An earlier, sterner Ozu, this feels like watching the roots of his later masterpieces take shape under stricter conditions. The familiar concerns are all here—family, duty, and the slow passing of time—but There Was a Father treats them with less warmth and more severity. I wasn’t swept away by it, but it lingered in that quietly insistent Ozu way.
The father-son relationship gives it a different emotional texture from the later films built around daughters, marriage, and domestic change. Here, love is expressed through restraint, sacrifice, and a near-heroic refusal to say what anyone actually feels. It is, in its own reserved way, quietly heartbreaking. Chishu Ryu is superb at the centre of it, seeming to age before your eyes as responsibility and time steadily wear him down.
Made in 1942, the wartime atmosphere lingers in the background: responsibility first, self second, feelings pushed firmly to the bottom of the drawer. Ozu’s calm framing and immaculate manners keep everything poised, but the sadness still gets through. Not top-tier Ozu for me, perhaps because the severity keeps it at arm’s length, yet it leaves behind that familiar Ozu feeling: sadness arriving softly, then refusing to leave.