Short Take: Rashomon

Friedrich Nietzsche, in perhaps the greatest passage in his 1887 treatise On the Genealogy of Morals, called for what he described as a “more complete objectivity”: the more perspectives brought to bear on a subject, the more completely objective one’s understanding. The darker implications of the passage have had a powerful resonance. Truth is relative--a matter of perspective--and objective truth is therefore unknowable. Perceptions of reality are shaped by the viewer’s experiences, prejudices, and agendas. This philosophical notion was powerfully dramatized in Rashomon, directed by Akira Kurosawa. The setting is 11th-century Japan. During a rainstorm, three men take refuge in the ruins of a castle gate. The first two tell the third of a murder trial they watched. A bandit (Toshiro Mifune) raped a noblewoman (Machiko Kyo), and her husband (Masayuki Mori) was killed by a stab wound to the heart. The bandit, the woman, the dead man’s spirit, and a witness all provide accounts of what happened. However, none of the accounts agree. Further, each account paints the teller in the most self-serving terms, and the other principals are depicted as personifications of what appears to be each teller’s feelings of self-loathing. Kurosawa and co-scenarist Shinobu Hashimoto aren’t presenting a mystery melodrama. It’s impossible to tell from the accounts if the husband’s death was a suicide or a murder, and if the latter, who committed it. The only knowable thing, as the film presents it, is that human egotism and venality will always stand in the way of honesty and justice. It’s a despairing view of human nature, but the film ends on a hopeful note: redemption can be found in generosity and selflessness. Kurosawa’s direction is masterful. His treatment of each account is stylized in accord with the tone the teller strikes. The bandit’s version is portrayed in romantic action-adventure terms, while a soapy series of over-emphatic close-ups are used to render the woman’s histrionics. The husband’s story, centered on feelings of betrayal and disgrace, is given an austere, lonely ambience. The witness’s telling is blackly farcical slapstick. Kurosawa and cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa give the locations a distinctive look. The forest where the assault took place is an intricate weave of shadows and light, while the rain in the framing sequence is so vivid one can almost feel the water. The film is an unforgettable experience. Kurosawa and Hashimoto based the script on a pair of short stories by Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Fumio Hayasaka is credited with the fine musical score.