Tora-san, Our Lovable Tramp (1969)

From 1969 to 1995, the moon-faced Kiyoshi Atsumi played Tora-san, a n'er do well itinerant salesman in the series It's Tough Being a Man. 48 times he was drawn back to his small town of Shibamata, falling into unrequited love and drunkenly offending everyone in sight. Penniless, loveless, foul-mouthed, and adorable, Tora-san became a national icon, his films akin to national holidays, released almost every New Year and August Obon season, until Atsumi's death in 1996.

The Japan Society is screening 8 of these films over the next 8 months, hand-selected by director Yoji Yamada, who helmed all but 2 of the features. Intensely curious about this character, whose only US correlative in terms of popularity and tone is Chaplin (or, as Donald Richie argues, Harry Langdon), I saw the first entry in the series, 1969's Tora-san, Our Lovable Tramp.

Not surprisngly, I'm with the Japanese public on this one. Atsumi is a wonderful performer, his pratfalls keyed not only on the fall, but it's timing. He often tumbles in the background of Yamada's elegant widescreen frame (the print was sparkling: I believe Shochiku struck all new prints for the 40th anniversary of the first film). He sprinkles in little idiosyncracies, the way he blows in empty glasses while awaiting his booze, his penchant for discussing his bathroom habits, and, with his coat draped over his shoulders, his loping, childlike gait. His comedy is certainly bittersweet, the nature of his foolishness rendering him an outcast. One facet of the series is his endless string of unrequited loves. His main role is as a catalytic force for the rest of the characters, setting in motion a series of disruptions that eventually joins a more traditional couple, while Tora-san hits the road again, alone.

Yoji Yamada was present after the screening on a digital feed, and he had some fascinating tidbits to add: First, the Tora-san character was conceived for TV, and he was killed off at the end of the run after an unfortunate run-in with some wild snakes. After an outpouring of letters and angry phone calls, he resuscitated him for film, and the rest is history. Donald Richie claims that the character was inspired by Ozu, whom Yamada admired. But Yamada placed his origin back to the Edo period, where a traditional "fool" figure was central to popular narratives.

Love and Honor (2006)

Sneaking into the ImaginAsian Theatre this weekend is septuagenarian Japanese director Yoji Yamada's latest, Love and Honor. It is the third part of a thematically linked trilogy that documents the Samurai code clashing with modernity, all of which were adapted from the novels of Shohei Fujisawa. The other two in the series are The Twilight Samurai (2002) and The Hidden Blade (2004). I greatly admire both, and stumbled upon this third release glancing at the NY Times' reviews section. Needless to say, I raced to the theatre, bought some Pocky, and took in an intelligently mounted melodrama both dramatically and stylistically satisfying. The story percolates nicely, as low-ranking Samurai Shinnojo Mimura (an electric performance by pop star Takuya Kimura (here he is advertising Levi's)) scuffles as a food tester for the local Lord. Then one day he chomps into a posionous shellfish, and he goes blind. Emotions burble, framings are precise, katanas get polished, and the plot flows smoothly until the ritualized duel that may restore Shinnojo's dignity. This duel is present in all three films, and all are a matter of pride, trying to hang on to the Samurai Code that disappears soon after Commodore Perry landed near Tokyo in 1853.

The leisurely pace allows the great cast that surrounds Kimura to add depth and detail to his world - his servant Takuhei (Takashi Sasano) is both trusted confidant and house jester, and Sasano steals the film with his fidgety, stoop-backed, and thoroughly graceful performance.

Along with James Mangold's recent 3:10 to Yuma, it stands as a consistently entertaining throwback - a classically structured and filmed drama that honors its forebears without seeming like a museum piece. A rare feat!