I'm still not sure if the films of Yoji Yamada helped me understand people better or simply strengthened the understanding of humans that I already had, but there's no doubt that he is
the director. And if there is
the movie, then it's My Sons.
When I first watched My Sons in 2019, I was all over the love story, not only because I was still on a long heartbreak but also because Yamada's skill at portraying romance is unmatched. And I'm a sucker for romance. I did understand and love the Tokyo Story-inspired working-class & generational themes. Still, I saw them merely as a supplement to the romance. On my first watch, I was extremely taken in by all the twists and surprises in the love story. And how it blended so well with the generational theme.
When I rewatched My Sons in 2020, I got even more out of it. The generational theme I had seen merely as a side story felt like the main story this time, with the love story taking the back ride. Not that I didn't love the love story anymore. Quite the contrary, I loved it even more. I cried like a baby, just like the first time. But I also cried because of the father's story. A lot. And I think I noticed and understood more that time. I noticed that one-shot take when Tetsuo learns about Seiko and how the sun radiates his face after he leaves the warehouse. I noticed that the ending is the very reason for the dad's adamant decision to never leave his house. And I saw my mom in the dad character. Because my mom actually said she wants to die in the apartment where I grew up, in the town where she spent her entire life.
My third watch of My Sons was this year. There were some more things I got out of it. Some things I saw differently, but most of the things I found moving and beautiful ever since I watched it for the first time still felt all that. I might've cried the most on my third watch out of all three watches. The love story hit as hard as always. I guess I overestimate how important "personal" is, while what really counts is one's sensitivity. And your sensitivity is always the main factor and always will be, regardless of your experiences. [Kinoshita's Sincere Heart is the ultimate proof of that for me.] But "personal" always makes things even better, even dearer to one's heart. This time around, I, too, saw my mom in the dad character. But not just my mom. I also saw myself. Particularly in the ending, in which Rentaro Mikuni's character returns to an empty, cold, desolate house after he failed to make any of his children come back with him. The generational divide rings heavy in this scene. But there's more to it than just that. There's a personal reason for the dad's love for the old house. After he returns, the dark is illuminated by a radiating light, and the dad sees his family, his parents, who are presumably long dead, his wife, who also died, and his children, once but little kids, now adults with little free time and their own lives to think about. And that's where I saw myself. How in just three years, I lost my grandpa, grandma, and mom, year after year. And how from time to time, I come to the empty, cold house that once thrived, was so full of life, now nothing but silence.
And I wonder if my future rewatches of My Sons will uncover something new to me. I wonder if I'll ever find a girl who stays with me. I wonder if I'll ever have children. I wonder if I'll ever stay in my beloved apartment full of memories while my children leave it to lead their own lives. I wonder if there's still something in life for me other than thousands of movies. Perhaps not. Perhaps none of my dreams will ever come true.
All I know is Yoji Yamada knows life. He shows true life on the screen. He doesn't pretend to show "true" life. He's not one of those festival directors who make "realistic" movies. No, his movies are the most real it gets. His movies are life itself. Yes, they're cinematic. Sure, they're sentimental. But so are memories. So are our lives when we look back at them after years. Yamada's films are the perfect embodiment of memories to me. It's not just that you draw similarities between the characters on the screen and your own life. It's also about how the characters on the screen feel like real people. Not just like you, your family, and your friends. But like actual human beings seen through a humble, warm mantle of Yamada's cinematic language. Simple but so full of details. Drawn with a humanistic touch and so much love. Yes, Yamada loves his characters. And so do I.
And I don't think American cinema is capable of ever making films like that. Hell, most Japanese directors aren't. And the rest is not very keen on doing so anyway. That's because, in my opinion, they lack sincerity. They lack singularity in their vision. Just imagine Shindo's Naked Island made in the USA. They'd talk a lot. They would introduce a lot of subplots to make things louder and "more interesting". They'd ruin it in every and which way. Don't get me wrong. I like American cinema. But it almost never hits close to my heart. And on those rare occasions, it does, it seems to be with movies that are never seen on any best-of lists from critics, who, too, seem to be too high up in their analytical, intellectual approach. As a matter of fact, most critics focus on understanding so much they entirely miss feeling and, by extension, understanding. And so do so many American screenwriters - so capable of throwing in a little easter egg, so masterful at making the dialogue pitch-perfect, but so inept at showing life the way it is.
Yamada is 91 years old now. I wish him the best. I'd love him to make more movies, and apparently, he is! His newest will premiere this year! I can only hope he's another de Oliveira and brings us a few more masterpieces before he dies. But even if he never makes another movie, I'll still hold him in my personal pantheon of film directors (and screenwriters) - he might be the very best of all. Not because he was the best technically, though he was marvelous. Not because he was highly inventive, though I've never seen movies like his. But because he understood people like nobody else. And because he was never afraid to sprinkle his films with his understanding of Catholicism, good, family, love, life, and cinema.