Ten Great Foreign Films Of This Decade

Cafe Lumiere

by Ari

Cafe Lumiere, one of the most restrained and quietly moving films released this decade, is Hou Hsiao-hsien’s tribute to the great Yasujiro Ozu. Not only is Cafe Lumiere a tribute to Ozu’s subtle, contemplative style, but it’s a love-letter to the city of Tokyo itself in the way it uses the technologically advanced metropolis as a character. Like a few particular works of Ozu, Hou's environment is as important as the people who inhabit it. Cafe Lumiere acts as a grand tour of the city in a similar sense to what Sofia Coppola did with her equally impressive Lost in Translation. However, while Coppola’s film presented the busier and flashy side of the city, Hsiao-hsien takes you through the quieter, personal side of things. You see the coffee shops, book stores, apartments, train stations, etc - spending time with characters who go about their business without the heightened drama found in most films.

There’s no real plot to follow with Cafe Lumiere. This is a film to be absorbed and experienced, something that slowly but beautifully develops into a profound cinematic escape. This is pure cinema the way it uses tone, visuals and performance to build an emotional connection with its audience. You gradually find yourself invested in the lives of the two lead characters, so much so that it’s almost disappointing to see the film come to an end (which is not to negate the beautiful final moment). Without leaning on a standard narrative, Hou allows himself a certain level of freedom that few filmmakers are afforded. He lingers on background details, spending considerable time with situations that might seem meaningless to people expecting the usual formula or three-act structure of a film. Now this isn’t to say Cafe Lumiere is a film about nothing. Hou is great at expressing his themes with subtlety, and with this film he effectively explores the feelings of a young woman dealing with her unexpected pregnancy.

Yoko (Yo Hitoto) is a writer interested in researching a musician from the '30s, working and hanging out with her friend Hajime (the great Todanabu Asano), the owner of a small book store in Tokyo. Hajime secretly loves her, which is perfectly expressed by Asano’s kind gestures and subtle looks. Besides owning the book store, Hajime is an artist of sorts who enjoys spending time on subways recording ambient sounds and also creating pictures on his computer. The news of Yoko’s pregnancy to her Taiwanese boyfriend naturally shocks him, however Yoko has no intention of marriage, as her boyfriend has become a bit of an irritation for her. This naturally disturbs her parents, and they do their best to respond kindly to the situation. Yoko’s sense of alienation is wonderfully symbolized by her wanderings through the city. Her comfort is found in her time with Hajime, who offers a shoulder to lean on through her difficult state. When she needs someone to talk to, he’s there. When she’s sick, he fixes her a meal. One of my favorite sequences is when Hajime notices Yoko sleeping on the subway. Instead of nudging her awake, he stands over and watches her silently with a light smile. It’s tender and subtle, a perfect example of the film's quiet but elegant power.

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