‘The Works and Days’ REVIEW: An 8-hour visual-auditory piece to contemplate on the fragility of life
‘The Works and Days’ REVIEW: An 8-hour visual-auditory piece to contemplate on the fragility of life
Later in the afternoon, Tokyo Story was playing on TV, so I watched it. As I watched the film, it made me feel that it’s sad to get old in any period of time. At the end of the day, it’s one’s own feelings that remain and matter. But the heart becomes timid. And it can’t be helped that bodies get worn out.
The Works and Days (of Tayoko Shiojiri in the Shiotani Basin) begins to seek for our time, for us to ponder life's fragility, though somewhat intimidating due to its runtime, a hefty eight hours, those eager to offer their time will be more than gratified. The Works and Days don't have much to offer in terms of its narrative, it is after all just about the life of a farmer living in a small rural area. But this is what's special about it, the monotonous, mundane, and somewhat melancholic life of the old woman is something reminiscent of Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman with the styles and techniques akin to Ozu.
You subject yourself into this eight-hour film that is divided into five chapters, each chapter representing a different season, and as the seasons change, the sounds of nature change too. You watch Tayoko meticulously maintain her house, plow the neighboring fields, and watch her engage with locals and visiting relatives, all the while caring for her ill partner Junji. At one point, you may even wonder if this is a documentary or a work of fiction, and the answer is a bit more intricate: The dynamic and unusual presentation of an ordinarily unseen and personal daily life unfolds as part of an enormous memorial reconstruction effort. The directors, Edström and Winter, shot the film as plainly and practically as it can be, welcoming us into this family portrait. The film is indeed about the real-life Tayoko Shiojiri, and it is herself in the film, but the story is a recreation of her life, about the regrets of chances not taken, about being free from her parents and actually pursuing the things she enjoys, about caring for her husband in his final days when she couldn't in real life. The film's narrations are all taken directly from Tayoko's personal diary and over the course of eight-hours, the film explores the environment she’s in and the interpersonal connection and interaction amongst the locals of the Shiotani Basin.
The Works and Days unfolds both as a structuralist film about the rural area in the manner of a James Benning film, as well as a daily portrait of an elderly woman shaped by the same place that has become a cultural and social component of her life. It's an intimate look at a rapidly dwindling sense of living. Poignant and profound in its manner. Naturalistic dialogues about existence, labor, sorrows, and satisfaction are all conveyed poetically and delicately, uniquely and blissfully, pulling you further into its mundane feeling. Each shot is contemplative, and the visuals make you feel as though you're immersed in an ecological experience, with seeds of meaningful wisdom poking through the fog of everyday life. Sumptuous imagery of landscapes; rivers, trees, and fields that shift in intensity and quality according to the seasons are juxtaposed with the ordinary, warm, friendly and above all familiar sights of Shiojiri’s family. The soundscape, letting you be engulfed as the film eventually pulls you into its embrace; the sounds of winds blowing, the sounds of the forests, birds, and the cicadas, all throughout the different seasons, are an auditory experience.
The structure of the film is so meticulous and conscientious that the intermissions themselves become an integral part of the experience. They seamlessly cut through the flow of days and highlight the progress between chapters, while also allowing the spectator to form a sort of self-reflection of themselves, similar to that which unfolds on the screen; and once you come back from the intermissions, the screen invariably remains black for several long minutes, and during these moments, we are invited to reinvest ourselves into the world of the film, gently, like an awakening, accompanied by the sensory-stimulating environmental soundscapes and ambient elements. Sometimes, it is the runoff of the rain that envelops the space, as if we are slipping into a warm bath. Later, it is a low frequency, heavy and daunting, which pushes the spectator into the hollow of the chapters and underlines an upheaval in the continuation of the days.
There aren't enough words to adequately describe this film; it must be seen and experienced to be fully appreciated. Winter and Edström created an astonishing film that can hold nothing less than a lifetime. The ingenuity of the techniques, and the multiplicity of approaches and analogies, the melancholic and gloomy, yet also soothing and comforting feeling distinguishes The Works and Days from other ultra-long films whose duration sometimes feels like an intentional effort of animosity towards the audience. You immerse yourself for eight hours in a little place and never get accustomed to it; there's always something novel every time you go back, and you're always looking at things differently, and when it ends, it feels bittersweet. The Works and Days above all is a poem—an epic poem seeking to go beyond life; it is monumental and undoubtedly one of those rare films to contain just everything in life.
