MovieChat Forums > Rashômon (1951) Discussion > Structural Issues

Structural Issues

posted 9 years ago by molypocho
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The real problem with Rashômon lies in its structure. The movie's structure relies on having the same story retold by four different people. This yields interesting results because we are allowed to learn about each character's concerns and feelings through the version they relate. I don't really know whose story comes closest to the truth, but the last story, told by an unbiased witness to the drama, is the most powerful. The principle emotion expressed in this film is shame. In so far as the movie expresses how shame cripples humanity, it is incendiary.

My rating: 9

If the movie had ended in the forest after the final fight between the samurai and the bandit, then I would have rated it a 10. Initially I believed Kurosawa did not end the film there because he found the message too bleak. But now I believe that Kurosawa was hindered by the movie's structural reliance on unbiased observers. He began the movie with the unbiased observers, and to end the story without returning to them would felt unbalanced or poorly executed. So he elected to return to the unbiased observers in order to tie up his loose threads. That makes sense, I would have done the same thing. The problem is that the unbiased observes are unbiased: by their very nature, they lack inner conflict integral to the story: they're boring. Kurosawa tries to mend things by plopping a symbol of humanity (the baby) in their laps, but the effort comes off as heavy-handed. As a result Rashomon's cleverest feature, its conflict of narrative, becomes its Achilles heel.

[–] Kotenks 9 years ago

But the last storyteller, the wood cutter, is not biased. In his version of the story he downplays the existence of the dagger which he likely sold. If you end on the final fight in the forest, it implies that that scene is the objective truth. I think that is the reason we must go back to the observers to end the film. By seeing the woodcutter be called out by the commoner as a thief, his version of the story is also called into question. The nature of the film is the subjectivity of story-telling and how facts are twisted to become serve the purposes of the story-teller. For all we know the woodcutter may not have six children. He may have grabbed the baby to save face with the priest. The final look that he gives as he walks away does not inspire much confidence in the truth of his story. I do agree with you that the ending of the movie is far too heavy-handed with its message. I was taken out of the movie by the sudden appearance of this baby.

[–] molypocho 9 years ago

But the last storyteller, the wood cutter, is not biased

You mean "[the last storyteller] is biased", right?

I agree he is biased. But his being biased is only another heavy-handed attempt to give him the inner conflict he lacks. In my opinion, his being biased kinda muddles the final sword fight's potential. Instead of being shocked by the ugly truth, we're always left questioning, thinking something like, "oh yeah, but maybe that super-duper powerful scene was just another worthless lie". It's the movie being too clever for its own good.

The nature of the film is the subjectivity of story-telling and how facts are twisted to become serve the purposes of the story-teller.

I disagree. I think a clever feature of the film "is the subjectivity of story-telling and how facts are twisted to become serve the purposes of the story-teller", but I think the film's essence is shame.

[–] billheron53 9 years ago

Shame is indeed a central thread in Rashomon. But the woodcutter lacks “inner conflict”? It is the inner turmoil of the woodcutter and the priest that provides the overall arc of the film! It begins with those two sitting dejected in the Rashomon gatehouse, brooding over what they have heard that morning. As they relate it to the commoner we learn that they have listened to two horrible men lie about what happened in a grove in the forest.*

The woodcutter is utterly confounded. He cannot understand why the bandit claims responsibility for a murder he did not commit. He cannot understand why the samurai does not identify and bring his murderer to justice. The priest is appalled that they would lie about murder. This is so much worse than the horrors of the time that he is afraid he is losing his “faith in the human soul.”

The anguish of the woodcutter comes from the fact that he, too, is a liar. He lied to the court, concealing that he picked over the murder scene and stole the dagger. And when the commoner appears to be figuring this out, the woodcutter desperately concocts an elaborate lie to assert that there was no dagger. But the commoner is not fooled, and the woodcutter experiences what the bandit and the samurai were not capable of: shame. The cynical commoner laughs derisively and slaps the woodcutter, who hangs his head.

To make things worse, when the woodcutter reaches to take the baby, the priest recoils, assuming the woodcutter would steal from the infant. The woodcutter looks deeply hurt.
But the woodcutter explains his intentions, and the priest recognizes that, in the midst of all the horror he has seen, the woodcutter has a moral compass and has displayed some common decency.

The torment the two of them had felt is resolved. The priest thanks the woodcutter for restoring his “faith in man.” The woodcutter is relieved that this man he respects sees past his petty crime and recognizes his goodness. They bow to one another, and bow a second time as the woodcutter walks into the sunlight with a look of contentment on his face.

Yes, the appearance of the baby may be a little contrived, but it is needed to conclude the primary story, and it is no more of a storytelling contrivance than the appearance of the commoner, who hears and responds to the contained story of the murder enquiry while he dries out, and who then leaves before the rain has stopped.

*It is not enough for the bandit that he has succeeded in outwitting the samurai. He wants to cement his reputation for fierceness and sexual prowess. He lies about defeating the samurai in a challenging duel. He lies about the woman submitting to him. He is proud—not ashamed—to be thought a murderer. The samurai is humiliated that he was rendered helpless by a common brigand. To draw attention away from his greed, his stupidity, his utter failure to protect his wife, and to gain sympathy, he portrays her as treacherous and unfaithful. And he further fabricates a story that gives him the only kind of death that is not dishonourable for him.