| Dan Howard |
A Hen in the Wind plays in glorious 35mm at the Trylon Cinema from Friday, May 8th, through Sunday, May 10th. For tickets, showtimes, and other series information, visit trylon.org.
Since the end of World War II, hundreds of, if not over a thousand, films have been made about it, capturing varying themes from fighting on the front lines, infiltrating the Third Reich, the effect of the war on innocent bystanders, etc. Yet, the WWII films I find myself drawn to are the ones containing smaller, more personal stories of the folks living, or having lived, through the war—the emotional and psychological scars of the survivors and the decimated cities alike. The after-effects of the war leave deep wounds, asking what we have to do to survive and how can reconcile and forgive each other for those desperate decisions. A Hen in the Wind is such a story, investigating how that could happen between a husband and wife.
Set in the immediate aftermath of World War II, A Hen in the Wind follows Tokiko (Kinuyo Tanaka) awaits the return of her husband, Shuichi (Shūji Sano) from his combat military service abroad. While working as a dressmaker and finding support in her friend and former co-worker, Akiko (Chieko Murata), Tokiko finds her son, Hiroshi, has fallen ill. Though he recovers quickly, the hospital bills end up being more than Tokiko can handle. In an act of desperation, she sells her body for a single night. Once Shuichi returns home and discovers what his wife has done, the couple must reconcile each other’s past choices in order to repair their marriage.
Since the first time I saw the film, I always wondered what exactly the meaning of the title, A Hen in the Wind, means. Considering that Tokiko faces a harsh environment and circumstances out of her control, she is like the Hen caught in a mighty wind who can’t quite catch herself and fly, or rise above her situation. Tokiko wants to be a good mother and wife, lead a respectable life, and, of course, stay loyal to her husband. The stark realities of a post-WWII Japan prove that that old-fashioned family life gives Tokiko no choice but to set her morals aside to ensure her family can stay afloat. Which means selling her body for one night. With hearing perspectives ranging from “everyone’s doing it” to “how could you think of betraying your husband like this?”, it’s no surprise that Tokiko’s difficult choice splits her spirit in two, even more when she decides not to hide the facts from her husband.
The revelation of Tokiko’s act of desperation hits Shuichi hard. We start to simultaneously sympathize with both Shuichi and Tokiko until things take a dark turn. Shuichi rapes his wife in front of their sleeping child, then takes off, leaving Tokiko to wallow in her emotions. Here, the story takes an interesting turn. In a move that’s typically out of the ordinary for an Ozu narrative, the film gives us something we don’t see often in cinema: the plot focus shifts entirely to Shuichi for the remainder of the film. Using this split perspective, Ozu slowly peels back the layers of Shuichi’s inner turmoil having survived the horrors of war. Undoubtedly, Ozu had heard stories from loved ones and close friends about how different the soldiers were upon returning from service; who start acting in a manner that is far outside of themselves, becoming angry, irrational, etc. While, of course, this doesn’t excuse Shuichi’s actions, the film doesn’t reveal any of the possible terrible things he may have done to ensure his survival and return home. Only when he does return home, the war is not yet over for him and his family.
Shuichi struggles to come to terms with his wife’s decision and gets the idea to visit the brothel where Tokiko went. There, he meets a 21-year-old sex worker Fusako (Chiyoko Ayatani). While sex work has become a less socially stigmatized way to earn a living, in 1940s Japan, sex workers, were considered scum. It was unfathomable that Tokiko would stoop so low. Yet, upon getting to know Fusako, Shuichi becomes more sympathetic and compassionate towards her. He sees her for her heart, not for how she chooses to use her body. Unfortunately, his compassion stalls when he’s prompted to apply the same understanding towards Tokiko.
How can Tokiko and Shuichi reconcile each other’s actions?
The severity of what Shuichi did to his wife weighs heavily in the film, and while he ensures that the film does not condone rape, Ozu refuses to draw Shuichi as a definitive villain. One big question of the film thus becomes what has Japan truly lost in the war? So often the country preached “purity” to lift up citizens’ spirits. Perhaps Shuichi thought his wife lost her purity because of her decision? Yet Shuichi doesn’t realize his own purity was damaged during his deployment on the front lines. While the two will likely never fully understand each other’s actions, Tokiko pleads that they forgive each other, forget, and move forward to be a happy family again. Shuichi heartily agrees.
Ozu is one of the great masters of taking a simplistic cinematic approach yet incorporating layers of subtle complexity in his works. A Hen in the Wind, although a darker tale compared to family stories like Good Morning, is no different. In the case of this post-WWII family drama, there is no bad-guys-vs-good-guys plot structure. There are only everyday people who make choices they aren’t proud of. Ozu encourages the audience to empathize with both Tokiko and Shuichi, even if you don’t agree with them. He asks us to forget the past, forget the purity lost and show that forgiveness can be the best form of healing. Perhaps A Hen in the Wind is Ozu’s way of resolving his own feelings about the war to start facing the future with hope. As Tokiko and Shuichi seem to find newfound hope at the end of their story, I’d like to think that, for Ozu, it felt like the best way to look towards the horizon for his country and for himself.
Edited by Olga Tchepikova-Treon