Yasujirō Ozu’s “Tokyo Story” was made in 1953 and depicts Japan more than seventy
years ago, yet its central story could take place almost anywhere today. Elderly grandparents travel from their small hometown to Tokyo to visit their adult children, only
to discover that the children are too occupied with their own families and careers to
spend much time with them. The customs, clothing, and physical surroundings may be
distinctly Japanese, but the competing obligations within a family are universal. That
universality has resulted in “Tokyo Story” being ranked, even today, among the best ten
films ever made.

The grandfather Shukichi and grandmother Tomi are especially calm and agreeable.
They accept inconveniences and disappointments without complaint, rarely asking
anything of their adult children. Those children have grown up, built their own lives, and
find themselves torn between genuine affection for their parents and the pressures of
work, family and urban life. They know they have obligations to their parents and feel
guilty when they fail to meet them. The grandchildren resent having their routines
interrupted by grandparents they may scarcely know. The grandparents’ calm manner
makes the neglect seem more painful, because they don’t ask for much. Ozu doesn’t
judge them. He simply watches.

Ironically, the person who treats the old couple with the greatest kindness is Noriko,
their widowed daughter-in-law. Her husband died in the war eight years earlier, yet she
remains more loyal to his parents than their own children are. Noriko’s smiles are
among the film’s most memorable images. They convey warmth and generosity, but
sometimes also conceal loneliness. She smiles not because life has treated her well,
but because kindness is the way she has chosen to meet it.

The film’s slow pace may initially seem strange to viewers accustomed to rapid editing
and dramatic plot developments. Ozu wanted simply to look at life as it happens. His
camera is usually fixed at the low height of someone seated on a tatami mat. It seldom
zooms, scans, or follows a character. Instead, people enter and leave a composition
that remains patiently in place.

Many conversations are filmed in an unusual way. Ozu uses little of the familiar over-
the-shoulder technique. Instead, speakers often look directly into the camera, giving us
the feeling that each person is speaking intimately to us. He also pauses between
scenes to show rooftops, railway lines, smokestacks, laundry, or water. These moments
appear uneventful, yet they allow us time to absorb what has just happened.

One of the more revealing interludes occurs when Shukichi drinks sake with old friends
at a bar. With alcohol, their conversation gradually exposes their disappointments in
their children and, perhaps, in themselves.

Near the end, after Tomi’s quiet death, daughter Kyoko asks Noriko, “Isn’t life
disappointing?” Noriko quietly answers, “Yes, it is.” That exchange is one of the most
quoted lines of Japanese cinema and expresses the heart of Tokyo Story:
disappointment is unavoidable.

In a final image, a solitary boat moves slowly but steadily forward out of the harbor. Life
continues, indifferent to grief and regret. Children grow apart, parents die and those
who remain must move on. Ozu observes his characters with compassion, recognizing
that ordinary people can love one another and still fail one another.

“Tokyo Story” does not ask for emotional fireworks. It asks for attention. And in return, it
offers one of cinema’s most compassionate portraits of family, aging, and the quiet
disappointments that shape us. Ozu just wanted to look at life as it happens. In doing
so, he created a masterpiece that still feels achingly true. It deserves its ranking as one
of the world’s best films.

“Tokyo Story” can be streamed free on Kanopy and Flex; by subscription on The Criterion
Channel, HBO Max, and YouTube TV; for rent on Prime Video, Apple TV, YouTube,
Google Play, and Fandango.