BY LAUREN RAMANATHAN

In print | Published November 20, 2008

“This time, I may finally lose my faith in the human soul.”

So begins “Rashomon” (1950), Akira Kurosawa’s exercise in memory, epistemology and justice. The film centers on the murder of a samurai and the rape of his wife. The four who bear witness to this terrible event are the rapist himself (bandit Tajomaru, played by Kurosawa regular Toshiro Mifune), the samurai’s wife (Masako, played with versatility by Machiko Kyo), the dead samurai (Takehiro, portrayed by Masayuki Mori) and a woodcutter (played by Takashi Shimura).

Amidst a prophetic deluge of rain, the woodcutter and a priest recall the trial for a third party, creating a flashback within a flashback as the narrative structure. At the trial, each witness presents a contradictory but plausible tale of what happened. Even the dead samurai, with the help of a medium, gives his dubious account.

But Rashomon’s innovation lies in its ability to question theaudience’s notion of truth. The trial is set up so that the interlocutor is never seen. Witnesses speak directly to the audience, pleading for sympathy and validation. The scene of the crime is visited and then revisited, and each time the players make different moves. Each image of the crime we see on screen is mediated by the perception of whichever character is presently bearing witness.

Setting is of utmost importance, as the crime scene is prominently featured. Cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa sets his camera deep into the forest leaves. In one beginning scene, the camera gives a worm’s eye view of the sun through the forest canopy, an image of some distant and elusive heaven. Miyagawa’s camera floats through the forest with different camera angles presented in rapid succession, as if the apparatus itself were a disembodied spirit. Shimura’s woodcutter recollects his first encounter upon the crime scene.

He walks through the forest dutifully, axe in hand, unaware of the horrors that wait. The camera views him from a treetop, a ditch, behind a bush, up close, far away. Miyagawa’s voyeuristic, spontaneous camera is omnipotent; it almost mimics a predator viewing its prey, or rather, a deity observing a peon. The woodcutter slowly comes across remnants of the crime. A hat and veil, an amulet and finally, the body of the slain samurai, hands frozen with rigor mortis in the shape of claws. We never see the dead body’s face, but only those hands, pointed toward the sky as if begging for mercy.

As with most Kurosawa features, the acting is solid all around. Still, Machiko Kyo stands out considerably as the samurai’s ill-fated wife, Masako. After Tajomaru ties up Takehiro, he grabs Masako and runs through the forest with her to show her his achievement, the camera frantically tracking to keep up. As soon as Tajomaru and Masako arrive at the scene and Masako lays her eyes on her emasculated husband, her face goes blank with knowing dread. She does not histrionically convulse with forced anguish and fear. Hers is a shock and despair that brims beneath the surface and betrays her frailty.

Then, in a flurry of exasperation and anger, she takes hold of her dagger and attempts to kill Tajomaru in order to extricate herself from her fate. Finally, collapsed in a pool of tears and sweat , she is forced to yield to her attacker, with one last worm’s eye view of the sun as it reflects on her dagger, one last view of heaven before plunging into that age-old purgatory of shame and depravity.
Rashomon’s full assault on the sanctity of memory and justice is indeed unrelenting and unapologetic. The film never offers any answers to the dilemmas presented. And much like the woodcutter and priest, we are left just as disgusted and confounded by the certainties of the story as by the uncertainties. Right and wrong are simply non-issues even where such heinous acts are concerned. Kurosawa’s question looms much larger: where do such contradictory ideas arise, and how can they possibly coexist?

In these divisive times, such questions are more important than ever.

Lauren is a sophomore. She can be reached at lramana1@swarthmore.edu.

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