Reflections on Donald Richie's Film Criticism

Like many Japanese cinephiles, I was saddened to hear about the passing of writer and film critic Donald Richie at the age of 88. By all appearances, he lived a full and varied life, but it is still a source of sadness to lose such an esteemed figure. Japanese film critic, Tadao Sato, credits Richie for championing Yasujiro Ozu's work in the West. The charms of Ozu's films are so subtle, it is easy to imagine how they might have slipped into obscurity on all but the domestic front had they not had such a tireless advocate in Richie.

Thanks to Richie, a number of Ozu's films were entered in European film competitions, which surely helped raise the director's profile abroad. In my case though, the film critic who had the greatest impact on my introduction to Ozu was Audie Bock, whose outstanding book, Japanese Film Directors (1979), convinced me that there was far more to Japanese cinema than Akira Kurosawa, and that I would be remiss if I didn't broaden and deepen my exploration of the tradition. As much as I owe Bock, it is important to acknowledge Richie. While his efforts to spread the gospel about Japanese cinema reached me indirectly, they reached me nonetheless.

In 2002, Richie published 100 Years of Japanese Film, an enjoyable introduction not only to Japanese film, but to Japanese film history (academics may prefer his Japanese Film: Art and Industry (1959, 1983)). The back of the book contained a useful collection of capsule reviews of many Japanese films that were available on DVD at the time of publication. While this opened welcome paths for exploration, Richie's dismissive appraisal of Masaki Kobayashi's Kwaidan rankled me then as much as it does today. Describing it as "gorgeous pageantry, but paper thin," I felt that Richie was overlooking much of the symbolic significance buried in the movie. Comparing this comment to Richie's rhapsodizing about Ozu's work, I concluded, whether fairly or not, that he had a bias toward more naturalistic films.

Whether there is something to my claim or not matters little in a larger context. The best film critics make their critical stance clear over time, inadvertently helping us develop our own as we read more reviews and watch more films. As we better understand our respective biases, it becomes easier to gauge whether or not two hours with a movie would be wisely invested based on our reactions to the opinions expressed by respected critics.

Many obituaries about Richie referenced his classic The Inland Sea, a travelogue set in the channel separating the islands of Honshu and Shikoku. While I never read the book, I did enjoy the documentary he made that was inspired by it. It's the type of love letter to a favoured part of Japan every long term resident wishes they had the leverage to make, and it is worth seeing even if it is not your personal haunt.

While I feel a real sense of loss at Richie's passing despite never having met him, I will continue to enjoy my minor disagreements with him. In fact, I have drafted a post sharing some qualms I have with his commentary of Mikio Naruse's When a Woman Ascends the Stairs. I hope he wouldn't have minded.