I watched The Idiot (1951)

"I get a peculiar feeling when I'm looking at you. A tender feeling, like I'm looking at a newborn lamb. Well, I'm off. The world's full of wolves. Be careful."

For a long time now I’ve been tormented by a certain idea, but I’ve been afraid to make a novel out of it, because the thought is too difficult, and I’m not ready for it, though it’s thoroughly tempting thought and I love it. The idea is — to portray a perfectly beautiful man. Nothing, in my opinion, can be more difficult than that, especially in our time. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky, in a letter to Apollon Maikov, January 12, 1868

Growing up I always heard people talking about Kurosawa: he inspired the Western, Clint Eastwood, George Lucas, changed how films were shot, one of the best ever, one the greats; but always in context of works that were reactions to him: watching The Magnificent Seven someone says it's a copy of Seven Samurai; never does anyone actually put on or want to watch his films. So I finally decided to take it on myself: Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, Sanjuro... and then I spotted a title I hadn't heard of, "The Idiot", an adaptation of Fyodor Dostoyevsky's 1868-69 novel, it hardly seems to fit among this lauded samurai filmography.

To me one of Kurosawa's most striking decisions in his films is the way he lingers: in Yojimbo we spend twice as much time watching Mifune drink in silence than is given to the climactic battle. The composition of The Idiot is like a genius who hasn't yet toned down their own taste to fit the public appeal, from the shot choices and contrasting interplay of close-ups and shots taken from behind a group of eavesdroppers, down to the performance of Masayuki Mori, who embodies the titular character (a man with epileptic dementia) with an almost desperate need to be understood that leaves him searching for the right words, while all those around him fill his silence with their own beliefs and motivations. Costars Mifune, Setsuko Hara, and Yoshiko Kuga all play their parts beautifully, equally awed by, in love with, protective of, and even enraged, by Masayuki's Kameda.

One of the most important scenes comes nearly an hour and half into the 165 minute (cut by the studio from 265!) runtime, as Kameda leaves Mifune's Akama with his permission to pursue the woman they both desire to marry, Setsuko's Nasu Taeko. As Kameda walks through the streets of Sapporo Kurosawa delivers a masterpiece, inviting us into the mind of the character and the millions of others who suffer from sensitivity to overstimulation due to illness. Repeating shots with intentionally poor chronology, the jingling of bells, and rising strings that carry a pitch not out of place in the climax of a Hitchcock thriller, the visible and fearful discomfort in Masayuki's face and body language until at last, confronted by a wild and raging Akama he collapses into a snowbank!

And the writing, oh! I suspect, not having read the book, that much of the spoken script is taken and translated directly from the novel. The characters speak in an elevated manner, befitting of an older drama, but with such delivery that the most uncommon turns of phrase come off near genuine, as if the characters were speaking each word as it comes and sounding out emotions they're loathe to reveal. Kameda and Akama are the masters of this, with Akama delivering the line which opens this post when he leaves Kameda at their first meeting, and Kameda interrupting Taeko's birthday party to tell her that her eyes are the same as a man he saw before a firing squad. The party quiets in an instant, all guests gathering about them as he speaks to her, and his earnest, off-putting, and genuine concern steals her trust in a way none of the other men in the film can comprehend.

If you have the patience, or perhaps if you would like to learn the patience (there is an intermission), I highly suggest giving this work, a master's adaptation of a master's work, your time.