Akira Kurosawa, in the twilight of his career, turned his attention to a quiet study of lingering wartime trauma, showing different generations of Japanese civilians recalling the atom bombing of Nagasaki, with varying degrees of shame, understanding, and curiosity. By coincidence the film opened just after the 50-year anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, but Kurosawa isn't interested in scratching old war wounds, and his characters show more envy than hatred of Western culture: note how the jeans and t-shirts worn by the younger kids are always colored in some combination of red, white and blue. But the story is too polite to generate anything resembling a conflict, and the occasional profound image (a rose in full bloom, surrounded by ants) may not be enough to hold the viewer's attention through the final credits. Late in life, Kurosawa the artist gave way to Kurosawa the messenger, and the result here is another mild disappointment from an acknowledged master filmmaker resting on his laurels: heartfelt and certainly respectable, but too often rarely more than simply dull.
Review of Rhapsody in August
