The Directing Genius of Akira Kurosawa Explained

Akira Kurosawa has been a maestro to my entire generation and to every generation of filmmakers. Kurosawa's films had an awe-inspiring power, physical and graphic. It's hard to really appreciate the true genius of Kurosawa, I think, until you've seen a few of the films and then you've been able to realize his visual style. Akira Kurosawa is commonly regarded as one of the greatest and most influential filmmakers of all time. The Japanese director worked in a multitude of genres varying widely in look and atmosphere and yet there is a through line that connects all of his films. Kurosawa is a master of cinematic clarity, emotional clarity, spatial clarity, narrative clarity. It's this quality that makes his work vital texts which filmmakers have learned from decades. This is the directing style of Akira Kurosawa. Before we join our fellow samurai, be sure to subscribe and enable notifications to stay up to date on all our new videos. Time to learn from the master. Akira Kurosawa was born on March 23, 1910 in Tokyo, Japan. His father, Isamu, encouraged his children to watch films and Kurosawa watched his first movies at six years old. Kurosawa's older brother, Heigo, worked as a silent film narrator in Tokyo for foreign films and Akira often accompanied him, though at the time he was planning to become a painter. In 1935, Kurosawa joined the Photochemical Laboratories Film Studio, which would later become Toho as an assistant director. By the early 1940s, Kurosawa had begun to write his own screenplays as a way to make more money. In 1942, he was finally given the green light to work on his directorial debut, Sanshiro Sugata. Kurosawa's background deeply affected the singular filmmaker he would become, borrowing equally from Japanese art and the western films he had been exposed to from an early age. This unique combination is infused in Kurosawa's ability to masterfully maintain visual and narrative clarity at all times, using every cinematic tool at his disposal. As he explained, the role of the director encompasses the coaching of the actors, the cinematography, the sound recording, the art direction, the music, the editing, and the dubbing and sound mixing. Although these can be thought of as separate occupations, I do not regard them as independent. I see them all melting together under the heading of direction. But, of course, it all begins with story. For Kurosawa, a good script is all important. He once said, with a good script, a good director can produce a masterpiece. With the same script, a mediocre director can make a passable film. But with a bad script, even a good director can't possibly make a good film. The stories Kurosawa tells vary widely, but there are lofty themes that he routinely touches upon, such as the cyclical nature of violence throughout history, and the complexities of modernity. Many Kurosawa protagonists exist in moral ambiguity, where the right thing to do isn't always clear, and isn't always the path that's chosen. But these loftier and complex ideas are often grounded in clear, goal-driven stories that have a narrative thrust. Structure is crucial. Kurosawa has noted the influence of the ancient Japanese theater tradition of Nō, which has a three-act structure. Jō, or begin slowly, Hā, or speed up, and Kyā, end swiftly. Kurosawa also looked to western influences as well, adapting Shakespeare plays several times throughout his career. Regardless of influence, Kurosawa noted, a good structure for a screenplay is that of the symphony, with its three or four movements and differing tempos. This philosophy can be mapped onto most of his films. Take Red Beard, for example, which opens with a slower introduction, which moves into varying tempos through vignettes, that then climax with emotional crescendos, that finish with a reflective close. These streamlined stories are further honed with Kurosawa's approach to production design. Kurosawa uses production design to augment the themes of his film, and to enable spatial clarity. In High and Low, architecture underscores the movie's core concerns revolving around class hierarchy. Gondo's home is sleek, modernist, and perched on a hill, overlooking the cluttered and dirty city below. Kurosawa's environments are typically designed for movement and blocking. He explained, If the plan of a house and the design of the rooms are done properly, the actors can move about in them naturally. If I have to tell an actor, don't think about where this room is in relation to the rest of the house, that natural ease cannot be achieved. For this reason, I have the sets made exactly like the real thing. It restricts the shooting, but encourages that feeling of authenticity. Bigger sets are constructed with a similar philosophy, just on a larger scale. Seven Samurai and Ran both take place in spaces that are built to accommodate large-scale action. The minimalist interiors of Ikiru and Redbeard, meanwhile, direct our focus towards the characters and their behavior. Kurosawa is also an expert at utilizing natural landscapes. Tezu Asala's terrain factors as a major part of the story, forcing its characters to follow only paths it permits. Weather, too, is used strategically. Storms operate as dramatic devices, externalizing internal turmoil, or signaling a narrative shift. His mise-en-scene is also influenced by his approach to color. A good portion of Kurosawa's filmography is in black and white, but his eventual use of color continued his philosophy of visual clarity. In Ran, for example, the conflicting armies are dressed in contrasting primary colors so that the viewer can immediately differentiate each side. High and Low uses a single bit of coloring to draw the audience's eye. In Kagemusha, bright kaleidoscopic colors are used to create a dreamlike feeling, while in Dreams, colored lighting creates a more subtle surrealism. But Kurosawa's use of color isn't always so saturated. For natural vistas, he often leans into earth tones and more understated palettes. In his transition from black and white to color, Kurosawa was careful not to change his visual palette too much. He explained, The current method of lighting for color film is wrong. In order to bring out the colors, the entire frame is flooded with light. I always say the lighting should be treated as it is for black and white film, whether the colors are strong or not, so that the shadows come out bright. Which brings us to Kurosawa's approach to cinematography. No director uses cinematography in conjunction with blocking more effectively than Kurosawa. His camera work is almost always in service of the movement that is occurring in the scene. Often, he will utilize deep focus to capture his layered staging, letting the audience see the action in both the foreground and background with clarity. To direct an audience's attention, he will frequently use frames within frames, created by hallways, doorways, and windows. For action sequences, Kurosawa would sometimes use telephoto lenses to compress space and maintain readability in chaos. His camera movements are always motivated by what is happening in front of the camera. He explained his philosophy, Many people choose to follow the actor's movements with the zoom lens. Although the most natural way to approach the actor with the camera is to move it at the same speed he moves, many people wait until he stops moving and then zoom in on him. I think this is very wrong. The camera should follow the actor as he moves. It should stop when he stops. If this rule is not followed, the audience will become conscious of the camera. This highlights another crucial element of Kurosawa's cinematography. Don't be showy for showy's sake. His shots are always in service of story and character, informing relationships, themes, and mood. This utilitarian approach continues through to his editing. Kurosawa would typically edit his films as he shot. For him, this was a way to get his entire crew on the same page, and to ensure everyone was unified in the story they were telling. He explained, It is necessary to show the crew edited footage for the sake of arousing their interest. Sometimes they don't understand what it is they are filming, or why they had to spend 10 days to get a particular shot. When they see the edited footage with the results of their labor, they become enthusiastic again. For the most part, Kurosawa's editing is designed to be invisible, using the continuity style of cutting popular in Hollywood. Kurosawa is the master of cutting on action, emphasizing movement through an edit. He would also heavily employ cross-cutting, alternating between concurrent scenes, or between different characters in a larger sequence. This technique is crucial to the success of his action scenes, as the edit helps maintain spatial and narrative clarity in the midst of chaotic violence. When not to cut is also important. Emotional moments are often given time to breathe with little cutting. But not all of Kurosawa's editing is invisible. He famously loved to use the wipe transition, a stylized cut which adds energy, while also making clear a jump in time or location. And he will use axial cuts, punching in on a similar angle, to draw attention to a specific subject, or a motion. His editing works hand-in-hand with his sound design. Sound was always at the forefront of Kurosawa's mind. He once said, even before the camera rolls, I decide what kind of sound I want. For Kurosawa, sound typically is a way to heighten a scene's mood. This might be an environmental ambience, such as the wind in Ran, or the twittering of birds in Sanjuro. Or it might be a lack of ambience, such as the strategic use of silence in Ikeru or Throne of Blood, where quiet underscores a dramatic moment. Sound effects are typically pronounced and deliberate, drawing an audience's attention to a single element. Whether it be the clash of swords on screen, or the ring of a telephone off-screen. And, of course, a crucial part of a film's sound is music. Kurosawa's use of music is often unexpected. He noted, I have used light music for some key sad scenes, and my way of using music has differed from the norm. I don't put it where most people do. I think in terms of the counterpoint of sound and image, as opposed to the union of sound and image. For Kurosawa, the clarity that he has created visually and narratively means that music doesn't need to underscore what is already happening. It can operate as a juxtaposition. Kurosawa typically worked with Fumio Hayasaka and Toru Takamitsu to create a wide variety of soundtracks that pulled from eclectic genres. From the percussive rhythm scores of Throne of Blood and Seven Samurai, to the restrained music of Ikeru and Redbeard. In his ensemble films, Kurosawa liked to use different themes for different characters or groups, helping guide audiences through the various moving parts of a narrative. But equally telling is when Kurosawa doesn't use music. For some especially dramatic or climactic scenes, he will withhold his score, letting the other filmic elements do the work for him. When trying to define the essence of cinema, Kurosawa said, there is something that might be called cinematic beauty. It can only be expressed in a film, and it must be present in a film for that film to be a moving work. When it is very well expressed, one experiences a particularly deep emotion while watching that film. I believe it is this quality that draws people to come and see a film, and that it is the hope of attaining this quality that inspires the filmmaker to make his film in the first place. If this is true, then Kurosawa achieved the essence of cinema again and again, leaving movie lovers a filmography rivaled by no one else. Ready to get started on your own filmography? Plan out your next shoot with StudioBinder's pre-production software, which includes apps for shot listing, storyboarding, and more. Until next time, go find your cinematic beauty. you