No one would weave a story together quite like Yasujirō Ozu, a filmmaker whose work I have proven to be a strict adherent to, and who continues to surprise me the further I venture into his career, which is brimming with unimpeachable masterpieces and hidden gems. The subject of today’s discussion occupies the latter category, with There Was a Father (Japanese: 父ありき) being a film that is adored by Ozu enthusiasts and lovers of classic Japanese cinema, but mostly absent from more surface-level analyses of his best work, which is bordering on a travesty, since there is so much embedded in this film that is worthwhile enough all on its own. The story of a humble schoolteacher who leaves his post after the death of a child under his supervision and pursues a quiet life as a labourer away from prying eyes, is a typical Ozu premise, and sets the foundation for yet another strong entry into his continued pursuit of a more compassionate and fully-formed portrayal of the human condition, which is the theme that single-handedly ties every one of his films, whether comedy or drama, and makes them such enduring, fascinating texts that have withstood the test of time and proven to be the source of an abundance of stunningly complex ideas, each one building on the other until we have one of the most poignant and beautiful stories of existence ever committed to film, an enormous peak for a director whose entire career has essentially gleefully leaping from strength to strength, proving himself to be amongst the finest to ever work in the medium, and the true master of Japanese cinema.

One of the techniques that recur throughout Ozu’s work (and which we’ve discussed before) is that he usually chooses one or two central themes, from which the entire film sprouts. These may not be the only themes that the film explores, but they set the foundation for the story. Based on the title, it’s obvious that what Ozu is exploring in There Was a Father is that of parenthood. Being a father is not always particularly easy, whether in terms of being a biological parent, or taking on the part of a positive role model in the lives of young, impressionable minds, who look up to people like teachers and educational mentors as their source of guidance. It’s a burden many are more than happy to take on, but when it becomes too challenging, there’s a chance their capabilities are called into question. This is what Ozu is so interested in dissecting here, looking at a few years in the life a man who is both a father and mentor to young people, passionate about his work but driven away from both roles after a tragedy causes him to re-evaluate whether his skills are not only appropriate, but also good enough to be considered a functional member of society. There Was a Father has some of the most heartbreaking commentary on the simple act of being a father, and Ozu prods and provokes a number of extraordinarily complex ideas in his endeavour to leap into the heart of a relationship between a father and his children (literal and metaphorical), and the challenges that come when he grows insecure in his own skills, a dreadful experience that brings a lot of heartbreak and unrest within his previously idyllic existence.

Despite the very downbeat subject matter, Ozu was never a filmmaker whose interest veered towards misery, and even his most tragic films have a sense of optimism underlying them, even when dealing with matters as harsh as death and the post-war experience. There Was a Father was made right at the start of the Japanese entry into the Second World War (which would stall Ozu’s output for several years), so there was a sense of urgency to find stories that could help comfort and distract audiences, but it had not quite reached the point of addressing the war directly. Instead, it focused strictly on domestic matters, particularly those that are very familiar to viewers. Considering the amount of material Ozu had to work with in terms of this subject, as well as the broader external matters that added an element of cultural nuance to the proceedings, its staggering that he was able to produce something so straightforward and unfurnished, which is true of so many of his films, each one of them so beautifully direct in addressing certain issues. Simplicity has always been the key to unlocking Ozu’s work and understanding its appeal, and There Was a Father is not an exception – a straightforward story drawn directly from a subject that is not only close to the director’s heart, but recognizable by a wider portion of the global population, and it shows its ability to put simplicity and melancholia in direct contrast with one another, the collision between the two leading to a staggering and poignant investigation of fatherhood and the role of a constructive kind of masculinity within society, which immediately makes the film a work of enormous importance and deep compassion.

It would not be an Ozu film without Chishū Ryū – the veteran actor is known for being featured in every one of the director’s works, except only one in which he didn’t appear. Whether major role or scene-stealing supporting character, Ryū had a knack for commanding the screen that is remarkably difficult to describe. His congenial demeanour worked alongside his deeply powerful set of tangible skills to create characters that were nuanced, authentic and beautifully constructed. He had a career that spanned all corners of Japanese cinema, but it’s not in the least bit surprising that Ryū was constantly drawn back to Ozu, whose camera seemed to love him more than anyone else (except perhaps Setsuko Hara, who also did some of her finest work under Ozu’s direction). There Was a Father places Ryū right at the heart of the story, slowly investigating his character through putting him through a series of challenges, designed to test his moral and psychological resilience. It’s difficult to imagine any actor being able to strike the perfect balance between stoicism and heartbreaking emotion better than Ryū, whose style was very much about creating his characters in a way that feels genuine, both to the film as a whole and everything that the story represents. Playing a paternal figure was seemingly his lifeblood, so Ozu was very smart to cast him in a role that centres on this very concept, allowing him to get to the depths of such a character, and producing yet another astonishing performance.

Many have made the argument that There Was a Father is one of Ozu’s greatest films – but with a body of work as expansive as his, and the skills that he developed throughout his career, such a claim (as credible as it may be) will always be difficult to defend, precisely because there is so much incredible work embedded in his life, its not the easiest task to find the definitive one, especially not when he is continuously revered as amongst the greatest filmmakers of his (or any) generation, a title that is as much an honour as it is a hindrance. However, once we are at the heart of There Was a Father, we can gradually understand why this argument exists – it is a compact film (running at a mere 86 minutes), and feels very much drawn from reality, in a way that it can feel like it lacks artistic merit – but Ozu’s work was always resoundingly simple, and managed to find beauty in the most inconsequential moments, which emerge consistently throughout this film, making for a stunning and worthwhile leap into the unknown, which is something that the director would do all too often, regardless of the risk attached, always emerging seemingly unscathed and having only gained further experience, which is not something that many films from this time can attest to representing. There are numerous reasons behind the success of There Was a Father, whether it be the stunning storytelling, masterful performances or deep sub-text – but regardless of where we stand on the film as a whole, its difficult to ignore its potential, all of which continues to prove that Ozu was one of the great social and cultural critics of his time, and should continue to be revered as time progresses and he continues to influence generations of burgeoning filmmakers.