Tokyo Story

Tokyo Story is a 1953 film directed by Yasujiro Ozu and starring Chishu Ryu, Chieko Higashiyama, and Setsuko Hara. Often listed among the greatest films ever made, it’s widely regarded as Ozu’s masterpiece. Few films draw out emotion as subtly as this one.

It opens with a view of a river, a boat moving slowly through the frame, setting the pace for the entire film. This is Onomichi in Hiroshima Prefecture, eight years after the war and near the home of Shukichi Hirayama (Ryu) and his wife Tomi (Higashiyama), an elderly couple and the film’s central figures. The boat suggests the transience of life, a major theme (associated with wabi-sabi) and one frequently found in Japanese art. The Hirayamas are preparing for a trip to Tokyo, where their daughter and son live. Another son never returned from the war, and a third lives in Osaka, where the couple briefly stop en route by train.

In Tokyo, their children, busy with work and family, treat the visit more as a burden than a joy, and eventually send them off to the resort town of Atami, realizing they have little time for them. Their widowed daughter-in-law, Noriko (Hara), whose husband was the now missing son, stands in contrast to the Hirayamas’ children. She's kind and attentive, and although there are hints of loneliness and quiet suffering, her selflessness keeps these feelings largely hidden.

Hara’s performance is excellent, and the warmth of her character is hard not to be drawn to. The film is deeply moving, and the scene in which Shukichi gives Noriko a timepiece—a symbol of time passing and a gentle urging not to live entirely in the past—is especially powerful, all the more so given how soon after the war this film was made.

I remember watching Steven Spielberg discuss Ozu in a documentary. He mentioned Ozu’s disregard for the 180-degree rule, which typically keeps actors on one side of an invisible axis. Ozu shoots from multiple angles and often has characters speak directly toward the camera, placing the viewer in the position of another character. The camera rarely moves. It remains still, and many scenes are shot from a low angle, roughly the height of someone seated on a tatami mat. These choices create a quiet intimacy between audience and character. By the end, you feel close to them in a way few films achieve.

It’s often said that Ozu’s films focus on the individual, while Akira Kurosawa’s tend to explore society at large. But while Tokyo Story closely observes its characters, it also reflects broader social change, particularly the passing of generations and the erosion of filial piety. This is seen in the indifference of the children, the lack of respect from the grandchildren, and perhaps in Tokyo itself—a relentlessly moving and modern city where there’s little time to dwell on the past or carry on its stodgier traditions.

Chishu Ryu, Setsuko Hara, and Chieko Higashiyama in Tokyo Story

Setsuko Hara and Chishu Ryu in Tokyo Story