We
learn how the story will end early on in Throne of Blood, as the forest
spirit tells Washizu and Miki (Toshiro Mifune and Akira Kubo) their fates.
Because this story was written by a human being, it would seem to go against
the rules of storytelling to reveal the ending so early. This device echoes
back to the original Shakespeare play the film is based on, the Greek tragedies
which inspired Shakespeare, and even further into the oral traditions of the
obscure past. The point is not that we know the ending—it’s that nature is
unstoppbable, and so is our fate. Storytelling is a constructed, mortal device,
and Mother Nature doesn’t care about its boundaries.
Throne of Blood takes this paradigm further by telling the ancient story of Man vs. Nature in a uniquely cinematic way. Kurosawa begins the film at a breakneck pace, with soldier after soldier delivering messages of conquest to the high lords. Washizu and Miki set out to join this conquest, and the brisk pace of the film is ceased by them encountering the forest spirit, who spends a considerable length of time singing a prophetic song to the two men. This sets the pattern for the rest of the film; the men will meet nature, which will move things along at its own pace, and the men can do nothing to prevent it.
During the indoor scenes, most of which center around Washizu and Asaji, the actors’ movements are more controlled and rigid. It is always quiet, free of natural white noise. It is during these scenes that Asaji implores Washizu to act on his fate, to use his will to try and alter it. One of them stands and the other sits, but also very often, their two forms are touching on the screen, seeming to combine in one entity. Lady Asaji Washizu (Isuzu Yamada) barely blinks or moves during these scenes, seeming to be speaking under a trance. In these scenes, she is unknowingly sealing Washizu’s fate by inciting him to act. It is likely she does not know she is working as an agent of the forest spirit.
The shots in Throne of Blood are so carefully constructed; it looks as if Kurosawa wanted them to feel artificial. Many scenes are composed as two- or three-shots, with one-third of the frame sometimes occupied by empty space; an early scene in which Washizu and Miki rest, when they meet the forest spirit, when they are dubbed lords and walk down the aisle together, are a few select moments in Throne of Blood that follow this style of framing. This careful construction of the visual scheme of the film could underline humanity’s need for order, or it could suggest that nature ultimately has a point, a grand design, a pattern to it. Considering that the message of the film is dependent on nature being chaotic and cruel, one may assume the latter. In this paradigm, the perfectionist cinematography becomes yet another artifice to be weathered away by nature, represented in the climactic shot of the forest marching toward Spider’s Web castle.
Throne of Blood takes this paradigm further by telling the ancient story of Man vs. Nature in a uniquely cinematic way. Kurosawa begins the film at a breakneck pace, with soldier after soldier delivering messages of conquest to the high lords. Washizu and Miki set out to join this conquest, and the brisk pace of the film is ceased by them encountering the forest spirit, who spends a considerable length of time singing a prophetic song to the two men. This sets the pattern for the rest of the film; the men will meet nature, which will move things along at its own pace, and the men can do nothing to prevent it.
During the indoor scenes, most of which center around Washizu and Asaji, the actors’ movements are more controlled and rigid. It is always quiet, free of natural white noise. It is during these scenes that Asaji implores Washizu to act on his fate, to use his will to try and alter it. One of them stands and the other sits, but also very often, their two forms are touching on the screen, seeming to combine in one entity. Lady Asaji Washizu (Isuzu Yamada) barely blinks or moves during these scenes, seeming to be speaking under a trance. In these scenes, she is unknowingly sealing Washizu’s fate by inciting him to act. It is likely she does not know she is working as an agent of the forest spirit.
The shots in Throne of Blood are so carefully constructed; it looks as if Kurosawa wanted them to feel artificial. Many scenes are composed as two- or three-shots, with one-third of the frame sometimes occupied by empty space; an early scene in which Washizu and Miki rest, when they meet the forest spirit, when they are dubbed lords and walk down the aisle together, are a few select moments in Throne of Blood that follow this style of framing. This careful construction of the visual scheme of the film could underline humanity’s need for order, or it could suggest that nature ultimately has a point, a grand design, a pattern to it. Considering that the message of the film is dependent on nature being chaotic and cruel, one may assume the latter. In this paradigm, the perfectionist cinematography becomes yet another artifice to be weathered away by nature, represented in the climactic shot of the forest marching toward Spider’s Web castle.
Kurosawa makes interesting use of
negative space. All of the scenes with Washizu and Asaji feature them walking
around a room, empty but for the two of them, as they express their thoughts
out loud. Since this is not a literal adaptation of life, Kurosawa focuses our attention
on just these two subjects. Their thoughts are the only matter of importance at
the moment. When Asaji convinces Washizu to murder the Great Lord, there are
brief cross-cuts to the Great Lord’s three guards. The three guards sit in a
perfect row of three, with blank, unadorned walls behind them. Washizu is only
considering them; the limited perspective of humanity can only see what is in
front of them. In these selfish matters of hubris, one cannot see far.
Bryan Parker compares Throne of
Blood’s visual style to a suiboko-ga painting: “Characteristically,
suiboko-ga leaves large areas of its picture blank, stimulating a large sense
of mystery and distanced universality, and such aporia are represented in the
film by the blanketing grey fogs and swirls of sulphur fumes and obscuring rain
that block out parts of many of the frames” (511).
The omnipresent fog also behaves like a negative space. If Washizu is an archetype for humanity, then the fog represents the limits of his perspective, and our own. There are subtle clues that what we are seeing is what Washizu is seeing; the moment he rides the coffin of the Great Lord to Miki’s castle, he and Miki are filmed in a two-shot as usual, but this time Miki takes up slightly more space on the screen than Washizu. At this point, Washizu has been told by Asaji to murder Miki and take his place. When he sees Miki in person, his eyes tell us he sees Miki as a threat. Through purely visual language, the film has foreshadowed Miki’s demise.
The omnipresent fog also behaves like a negative space. If Washizu is an archetype for humanity, then the fog represents the limits of his perspective, and our own. There are subtle clues that what we are seeing is what Washizu is seeing; the moment he rides the coffin of the Great Lord to Miki’s castle, he and Miki are filmed in a two-shot as usual, but this time Miki takes up slightly more space on the screen than Washizu. At this point, Washizu has been told by Asaji to murder Miki and take his place. When he sees Miki in person, his eyes tell us he sees Miki as a threat. Through purely visual language, the film has foreshadowed Miki’s demise.
The image of the forest rolling
across the fog, itself symbolic of Washizu’s perception, evokes the indomitable
force of nature that creeps in even through layers of artifice the characters
and film makers have constructed. In this representation of a legend, the
characters try to separate themselves from even the representation of the
forest. All of this is presented to us in the form of an artificial film,
purely constructed. Even so, in the moments the walking forest fills the
screen, the trees sway with shapeless grace in the obscuring fog. The shot is
filmed in slow motion denote a higher level of perception, and we can feel the
essence of the trees carried on men’s backs. It’s an elegant image with no
contrivances that conveys the message of the movie with almost psychic significance,
in a way unique to the medium of film. It’s pure cinema.
The fact that this force of nature
is delivered by an army of men carrying trees on their backs underlines the
central theme in Throne of Blood. The sequence is a criticism of mankind
abusing the resources of nature for petty gain, in this case the conquest of a
castle that will inevitably fade into dust. The image presents Mother Nature as
“indifferent, both encouraging human ambition, and mocking it. The forest
breeds growth, but also confusion and futility (Jorgens 170).”
Works Cited
Parker,
Brian. "Nature And Society In Akira Kurosawa's Throne Of Blood."
University Of Toronto Quarterly
66.3 (1997): 508-525. Academic Search Premier. Web. 23 Jan. 2014.
Jorgens,
Jack J. "Kurosawa's Throne Of Blood: Washizu And Miki Meet The Forest
Spirit." Literature Film
Quarterly 11.3 (1983): 167. Academic Search Premier. Web. 23 Jan. 2014.
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