say that a monkey broke in the room drank the milk and left. Maybe I have a sponge in my pocket or a vacuum cleaner down my pants or something. Maybe a ghost drank the milk. Maybe aliens came and used a tractor beam on it. Maybe I just drank it.
Alright, now that we have tons of different possibilities, try to rank them. Or, if you thought of too many examples, try to imagine just what the ranking would look like. (i.e. what kinds of things are most likely? What kinds of things are not likely at all?)
If you’re any kind of normal, the less weird examples go on top weird in the middle, and supernatural things at the bottom. Again, you can’t know what happened, but you know that the easiest event to have occurred is just for me to have drank the milk. We don’t need to bring in milk-drinking trained animals or ghosts or aliens. Even if you’re the type of person (an idiot) who thinks ghosts must be real, you’ll probably still agree it’s more likely that the person drinking the milk was me, and not a ghost, since there’s no debating the existence of me.
You might start to realize that you do something like this every time you don’t know something for certain, and you don’t know many things for certain very often. If you go to a restaurant and order a cheese sandwich, what’s going to cheese sandwich? It’s possible the server didn’t hear you, and you’ll get a peas sandwich instead, but this is less likely. It’s possible someone will steal that cheese on the way to your table, but even less likely still. The cheese could be swiped by a burglar or a unicorn. But still, the safest thing to assume is the thing that happens the most often. When you order a cheese sandwich, you will probably get a cheese sandwich.
I first began to notice that people think like this over 10 years ago, and I like to think that this is where my atheism got started. I was in Theology class, of all places, and we were going through the Old Testament. Our teacher was telling us the story of Moses parting the Red Sea, and pointed out several interesting things to us. First, that if you’re in Egypt – particularly Cairo or the northern part as I believe is implied in the bible – and you’re going to Israel, crossing the Red Sea would send you in the wrong direction. (You would be surprised how few people realize this…or maybe you won’t be that surprised.) Also, in Hebrew, like Arabic, there are no vowel letters, so if you read “bk” it could be “book” or “beak.” Now, according to my Theology teacher, there’s a place on the way to Israel from Egypt called the “Reed Sea”, which apparently is what the biblical authors meant when they wrote “Rd”. Please don’t pay any attention to the fact that both of those words are in English. Now, this Reed Sea, according to my Theology teacher was very shallow and when the wind hit it just right, would actually dry up in the middle, or something. I don’t know. And, according to my Theology teacher, this is where God killed a bunch of Egyptian soldiers who were just doing what they were told.
Regardless of whether or not any of that is true, even at that age I had an “empty glass” thought. If we have two explanations, one using magic and one not using magic, why should we assume that the one with magic is real? Why not a grand coincidence involving this supposedly-partable sea?
I hope to continue this conversation later as we talk about the other way that we make assumptions: trust.