From its first shot, Ryo Iwamatsu’s Then Summer Came struck me as a serious social critique disguised as a light romantic comedy. Joe Odagiri and Yoshio Harada play a father and son that are unable to communicate to each other about their loved ones, their jobs or themselves for fear of disappointing each other. If given the chance, I had no doubt that Iwamatsu would tell me exactly what he thought was wrong with society and the perils of modern society. This was hardly the case. While some of his answers are pretty abstract (my tape recorder cut off this lengthy tangential answer he had about his influences where he compared his creative process to premeditated murder and he talked about the concept of fluid and static time to boot), a lot of them are a full of interesting insights that can hardly be marginalized or pigeonholed as intellectual preaching.
I wish that I had a hidden camera to take candid photos of Iwamatsu because of how animated his facial expressions and hand gestures were. I look forward to picking his brains again in the future at the New York Asian Film Festival.
ScreenAnarchy: What gave you the idea to make this film?
Ryo Iwamatsu (RI): It goes back about 20 years ago. I had this draft concept for a short TV commercial about a father and son. It didn’t happen but I then extended it into a scenario for a TV drama serial. I thought the relationship between father and son was quite interesting but that didn’t happen again. Recently, I thought that I wanted to make films and the concept came back to me.
How have your own personal experiences with your father or your children, if you have any, affected the film at all?
RI: I have a father, a son and a daughter but they have nothing to do with the film.
Was it a conscious decision for you to exclude your personal experiences and focus on the framework of that concept of yours? What was it you were drawing upon from that idea?
RI: What haunted me was that, on the surface, the film seems to be about the relationship between father and son, marriage and familial relationships. It is about that to a certain extent, but I don’t think those values are eternal. What’s eternal is what father and son are missing in their own mindset, whether they know it or not.
I think that something is eternal and that it would be really interesting to depict them almost like puppets, in a way, to show that the things they are lacking are comical. It looks like a family movie but its really not. It’s about something that’s lacking in people and how that’s a universal value.
There are frequent tonal shifts in the film. What kind of atmosphere did you want to give the characters’ story?
RI: Where do you mean?
For instance, in the beginning, where the characters are on the roof and are commenting on how small things look from up there or when Toru (Odagiri’s uncle) is spying on Mr. Kanzaki and Ms. Miyaji, his co-worker as they make out.
RI: I never thought that there was a difference in tone. Once you pointed that out, I thought, “Ok!” That’s kind of new for me. I never thought of it that way, so right now, I can’t really comment on that.
Fair enough. How did you decide to cast your main actors? I know that Joe Odagiri and Kumiko Aso both starred in Jiko Keisatsu. Why did you think those actors would be right for Then Summer Came?
RI: I originally thought that the father and son should be Mr. Odagiri and Mr. Harada, with whom I’ve wanted to work forever. Those two offers were made before Jiko Keisatsu even happened. For Kumiko Aso, before Jiko Keisatsu, I had wanted to have her in the movie. It was much easier to ask her after Jiko Keisatsu. I was very luck to have these three cast member whom I wanted from the very beginning. In short, I was a fan of them.
Also, Mr. Odagiri said to Ms. Aso, “If you get an offer from Mr. Iwamatsu, you better take it.”
Because Mr. Odagiri is such a big star, did you think that might affect how the public saw the character?
RI: A lot of people might think of this as an unusual or surprising choice to cast for the part, because he’s really good looking. The problem would be whether or not the audience would see the character as he is. “He’s a really good-looking guy. There’s no way he could possibly have trouble getting married!” It’s up to the audience.
At first, I wasn’t really sure if that would work out or not but because of this unusual casting, I think it was an unexpectedly good choice because he’s not the normal choice for the part.
The comedy in the film is a bit unusual in that sense. It’s playing off of the audience’s expectations and is unusually light for a film about a father and son that can’t communicate with one another.
RI: It could be very serious. You asked me earlier about whether my personal experiences affected the film and while they didn’t, I think in theatrical terms of whether I’d like to depict the character as large or small. It’s a matter of whether I’m distant from my characters or very close to them. If you were really close to the character, you got very serious about them, almost too serious. If you have a good distance, the character will become small and you will have a better picture of them. You’re not really emotionally attached to them.
This film particularly is not that close to any of the characters. I’m almost distancing the character from himself and therefore, there’s no strong emotional attachment. On the other hand, I can see an overall picture of how these characters interact with one another as well as how they act independently. In that sense, it could look even silly and perhaps that’s where the lightness of the film comes from.
I always thought to myself, “You really can’t get too serious.” The further you are, perhaps the more comical the characters seem. That very first scene that you mentioned, the characters look down on the street and see how small everything is below them. They are small and that’s the irony of the film. They are the small ones, not the people they’re looking down on.
It doesn’t seem like the film’s tone is particularly ironic though but rather that the film is earnestly concerned with the father and son’s inability to communicate with one another. Even though the film can be very light, like in the scene where the characters in the restaurant are comparing their text message to each other, but the issue at stake seems like one that you think is very important.
RI: Once it’s shown that everyone in the restaurant is using their cell phones, it looks extremely weird, unusual and grotesque even. In Japan, we are living in those circumstances. It’s not anything normal. It’s not exactly something I’ve exaggerated, it’s reality.
That seems more like a universal issue though than one specific to Japan though.
RI: I think it’s a universal, international issue.
The film seems to be about the rupture between traditional and modern customs. What role do you feel the traditional has in today’s society and how should it be?
RI: Now and then, I see these films from Iran and after seeing these films, I see everything through monetary value. That is because the drama depicted in those films are from the pre-era of money. All their problems stem from the introduction of money. I see everything now in light of money.
I live in a place where money is everywhere. Sometimes my mission as a creator is to bring that primitive contact of pre-money era or pre-money relationships to everything, to bring it back to where it used to be. That’s my mission. There shouldn’t be a rule we should stick to but rather we should learn from those primitive values. As a creator, it’s my task to bring that message to the audience, who sees things through money.
Are there any particular Iranian films or filmmakers that stick out when you think that?
RI: Abbas Kiarostami and Turtles Can Fly. When I saw Turtles Can Fly, I felt sorry for myself, because, in a way, I was seeing everything as a matter of money. After that, I thought, “I need to change.”
Why do you think modern society has become out of touch from their feelings and how has that affected romance or familial relationships?
RI: I do think cell phones have caused a certain level of miscommunication with one another, but I can’t think of any good example from my perspective. In Akihabara, there was a guy that was totally isolated from society and he couldn’t communicate with anyone. He was even ignored in internet society and he drove into Akihabara, which is a mecca for high-tech consumer products and killed seven people. I thought, “Ok, there is an issue where people can’t communicate with one another.” I understand that but nothing has affected me so far in terms of communication.
The same can be said about the characters though. Neither Mr. Kanzaki or his son are able to communicate with one another what’s really going on in their lives. There’s a mutual feeling of distrust or guilt that keeps them apart. Is that specific to domestic relationships or does that go beyond the family?
RI: Actually, I think that they’re communicating with each other a lot. However, when they are communicating with one another, it’s always quarreling. The more they have to argue about, the more they depend on each other.
But what they fight about most are very minor things, like smoking in the house, or whatever else is affecting their immediate living space. Is that typical of a father-son relationship?
RI: Yes, it’s very normal.
Why?
RI: Because it’s not that important. “Oh, the water is still running. The newspaper is still there.” Those are things that you immediately pick up on, such trivial things. If it’s big, they have to settle upon how they want to talk about it. Those primitive primary reactions are a sign that they depend too deeply on one another.
The relationship between Toru and Ms. Miyaji is a rather peculiar one, particularly how they originally meet and how they relate to each other. They have a very inexplicable bond. Why is that?
RI: Most times, if two people fall in love, there’s no real reason or any necessity for falling in love. It’s circumstantial. Their setting made them fall in love as opposed to the idea that they have to fall in love. If a woman has been dating a married guy for ten years, she will marry someone that she doesn’t really know. It’s not because it was necessary but rather because circumstance made her marry that guy. In Miyaji and Toru-san’s case, it was purely circumstantial. That will be their bond.
What kind of audience do you think will react most to the film?
RI: I’d like a lot of difference audience members to react in a lot of different ways. Some people will see this part from this angle and be affected and other audience members will see it from another angle. I’d like the audience to have multiple points-of-view.
How do you think a festival like the New York Asian Film Festival facilitates that, if at all? What has your experience at the festival so far been like?
RI: I’d like to know what kind of audience will be watching this film, actually. I have no idea whatsoever. The film’s premiere hasn’t happened yet and I have no reactions so far so I’m curious to see if there will be a lot of Americans or Japanese audience members that come just to hear Japanese.
Well, it’s a sold-out house tonight.
RI: Oh, now I’m really curious! Will they be young or older? I’m really not sure.