Something Like an Autobiography - Akira Kurosawa [61]
In Moscow I received word of Yama-san’s death. It may seem strange that I should start writing about Yama-san from the point of his deathbed, but there is a reason. I wanted to show that even when he knew he was at the end of his life, his first concern was with assistant directors.
I don’t believe there has been any other director who paid so much attention to his assistant directors. In beginning work on a film, the first thing the director does is select his crew. The very first thing Yama-san always did was to worry over whom to choose as assistant directors. This man who sought flexibility in all things, who was easy-going and open-minded, showed a surprising thoroughness when it came to selecting them. If a new man had just been promoted to A.D. “cadet,” Yama-san would investigate until he had established to his satisfaction what the man’s character and temperament were. But once he had made up his mind, he would treat his assistant directors without regard for seniority, asking the opinions of all. These free and outspoken relationships were the hallmark of the Yamamoto group.
The major films I worked on as assistant director with the Yamamoto group were those starring the comedian Enomoto Ken’ichi, Chakkiri Kinta (Chakkiri Kinta, 1937), Senman choja (The Millionaire, 1936), Bikkuri jinsei (Life Is a Surprise, 1938), Otto no teiso (A Husband’s Chastity, 1937), Tōjurō no koi (Tōjurō’s Love, 1938), Tsuzurikata kyoshitsŭ (Composition Class, 1938) and Uma (Horses, 1941). During that interval I advanced from third assistant director to chief assistant director, and I had to do second-unit directing, editing and dubbing. It actually took about four years to reach that level, but it felt to me as if I were clambering up a steep mountain by leaps and bounds in a single breath. In the Yamamoto group every day was full of enjoyment. I was able to speak my mind freely on everything, I had plenty to do and I was enthusiastic in my work.
However, this was the era when P.C.L. was fortifying itself with directors and stars hired away from other companies and growing into the Toho company. In order to compete with the other studios in the market, it threw prodigious energy into every single picture. The conditions were extremely rigorous, and, no matter what the work, it turned out to be no ordinary job. I’m not saying that because of this it was necessarily the best possible training, but one thing is certain: I never had time to get a good night’s sleep.
In those days the greatest desire of any film crew was sleep. But while other members of the crew could get a little rest at night, we assistant directors had to prepare for the next day’s scenes. For us there was no respite, and I often had the same recurrent thought. I imagined a huge room that had mattresses spread over the entire floor. My fondest desire was to dive into the middle of that floor and sleep. But even in this condition we’d put saliva in our eyes to help us see a little more clearly and carry on. We put our last ounce of strength into the hope of making the movie a little bit better.
One example of this energy was Honda “Mokume no kami” (Honda “Keeper of the Grain”)—actually Honda Inoshiro, the director who created Godzilla, and who worked with me on my 1980 film Kagemusha. He was then second assistant director, but when the set designers were overwhelmed with work, he lent a hand. He would always take care to paint following the grain of the wood on the false pillars and wainscoting, and to put in a grain texture where it was lacking, hence his nickname “Keeper of the Grain.” His motive in drawing in the grain was to make Yama-san’s work look just that much better. Probably he felt that in order to continue to merit Yama-san’s confidence, he had to make this extra effort. The confidence Yama-san had in us created this attitude. And of course this attitude carried over into our own work.
I was one of those whose attitude toward work was shaped by