Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth? (1932)
Directed by Yasujirô Ozu

Film Review

In Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth, Yasujirô Ozu returns to many of the themes of his previous films but does so with greater sophistication and insight, an indication of his growing maturity both as a filmmaker and as a student of human nature.  The film was made quickly, within a month, to fill an unplanned break during the shooting of I was Born, But... (1932).  By keeping the expenditure down on this film, Ozu was able to siphon off money for his next project, the far more ambitious Until the Day We Meet Again (1932).  From this, you might conclude that Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth was merely an exercise in cost-cutting necessity; in fact, of all Ozu's silent films, it is one of the most perceptive and endearing - a barbed satire on how the class divisions in modern-day Japan continue to disfigure human relationships and thwart personal happiness.

The scriptwriter Kôgo Noda claims to have taken the story from Old Heidelberg, a German romantic play by Wilhelm Meyer-Förster which was first performed in 1901.  The same play had previously been adapted for cinema by Ernst Lubitsch as The Student Prince (1927).  In common with many of his silent films, Ozu sets the play in an overtly westernised version of his own country - traditional Japanese motifs are present, but these are outnumbered by American cultural influences, most visibly the plethora of signs and film posters written in English.  It may have been the tight time and money constraints that led Ozu to recycle many ideas and plot situations from his previous films, as well as re-using actors he knew and trusted, including his favourites Kinuyo Tanaka, Tatsuo Saitô and Chishû Ryû.

The first part of the film feels like a continuation of I Flunked But... (1930), opening with a similar gang of dancing cheerleaders who ended that earlier film.  Ozu repeats the pattern of his previous student comedies, showing carefree students idling away their time and reserving their ingenuity for cheating in the end-of-term exams.  Again, Ozu takes his inspiration from the great Harold Lloyd, turning in another respectable series of visual gags.  In one scene, two work-shy students are so absorbed in their game of chess (they hold the board in mid-air as they play out-of-doors) that they cannot hear the bell announcing the end of their break.  The bell-ringer who has tried so desperately to attract the students' attention ends up being equally mesmerised by their game.  The exam cheating sequence is virtually identical to that in I Flunked But..., and Ozu even has the gall to repeat it later on in the film, almost shot-for-shot.  Well, if an idea's good enough to use once, it's good enough to use a dozen times...

The illusion that Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth is going to be just another student comedy is brutally dispelled when, almost mid-way into the film, the main character (Tetsuo Horino, played by the highly photogenic Ureo Egawa) learns of the death of his father.  This sudden shift from playful comedy to something that is far darker in tone is a recurring feature of Ozu's later silent films, reflecting the director's own gradual transition from a purveyor of populist comic nonsense to a more serious director with a profound affinity for the small dramas of everyday human experience.  What begins as farce becomes social critique and then poignant melodrama, as Ozu gets to grips with two of his favourite themes: class and modernity.

Where Now Are the Dreams of Youth is among Ozu's most eloquent indictments of Japan's hierarchical class system, perhaps the one aspect of Japanese society that was most resilient to the modernising influences of the West.  At university, the class divisions appear to be temporarily suspended, so that close friendships can be forged between young men from all social spheres.  But after the fateful day of graduation, such friendships can only endure if the class system allows them to.  As the hero of Ozu's film discovers, one's loyalty to one's social class inevitably overrides all other loyalties, including those of friendship.

In this film, Tetsuo's transformation, from carefree student to responsible company boss, mirrors that of Kiichi (a Kendo-loving outsider) in Ozu's previous The Lady and the Beard (1931).  Like Kiichi, Tetsuo has no choice but to give in to social norms if he is to make a success of his life.  Kiichi only has to surrender his beard; Tetsuo must sacrifice something far more important: his former friendships and juvenile illusions.  Both films serve as a subtle metaphor for Japan's modernisation under western influences throughout the 1920s and 30s - as society changes to embrace modernity, old values and old traditions must be discarded.  Such is the price of progress.

It is ironic that the thing which alienates Tetsuo from his college buddies is his decision to offer them jobs in his company.  It is an act of misplaced kindness that rebounds, reinforcing the social barriers between Tetsuo (the boss) and his friends (the grateful workers).  More tragically, Tetsuo's new status robs him of future happiness with the woman he has fallen in love with, a baker's assistant (Shigeko) who naturally cannot hope to marry someone in his elevated position.  When Tetsuo learns that his beloved has chosen instead to marry one of his college pals, he is naturally outraged and sees this as the ultimate betrayal.   In fact, it is merely the unavoidable result of having a flawed social system that impairs the ability of human beings to find true fulfilment in their lives.

Shigeko's selfless abandonment of Tetsuo is a cruel inversion of Tetsuo's earlier spiteful rejection of the 'modern woman' that his uncle has chosen for him as a wife.  In a scene that is reminiscent of Kiichi's initial refusal to discard his beard and outdated garments in The Lady and the Beard, Tetsuo spurns the modern woman because he equates her modernity with shallow vulgarity; he prefers the more traditional Japanese woman, personified by the hard-working, kimono-wearing bakery girl, Shigeko.  Once Tetsuo has taken his rightful place in society, as the immaculately turned out director of a modern corporation, a taste for tradition becomes the one luxury he cannot afford.  He will doubtless marry a modern socialite whose idea of culture extends no further than this season's fashionable adornments.  The film may end on an upbeat note, with Tetsuo apparently having patched up his differences with his old buddies, but the bonhomie now feels forced, tempered with a wistful sense of loss.  As Tetsuo waves goodbye to the bride that was not to be, he appears to be saying farewell to his youth, and the hollow dreams on which it was built.

Film Synopsis

Tetsuo Horino, the spoiled son of an important company director, enjoys a carefree existence at college with his three close friends.  His uncle has chosen a wife for him, a modern girl from a respectable family, but Tetsuo drives her away, as he has already lost his heart to a baker's girl, Shigeko.  When the exams come round, the four friends are confident they can pass by cheating, but this is the time Tetsuo learns that his father has just died.  Not long after he has taken over his father's position as company director, Tetsuo is visited by his three former college buddies who beg him to give them each a job.  Times are hard for graduates and Tetsuo hasn't the heart to turn them away.  But Tetsuo's new status puts a strain on his erstwhile friendships and when he learns that Shigeko intends to marry one of his supposed friends he is outraged...