Kaneto Shindô's heart-rending minimalist gem "The Naked Island" (1960) indeed strips movie-making to its very naked basics: imposing black and white pictures, sparsely used sounds and a musical theme to die for turn a film with a simplistic story into a major cinematic event. Dialog there is none. Which is more than an experiment, rather it's an artistic statement. Indeed, as the film shows: Conversations are not required in order to tell a tale that focuses on the burdens of life weighing on its characters, a life that is monotonous, repetitive, bland, but which is lived with dignity and perseverance. And if you are willing to let yourself be guided by images alone, you'll soon forget any ambitions of plot and will find yourself captured by the daily routines of people struggling to grow crops on a tiny rugged island where water is as precious as the sun merciless. There's drama as well, but only as a natural extension of the circumstances.
The cinematography is unobtrusive, doesn't draw attention to itself, yet at the same time every single image is so carefully framed, that it could stand on its own like a painting. Shindô however paints in moving pictures, and the impact is thus even stronger. As an audience we are simply observing the contradictory sublime beauty of the triteness through a gorgeous black and white filter, and while what we see feels like a documentary in content, it is wrapped in visual poetry rarely seen in such condensed intensity. The documentary feel and the poetic approach might be comparable to Flaherty's famous "Man of Aran" (1934). Both pictures focus on people living on an island and fighting the forces of nature, however, while "Aran" is an action spectacle dealing with a torrential confrontation culminating in musical crescendos on the sound track, Shindô's "Naked Island" is anything but a thrilling ride. Because of that it feels even more realistic and less staged, maybe the perfect counterpoint to the Flaherty picture. Still, both have their own merit on different sides of the spectrum.
In "The Naked Island" the melancholic, restrained music sets the pace, reflecting the inescapable daily chores, the circle of life for crops and men, and we are inevitably drawn into the film's meditative life-affirming mood against the harsh backdrop that permeates all. The depiction of these few lives we follow might seem like a slow, tedious journey against all odds that has little value for viewers, especially when we see the same things again and again. But at some point the arduous task of carrying water buckets up a mountain slope feels more like a dance and it's as if the sparkling of the rocking water only affirms how treasured and precious, how life-giving it is. - In short: If you want to leave your own perhaps hectic and stressful existence behind for an hour and a half, here's something that is likely to touch you in a very profound way: an isle of tranquility and contemplation to return to in the pandemonium of modern everyday life.
The cinematography is unobtrusive, doesn't draw attention to itself, yet at the same time every single image is so carefully framed, that it could stand on its own like a painting. Shindô however paints in moving pictures, and the impact is thus even stronger. As an audience we are simply observing the contradictory sublime beauty of the triteness through a gorgeous black and white filter, and while what we see feels like a documentary in content, it is wrapped in visual poetry rarely seen in such condensed intensity. The documentary feel and the poetic approach might be comparable to Flaherty's famous "Man of Aran" (1934). Both pictures focus on people living on an island and fighting the forces of nature, however, while "Aran" is an action spectacle dealing with a torrential confrontation culminating in musical crescendos on the sound track, Shindô's "Naked Island" is anything but a thrilling ride. Because of that it feels even more realistic and less staged, maybe the perfect counterpoint to the Flaherty picture. Still, both have their own merit on different sides of the spectrum.
In "The Naked Island" the melancholic, restrained music sets the pace, reflecting the inescapable daily chores, the circle of life for crops and men, and we are inevitably drawn into the film's meditative life-affirming mood against the harsh backdrop that permeates all. The depiction of these few lives we follow might seem like a slow, tedious journey against all odds that has little value for viewers, especially when we see the same things again and again. But at some point the arduous task of carrying water buckets up a mountain slope feels more like a dance and it's as if the sparkling of the rocking water only affirms how treasured and precious, how life-giving it is. - In short: If you want to leave your own perhaps hectic and stressful existence behind for an hour and a half, here's something that is likely to touch you in a very profound way: an isle of tranquility and contemplation to return to in the pandemonium of modern everyday life.