• 限りなき舗道 (Street Without End)

8/31/24 (Sun)

Naruse’s 1934 drama, set in contemporary Tokyo, was his final silent film. Sugiko is a waitress in a pancake shop in Ginza. (Pancakes must have been the latest thing; patrons seem to have trouble figuring out what to do with the spot of butter on top.) She receives a marriage proposal from her poor but kind boyfriend, who is under pressure from his family to marry a girl arranged for him back home. Sugiko, pressed to make a decision, wanders carelessly into the path of a chauffer-driven car. That car belongs to Hiroshi, the handsome heir to an upper-class family, who takes her immediately to the hospital. Her boyfriend sees them together and, assuming she has rejected him, leaves town.

Hiroshi eventually falls in love with Sugiko and begs her to marry him in a romantic setting backed by Mt. Fuji. She is uncertain given the difference in their class, especially with the disparaging attitude of his mother and sister, who make no effort to hide their disdain. Still, the thought of a life of financial security and Hiroshi’s undeniable sincerity prompt her to give in to his persistence. The family has no choice but to agree.

As feared, however, the gulf between her and the family proves deep despite her best efforts. Sugiko is constantly berated by the snarky mother and sister and cannot feel comfortable in her own home. Hiroshi, though supportive, gentle, and clearly in love, is too spineless to resist his family despite their imperious treatment of his wife. Sugiko eventually decides to separate from him. Distraught at her decision, his family and his own impotence, he gets drunk and races wildly in his car, leading to a serious accident that puts him in the hospital fighting for his life. When Sugiko comes to visit, Hiroshi, bedridden and bandaged from head to toe, begs for her forgiveness. His family looks on as if blaming her for everything.

Just when this looks to become maudlin, the story takes an unexpected turn. Sugiko wishes Hiroshi well and says that while he’s a good man, he is simply too weak. She then tells off the wicked mother and sister in no uncertain terms and says goodbye forever. The family pleads with her to stay for her husband’s sake, and (in a near parody of a mawkish silent movie scene) we see Hiroshi reaching out to her dramatically with his bandaged arms. But Sugiko surprisingly walks out on them all, determined to live for herself. Just as she is leaving the hospital, the sister runs and tells her that Hiroshi has died. Sugiko, her mind made up, goes on her way nonetheless.

Sugiko returns to her waitress job. Her colleague has given up what appeared to be a successful acting career, feeling unfulfilled, and is now happily married to the poor artist that she dated earlier. Sugiko’s brother, who Sugiko had been supporting, has also succeeded in getting his driver’s license and is embarking on a career as a driver. As she sees him off on his first day, she glimpses her ex-boyfriend riding by in a cable car, causing her to contemplate what might have been in a long and lovely close-up.

Sugiko’s hesitation at the marriage offer from her boyfriend and an acting offer from a movie studio (she is spotted while waiting tables – I guess it was easier back then) caused her to lose out on both, leaving her with regrets. That may have spurred her reluctant acceptance of Hiroshi’s proposal. Hiroshi’s feelings for her appeared genuine, and while he could have done more to remove her from his toxic household, he didn’t deserve being dumped while on his deathbed. Sugiko comes off as callous. (I thought of the recent My Fair Lady where Liza marches away from Higgins for a misperceived slight; I figured she’d just end up old and bitter with that attitude.) Still, Naruse gets points for daring to do something different. This is in line with his Every-Night Dreams the previous year, where the wife curses her late husband for his weakness in committing suicide as a means of escape. The director does go overboard in his criticism of the class system in a subtitle reading, “Even today, feudalistic notions of family crush the pure love of young people in Japan.” That is an unnecessarily explicit statement that is quite clear from the story. Not sure what he was thinking.

Shinobu Setsuko, making her first screen appearance, adeptly treads a fine line as Sugiko without crossing over into melodrama, especially in the final scenes. Her face gives little away, suggesting a mix of emotions under the surface. Also excellent were Katori Chiyoko as Sugiko’s waitress friend and Wakaba Nobuko as the spiteful sister. A number of familiar faces popped up, including brief appearances by Sakamoto Takeshi, Chishu Ryu, and Mitsui Koji. Particularly fun were the many shots of early-Showa Ginza, already a vibrant modern location.

Naruse uses many odd “pillow shots” of architectural points and such breaking up the story, for better or worse, and shoots at times from curious angles. Still, the story moves along smoothly, and the characters are nicely delineated. Naruse’s eye for detail is interesting; for instance, the woman that Hiroshi’s family has arranged for him is a virtual flapper always in Western dress, a contrast with the demure kimonoed Sugiko. The image of the auto accident, represented by Hiroshi’s hat and other items dropping down the mountain, reminded me of the toy car rolling over the table in Every-Night Dreams to represent the auto crash. (I do wonder what happened to the woman who was riding with Hiroshi. She disappears from the movie thereafter without a word.) One scene in a movie theater shows the audience rather respectfully watching the Lubitsch comedy The Smiling Lieutenant. The lack of overt enjoyment suggests that they’re there for the prestige of a foreign film, while Sugiko’s unease suggests again the gap between her and Hiroshi.

One subtitle stood out for me. Hiroshi tells Sugiko, 「僕は君が可愛いんだ」, meaning literally “I think you’re cute.” That is translated interestingly as “I love you.” While that’s probably correct in this case, the English makes him sound more direct than the Japanese. It reminds me of novelist Natsume Soseki’s identical translation of「月が綺麗ですね」(literally “The moon is beautiful”). I wonder if there’s not a better way to express this.

All in all, the film seems less accomplished than the earlier Every-Night Dreams, but Shinobu’s performance and the extraordinary ending make it worth watching.