[March 23 1910, legendary filmmaker Akira Kurosawa was born. To celebrate the centennial of his life, his prolific contributions to the world of cinema, and immense impact on the hearts and minds of those quietly mourning his absence, staffers at Row Three are (rather enthusiastically) taking this opportunity to share their own experiences of the Kurosawa catalogue]
Akira Kurosawa’s Red Beard is the sweet spot of my cinema viewing experience, I consider it to be the best film I have ever had the privilege of seeing. It is hard for me to talk sensibly about the film without gushing, when something hits me this hard the rigor of description gives way to a want of confession. I was never much of a theist, and am for the most part disparaging towards the cult of humanity, but there are a scattered few master artisans which I feel holds more for me than any God could, and Kurosawa is among that legion. To me Kurosawa was Red Beard, and as much as the story is about so many other things, it speaks also to me of a depth of humanity and common decency that charts throughout his ubiquitous career, here culminating in one formidable persona, the titular head doctor around whom the world surely pivots.
The samurai swords are for the most part set aside in this epic drama about, on the surface at least, the moral duty of medical practitioners in a rural clinic during the end of Tokugawa period Japan. It tells the story of a young doctor, Noboru Yasumoto, who has been appointed to an unglamorous position remedying the poor at the behest of the principled but stubborn head doctor, Red Beard. It is a familiar coming of age story, teacher inspires pupil to a life of virtue, and on the surface it is very much an ordinary story. It is the details (and in the Criterion essay Donald Ritchie speaks of the ‘patina’ of the film, that of the look, but, I would argue also, the feel, a grit nestled in crevices) which makes this film extraordinary.
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