%20Koji%20Wakamatsu%20D.jpg)
狂沙十萬里 1968年12月21日: Diecimila miglia di
sabbie selvagge
Aka C'era una volta il West/Once
Upon a Time in the West
导演 direttore 塞吉歐·李昂尼: Sergio Leone
编剧 sceneggiatori:
柏納多·貝托魯奇 Bernardo Bertolucci
配乐 Colonna sonora: 恩尼奥·莫里科内 Ennio Morricone
摄影 fotografia: 東尼諾·戴笠·寇利 Tonino Delli Colli
剪辑 montaggio: 尼諾·巴拉利 Nino Baragli
克勞蒂雅·卡汀娜 Claudia
Cardinale - 吉尔·麦克贝恩（Jill McBain）
亨利·方达 – Henry
Fonda 弗兰克（Frank）
贾森·罗巴兹 – Jason Robards 夏安（Cheyenne）
查爾斯·布朗森 – Charles
Bronson 哈莫尼克（Harmonica）
1940.jpg)
HARA SETSUKO
(1920-2015)
By Tony
Rayns
ONE OF JAPAN’S BEST-LOVED FILMED ACTRESSES since
her teenage years, Hara Setsuko left the film industry in 1963 at the age of
forty-three—a few months after the death of Ozu Yasujiro, for whom she’d acted
memorably in six features. She withdrew completely from public life, living
outside Tokyo in Kamakura, refusing to be photographed and declining requests
for interviews. This Garbo-like retreat inevitably fostered a powerful
mystique, which endured until her death last September, itself kept secret by
her relatives for two months after her funeral. The Togeki Theater in Tokyo’s
Higashi-Ginza district happened to be presenting newly restored Ozu films in
the week her passing became known, and a large, uncaptioned photo of her was
posted front-of-house. The sixty-two-year-old image (from Ozu’s Tokyo
Story, 1953) alone was enough to trigger grief and nostalgia.
Much Japanese cinema of the 1930s was lost in the Allied
fire-bombing of Tokyo, but one of Hara’s earliest featured performances
miraculously survives. She plays the market stall-holder Onami in Yamanaka
Sadao’s excellent Kochiyama Soshun (1936), a young woman
worried about the increasing delinquency of her brother. It’s clear that she
was cast not only for her sweet-sixteen-ness (she seems credibly older), but
also because she responded to Yamanaka’s demand for a naturalistic acting
style, quite removed from the kabuki conventions that dominated period dramas
of the time. A year later she was cast in a then-prestigious Japanese-German
co-production as a young woman pushed away by her fiancé on his return from
Nazi Germany, and she went on to appear in several wartime propaganda films,
all designed to bolster the military government’s call for self-sacrifice and
loyalty to the codes of bushido, “the way of the warrior.”
Her reluctance to give interviews even during her heyday
leaves us unsure how Hara felt about the roles she was asked to play, but her
radiance in postwar Ozu and Naruse pictures—almost always playing unmarried
daughters, widows, or unhappy wives, internalizing unspoken emotional pain and
disappointment—suggests a high degree of consonance between her off-screen life
and feelings and her frequent on-screen roles. Like Ozu, Hara herself never
married. She chose to live alone after her early retirement; her countless
Japanese fans dubbed her “the eternal virgin,” partly because she had no
reported romantic attachments, partly because she made such a mark as Noriko,
the daughter who chooses to look after her widower father rather than get
married and move out in Ozu’s Late Spring (1949).
She was born Aida Masae, one of eight children in a Yokohama
family, and used family connections to get an acting contract with the
production company Nikkatsu in 1935, when she was just fifteen. (Her elder
sister was married to the then-leftist director Kumagai Hisatora, a Nikkatsu
employee.) We’ll never know what ambitions she had in her mid-teens, but she
would certainly have seen Japanese movies in which women protagonists, played
by the likes of Yamada Isuzu and Tanaka Kinuyo, protested loudly against the
social, moral, and economic constraints on women’s lives. The distinguished
Japanese critic Sato Tadao argues that Hara’s postwar status reflects her
embodiment of the silent sufferings of Japanese people in general as they
struggled to reconcile traditional values with the adjustment to
“modernization” under the US occupation.
Ozu and Naruse, in their formalized melodramas, used Hara’s smiling-through-adversity persona as a subtle signifier of hidden social pressures. Their slightly younger contemporary Kurosawa Akira, more comfortable with full-blown melodrama, had her star in two movies that plunged into the strains and contradictions of postwar life much more explicitly. In No Regrets for Our Youth (1946) she plays Yukie, the complacently bourgeois daughter of a liberal professor who is punished for his anti-war views in the ’30s; she has a torrid affair with an anti-war activist who dies in police custody and enters peacetime as a proudly dishevelled farmer, working to support her late partner’s peasant parents. And in The Idiot (1951), in which Kurosawa transposes Dostoyevsky’s novel to post-war Hokkaido, she plays Taeko (Dostoyevsky’s Nastasya), a kept woman since her mid-teens, who refuses to be ashamed of her past and mocks the various suitors who think they can buy her as a wife. These assertive, proto-feminist roles are the flip-side of Hara’s usual reticence; they hint at what lies behind her “eternal virgin” image. They also help us understand why Hara Setsuko was so revered in Japan, and around the world.
https://www.artforum.com/columns/tony-rayns-on-hara-setsuko-1920-2015-227761/
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
%20-.jpg)
..jpg)
_.jpg)