The first thing that grabbed me was the colour. Kurosawa’s first film in colour doesn’t just use it — he paints with it, turning a shantytown on a rubbish dump into something oddly storybook. Even the title is part of the game: “dodes’ka-den” is an invented tram-rattle, and the boy “drives” his imaginary streetcar like he’s got a timetable to keep.
What surprised me is how Kurosawa shoots him — with the confidence and clarity you often get in a Western. He’s a figure moving through a territory, and the world seems arranged around his path. The film leans into mythmaking rather than realism — Toru Takemitsu’s score helps, and so does the way Kurosawa places people like figures in a tableau.
It’s an oddity: loose and overstuffed, funny until it suddenly isn’t, with one late tonal lurch that’s pure whiplash. Knowing its box-office failure fed into Kurosawa’s 1971 attempted suicide adds a shadow, but the film keeps finding beauty where most of us look away.