The first character we meet is Miss Scott (played by Tracy Reed, Director Carol Reed's step-daughter) as she is lying in bed under a sun lamp in a bikini and high heels. Each of the main characters’ names has a hidden sexual meaning, however Miss Scott does not. As General Buck Turgidson’s secretary and girlfriend, Miss Scott is the only female role in the film and represents the adolescent male fantasy to Buckie’s juvenile demeanor. Looking up components of his name at Dictionary.com, “buck” refers to a “male animal” and “turgid” means, “swollen; distended; inflated” therefore one must concluded that the name Buck Turgidson is referring to a sexually erect male animal. Now, Buck has to leave Miss Scott unexpectedly at three o’clock in the morning to report to the war room. During a large meeting with the President of the United States, he takes a phone call from Miss Scott that mimics a typical adolescent conversation in dialog and body language. Buck hunches over covering the mouthpiece of the phone to conceal his voice to the members of the meeting and desperately tells Miss Scott “of course I respect you!” and “I know how it is, baby. Tell you what you do: you just start your countdown, and old Bucky'll be back here before you can say ‘Blast off!’” Throughout the film Turgidson displays a kind of boyish delight at the expertise of United States Air Force pilots at the helm of a B-52 bomber and suspicion towards the Russian Ambassador in a manner better suited to a playground. At one point, walking backwards he falls and without missing a beat springs to his feet continuing his lines without falter. In another instant he begins to pout after being scolded by the President. He represents the boyish American obsessed with playing war games in his back yard that has yet to develop the maturity and understanding of what a real war actually entails. For him it’s all just a game.

George C. Scott’s over the top portrayal of the character stands in direct contrast to Sterling Hayden’s portrayal of General Jack D. Ripper. Supposedly both of these generals are two sides of General Curtis LeMay who headed up the Strategic Air Command during the cold war and later became the Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force. He had a reputation for wanting to drop bombs at any given opportunity. Therefore, General Jack D. Ripper takes the more serious, sinister side to Turgidson's boyish delight.

Jack the Ripper was a psychopathic serial killer in the Whitechapel area of London during the late 1800s. In Dr. Strangelove, Kubrick plays on the name with a character, obsessed with the communist infiltration of fluoridation and our “bodily fluids.” He repeatedly mentions “purity of essence” during his mad ramblings to a British exchange officer. Unlike Turgidson who represents the sexually erect male, Ripper views sex as a weakness. He “denies women his essence” referring to his bodily fluids and as a result of this restraint he becomes a sadistic warmonger bent on destroying the communists before they destroy us. Armed with a very large and phallic gun, he begins to shoot through the windows of his office at an unseen enemy. As he is unable to perform the sexual act, instead he chooses to wield a large gun.

Ripper depicts the stereotypical military official, bent on the mass destruction of the enemy at all costs. The cigar, the manner of his speech and the over inflated sense of self importance reflects the perception of the American military man as seen through the eyes of the rest of the world. However, he also embodies the fear of what one man can commit given the opportunity. The government assures Americans that the arms race will keep us safe yet we are bombarded by threats of a nuclear attack. Despite the diplomatic efforts of our leaders, the film reveals the possibility that one of our own over zealous “protectors” could cause the world's destruction and be able to do it so easily.

Ripper's only interaction lies with a British exchange officer, Group Captain Lionel Mandrake. Mandrake, a medicinal plant root believed to aid in fertility, comes to Ripper to persuade him to recall the planes. At this time Mandrake fully realizes the madness of General Jack D. Ripper, “…today, war is too important to be left to politicians. They have neither the time, the training, nor the inclination for strategic thought. I can no longer sit back and allow Communist infiltration, Communist indoctrination, Communist subversion and the international Communist conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids.” As a viewer you hear these lines and in the beginning as a red-blooded American you'd probably agree that we cannot allow Communist indoctrination or subversion, but once he reaches to the “precious bodily fluids,” he's lost us. You suddenly realize the vastness of his madness. The aphrodisiac of the mandrake cannot break the sexual tension of the psychopathic killer.

To contrast these characters, we have President Merkin Muffley. The levelheaded President with a name that references female genitalia is depicted as a testosterone deprived individual. Balding, short and meek, he mirrors that of Turgidson, yet he is the only character that fully understands the magnitude of the catastrophic mass murder that is about to take place. Despite the sexual tensions expressed through Turgidson and Ripper, Muffley essentially is their stronger, smarter, female counterpart. As the men are loosing their minds or behaving like adolescents, Muffley maintains a level head and makes every attempt to rectify the situation as a protective mother would. Muffley explains the situation to the Russian Premiere as if to explain a boyish squabble in the school yard, “Well now, what happened is one of our base commanders, he had a sort of, well, he went a little funny in the head, you know, just a little...funny. And, he went and did a silly thing.” Muffley understands the seriousness at hand, yet must resort to simplistic explanations to the Russian Premiere, insinuating that the man is of significant deprivation of intellect to the Russian's American counterpart. Muffley scolds Turgidson and Ambassador Desadeski when he proclaims, “you can't fight in here! This is the War Room.” Both Turgidson and Desadeski immediately blame the other for the squabble, as boys would do when caught by someone in authority.

Then we have Dr. Strangelove himself. A minor character that holds the title of the film and a significant representation of the post World War II, cold war environment. He sits quietly, impotent in his wheelchair in the dimly lit background. Not until the end of the film, when total annihilation is unavoidable does he come forth to speak. A left over from the Nazi’s, Strangelove embodies the sinister Nazi German ideal of the mad scientist. His name clearly denotes strange-love which can be interpreted a number of way whether it be a pedophile or homosexual meaning. He contrasts Muffley’s mothering feminism, Ripper’s abstinence and Turgidson’s inability to climax represents a perverse or alternate sexual behavior that he is incapable of acting upon. His outbursts are reminiscent of a Turrets sufferer as he emits pro-Nazi outbursts and awkward bodily movements that resemble a deranged puppet. Strangelove suggests that a select group of men and women be placed underground to ensure the proliferation of the human race. However, traditional moral values will have to put aside for the good of mankind, specifically the monogamous relationship and the institute of marriage. Women will have to be selected based on a physical base whereas men will be selected on intellect. There will have to be one man to numerous women, an appealing thought to Turgidson and Ambassador Desadeski. Muffley exudes a blank expression while Turgidson and Desadeski offer an air of excitement and anticipation. Kubrick illustrates the breakdown of the traditional way of life as a welcome opportunity for the American male as opposed to being enraged as typical cold war films have depicted.

There are several minor characters in the film that support the overall negative depiction of both American and Russian stereotypes. Ambassador Desadeski’s name alone references the Marquis deSade, a sadist and sexual deviant from the eighteenth century. Kubrick chose actor, Peter Bull to play this part with his barrel chested, over weight physique, his thin pouting lips and protruding jowls emphasize the appearance of a primitive species of man. This coupled with his name amplifies the American perception of the Russian people as a godless, primitive race of barbarians. He sneaks photos of the war room with his make shift cameras and turns his nose up at the food choices on the buffet.

In addition to Desadeski, we have the Russian Premiere, Dmitri Kissof; a man whom we never see or hear yet is brought to life simply through Peter Sellers’ (playing President Muffley) improvisation of a few phone conversations. Kissoff is portrayed as a drunken adolescent buffoon through Muffley’s attempt to explain the situation, “Well listen, how do you think I feel about it? Can you imagine how I feel about it, Dmitri? Why do you think I'm calling you? Just to say hello? Of course I like to speak to you! Of course I like to say hello! Not now, but anytime, Dmitri. I'm just calling up to tell you something terrible has happened. It's a friendly call. Of course it's a friendly call, listen, if it wasn't friendly you probably wouldn't have even got it...” This conversation sounds very similar to the conversation Buck Turgidson had with Miss Scott early in the film. Kubrick toys with his name as well, Premiere Kissoff, which takes on a connotation of essentially, “kiss my ass.” This foreshadows the Russian doomsday devise that functions as a retaliatory measure if anyone ever strikes Russia with a nuclear weapon.

There are two other supporting actors in the film, Colonel Bat Guano and Major T.J. “King” Kong. Bat Guano, among gardeners, is among the best fertilizer you can buy and is just that, bat excrement. To have an American military soldier named this provides an unexpected comic relief with Keenen Wynn’s straight portrayal. The other characters named in the film are a subtle but Guano is a blatant statement by Kubrick. Guano argues with Mandrake who is desperate to save the world and holds him at gunpoint and then refuses to damage the Coca-Cola machine. He holds the gun low on his body, mimicking that of a large penis and after shooting the Coca-Cola machine it ejaculates on his face. In contrast, Slim Pickens plays Texan, Major T.J. “King: Kong. Pickens doesn’t have to “act” he merely plays himself, the simple minded Texas cowboy that just wants to go out and kick “Ruskie ass.” Wearing a cowboy hat as he moves into combat readiness, he too becomes a part of the American male stereotype. At the time of nuclear attack, he rides the phallic missile to its target like a raging bull.

Dr. Strangelove, or How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb is a metaphor for the political climate at the time the film was created in 1964. In the early 1960s, Russia attempted to take West Berlin. The threat of a nuclear attack was a reality and remained so for many years thereafter. Additionally, Kubrick pokes fun at both American and Russian male stereotypes. The various American male characters with their over inflated egos, need for war and sexual inadequacies are represented in the various military figures from Turgidson to Kong. The only female role is portrayed as an adolescent male interpretation in Miss Scott. Yet, it is President Muffley that represents the true American female character. Kubrick portrays men as bumbling idiots. How can these men be adequately protecting the American people, when the truth is, they are not. The safety measures that were put in place to protect us have failed miserably by one weak leak.

At one point in the film Turgidson suggests that, “Mr. President, we are rapidly approaching a moment of truth both for ourselves as human beings and for the life of our nation. Now, truth is not always a pleasant thing. But it is necessary now to make a choice, to choose between two admittedly regrettable, but nevertheless distinguishable, postwar environments: one where you got twenty million people killed, and the other where you got a hundred and fifty million people killed…Mr. President, I'm not saying we wouldn't get our hair mussed. But I do say no more than ten to twenty million killed, tops. Uh, depending on the breaks.” Essentially he’s saying that if it’s going to happen, let’s jump in and go all out. It’s a rather sick logic but how do you fix an unfixable situation?

In the special features, journalist Bob Woodward points out that the film is a metaphor for an era we think is over, when reality it is not. Looking at our current government, Ripper eerily resembles George W. Bush. So the question arises, have we evolved? Unfortunately the answer is no. Kubrick raises serious concerns in a non threatening, comedic manor. With a moment of deeper investigation it becomes painfully clear that a simple series of failures could actually propel us into serious destruction. The American people allow unqualified men, inadequate in their abilities, to control the responsibility of millions of lives. Kubrick reveals the ease in which that responsibility can be marginalized. With Dr. Strangelove, he illustrates that the typical testosterone laden American male is incapable of handling the responsibility of power.

Works Cited

Dictionary.com. 4 Oct. 2008 <http://dictionary.reference.com/>.

Kubrick, Stanley, Robert McNamara and Bob Woodward. Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (Special Edition). 1964. DVD. Sony Pictures, 2001.

He continues the story through medium and close up shots with a long panning shot of Cole when he is first introduced. He runs along a sidewalk from his home to a church down the street with a big red door. As the story progresses and we begin to see what Cole sees, Shyamalan begins to introduce bird’s eye views and extreme close-ups. Cole’s mother looks out her window down at her son as he leaves the house. At one point Cole is standing near the top of a staircase and from the subjective view he/we look down the first floor where some other kids are standing. While in her presence, Cole is looked after by his mother, hence the bird’s eye view, but when alone, he is alone and unprotected.

The Hitchcockian motif of staircases and dramatic angles are seen throughout the film and aid in his commentary of the social classes. The first staircase we see is the one leading down into a wine cellar, which is prominent among upper class households. We move on to a straight yet nicely manicured staircase within the same house that further establishes this family’s social status. Next we see a battered entrance and small boy walking alone. From this shot alone, we see the variation of income levels. As the story progresses, Cole attends a birthday party at a classmates home. This staircase shot in both medium angles a normal eye view and in bird’s eye view from the top, is a grand ornate staircase. The risers and steps are lined with a rich red carpet as it winds down a turret to the first floor. This is a wealthy family and is further illustrated in the conversation between Cole’s Mother and the lady of the house, yet she is aloof and distracted. During a pivotal point in this scene Cole’s mother does not receive any assistance from the other mothers as they cling to their children. Furthermore, she is confronted by a doctor at the hospital who accuses her of abusing Cole. She’s a good parent but doesn’t always listen to her son.

Shyamalan further establishes his Hitchcockian influence through the use of color. Just as Hitchcock used the color green in Vertigo, Shyamalan uses the color red to strategically emphasize Cole’s turmoil and that of his doctor, Malcolm. Areas of red represent areas of safety for them, or what they feel should be safe. Yet he uses it so subtly that at first viewing you may not catch the connections. The doorknob to the wine cellar that Malcolm cannot access, his wife’s attire and table napkin to Cole’s bedroom fort, his sweater, the staircase and the balloon articulates a source of pain and anguish to the central characters. At one point on the grand staircase, the red balloon pops, referencing Fritz Lang’s M which represents a significant physical encounter between a ghost and Cole.

Recalling a dream, Peck’s character, “Dr. Edwardes” fades into a multitude of eyeballs being cut up by a small man with gigantic scissors. We see a montage of eyes glaring at us. Initially they are real eyes but a montage reveals Dali’s illustrations intermixed with still shots of real eyes. The set of the sequence recalls classic Expressionism with its unusual placement and extreme proportions. Yet, Hitchcock does not overlook its meaning and purpose. The eyes are said to be the gateway to the soul. The screen is filled with them and we see a scene overlap the close-up of an eye. We are seeing Dr. Edwardes inner thoughts. From the eyes, Hitchcock moves to an extreme close up in the subjective view of a deck of cards. The angle and shadows are long and sharp, reflecting his turmoil. The next sequence is classic Dali with a large head like object outstretched and overlooking a rooftop, but the chimney has grown into the roof like a tree. All of the shapes are disjointed and deformed and the shadows cast are not reflective of their physical counterpart. The two doctors then try to decipher the dream in hope it will reveal his secret.

Spellbound full of Hitchcockian motifs, relishes in female strength and weaknesses. Ingrid Bergman’s character, Dr. Peterson, is an accomplished and respected psychoanalyst. There are no other female characters in the film aside from the brief appearance of a secretary and some nurses in the background. Her fellow doctors interlace praise with derogatory remarks, “the poor girl is withering away with science.”And in turn they insult Dr. Edwardes, who is considerably younger than they are by stating that “he frisked off with Dr. Peterson this afternoon,” and “he gets his heart spinning the first day with Dr. Peterson, like a drooling college boy.” However, she stands her ground by responding, “I’ve very sorry I have to leave this nursery.” This may have been friendly banter among colleagues but as the story progresses, we are introduced to her mentor from college who remarks, and “The mind of a woman in love is operating on the lowest level of the intellect.” Despite her accomplishments and education she is still merely a flawed woman.

Throughout the film, Hitchcock uses strong patterns and extreme close up subjective camera angles to reveal the nature of Edwardes’ mental anguish. We have no idea if he is in fact a murderer. At the root of his anguish is the pattern of dark lines on white which I believe to be the MacGuffin of the story. The film is filled with overlaying patterns. The rooms have heavy jacquard wallpaper with embroidered curtains and window blinds. The fabrics of their clothing also reflect similar patterns. There usage illustrates the complex layering of the human mind as a sort of controlled chaos. Hitchcock usually entertains the viewer with a story of a world gone wrong but here the mind has faltered and it’s up to the world outside of his mind to figure it out. Peck’s character continually finds the pattern of dark lines on white in ordinary places. The white tiled bathroom and the white bedspread ignites his anxiety. The bars enclosing the ticket agent at the train station, the train tracks and the lines on her bathrobe cause him to break down. Hitchcock reveals that seemingly insignificant ordinary things can cause great pain and suffering.

The camera angles and extreme close ups reflect Edwardes’ mental instability. As the two fall in love we see their eyes looking directly into the camera in an extreme close-up that is somewhat uncomfortable. We see the pattern on her bathrobe from his perspective and the lines on the table cloth. Later we look through Edwardes’ class of milk as he drinks the liquid that is laced with bromide. The extreme nature of these shots emphasizes the significance of the patter but also the turmoil in which it inflicts.

Hitchcock takes a slightly different spin on his established motifs of mistaken identity as Peck has misplaced his own identity. Bergman is an accomplished doctor and although she is a vulnerable woman in love, it is that emotion that drives her to solve the mystery. Peck in turn is the weaker character and Bergman takes on the protective mothering role and ultimately the hero.

Ikuru, released in 1952, is the story of Kanji Watanabe, a bureaucrat within city government who discovers he is dying of cancer. This realistic film reveals the conflicts relating to an ineffectual government agency, a man struggling with his own mortality and the way such a man can make a difference within that very agency. While waiting at the hospital for testing, Watanabe sits down in the waiting room, and another patient immediately engages him. In this scene, the movement in conjunction with the composition of the frame expresses Watanabe's fears. With a tightly framed, deep-focus, medium shot, Kurosawa composes a closed form in a manner that appears natural. With Watanabe’s movements, two doorways lined with patients are revealed—the patients’ faces hidden. The anonymous patients line either side of the frame suggesting “the unseen and the fearful...oblivion and even death.” (Giannetti, 56) Watanabe and the stranger sit tightly together initially, but as the stranger describes the symptoms of stomach cancer, Watanabe’s body language changes. With each new description, Watanabe shifts from an intersecting position with the stranger to one that is parallel, facing away from the stranger toward the camera in an attempt to flee from the truth. There are two doorways behind him, yet they do not provide an escape. Initially, he was gently resting his hands on his hat, and then he tightens his grasp. This scene, in its minimalist elegance, quickly establishes the emotional state of the main character and his physical response to an internal conflict. With this intimate final frame, we see the agony in his face as we along with him, realize the truth. Kurosawa engages the audience’s sense of empathy and thus establishes the journey to come.

In this initial scene, we have the stranger, Watanabe and Watanabe’s hat. As the story progresses, his hat becomes an emotional source of reflection. Kurosawa incorporates the triangle composition to illustrate conflict throughout his films regardless of its source.

The triangle is established between Watanabe, his son, Mitsuo, and his daughter-in-law, Kazue. Watanabe unsuccessfully tries to confess his secret. The scene, as before, is filmed with a deep-focus, medium shot. A traditional, modest Japanese home reflects wear and neglect, such as the large water stain at the doorway. The distance between each character, as well as their physical demeanors, play a vital role in this frame. Each are separated from one another and placed diagonally down the frame from left to right. Mitsuo, placed above his father, instills a sense of authority, while Kazue is placed in a subservient position. Watanabe is in the middle of the triangle. Once again, he has no escape. The sequence is short and simple. Mitsuo engages his father in idle banter without looking up from his paper. Watanabe attempts to speak to his son but pulls back and rests his tea cup in his lap. As he returns the cup to the table, his hand trembles, yet no one takes notice. They pay little attention to him. In the final frame, Watanabe has tried to express his situation to Mitsuo and is immediately met with false accusations. Kazue has removed herself from the room, yet the triangle still exists. The light has become harsh specifically on Watanabe as though he is being interrogated. This is a turning point in Watanabe's path. It is with this failed confrontation and “finding no solace there, he begins, for the first time, to doubt; and to doubt means to feel, to begin to live.” (Richie, 87) Not only does the physical conflict erupt from Mitsuo (false belief) over his father’s unusual behavior, Watanabe also becomes completely alienated from his family and thus his final journey begins.

It is not until after his death that his family learns of his illness. Mitsuo’s father bought himself a new hat. The police officer that found Watanabe in the park at the time of his death returns it. In some respect the hat itself becomes a character, accepting the memory of Watanabe at the end of his life. As Giannetti mentions, “his battered hat is a symbol pf his humility and dogged perseverance.” (321) Numerous times it hold our attention either as a point within a triangular composition or by taking visual dominance within the frame. Clutching the hat, Mitsuo contemplates the past several months. Now he experiences doubt. The characters are juxtaposed against the angular intersecting lines of the Japanese home. This proxemics pattern strengthens the internal conflict Mitsuo is now experiencing. Kurosawa carries this through the scene, placing further emphasis on Watanabe’s hat.

The camera pulls back and, with a deep-focus, long shot, we peer through the window of the door. The lines of the door, with it’s tiny window, becomes constricted and claustrophobic. Kurosawa keeps the hat in view as Mitsuo comes to the door. We see him carrying this solitary object and with a wipe transition, the door slides open to reveal a panning shot of his father on a swing. Just as we were viewing the intersecting lines of the door, Watanabe and his final moments are revealed. A quiet snow is falling. As if we are watching a bird in a cage, Watanabe swings, singing. The camera moves around the jungle gym and Watanabe emerges from the bars. In a full frontal, medium shot, his swinging slows, his song ends and he transitions to a formal portrait. Thus, Watanabe has passed. This illustration of death maintains the integrity and dignity of a man who, at the end of life, decided to do something right. Although this does not signify the end of the story, it is the beginning as his actions unfold through the recollections of his coworkers. Watanabe faces the camera in an intimate shot. For most of the film he is hunched over and has difficulty walking. On the swing he is upright with a facial expression of satisfaction. Throughout the previous scenes, there has been a source of strife; but here, it has finally lifted.This is illustrated through the edited cross dissolve in which Watanabe on the swing fades into his portrait. An eloquent manner in which to make a profound statement, Kurosawa films Watanabe through a jungle gym filled of intersecting bars that seem endless. However, in the end, Watanabe overcame every obstacle to make his dream a reality, and he lived to see it completed.

From this point the film reflects on Watanabe’s tireless devotion that led to the construction of the park. A debate erupts at the wake regarding the responsibility of the park. Each department attempts to take credit for the project. A sole employee, Sakai, speaks in defense and recognition of Watanabe as the builder of the park. In a deep-focus close-up, he tearfully defends his boss against the onslaught of accusations from the bureaucrats. Seated before the intersecting walls in a room full of people, Sakai, alienated, is confronted and dismissed. The other bureaucrats are placed before stark, bland backgrounds or the chaotic ornamentation of the funeral wall. Listening to their discussion, the bureaucrats are devoid of critical thought and reflection. While accusing Watanabe of grandstanding, they take credit for the project. Within the circle of men the debate makes its rounds, along with the saki. As they become increasingly intoxicated, their opinions change. Yet, the manner in which the scene is filmed does not. Throughout the sequence, a deep-focus is maintained and intermixed with wide and close-up shots. Watanabe’s portrait hangs on the wall as if it’s watching over the discussion. Kurosawa’s deliberate method of filming this sequence, provides the underlying meaning that nothing is changing. Despite the words being said, he continues to film the sequence in the same manner throughout. Unlike the previous scenes where characters change position, or the camera angle changes, the style here continues unaltered. This reflects the falsehood of the bureaucratic revelations.

One bureaucrat, who initially claims to be responsible for the park, begins retelling an experience he had with Watanabe. Watanabe meets with the section chief of the parks department to request his assistance. Once again in a deep-focus, medium shot, The entire frame is filled with stacks of papers. Around the windows and up to the ceiling are piles of folders. A large table, centered the room, also is covered with papers as men flank each side. In the foreground Watanabe takes the dominant position, yet he is seated in a profile to three-quarter position, which “is useful for conveying a character’s...antisocial feelings.” (Giannetti, 56) The space is constricted to the point of stifling. Hunched over, he asks the parks section chief for help and is quickly dismissed, but he doesn’t move. The triangle among himself the section chief and sub-section chief creates a quiet conflict. In the first shot, Watanabe is seated further to the left and low in the frame to emphasize his vulnerability. But as he patiently waits, his position rises in the frame and takes precedence over the parks section chief. The diagonals are strong and reveal themselves in Watanabe’s posture and the manner in which the section chief has positioned his arm. Your eye dances from Watanabe to the chief to the sub-chief and back again. And right their with him, we wait. Finally, with a simple turn of the head, we have reached our goal. “Watanabe has discovered what it means to exist, to be—and the pain is so exquisite that it drives, it inspires him.” (Richie, 94)

It is this film, above all others, in which Kurosawa strives to expose modern Japan (Richie, 87), with it’s overall lack of humility and an ineffective government that is meant to protect and serve. “At the end of the picture this useless cycle is started again when—despite all the vows made during the wake—the clerks, who have not changed, not reformed in the slightest, send a group of housewives off to the next department.” (Richie, 90) But Kurosawa’s central theme is simply that “Watanabe has discovered himself through doing. Perhaps without even grasping the profound truth he was acting out, he behaved as though he believed that it is action alone which matters; that a man is not his thoughts, nor his wishes, nor his intentions, but is simply what he does.” (Richie, 94) And even more poignantly in the “first half we see his body, what he does, in the second half, we see his soul.” (Richie, 94)

Having been raised as a samurai, Kurosawa learned the importance of loyalty and honor. As he witnessed the cultural changes of Japan following World War II, he questioned the motives and sincerity of his countrymen, yet maintained his loyalty to the traditions of his past. “Self-sacrifice and moral commitment are the central themes running through Kurosawa's films, and they resonate with his own samurai background... The origins of samurai were warriors who followed a strict futile code based on unquestioning loyalty to their lord. Over the centuries they lost most of their power but they retained their position as the elite of Japanese society.” (Lowe) Kurosawa strove to strengthen the bond of Japanese history and tradition. His loyalty was with Japanese culture and history and he aspired to remind others of its significance. Ikuru sought to inspire that in others in a profound manner. Although in his period films, he takes a softer approach.

Released in 1958, Hidden Fortress marked Kurosawa’s first widescreen format film as well as his last film for Toho Productions. It is widely considered to be one of his four samurai classics. The 16:9 aspect ratio becomes the “cinematic counterpart to the eye’s peripheral vision.” (Giannetti, 189) Kurosawa utilized the new format for its “greater fidelity to real time and space; its detail, complexity, and density; its more objective presentation; its more coherent continuity; its greater ambiguity; and its encouragement of creative audience participation.” These factors inspired Kurosawa to push its boundaries. Where Ikuru was closed and compact, Hidden Fortress breathes.

Kurosawa was known for his creative use of metaphor. In image 20, The frame is dominated by the ruins of a structure. It is filmed with the camera tilted up in a deep-focus wide shot. The stone road is flanked with debris. The slaves, in their attempt to escape, begin to trickle down the path. Kurosawa utilizes the wide screen to emphasize mass and scale. The anticipatory camera angle in this instance reflects determination the part of the slaves. A small group emerges against the black sky, and like a flood, they come crashing down the path, rumbling and collecting debris as they flow toward the camera. Shots are fired just as they reach the bottom, and the immediate damn of bodies holds back the flow of people. They can’t hold it for long and it breaks. The rumbling screams continue down, taking out their tormentors.

In this scene, two of the main characters, Tahei and Matashichi, are taken prisoner and forced into manual labor. They use the revolt to make their escape. The slaves are being forced to dig within the depths of the castle, where it is believed the previous owner buried gold. It is through this scene that we are first introduced to the legend of the hidden gold.

As the story progresses, our heroes—several servants and the samurai, General Rokurota Makabe—are protecting the only surviving member of the Akizuki clan, Princess Yuki. Yuki, a strong willed sixteen-year-old, rebels against her guardians. In image 23, Yuki has just learned that Kofuyu, Makabe’s own sister, also sixteen, was handed over to the enemy as a decoy. Makabe and Yuki’s lady-in-waiting, are positioned against Yuki, yet she sits above them. This reflects her social position. Makabe and the servant are there to serve the princess. Yuki’s position is stiff and defensive. Her anger, directed at Makabe for sending his own sister to her death on Yuki’s behalf is more than she can stand. Makabe responds, “It was her duty.” This sparse arrangement immediately conveys tension. As Yuki sits upright, the servant and Makabe lean forward. Yuki’s face is dominant in the scene. While expressing her disdain, Yuki stands between the two. In a medium, deep-focus shot, the waterfall behind Yuki, as we hear it trickling down the rock, becomes a metaphor for the loss they cannot express. Once again she looks down upon them, her pale figure standing in contrast to the dark background. Although Yuki is looking the the servant, both she and Makabe maintain dominance. Yuki is the rebellious, unruly teenager and Makabe is the father figure attempting to control her. In a close-up shot, Yuki is alone on the mountain overlooking what was once the land of her family. Using a lap dissolve, Kurosawa reveals her inner turmoil at the loss of her family and the sacrifices that lie ahead. She alone is left to rebuild her families empire.

Tahei and Matashichi have been recruited to assist in the collection and transportation of the legendary gold, but Matashichi decides to find wealth another way. Upon discovering the treachery, Makabe drags Tahei out of the fortress and into the valley. In the first frame, looking up in a deep-focus, medium shot, we are enveloped by the structure itself. The roof over hang obliterates the landscape. Makabe’s muscles are clearly visible as he clasps Tahei by the shirt. Emphasizing Makabe’s dominance over the situation, his posture and position are perpendicular to the visual frame and his body runs parallel to the door frame. The diagonal lines created by the structure itself further add to the tension. In the second frame the camera follows as Makabe pulls Tahei into the open and closer to the camera. In a close-up, Tahei and Makabe fill the screen. Their proxemic distance to one another, Makabe’s arm and the anger in his eyes clarify the moment. The background is shrouded so all of the attention is on these two men. Once Makabe releases him, Tahei climbs across a trench, and we see the triangle of the fortress to Tahei and Makabe. The roof line pointing directly at each character. Tahei’s posture is one of flight yet Makabe is ready to strike. This ongoing tension between the two peasants and Makabe adds an element of humor due to their unsophisticated and clumsy behavior.

In the most memorable sequence, Kurosowa used the widescreen format to its fullest. Moving from the left to the right of the frame, Makabe rides on horseback, samurai sword in hand, and chases down the enemy. His posture alone exemplifies power and strength. As the horse gallops and the background wisps past, he remains in position. While disappearing around a bend he takes down the fleeing solders. However, to his surprise he finds himself in the midst of the enemy’s camp. Makabe finds himself encircled by soldiers with spears. The diagonals created by the spears converge on Makabe. With the deep-focus wide shot, the entire camp closes in on the general. Although in the following frame, Makabe has been offered a duel. His name is legendary among the clans. As he walks within the circle, solders recoil when he draws near. Despite the threat of this situation, the tension has lessened as the camera angle as shifted to the opposite side and moved up. The surrounding soldiers have dissipated and raised their spears, minimizing the diagonal lines. In this frame the diagonals are created by the shadows at the lower-right corner which further de-emphasize the threat.

Although Kurosawa always maintained tight control over the composition of each frame, Hidden Fortress marks a significant change in his mise en scène. The breadth of his work is taken to new heights. He considers the entire frame and uses it accordingly, carefully choreographing movements and the editing of those sequences. The horse chase alone is beautifully filmed and pieced together. He captures the tension of the fleeing solders as well as the general’s tenacity.

Ran was released in 1985, and Kurosawa considered it his best work. Based on shakespeare’s King Lear, Kurosawa focused on the the “giri, the most quintessential aspect in Japanese society, is the obligation to act according to reciprocal relations with particular persons with whom the individual has certain social relations. This is a social and moral code that compels the society’s members to respond to this obligation even when their natural inclination (ninjo) is to act differently.” (Serper, 149) Ran's literal meaning is chaos, but as a suffix it can also mean rebellion. (Richie, 214) Kurosawa blurs those definitions and raises both of those aspects throughout the film.

The head of the clan, Hidetora, wears white, which is the embodiment of all colors; while his three sons are each dressed in a primary color. “In Ran, color is used for identification, the various armies are color coordinated.” (Richie, 234) Kurosawa uses color among a bleak landscape that exude strife and causes confusion. “Color conveys the director's sense that human beings no longer deserve to enjoy the fruitfulness of nature because they have been so profligate with her gifts.” (Richie, 234) Saburô, the youngest, wears blue, a cool calm color. Yet Tarô and Jirô wear warm colors which can be used to illustrate strife. In the initial sequence, Hidetora is handing over his power to his eldest son, Tarô. In the first frame using a deep-focus wide angle, Kurosawa captures the beauty of the Japanese landscape. The sons sit across from their father in their proper place and position, but Saburô’s posture differs. His hands are displaced and he leans forward, thus beginning the turmoil. In the second frame Hidetora has risen and stands above the children, looking down upon them. His posture is stern and defensive. Both of the elder brothers’ eyes, as well as those of Hidetora, are fixed on Saburô. The dreadful argument that transpires is juxtaposed against a beautiful spring afternoon.

In frame 34, Hidetora is seated with his eldest son Tarô and his wife, Lady Kaede. “When Hidetora is called to relinquish his leadership of the family and submit himself to Tarô's authority, he is instructed by Kaede to sit in front of her on the floor, which is absolutely ‘low’ compared to Tarô and Kaede, who site higher than him on two parallel small daises, and with their backs to the tokonoma (alcove)—an additional directional position which expresses their superiority to any other person in the room. He replies: ‘Do I have to sit lower than you?... Who do you think I am?’ but he nonetheless obeys and sits in this humiliating position.” (Serper, 152) Seated symmetrically on the screen, the couple retain the dominant and therefore superior portion of the frame. Hidetora sits in the middle surrounded on all sides not yet realizing the gravity of the situation. (Richie, 216)

In an attempt to find solace for his wives and his men, Hidetora moves to the second castle, home to his middle son, Jirô. Hidetora’s men are denied access. In image 35, Hidetora, angered and insulted, turns his back on his son. At this moment their bodies overlap. There is still a physical connection between the two. The arrangement in the frame allows Hidetora to dominate and Jirô to recede into the background. In the next frame, the gate has been shut. The relationship is severed and Hidetora stands alone and alienated. The third frame pulls back into a wide shot and captures his men, bowing to their master. Only his samurai warriors remain loyal. Once Hidetora moves to the third castle abandoned by his youngest son, he is ambushed by his two eldest children. “He moves to the third castle but is ambushed there by Tarô and Jirô’s army. His own soldiers are slaughtered and his wives commit suicide.” (Serper, 149) In image 38, two wives lie dead and one is about to commit suicide. The fabrics are elaborate and colorful, yet there is no visible blood. In the next frame, sitting below his samurai armor, Hidetora’s vulnerability is equal to his despair. Drawing from the Noh tradition, as the battle rages, Hidetora’s face becomes more formalistic as his grasp on reality fades. Arrows fly past and strike the wall to the right of the frame. The glorious armor shines brilliant behind him, yet he reaches for a sword to commit suicide only to find that it is gone along with himself. At this point he rises and, amidst the warfare, “he leaves the surrounded castle, wanders about in the plains completely mad.” (Serper, 149) The frame of the castle burning pushes the use of color. On either side of the castle steps are the two armies as the flames above emerge from the windows, yellow and red. The color of the two armies converge to destroy Hidetora. White smoke billows from the corridor, he staggers out in his white robe. The wide-angle shot captures the physical conflict that has taken place, while the previous frames emphasized his inner turmoil. “Kurosawa keeps Hidetora fixed within the worldly strife of the masculine sphere. He de-emphasizes the story, and effectively replaces it with the soundless, five-minute long battle sequence between the forces of Tarô and Jirô. It is this earthly battle that signals Hidetora's madness, that unswords his scabbard in the films imagery, revealing him as powerless and driving him from shelter.” (Hoile, 32)

When asked about Ran, Kurosawa said prior to filming, that it “would round out my life's work in film.” (Richie, 214) Kurosawa used “the camera in Ran is an impassive and literally distant observer.” (Hoile, 29) We watch as this man loses everything to his own children and, in turn, they lose as well. “Although the spineless Tarô received most of his father's property and authority, his wife Kaede manipulates him in order to completely dispossess his father of his authority, property, and even his life, thereby betraying his deepest giri to his father. In contrast, Saburô, despite having been dispossessed and banished, is the embodiment of integrity and confidence and displays deep concern for his father's position and safety.” (Serper, 151) Unlike the two previous films, Ran embodies a use of color that illustrates Kurosawa’s attention to detail. As the castle burns, the colors stand out against the gray, muddy background.

Kurosawa was born into a samurai family and raised as a samurai. Although the profession of a painter and filmmaker were considered scandalous to a samurai family, Kurosawa maintained an unremitting devotion to the “moral commitment and self sacrifice” (Lowe) of his people. Regardless of the story, that element radiated off the screen. “Throughout history, human beings have been making the same mistakes. Why do we keep repeating ourselves? Mankind is in a desperate situation. How can we break out of it?” (Lowe) Each film had an underlying subtext reflecting Kurosawa’s feelings toward the moral and economic changes of Japan. His characters struggle with their sense of loyalty and their place in society. With a minimalistic style, he reveals a simplified narrative, stripped of unnecessary dialogue and action that can clutter the story. His strong use of diagonals—and especially that of the triangle—is prominent throughout his life’s work. In many cases it is not a single conflict that a character endures, but multiple, simultaneously. As Makabe is confronted with Yuki’s hostility and will, he also struggles with the inner turmoil of his sister’s death. Watanabe has a confrontation with his son while anguishing over his own mortality. Hidetora’s own sons, whom he trusted, have turned on him. The one son that tried to warn him of this has been banished. While falling into madness, two armies wage war at his doorstep and his wives commit suicide. Kurosawa uses placement within the frame to convey strong emotions in a subtle yet highly effective manner.

Two statements were made about Kurosawa in an obituary in Sight and Sound magazine. In the first statement the author says that “his brilliance ...lay in his ability to express himself in purely cinematic terms. Few directors were better at visualizing meanings through their mise en scène of actors and settings, an no director was ever a better or more innovative editor.” (3) But the author then continues to make another statement that “throughout the long career there are tendencies to sentimentality, nanny-like social commentary and, above all, moralistic lecturing. Kurosawa will certainly be remembered, and may well continue to influence new generations of filmmakers, but not for his ’philosophies’.” (3)

Kurosawa developed characters and made films as commentary in an effort to inspire. They reflected his perspective on his own country, with its rich history and culture. He witnessed the birth of capitalism and the hedonism that followed. Bureaucracies emerged providing false hope and security. Even now, fifty five years later, we still see that same ineffective managing as we were shown in Ikuru. The themes are timeless and significant regardless of culture and time. Kurosawa certainly felt strongly about these things and did not attempt to hide them. But his genius was that he did not sermonize; his genius was that he strove to inspire.

Works Cited

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