As I watched this film, I was reminded of the quote attributed to Margaret Atwood: "Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them." Under the Blossoming Cherry Trees tells the story of a beautiful woman and a man who tries to claim her, but she laughs at him instead. In this tale, beauty and femininity are so threatening as to drive men insane, symbolized throughout the film by the cherry blossoms.
The film opens in modern day Japan with a relaxed and festive scene full of people picnicking, dancing, and walking among the cherry blossom trees. We are voyeurs, viewing the festivities from afar. Sometimes our view is obscured by tree limbs heavy with blossoms. There is a reason for the distance. A narrator tells us these celebrations are absurd. More than 500 years ago the flowering cherries were feared.
The film cuts to a lone traveler dressed in clothes that belong to another era. He enters a full patch of cherry trees, and the camera zooms out, revealing a massive and breathtaking forest. He is small in comparison. The trees are more than a landscape. They feel alive, shedding petals like snow.
At first, the man does not seem to notice. As he makes his way steadily onward, deeper into the forest, his pace slows. Something has gotten his attention, and it is not beauty he sees. He is afraid.
He swings his arms desperately at the air and grasps his head, wide-eyed and swatting a swarm of invisible terror. The narrator's words ring more ominous. Now it seems possible to get lost in a blizzard of falling petals and lose your mind.
Suddenly we are transported to a scenic view of lush green mountains that crack with a woman's scream. A wild mountain bandit has cornered three travelers. "Give me everything you have." He turns his menacing stare toward the lone woman in the group. He plans to have her too.
He sneers and tears back her veil. She is arresting in her beauty, her eyes piercing, her lips shut tight. He freezes, his outstretched hand suspended in time, as a low, wailing sound grows louder. The film makes wonderful use of sound to create suspense. She pulls away. He awakens to his senses and slays the men where they stand. He approaches her again, intent on pulling her towards him. "You're my wife now!"
Where he expects to see fear and submission, instead she smiles. She is beautiful, seductive, and indomitable. He averts his gaze, turning his body away from hers. We sense this is the first time he has ever felt shame.
Japan historically asserted traditional gender roles. Men were taught to be tough and strong and were conditioned to dominate and control women. Women were taught to be subservient to their husbands. This makes it even more remarkable when she commands him to carry her up the mountain to his home. Stunned, he complies. "Can't you walk faster? I thought you were a man." He spends the rest of the film trying to prove he is.
When they arrive at the mountain house, seven wives appear at the door. She directs him to kill them all except for one wife, who serves as her maid. He is a man possessed. Soon he spends his days bounding through the forest with purpose and power. He hunts. He robs and kills wealthy travelers and brings her the spoils. He strips women nude to steal their fancy clothes. Soon the house is full of various comforts. The mountain man and maid are spellbound by items so foreign to them.
What is the reward for following her commands? Sexual ecstasy. I am reminded of the scene in Mizoguchi's "Ugetsu" when the beautiful noblewoman seduces the poor potter, and he cries out, "I never dreamed such pleasures existed!" Indeed. The mountain man is insatiable in service to her desires.
Winter comes. Her demands grow. He stares through the wooden boards that form the side of the house. The honeymoon is over. She complains they did not leave for the city in fall. He says they must wait until he can walk through the cherry blossoms. She asks why. "Because it seems endless." She says she may want to walk through the forest and lose her mind.
Spring arrives. The changing seasons are reminders that the trees threaten when they are most vibrant. The mountain man travels to the cherries.
A regimental group of men walks purposely into the forest seemingly unmoved by the beauty that surrounds them. Of course, we know what is going to happen. In one of the film's most striking moments, they are caught in a storm of petals, their hats flying into the air, screaming and stumbling over one another to escape, a flurry of chaos. The mountain man runs away.
The camera rests on a shot of the trees that lasts for more than 20 seconds. The trees appear calm. No hint of threat can be seen. Perhaps we are afforded the privilege of enjoying their beauty in peace because, unlike the men we see who flee in terror, we are willing to simply be there. Throughout the film, we glimpse madness through the men who use the forest as a shortcut. Maybe a certain kind of madness comes to those who attempt to pass through femininity in full bloom without being moved by the experience.
We are taken from the wilderness to the busyness of the capitol city. He appears absurdly out of place. In one scene, he stares quizzically at turnips a vendor is selling. He picks one up, and the seller scolds him in front of a crowd that has gathered to marvel at his ignorance.
His bride has instructed him to use his strength to bring her everything she desires in the capitol city. Soon we learn what she most desires: severed human heads. Once again, he goes hunting. Some victims she knows from her former life in the city. Their heads are her playthings. At times, she arranges them to watch her. They are her audience. At other times, she assembles them into a cast of characters. She is the director. In one scene, she is desperate for the heads of dancers for an imaginary party she is hosting. We get the sense she is more at home in this fantasy world than any other she has ever known.
As her need for heads grows, the mountain man begins working overtime. News of the grisly murders travels throughout the capitol city. He becomes exhausted, makes a mistake, and is caught, and he is held in such low esteem by his captors that they laugh at his confession to the murders.
He manages to break free and return home. When he arrives, he is resigned. He tells her nothing he does is good enough. He is finally giving up trying to please her.
She freezes, panicked, terrified. She has grown to depend on him to fill the emptiness she says consumes her. Desperate, she promises a return to the mountains. She will do anything as long as he remains hers. This is music to his ears. He draws strength from the power her need for him bestows.
However, we know what he does not. She has told her maid to maintain their house near the city. She will convince him to return to the capitol soon enough.
With renewed strength, he carries her up the mountain. This time, he decides to take them on a shortcut through the blossoming cherries. "Won't we lose our minds?" she asks. He tells her she is treating him gently now. They are together, so nothing can scare him.
How quickly he has forgotten. He has trespassed into something beyond his control. They travel further into a forest full of blossoms. His pace slows, and he becomes more alert. In one of the film's most gorgeous shots--and there are many--she gazes into the camera lens and smiles in the way that first possessed him. Cherry blossom petals blow all around her, a few landing on her face before sailing away. The cinematography of this film is something to behold.
Her hands tighten around his neck. He looks up to see a white-haired demon grinning back at him. He struggles to throw the demon off his back in a sequence that takes place in slow motion, outside time. From a distance, they appear to be dancing in the snow.
He flings the demon to the ground and strangles her to death. Of course, he quickly sees there is no demon. It is his wife he has killed. A close-up of her face reveals a serene smile, her eyes open. She is lying on a bed of soft petals, half-covered by them. He is tearful, wiping petals gently off her face with what could almost be described as tenderness.
Suddenly she vanishes. We know by the look on his face that he is a man without a future. He digs frantically for her through the petals. Then he disappears too. The camera lingers here before delivering us to a wide shot of massive cherry trees that lasts another 20 full seconds. In these moments, after what we have witnessed, the trees become what we believe them to be: A place on which to project our fears, where women are demons and men lose their minds, a shortcut to another destination, or a place to behold in awe.
The film opens in modern day Japan with a relaxed and festive scene full of people picnicking, dancing, and walking among the cherry blossom trees. We are voyeurs, viewing the festivities from afar. Sometimes our view is obscured by tree limbs heavy with blossoms. There is a reason for the distance. A narrator tells us these celebrations are absurd. More than 500 years ago the flowering cherries were feared.
The film cuts to a lone traveler dressed in clothes that belong to another era. He enters a full patch of cherry trees, and the camera zooms out, revealing a massive and breathtaking forest. He is small in comparison. The trees are more than a landscape. They feel alive, shedding petals like snow.
At first, the man does not seem to notice. As he makes his way steadily onward, deeper into the forest, his pace slows. Something has gotten his attention, and it is not beauty he sees. He is afraid.
He swings his arms desperately at the air and grasps his head, wide-eyed and swatting a swarm of invisible terror. The narrator's words ring more ominous. Now it seems possible to get lost in a blizzard of falling petals and lose your mind.
Suddenly we are transported to a scenic view of lush green mountains that crack with a woman's scream. A wild mountain bandit has cornered three travelers. "Give me everything you have." He turns his menacing stare toward the lone woman in the group. He plans to have her too.
He sneers and tears back her veil. She is arresting in her beauty, her eyes piercing, her lips shut tight. He freezes, his outstretched hand suspended in time, as a low, wailing sound grows louder. The film makes wonderful use of sound to create suspense. She pulls away. He awakens to his senses and slays the men where they stand. He approaches her again, intent on pulling her towards him. "You're my wife now!"
Where he expects to see fear and submission, instead she smiles. She is beautiful, seductive, and indomitable. He averts his gaze, turning his body away from hers. We sense this is the first time he has ever felt shame.
Japan historically asserted traditional gender roles. Men were taught to be tough and strong and were conditioned to dominate and control women. Women were taught to be subservient to their husbands. This makes it even more remarkable when she commands him to carry her up the mountain to his home. Stunned, he complies. "Can't you walk faster? I thought you were a man." He spends the rest of the film trying to prove he is.
When they arrive at the mountain house, seven wives appear at the door. She directs him to kill them all except for one wife, who serves as her maid. He is a man possessed. Soon he spends his days bounding through the forest with purpose and power. He hunts. He robs and kills wealthy travelers and brings her the spoils. He strips women nude to steal their fancy clothes. Soon the house is full of various comforts. The mountain man and maid are spellbound by items so foreign to them.
What is the reward for following her commands? Sexual ecstasy. I am reminded of the scene in Mizoguchi's "Ugetsu" when the beautiful noblewoman seduces the poor potter, and he cries out, "I never dreamed such pleasures existed!" Indeed. The mountain man is insatiable in service to her desires.
Winter comes. Her demands grow. He stares through the wooden boards that form the side of the house. The honeymoon is over. She complains they did not leave for the city in fall. He says they must wait until he can walk through the cherry blossoms. She asks why. "Because it seems endless." She says she may want to walk through the forest and lose her mind.
Spring arrives. The changing seasons are reminders that the trees threaten when they are most vibrant. The mountain man travels to the cherries.
A regimental group of men walks purposely into the forest seemingly unmoved by the beauty that surrounds them. Of course, we know what is going to happen. In one of the film's most striking moments, they are caught in a storm of petals, their hats flying into the air, screaming and stumbling over one another to escape, a flurry of chaos. The mountain man runs away.
The camera rests on a shot of the trees that lasts for more than 20 seconds. The trees appear calm. No hint of threat can be seen. Perhaps we are afforded the privilege of enjoying their beauty in peace because, unlike the men we see who flee in terror, we are willing to simply be there. Throughout the film, we glimpse madness through the men who use the forest as a shortcut. Maybe a certain kind of madness comes to those who attempt to pass through femininity in full bloom without being moved by the experience.
We are taken from the wilderness to the busyness of the capitol city. He appears absurdly out of place. In one scene, he stares quizzically at turnips a vendor is selling. He picks one up, and the seller scolds him in front of a crowd that has gathered to marvel at his ignorance.
His bride has instructed him to use his strength to bring her everything she desires in the capitol city. Soon we learn what she most desires: severed human heads. Once again, he goes hunting. Some victims she knows from her former life in the city. Their heads are her playthings. At times, she arranges them to watch her. They are her audience. At other times, she assembles them into a cast of characters. She is the director. In one scene, she is desperate for the heads of dancers for an imaginary party she is hosting. We get the sense she is more at home in this fantasy world than any other she has ever known.
As her need for heads grows, the mountain man begins working overtime. News of the grisly murders travels throughout the capitol city. He becomes exhausted, makes a mistake, and is caught, and he is held in such low esteem by his captors that they laugh at his confession to the murders.
He manages to break free and return home. When he arrives, he is resigned. He tells her nothing he does is good enough. He is finally giving up trying to please her.
She freezes, panicked, terrified. She has grown to depend on him to fill the emptiness she says consumes her. Desperate, she promises a return to the mountains. She will do anything as long as he remains hers. This is music to his ears. He draws strength from the power her need for him bestows.
However, we know what he does not. She has told her maid to maintain their house near the city. She will convince him to return to the capitol soon enough.
With renewed strength, he carries her up the mountain. This time, he decides to take them on a shortcut through the blossoming cherries. "Won't we lose our minds?" she asks. He tells her she is treating him gently now. They are together, so nothing can scare him.
How quickly he has forgotten. He has trespassed into something beyond his control. They travel further into a forest full of blossoms. His pace slows, and he becomes more alert. In one of the film's most gorgeous shots--and there are many--she gazes into the camera lens and smiles in the way that first possessed him. Cherry blossom petals blow all around her, a few landing on her face before sailing away. The cinematography of this film is something to behold.
Her hands tighten around his neck. He looks up to see a white-haired demon grinning back at him. He struggles to throw the demon off his back in a sequence that takes place in slow motion, outside time. From a distance, they appear to be dancing in the snow.
He flings the demon to the ground and strangles her to death. Of course, he quickly sees there is no demon. It is his wife he has killed. A close-up of her face reveals a serene smile, her eyes open. She is lying on a bed of soft petals, half-covered by them. He is tearful, wiping petals gently off her face with what could almost be described as tenderness.
Suddenly she vanishes. We know by the look on his face that he is a man without a future. He digs frantically for her through the petals. Then he disappears too. The camera lingers here before delivering us to a wide shot of massive cherry trees that lasts another 20 full seconds. In these moments, after what we have witnessed, the trees become what we believe them to be: A place on which to project our fears, where women are demons and men lose their minds, a shortcut to another destination, or a place to behold in awe.