Kwaidan

Masaki Kobayashi, 1964,
This visually wondrous film is shot in Tohoscope, and uses this among other particularly distinctive devices. In long shots (though it moves more into close work) we have wonderful floating tracks, along and often in, though sometimes out. In fact this entire film has a sort of floating, slow, deliberate but elegant quality to it. A high angle is often used, often about 12 feet high, though mixing it up. The blocking of the actors often works in diagonals to get the most out of this.
The characters seem to float around, as though in water, the lack of sharp movement enhanced by the body-covering costumes. I cannot remember a film to the extent that the air seems to be filmed; it is thick, it is in the weather, the wind, objects being blown, how the action wades through it.
One of the most impressive things about this film is how the various devices used serve a common purpose, this kind of 'floating' that is formally and thematically the film. It can be noticed in the lighting, which is high key, with barely a moment when any part of the set is utterly obscured by shadows. It looks, and is surely intended to, very much like a studio, a fake world where these episodes play out. It is the usual rule; head-on key-lights are creepy, and this film is uncanny.
The colours further enhance this. Started by the wonderful, nonrealistic paintings of the backdrops, we have heavy saturation, even for the dull colours, in tightly worked out colour schemes, with a maximum number of colours at each moment. These are strong and clear. We move from sun, to snow, to autumn, to rain, through night, through fog, and all around. The remarkable mis-en-scene can change in a cut, or even mid-take, the lighting and make-up changing dramatically, in a way that is startling, but also slightly fateful; this film is much too slow burning to try to make you jump.
Indeed, the sound is wonderfully used to further all the above elements. With the normal sounds as sharp music or screen noises, always crisp, no unnecessary covering background, in the moments of faster movement or stronger action the notion of direct sound completely goes; presumably to add to this 'floatiness', the translucent depth, I keep harping on about. As near silence, or stylised slow tones warm us, the action becomes very different, the man in pain looks different. The voiceover contributes to this. As well as set-up, it lets us know, in its authoritative way, that here we see tales, and distances us, making us consider and be not quite sure of which world we enter. Also notice how evaluative judgements are made by the voiceover on the action.
Thematically, each of the four episodes is circular, ending where it began. There are clear connections across them, in individual objects (sandals, writing) and in themes (trust, a betrayed love). We have here the indeterminability and indefatigability of the past; its capacity to creep up and deconstruct the present; the ghosts of this film are always there. Visually compelling, with indivdual sequences and scenes of great originality, power and beauty.