Woman of the Dunes is the second film of what I like to call Teshigahara's Trilogy of Identity, preceded by Pitfall and succeeded by The Face of Another. The links these films share is that they're collaborations between Teshigahara, novelist Kobo Abe and composer Toru Takemitsu, they're shot in B&W, and they offer interesting takes on one's identity and how its fragility may be manipulated.
Woman of the Dunes is the best of the trilogy and one of the greatest accomplishments from the Japanese New Wave. The story follows an entomologist getting tricked by the villagers into living with a mysterious widow, and digging up sand for them, which gets sold illegally. The woman's life is doing nothing but digging sand for them, and the protagonist scoffs at that very idea, however he slowly realizes that the life he left back in the city is just as unfulfilling as the eternal sand-digging Sysiphus-style.
He develops Stockholm syndrome and falls in love with the woman. Lots of things happen, and in the end, his personality has completely turned topsy-turvy and is torn to pieces (evidenced via the water ripples in his reflection). He chooses to stay in the dunes, and his name (Jumpei Niki) is revealed through a document appearing on-screen. His opinions on the dullness of city life are apparent in the beginning of the film, where he talks about how in the city the only things that make you a person are certificates, documents, social conventions, papers and more papers. It was evident that nobody in the city cared for him because no one came to search for him later on when he was stuck in the village. Once a prisoner, there were people who acknowledged him, be it the sand woman, or, to a whole different extent, the villagers. Yes, shoveling up sand for days and days only to help his captors is pointless, but the life he left behind gave him even less fulfillment.
There is a lot of visual symbolism. The most obvious example is that throughout the film, Jumpei's figure is shown behind slats and bars, thus symbolizing his captivity (this effect is also used extensively by Yoshida and Kobayashi, who made films more or less at the same time). Notice how the opening credits feature various stamps, grotesque drawings of urban images in midst of sporadically spread lines, resembling a dune swallowing up a city, much like the dune life swallows up a city man. And then of course, there's the insect Niki collects, which actually catches its prey the same way the villagers caught Niki. Masks of all kinds are also used throughout the trilogy.
The marvelous B&W photography of sand is, of course, the most prominent visual motif and perfectly captures the ubiquitous sand's intruding nature. This expresses itself nicely during the extreme face close- ups, where we see the sand accumulated in Niki's and the woman's pores. In the desert, time means nothing yet Niki, coming from a city, checks his watch all the time as a mean to reflect his technical, control freak-like mind.
The performances are marvelous and unforgettable, the locations varied between sandy nothingness and a claustrophobic sand-ridden set, and the most important scenes are slow but they nonetheless stick with you. There's an unique feeling of discomfort felt throughout. It's a wonderful movie, what else to say.
Woman of the Dunes is the best of the trilogy and one of the greatest accomplishments from the Japanese New Wave. The story follows an entomologist getting tricked by the villagers into living with a mysterious widow, and digging up sand for them, which gets sold illegally. The woman's life is doing nothing but digging sand for them, and the protagonist scoffs at that very idea, however he slowly realizes that the life he left back in the city is just as unfulfilling as the eternal sand-digging Sysiphus-style.
He develops Stockholm syndrome and falls in love with the woman. Lots of things happen, and in the end, his personality has completely turned topsy-turvy and is torn to pieces (evidenced via the water ripples in his reflection). He chooses to stay in the dunes, and his name (Jumpei Niki) is revealed through a document appearing on-screen. His opinions on the dullness of city life are apparent in the beginning of the film, where he talks about how in the city the only things that make you a person are certificates, documents, social conventions, papers and more papers. It was evident that nobody in the city cared for him because no one came to search for him later on when he was stuck in the village. Once a prisoner, there were people who acknowledged him, be it the sand woman, or, to a whole different extent, the villagers. Yes, shoveling up sand for days and days only to help his captors is pointless, but the life he left behind gave him even less fulfillment.
There is a lot of visual symbolism. The most obvious example is that throughout the film, Jumpei's figure is shown behind slats and bars, thus symbolizing his captivity (this effect is also used extensively by Yoshida and Kobayashi, who made films more or less at the same time). Notice how the opening credits feature various stamps, grotesque drawings of urban images in midst of sporadically spread lines, resembling a dune swallowing up a city, much like the dune life swallows up a city man. And then of course, there's the insect Niki collects, which actually catches its prey the same way the villagers caught Niki. Masks of all kinds are also used throughout the trilogy.
The marvelous B&W photography of sand is, of course, the most prominent visual motif and perfectly captures the ubiquitous sand's intruding nature. This expresses itself nicely during the extreme face close- ups, where we see the sand accumulated in Niki's and the woman's pores. In the desert, time means nothing yet Niki, coming from a city, checks his watch all the time as a mean to reflect his technical, control freak-like mind.
The performances are marvelous and unforgettable, the locations varied between sandy nothingness and a claustrophobic sand-ridden set, and the most important scenes are slow but they nonetheless stick with you. There's an unique feeling of discomfort felt throughout. It's a wonderful movie, what else to say.