The husband, the wife… or the bandit? Four people recount different versions of the story of a man’s murder and the rape of his wife.
Written by Dean Zarbaugh II
Akira Kurosawa is one of my top 5 favorite filmmakers of all time alongside Steven Spielberg, Werner Herzog and Martin Scorsese to name a few. His films have had a huge impact on me not only as a writer and a director, but as a fan of films in general. His filmography covers a wide range of topics and themes. Truly one of my biggest inspirations in the film industry. His stories stand the test of time, and are equally as powerful today as they were when they were made. One of his numerous crowning achievements is the classic Rashomon. Its impact on cinema cannot be stressed enough. He revolutionized storytelling in a way that is still being felt today. Let’s get into the film, shall we?
Rashomon, Kurosawa’s powerful tale about a man’s murder and the rape of his wife in 11th century Japan, is told through multiple viewpoints, each having distinct differences in their accounts of how the events play out. We hear from Tajōmaru, the bandit accused of committing the rape and murder, the wife who is attacked, the ghost of the murdered samurai and a woodcutter who finds the body of the samurai in the forest. They are all unreliable narrators, using the opportunity in their testimony to paint different pictures of the events, as it is retold throughout the film. Kurosawa’s use of this non-linear approach was a bold storytelling strategy at the time, and it became known as the “Rashomon Effect” to the countless films and filmmakers that it inspired.
In the film Kurosawa explores the theme of truth, and how it can be distorted depending on who tells the story and what they want to accomplish by telling the story. For example, “history is written by the victors.” When reading accounts of events told from the winning party, they are likely distorted versions of events to make themselves look stronger, and the vanquished look weaker. We’ve seen it countless times throughout the centuries, and Kurosawa strips it down to its bones for Rashomon.
There’s Tajōmaru’s account of the events for example. The way he tells the story, he comes off as a strong and slick bandit who lures an inferior samurai away from his wife with the promise of buried treasure. Successfully tricking his opponent with his cunning, he ties up the samurai and returns for his “reward” by seducing the samurai’s wife with his bravery, wit and charm. She then asks him to fight her husband and she will stay with the winner. Upon the swift defeat of the samurai, Tajōmaru returns to find that the wife has fled.
Masago, the wife, being a victim of Tajōmaru’s heinous crime obviously recounts things much differently. In her version of events, he is portrayed as a stark raving mad lunatic with a lust for rape and murder who incapacitates her husband while he ruthlessly attacks her. Afterwards, her husband can only show her sadness, contempt, and a cold, indifferent stare which only adds insult to injury. Still, she frees her husband from his bonds. She inches closer to the samurai, pointing the dagger at him before fainting. She wakes up to find the dagger has been plunged into her husband’s chest with no memory of what happened.
Through a Shinto medium, the dead samurai gives his account of events, which again differs wildly from the previous two. Here, Tajōmaru proposes marriage to Masago after attacking her, and she accepts, but only if Tajōmaru kills her husband for her. Shocked at her sudden ruthlessness, Tajōmaru gives her husband the option to let her go or kill her, however she breaks free and flees with Tajōmaru giving chase. When he returns, he releases the samurai who promptly kills himself with his wife’s dagger.
But which one is the truth? We are never given an objective account of the events, and that’s the point. What is truth, except events seen through the lens of our own perception/bias? Even the woodcutter’s “true” version of the events at the end of the film is a story that allows him and others to save face while stroking his own ego. If you ask a hundred witnesses to an event to describe it for you after the fact, you are going to get a hundred wildly different accounts of the same event, all of them demanding that their account is the objective truth. We all see things in different ways, and that is never made clearer than in Rashomon.
Faith, pride, shame, and morality are also themes that Kurosawa masterfully weaves throughout the film and makes you examine the story again through multiple viewings to fully appreciate. The priest has his faith crushed upon seeing what humans are capable of doing to one another, but has it restored in the end when the woodcutter agrees to raise an infant abandoned at the Rashomon gate as one of his own. Masago struggles with pride and shame after her attack, and in at least one version turns on her husband for his disownment of her. Kurosawa proves his mastery of storytelling with this all-time classic.
The cast consisting of Toshirō Mifune, Machiko Kyō, Masayuki Mori, Taskashi Shimura, and Minoru Chiaki shine. The Mifune, Kyō and Mori trio especially stand out, playing the same event in drastically different ways. Mifune oscillates between a stark raving mad animal with a lust for murder and conquering women, and a brilliant, cunning outlaw, one step ahead of everyone. In the hands of less capable actors, emotional swings like that can spell disaster. To Toshirō Mifune, it’s a walk in the park.
Similarly, Machiko Kyō’s portrayal of Masago spans the entire gamut of emotions. In the dead samurai’s version of events, she gleefully accepts Tajōmaru’s proposal, in exchange for killing her husband for disowning her after Tajōmaru’s attack. A character that was seen as quiet and docile in other accounts is now giving orders to her husband and her attacker. Like Mifune, she rises to the occasion and shines.
Masayuki Mori’s portrayal of the samurai is another masterclass in acting, playing the samurai as stoic, fearful, and disgusted with ease. He is an incredible actor with a range of abilities that keep you glued to his performance.
As always, Kurosawa and cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa create some beautiful imagery behind the camera. As much as the acting differs from story to story, so does the camera movements and blocking. It’s a brilliant use of storytelling with imagery. Kurosawa’s use of long sequences without dialogue allows the impeccable camerawork and framing to tell the story. The gorgeous cinematography stands in stark contrast to the darker elements of the story.
Each location has their own unique look and feel to them. At the Rashomon gate, it is bleak and rainy. Not a light drizzle, either. The rain comes down in sheets of water, pinning the woodcutter and monk at the gate with a commoner who they tell their story to. In the forest, he juxtaposes the beautiful scenery with the harsh brutality of the attack and murder. The use of light and darkness, especially in the forest reflects the obscurity of truth in the different accounts of the events.
Almost 80 years later, Rashomon remains one of the greatest cinematic achievements of the 20th century to the point that it has been copied and parodied many times over, but still stands tall above them all. Even The Simpson’s expertly references the film, that’s how large of an impact Rashomon has had on films and pop culture in general. It is one of the most important films ever made and a must see for any fan of cinema.
FINAL MARKS: A+
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