Art
The Emperor of Film Comes to Istanbul
Japanese and Turkish artists should have a lot to say to each other. Certainly there is a historical similarity. Both countries were once proud empires and both have a long history of ambivalence to Western culture, desperately trying to adopt its technology in a race to modernism, yet resentful of the need and traumatized by the resulting erosion of traditional values. The Emperor of Film, Akira Kurosawa certainly has a lot in common with Turkey's own king of the international circuit, Nuri Bilge Ceylan--and not just for a lack of appreciation in the home country. Both men are painterly in their approach to film, building scenes with more regard for colour, perspective, line and composition than plot or narrative. For Ceylan, this visual sensitivity comes from an early career in photography, for Kurosawa a similar start in painting. In fact, Kurosawa took the pragmatic storyboard--for most directors just a vehicle to roughly sketch out a scene--and transformed it into a work of art, painting each scene of his films in painstaking detail. The resulting eighty-seven watercolour canvases are now on display at the Pera Museum until April 26th.
Kurosawa's earliest influences were Europe's Impressionists and Post Impressionists--particularly Chagall, Cezanne, and Van Gogh. In "I Fly, My Shadow Calls Me", the white angel flying an old man against a watery blue sky echoes Chagall's portrait of Jacob wrestling the angel. Some of the story boards for "Dreams" are direct copies of Van Gogh, whose last painting "Wheat Field With Crows" is a segment in the film. Like the Impressionists, Kurosawa's work is very attentive to the play of light on surfaces, and like Van Gogh, he often uses colour to evoke interior moods. The juxtaposition of bright red and lime green in a portrait of the mad Lord Hidetora in Ran (green skin, red eyes) creates the same sense of unease and despair that they do in Van Gogh's Night Cafe. A portrait of Hidetora's daughter-in-law Lady Kaede features a luminous white face that almost burns against a dark yellow background smeared with black. Her jaundiced yellow eyes, pink collar, and red kimono create a visual tension that hints at the bloodlust beneath her passive mask.
Yet Kurosawa's bright palette takes more from traditional Japanese painting than from the Impressionists. The vivid hues, flat shapes, strong lines, and stylized figures are reminiscent of the wood block paintings of Hokusai and Utomaro, while the portraits owe much to the portraits of Zen monks in Medieval Japan. Yet, there is a cinematic dynamism flowing through his work missing in these older traditions. Many are scenes of dramatic action from the films--the gallop of a cavalry man beneath a gate viewed from above; the figure of a crazed princess sprawled over the body of her lover, a knife to his throat, an army with torches marching toward a fortress towering on top of a cliff. The images are tense, on the verge of movement.
Kurosawa is as gifted at capturing both inner and dramatic conflict on canvas as he is at doing it on celluloid. In one painting from the Ran series, the Lady Sue, a Buddhist convert known for her incredible compassion, lies sprawled in a field of flowers, her floral patterned robes spread out around her. She looks as if she were sleeping, but actually has been brutally beheaded on the order of her sister-in-law. The sunlight, the vivid palette, the wildflowers and beauty of the field in which her mutilated corpse lies is tranquil, healing even, despite the grisly subject.
Some of the paintings are certainly derivative of Kurosawa’s Western influences, but his best ones have a voice of their own and all complement the films they helped to shape. On the top floor, the paintings are accompanied by a showing of Chris Marker's documentary on the making of Ran. A talented artist in his own right, Marker renders the enigmatic filmmaker with sensitivity and intelligence. One story in particular stands out. After the catastrophic earthquake that devastated Tokyo in 1923, the Japanese citizens turned on the their Korean neighbours, whom they blamed for the disaster, and massacred them. Wandering the carnage, the young Kurosawa tried to avert his eyes, but his brother forced him to look. "You must face the thing you fear head on," his brother told him. "Or it will conquer you." Kurosawa's work, both in film and watercolour, is his effort to do just that.
BOX
Kurosawa's Last Five Films
Kagemusha (1980)--His first colour film tells the story of a thief saved from crucifixion to impersonate a samurai lord, becoming a kagemusha--a shadow warrior, who, because of his remarkable resemblance to his benefactor, takes his Lord’s place after his death to prevent the dissolution of his forces. The film was produced through the efforts of George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola.
Ran (1985)--One of Kurosawa's greatest films, it tells the story of Hidetora, who decides to divide his kingdom among his three sons. Predictably, in their lust for power, the sons begin to fight among each other. Murder, betrayal, and assassination are the order of the day. Hidetora goes mad as he watches the legacy he built for his family crumble into nothing.
Dreams (1990)--A film based more on imagery than dialogue, it presents eight of Kurosawa's dreams (eight being a magical number in ancient Japan), including the wedding of fox spirits, a meeting with Van Gogh, and a returning soldier meeting the ghosts of the dead friends he left behind on the battlefield.
Madadayo (1993)--His final completed film largely believed to be addressing his own impending death. A teacher, beloved by his fellow students, retires just before the start of World War 2. Through each birthday his students ask him "moo ii kai?" Are you ready (to give up life)? He always answers, "mada da yo!" Not yet.
The Sea Is Watching (2002)--A film written and envisioned by Kurosawa yet completed after his death by a different director, Kei Kumai, portraying an Edo era prostitute with the proverbial heart of gold.
Kurosawa Exhibit
Writer: Jeff Gibbs
The Emperor of Film Comes to Istanbul
Japanese and Turkish artists should have a lot to say to each other. Certainly there is a historical similarity. Both countries were once proud empires and both have a long history of ambivalence to Western culture, desperately trying to adopt its technology in a race to modernism, yet resentful of the need and traumatized by the resulting erosion of traditional values. The Emperor of Film, Akira Kurosawa certainly has a lot in common with Turkey's own king of the international circuit, Nuri Bilge Ceylan--and not just for a lack of appreciation in the home country. Both men are painterly in their approach to film, building scenes with more regard for colour, perspective, line and composition than plot or narrative. For Ceylan, this visual sensitivity comes from an early career in photography, for Kurosawa a similar start in painting. In fact, Kurosawa took the pragmatic storyboard--for most directors just a vehicle to roughly sketch out a scene--and transformed it into a work of art, painting each scene of his films in painstaking detail. The resulting eighty-seven watercolour canvases are now on display at the Pera Museum until April 26th.
Kurosawa's earliest influences were Europe's Impressionists and Post Impressionists--particularly Chagall, Cezanne, and Van Gogh. In "I Fly, My Shadow Calls Me", the white angel flying an old man against a watery blue sky echoes Chagall's portrait of Jacob wrestling the angel. Some of the story boards for "Dreams" are direct copies of Van Gogh, whose last painting "Wheat Field With Crows" is a segment in the film. Like the Impressionists, Kurosawa's work is very attentive to the play of light on surfaces, and like Van Gogh, he often uses colour to evoke interior moods. The juxtaposition of bright red and lime green in a portrait of the mad Lord Hidetora in Ran (green skin, red eyes) creates the same sense of unease and despair that they do in Van Gogh's Night Cafe. A portrait of Hidetora's daughter-in-law Lady Kaede features a luminous white face that almost burns against a dark yellow background smeared with black. Her jaundiced yellow eyes, pink collar, and red kimono create a visual tension that hints at the bloodlust beneath her passive mask.
Yet Kurosawa's bright palette takes more from traditional Japanese painting than from the Impressionists. The vivid hues, flat shapes, strong lines, and stylized figures are reminiscent of the wood block paintings of Hokusai and Utomaro, while the portraits owe much to the portraits of Zen monks in Medieval Japan. Yet, there is a cinematic dynamism flowing through his work missing in these older traditions. Many are scenes of dramatic action from the films--the gallop of a cavalry man beneath a gate viewed from above; the figure of a crazed princess sprawled over the body of her lover, a knife to his throat, an army with torches marching toward a fortress towering on top of a cliff. The images are tense, on the verge of movement.
Kurosawa is as gifted at capturing both inner and dramatic conflict on canvas as he is at doing it on celluloid. In one painting from the Ran series, the Lady Sue, a Buddhist convert known for her incredible compassion, lies sprawled in a field of flowers, her floral patterned robes spread out around her. She looks as if she were sleeping, but actually has been brutally beheaded on the order of her sister-in-law. The sunlight, the vivid palette, the wildflowers and beauty of the field in which her mutilated corpse lies is tranquil, healing even, despite the grisly subject.
Some of the paintings are certainly derivative of Kurosawa’s Western influences, but his best ones have a voice of their own and all complement the films they helped to shape. On the top floor, the paintings are accompanied by a showing of Chris Marker's documentary on the making of Ran. A talented artist in his own right, Marker renders the enigmatic filmmaker with sensitivity and intelligence. One story in particular stands out. After the catastrophic earthquake that devastated Tokyo in 1923, the Japanese citizens turned on the their Korean neighbours, whom they blamed for the disaster, and massacred them. Wandering the carnage, the young Kurosawa tried to avert his eyes, but his brother forced him to look. "You must face the thing you fear head on," his brother told him. "Or it will conquer you." Kurosawa's work, both in film and watercolour, is his effort to do just that.
BOX
Kurosawa's Last Five Films
Kagemusha (1980)--His first colour film tells the story of a thief saved from crucifixion to impersonate a samurai lord, becoming a kagemusha--a shadow warrior, who, because of his remarkable resemblance to his benefactor, takes his Lord’s place after his death to prevent the dissolution of his forces. The film was produced through the efforts of George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola.
Ran (1985)--One of Kurosawa's greatest films, it tells the story of Hidetora, who decides to divide his kingdom among his three sons. Predictably, in their lust for power, the sons begin to fight among each other. Murder, betrayal, and assassination are the order of the day. Hidetora goes mad as he watches the legacy he built for his family crumble into nothing.
Dreams (1990)--A film based more on imagery than dialogue, it presents eight of Kurosawa's dreams (eight being a magical number in ancient Japan), including the wedding of fox spirits, a meeting with Van Gogh, and a returning soldier meeting the ghosts of the dead friends he left behind on the battlefield.
Madadayo (1993)--His final completed film largely believed to be addressing his own impending death. A teacher, beloved by his fellow students, retires just before the start of World War 2. Through each birthday his students ask him "moo ii kai?" Are you ready (to give up life)? He always answers, "mada da yo!" Not yet.
The Sea Is Watching (2002)--A film written and envisioned by Kurosawa yet completed after his death by a different director, Kei Kumai, portraying an Edo era prostitute with the proverbial heart of gold.
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