“The sad and lonely days of my youth come back to me as the autumn winds blow”

The concept of autumn lingers very heavily throughout She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum (Japanese: 野菊の如き君なりき), the fascinating account of a lost love, as curated by Keisuke Kinoshita, one of the most unheralded masters of early Japanese cinema. In addition to the quote above, which serves as the opening lines, the film ends with the narrator stating “in late autumn, the fields are empty. There’s no one but crickets that sing by the grave”. There is certainly something to be said about how the director (as well as many of his contemporaries) made use of the concept of autumn in their careful accounts of the past, since it’s quite a common theme, for a number of reasons. Throughout this film, Kinoshita makes use of a wide range of allegories, using the seasons as a framing device for his captivating story of an old man returning to the place in which he grew up, and along the way revisiting his memories, which alternate between joyful reminiscing of his past, and a bittersweet remembrance of a brief but passionate romance he hoped to pursue, but was never able to as a result of factors beyond his control. Autumn is a time for reflection and change, which serves as the foundation for She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum, a film that uses the idea of seasonal change as the basis for a gripping account of two people working through their emotions while fighting against an oppressive set of social conventions that prevent them from finding the joy they seek. It’s a truly moving story of attempting to overcome adversity, and while it may be quite downbeat (particularly in how it refuses to have a happy ending, the third act being a cavalcade of carefully constructed misery and despair that balances the ethereal melancholy that sits as the foundation of the film), there is a beautiful quality to She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum that is difficult to pinpoint, but is waiting to welcome every viewer into this gorgeous, complex world that dares to look into the human condition from a new perspective.

Kinoshita’s style is very much reflective of a director with a flair for experimentation, constantly pushing his style in a way that many of his contemporaries would be entirely against, since he represented a more renegade form of expression, using style more than narrative to guide his stories. The vast majority of his films are known for deviating from conventions in some way – consider arguably his finest (or at least most well-known as celebrated) film, The Ballad of Narayama, whereby the director made use of a structure more aligned with kabuki theatre to bring to life a beautifully heartwrenching story about a mother-son relationship tested by socially-mandated beliefs. Many would consider Kinoshita to be someone who relies too heavily on the use of gimmicks in putting these stories together, and there is some weight to this argument, since he did fervently protest against the more simple methods of filmmaking, as defined by his contemporaries such as Mizoguchi and Ozu, who allowed these stories to flourish on their own. However, it’s important to not undersell his achievements – his work is a keen reflection on his particular artistic style, and in the case of She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum, he uses conventions associated with the silent era, filming the memory sequences (which take up the lion’s share of the film) in a way that hearkens back to the use of ovoid lens – it’s a multilayered approach that not only shows Kinoshita’s admiration for the origins of filmmaking, but also a very intelligent way of separating between the present day and the memories, clearly delineating in a way that makes it abundantly obvious which particular space in this character’s mind we currently occupy. Having a lot of style to the point where the entire film is remembered less because of the story may seem like a hindrance, but there is still a great deal of depth lurking beneath She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum, which may be slightly difficult to find at first, but as we grow accustomed to this world, we start to see the incredible nuance with which Kinoshita executed this beautiful story, and paid tribute to those who yearn for their younger years.

Memories are pivotal to the structure of She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum – filming the memory sequences through an oval-shaped lens gives the film a very distinct quality, showing the cramped, uncomfortable nature of difficult memories. Limiting the space on screen is a very deliberate choice, but it’s one that makes a big difference in the film as a whole, since it lends it an unexpected amount of nuance. In the hands of a lesser director, this would just be a cheap way of forcing the nostalgia out of what is essentially a fairly pedestrian love story. Ultimately, when you are telling a story as simple as this, you can’t rely solely on the narrative, since it’s very likely (if not entirely certain) that every viewer is well-versed in these tales of star-crossed lovers and forbidden romance. An artist needs to strive for something different, even if it means becoming very bold with the stylistic choices. However, the visual approach is only part of what makes She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum so beautifully enthralling, since even without the structure, there is a sense of melancholy that gently encompasses the film, a feeling of warmth and longing that demonstrates the director’s clear understanding of how to evoke a particular time and place without having it overtake the narrative. Nostalgia is a tricky concept, and as we’ve seen in the last decade, it’s not always the easily-adored tool that many thought it to be. It can become quite tiresome, which is less to do with how audiences react to it, and more related to what a particular artist does with it. This all converges into the underlying story of this film, which sees Kinoshita exploring a few years in the lives of two people who are madly in love, but unfortunately can’t be together due to social restraints that keep them so close together, but yet force them apart whenever they try to consolidate their love. It’s a beautifully poetic account of love, as seen through the nostalgic lens of an old man looking back at these events.

She Was Like a Wild Chrysanthemum isn’t a very complex film, and while its style may be challenging for some viewers (especially since it isn’t a directorial flourish that has aged particularly well, functioning less of a bold artistic choice, and more of a distracting gimmick from a modern perspective), once we’re immersed in this world, it’s difficult to look beyond the stunningly beautiful story that it tells. The message being conveyed here is incredibly straightforward, and while it has been done before, it’s the methods with which Kinoshita draws out the emotion and tells a very captivating story that keeps us engaged and interested, even if we can easily predict where it is heading. There aren’t many surprises in the film – there are some unexpected moments, but for the most part, the director keeps everything relatively simple, instead focusing on the intricate minutiae of a romance that we never meant to be. He constantly draws on the emotional grounding, looking deep into the lives of these characters, and extracting the most authentic, honest reactions – far from sensationalist, and more focused on the smallest details that make up the story. Kinoshita was an enormous talent, and a director who has always struggled to have his seat at the table of masters of Japanese cinema – however, when it comes to genuinely moving, earnest stories of the human condition, he is very much a part of the conversation, and while his work doesn’t have the cultural cache of some of his peers, they’re still artistically resonant and emotionally profound, which is more than enough to qualify this film’s very endearing and simplistic tone, since there is always something deeper lurking just below the surface.