Thirst for Love is one of a very small number of Eclipse Series films that I have not yet reviewed for either my Journey Through the Eclipse Series column or my Eclipse Viewer podcast, both hosted over on CriterionCast.com. I just got finished watching it this afternoon, and what an experience that was. I've been a big fan of Eclipse Series 28: The Warped World of Koreyoshi Kurahara practically since it was first released in 2011, and revisiting this film again for the first time since soon after I obtained the set reaffirmed my opinion that, from a purely cinematic angle, it's one of the most impressive volumes in that entire line of DVDs. Yes, there are volumes that probably surpass it in terms of historical importance (the Bergman, Ozu and Kurosawa releases in particular are all quite significant in that regard) but I'm hard pressed to come up with more than a few that come close to rivaling this collection for the sheer number of amazing moments of flabbergasted astonishment that I found in this collection of five movies from the 1960s.
So I've already written about the other four titles in the box (Intimidation, The Warped Ones, I Hate but Love and Black River) over on that other site, but this is my first crack at an essay about Thirst for Love. My inclination today is to keep my mouth shut about the major plot developments, because this is a film that succeeds in the delivery of jolting surprises in rapid succession, both visually and in its exploration of a beautiful young widow's frustrating search for sensual and relational fulfillment. The woman at the center of the story is Etsuko. She lost her husband some years prior to the beginning of the film's action and has dutifully chosen to remain loyal to her late husband's family, living on the expansive rural estate that she shares with her father-in-law, his surviving son and his wife (a childless couple) and his daughter, now divorced but with a couple of kids in tow. The property also provides residence to a few servants.
Etsuko's fidelity to the family she's married into has taken on a suitably "warped" character, as she's succumbed to seductive pressures placed upon her by her father-in-law. Though she demonstrates some pleasurable degree of carnal relief from his attention, it's clearly not a source of enduring satisfaction, and yet the peculiar limits imposed by the situation don't offer up too many options. Supposedly there are other men who would gladly propose marriage, but she never gives them serious consideration within the context of the film. The only alternative she pursues is a fling with the boyish servant Saburo, a lanky, energetic but immature youth upon whom Etsuko fixates throughout the length of the film. Given Etsuko's practically flawless, idealized beauty, Saburo's bewildered naivete, and the father-in-law's creepy delusions regarding the legitimacy of his emotional grip on his dead son's wife, the erotic triangle at the heart of Thirst for Love is one of the most bizarre I've witnessed in my recent exploration of Criterion films. It's probably best for me to just set that brief summary out there as an invitation of sorts, without providing much in the way of further detail for those who might be inclined to read along with me here before actually watching the movie.
But I can definitely say more about two of the marvelous attributes of the film without revealing crucial plot points. For starters, Kurahara's spectacular fluency with camera angles, editing and production design approaches sublime mastery here. After bowling over viewers with his audacious, almost reckless swoops, pans and tracking shots in his earlier films, Kurahara's direction of cinematographer Yoshio Mamiya is a bit more restrained and elegant overall, as befits the story. But when he does break out the flourishes, as is the case with an early sequence involving footage taken from a helicopter as the aging patriarch surveys his property, which then seamlessly transitions to a similarly kinetic overhead shot of the family seated at dinner, the effect is quite breathtaking and unforgettable. Kurahara also tosses in a few strategically effective bursts of color later in the otherwise monochromatic film, and makes startling use of slow-motion, freeze-frame, negative images, montage, flashbacks and other wildly unconventional angles, all of which prove integral to the story rather than what might otherwise be regarded as merely indulgent gimmicks that disrupt our engagement with Etsuko's dilemma.
Next: I Am Curious (Yellow)
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