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Shimizu Hiroshi
Narrative
Spectacle
Rediscovering
the work of Shimizu Hiroshi
Shimizu
Hiroshi (1903-1966) was a contemporary of Ozu Yasujiro
(1903-1963). As youthful rivals at the Shochiku Studios,
the two men, among the new breed of film directors emerging
from the studio, formed a close personal friendship
that was to last their whole lives. This year marks
the centenary of their birth. While various events commemorating
the life of Ozu Yasujiro have being planned and discussed,
the special ceremony at the Tokyo Filmex are to the
best of my knowledge the only events celebrating the
work of Shimizu Hiroshi. It would seem that Shimizu,
once so highly acclaimed as a radical filmmaker, and
regarded as an undisputed master of cinema by close
friends and fellow directors such as Ozu Yasugiru and
Yamana Sadao, is in danger of being forgotten. We must
not allow this to happen. The centenary of his birth
gives us the perfect opportunity to rediscover the delights
of Shimizu's films.
But
what kind of filmmaker was he? The only certain thing
is the impossibility of giving a brief account of his
career. After all, Shimizu churned out a total of 163
films between 1924 and 1959 that addressed a huge variety
of themes (Ozu Yasujiro, made 54 films between 1927
and 1962).
Children
of the wind (1937) is often cited as one of Shimizu's
best films, and has contributed to the view of Shimizu
as a master of children's cinema. While this is undoubtedly
true, it is very far from the complete picture of Shimizu's
legacy. He shot both period and contemporary films;
melodramas, comedies and domestic dramas, student sport
films, ninjo (human feelings) films, and documentaries.
The diversity of Shimizu's filmography shows him working
as a tireless director of commercial cinema within the
mass production studio system at Shochiku.
In
fact, the studio considered him a reliable hit-maker,
and frequently assigned him films with star-studded
casts. The qualities to be found in his work, however,
belie the image of Shimizu as a mere studio hack. (
)
Most
of Shimizu Hiroshi's films have being scattered and
lost and are no longer accessible to us, but those that
remain reveal the extent to which from a young age Shimizu
was extremely sensitive to the intrinsic nature of cinematic
expression and skilled in cinematic techniques. For
example, in the introductory scene of Japanese Girls
at the Harbour, in which Shimizu brilliantly portrays
the vacillating friendship and awakening love of two
young girls against the surrounding landscape using
a series of short cuts and repetitions, and the scene
in the second half of the same film in which a man and
a woman meet again in a hotel bar, their feelings are
revealed in the contrast between the changing expression
of the heroine and the persistent silence of the man,
all with an absolute minimum of dialogue. Shimizu shows
a powerful understanding of how cinema can be used to
breathtaking effect. Directors such as Ozu Yasujiru
and Yamanaka Sadao were indisputably and deeply impressed
by Shimizu's ability to develop narrative in this way.
(
)
Yamane
Sadao, (Tokyo Filmex catalogue, 2003).
About
Shimizu Hiroshi
(
)
If one had to single out the distinguishing mark of
a Shimizu picture, it would be the filmmaker's delight
in the moving camera. Many directors, from Ophuls to
Mizoguchi, have turned the tracking shot into high art,
but few have done so with such zeal as Hiroshi Shimizu.
Whether the material he was working from was worthy
or not (and sometimes, in his later years, it has to
be conceded that it was not), Shimizu seldom lost an
opportunity for the most elaborate and eye-popping shots.
He
had tricks that he made uniquely his own. Film after
film starts in full flight, with the camera dollying
back down one of Japan's rustic roads, clearing the
path, as it were, for a solitary rider clip-clopping
towards us, or a party of hikers out for a stroll in
the afternoon sun, or indeed a couple of blind men wending
there way towards an inn for the night. Nobody loved
the open road more than Shimizu and he rejoiced in letting
the camera track lazily back down the byways of pre-war
Japan.
He
loved it best when he could build the sequence into
a kind of running commentary on contemporary life. (
)
Alan
Starbrook
On
the Track of Hiroshi Shimizu.' (Sight and Sound, London.
Spring 1988, Vol. LV, Nr. 2)
View
full Shimizu programme
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