CAFE LUMIERE - DVD review

"Café Lumière" (2003) is Taiwanese master Hou Hsiao-hsien's homage to Japanese master Yasujiro Ozu. The project was commissioned by Shochiku Studio to commemorate the centennial of Ozu's birth.

Ozu is often described as one of the most gentle and humanistic directors, an accurate description that doesn't convey the real power and boldness of his films. Ozu observed everyday life in Japan not merely for the sake of preserving it in a time capsule but also to interrogate it. Ozu's films focused on the clash between generations and the ways, both small and large, in which Japanese society was evolving. Children fail to respect their parents and vice versa. Women become increasingly important in Japan and thus more independent, often to theirs husbands' chagrin. Change closed some doors, but opened others: it was not to be feared but simply dealt with.

Ozu died in 1963, and Hou's film is a continuation of Ozu's project after a forty year break. Hou's Japan of 2003 still bears some resemblance to Ozu's Japan. Ozu's characters frequently traveled by train and Hou shares a similar fascination with railroads. So much of "Café Lumière" is filmed on moving trains that the crew joked the film should be renamed "Metrocar Lumière." People still spend much of their time at home, still eat the same foods, etc. But Hou also shows the ways in which everyday life in Japan has changed; I'm pretty sure Ozu never shot a sequence in which characters draw graphics on a laptop computer.

Some of the changes are far more profound. Yoko (Yo Hitoto) is a freelance writer who splits her time between Japan and Taiwan. She lives alone, travels when she wants to and likes her lifestyle just the way it is. When she returns home, she quite matter-of-factly informs her parents that she is pregnant by her Taiwanese boyfriend (Tadanobu Asano) and has no intention of getting married. The father's reaction is fascinating. He is clearly heart-broken but says nothing, simply staring silently into space. This can't be chalked up to traditional Japanese stoicism. His silence speaks to the generation gap at the heart of Ozu's cinema and of "Café Lumière": the father cannot understand his daughter's attitude, and is both confused and frightened by it. He's frightened because he knows that if he shows his anger, if he judges her, he might lose her altogether. The family dynamic continues to evolve.

On a formal level, Hou begins by imitating Ozu's signature style, his camera approximately three feet from the ground and rarely ever moving. But he expands his visual palette quickly: where Ozu shot in studios, Hou films on locations. Roving through Tokyo and other Japanese locations, "Café Lumière" is a city symphony film as well as a character study. Once again, trains play a central role in this effort, and the film's most mesmerizing shot is an extended take of a railroad nexus where trains speed in and out of frame from all directions: left, right, up, down.

It might seem strange that a Taiwanese director would be asked to chronicle modern Japanese life, but keep in mind that Taiwan was a Japanese colony until 1945 (just before Hou was born). Perhaps the studio felt an outsider could bring a fresh eye to the project. In the documentary included on the DVD, Hou discusses the difficulties of an outside chronicling another culture: "It's an interesting challenge." Shochiku studio was delighted with the results and the film hasn't generated the same controversy as Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation" perhaps because Hou maintains the cool distance of a documentarian and also doesn't carry any "Ugly American" baggage into the project.

Not a lot happens in "Café Lumière." Yoko is researching the life of a famous musician: she spends most of her time sitting in cafés, riding trains or rummaging around bookshops. Yoko's revelation of her pregnancy is the only conflict in the story and it is never resolved. The real pleasure in a film like this is simply to spend time with the characters, to live alongside them for a little while and pick up little clues about them along the way. These clues are just as likely to be contained in gestures or their personal belongings as in dialogue, and modest scenes can speak volumes. In one quiet scene, Yoko's father, obviously on his way home from work, waits for her to arrive at the train station. He stands by his car and scans the crowd intently until he finally spots her: he takes her luggage from and leads her to the car. He obviously cherishes his daughter. In a later scene, Yoko's parents visit her apartment. When her father asks for sake, she has to ask a neighbor to borrow some. Yoko thinks nothing of this request, but her mother is mortified: that generation gap again. Ozu was the master of small touches such as these and Hou packs his film with plenty of his own.

With its long takes and dedramatized plot, "Café Lumière" requires patience and attention, both of which will be richly rewarded by this warm, lyrical film that is both homage to Ozu and uniquely Hou. You don't have to know Ozu to appreciate this film.

Video

The film is presented in anamorphic 1.78:1 aspect ratio. The colors are sharper and brighter than on many other Wellspring transfers though the image quality can only be described as average. A few scenes look a bit soft but overall it's an acceptable transfer.

Audio

The DVD is presented in Dolby Digital Stereo. Optional English subtitles support the audio which is in Japanese.

Extras

The DVD includes interview with: actress Yo Hitoto (9min.), actor Tadanobu Asano (9 min.) and director Hou (8 min.)

The most significant extra is a long video documentary (59 min.) called "Metro Lumière." Narrated with the kind of breathless hyperbole that only the French are allowed to get away with, the documentary compares the work of both Ozu and Hou. This is the first chance I've had to listen to Hou speak at length and he's a fascinating man. There's a surprising amount of substance to this documentary.

Closing Thoughts

For about six months in 2004, I couldn't pick up an issue of Film Comment or Cineaste without reading an article by a critic bemoaning the fact that "Café Lumière" didn't get an American distributor. Some writers even called it the greatest undistributed film in years. Since then I've been eager to see it: it was worth the wait. In the battle of contemporary Taiwan auteurs, I have always favored Tsai over Hou (though I like both quite a bit), but this is easily the most impressive, engaging Hou film I have seen to date.