Dreams: A Journey Through the Visionary World of Akira Kurosawa

10/12/2024

Kate Mulraney (she/her) takes us through Kurosawa's surreal masterpiece 'Dreams'

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By Kate Mulraney

Dreams (1990), Akira Kurosawa’s haunting masterpiece, unfolds as a series of eight mythic vignettes, each a window into the director’s own vivid, often surreal visions. Through his carefully constructed stories, Kurosawa warns of the dangers of environmental destruction, the folly of human arrogance, and the eternal conflict between spiritual harmony and the ignorance of man.

Akira Kurosawa is widely regarded as one of the most influential filmmakers in cinematic history. Over the course of his 57-year career, he directed 30 films, leaving an indelible mark on the world of cinema before his death in 1998. While works like Seven Samurai (1954), Yojimbo (1961) and Ran (1985) have earned Kurosawa global acclaim, Dreams stands out as perhaps his most personal and introspective film. As a deeply emotional exploration of his own psyche, the film blurs the line between the fantastical and the everyday.

For much of his career, Kurosawa was known for crafting action-packed epics, featuring protagonists who, despite facing insurmountable odds, found dignity and purpose in their struggles. These characters were often thrust to extremes, their journeys defined by intense conflict and moral resolution. However, with Dreams, Kurosawa embraced a gentler, more introspective tone, deliberately abstaining from the dramatic tension and high stakes that had marked much of his earlier work.

This film represented a poignant departure – a quieter farewell to the grand narratives and turbulent struggles that had defined his cinematic legacy. It was unlike anything the director had created before, a deeply personal reflection on the human condition, imbued with a sense of reverence and spiritual contemplation. For instance, the segment 'The Peach Orchard' serves as a poignant allegory for cultural loss and renewal, drawing deeply from the principles of Japanese Shinto beliefs.

The central inspiration for Dreams can be traced back to Kurosawa’s lifelong habit of keeping a dream journal, a practice he began after being deeply influenced by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. The film’s sources are a rich blend of not only dreams and personal recollections, but also Japanese folklore and mythology, all intricately woven together to craft a world that feels both deeply personal and universally resonant.

In the opening chapter, 'Sunshine Through the Rain', a young dreamer (Toshihiko Nakano) steps beyond the safety of his home (a replica of Kurosawa’s own home), encountering the forbidden mysteries of nature and awakening to a deeper, often perilous understanding of the world around him. The towering rainbow that concludes the first dream feels like the dawn of an epic coming-of-age journey. Furthermore, the subsequent tales, 'The Blizzard and The Tunnel', explore humanity’s struggle to conquer the overpowering forces of nature and the harrowing consequences of war. Both stories delve into the tragic consequences of human hubris, as individuals confront the relentless might of nature and the scars left by violent conflict.

However, I would like to focus primarily on 'Crows', where the dreamer encounters Vincent van Gogh, played by Martin Scorsese. It was the film’s exploration of art, as well as the striking image of the character literally stepping into the painting, that first captured my attention. This surreal journey offers a profound meditation on creativity, inspiration, and the complex inner world of the artist.

When the dreamer (Akira Terao) encounters Van Gogh, reality itself begins to unravel. He wanders through breathtakingly perfect recreations of the painter’s iconic landscapes. After conversing with Van Gogh, he returns to these scenes, but this time they have transformed – the dreamer’s journey takes him through living works of art, no longer mere replicas of nature. He gradually finds himself immersed in massive, vibrant paintings, where each brushstroke, thick and powerful, envelops him in their dynamic presence.

This story explores how art empowers humanity to reshape nature itself. Kurosawa, in his biography, reflects on how he once felt he lacked “a completely personal, distinctive way of looking at things,” which led him to abandon his childhood dream of becoming a painter. Yet, even as he let go of painting, Kurosawa was falling in love with cinema. In a documentary about the making of Dreams, he reveals that the Chopin composition featured in 'Crows' – the Prelude in D-flat Major – is a direct reference to Abel Gance’s La roue (1923), a film that profoundly influenced him in his youth and opened his eyes to the transformative power of cinema. In this way, the dream itself becomes a symbol of both creative potential and the disillusionment that often accompanies artistic ambition.

In the next two scenes nature exacts its grim retribution, which stand as the darkest moments of the film. In Mount Fuji in Red, the eruption of the volcano thrusts the dreamer into the chaos of a mass evacuation, a scene of overwhelming devastation. Then, in 'The Weeping Demon', he wanders through a desolate, post-apocalyptic world, where he encounters a grotesque monster who reveals a chilling truth: the corrupt have been cursed with immortality as punishment, forever trapped in a cycle of torment and anguish.

Could these harrowing visions be a warning about Kurosawa’s premonition of atomic annihilation? It’s certainly possible. The filmmaker was deeply concerned with the threat of nuclear destruction throughout his life. In many ways, 'Mount Fuji in Red' feels like a manifestation of the atomic nightmare Japan had already endured – a haunting reflection of the horrors that unfolded in August 1945, which may have been the very catalyst for this vision.

Dreams ultimately concludes with the vignette 'The Village of the Water Mills', a moment that, while still hopeful, is far more grounded and subdued than the earlier, more fantastical scenes. Gone are the haunting remnants of the previous atrocities; instead, the narrative focuses on quiet renewal. In the end, the dreamer leaves the village, a perpetual wanderer. Kurosawa seems to understand that he will continue to dream and roam, unable to settle. After immersing us in two hours of his personal anxieties, he offers a brief moment of respite, keeping us in this peaceful, joyful daydream just a little longer. Though he may not find peace himself, he gently wishes it upon us.

Dreams is not just a visual journey; it is an emotional and intellectual one, offering a moment to reflect on the horrors we inflict upon ourselves and the shared dreams that unite us all. Each of these stories could easily support its own analytical essay, but by exploring Kurosawa's vision – albeit briefly – I hope to offer insights not only into the filmmaker's personal struggles but also into the broader hopes and anxieties that have shaped modern Japan.