Good Morning (1959) Review

Yasujirō Ozu is spoken of with the kind of reverence reserved for the cinematic greats, though that wasn’t always the case. During his lifetime, he was respected in Japan as a meticulous craftsman of domestic dramas, yet was not recognised as such globally. His films circulated little outside of his homeland, and his quiet, elliptical style- featuring low camera positions, still frames and an almost ceremonial sense of rhythm- was far from the international image of “Japanese cinema” shaped largely by Akira Kurosawa’s samurai epics.

Only in the years following his death in 1963 did Western critics and scholars begin to recognize the radical precision of his filmmaking. By the 1970’s and 80’s, as his work reached wider audiences, Ozu’s standing abroad transformed. Retrospectives, academic studies and the growing availability of his films reframed him as a visionary whose minimalism was not just simplicity but a profound rethinking of cinematic language. Today, he stands as one of the most influential directors in film history, with his 1953 work ‘Tokyo Story’ routinely ranked among the greatest films ever made.

Given this weighty reputation, it is easy to forget how playful Ozu could be. His 1959 offering ‘Good Morning’, a colour reimagining of his earlier black and white silent film ‘I Was Born, But…’, stands apart from the solemnity usually associated with his name, presenting a bright suburban comedy shaped by childish obstinacy, consumer desire and gossip. Yet the film’s surface lightness is precisely what makes it revealing. Underneath lies the same meticulous attention and thematic weight defining Ozu’s most revered work.

Set in a quiet suburban neighbourhood on the outskirts of Tokyo, the film follows two young brothers who, frustrated by the adults around them, vow to stop speaking altogether until their parents agree to buy a television set. Their childish protest ripples outward, exposing a web of minor misunderstandings, social anxieties and petty resentments, all unfolding within the rigid politeness of middle-class life.

It's a deceptively simple, warmly engaging story. Ozu’s humour reveals the tiny social frictions that accumulate when people live in close proximity. His characterisation is deft and dialogue sharp, with much of the comedy springing from gossip- how it spreads and mutates, exposing the fragile etiquette of postwar Japanese suburbia. A misplaced membership fee, a rumour about unemployment and the boys’ sudden refusal to speak all become catalysts for neighbourly suspicion. Ozu treats these with affectionate irony, showing how a civil community can be undone by its own eagerness to gab.

Admittedly, some of the humour may be a tad childish, however ‘Good Morning’ is not just a breezy tale involving fart jokes (well, not entirely). Ozu uses the film and its characters to quietly diagnose the anxieties of a society in transition. His narrative- written alongside Kōgo Noda- captures the tension between the encroaching modern conveniences of postwar life and the older social rhythms once structuring daily behaviour in Japan.

It is a subtly incisive portrait of a nation renegotiating its identity amid rapid change. Late 1950’s Japan was entering a period of explosive economic growth, bringing with it new technologies, consumer desires and societal expectations. Ozu and Noda weave these shifts into the fabric of the narrative, turning the neighbourhood into a battleground between old and new. The television set serves as a symbol of Americanisation and consumer aspiration, its glow subtly eroding traditional communal rituals. Even the boys’ silence- comic as it is- reflects a generational shift, a refusal to accept the quiet compromises their parents have made. 

Ozu and Yûharu Atsuta’s cinematography is as precise and understated as the storytelling. The camera rarely moves, lingering in static, low-angle “tatami shots” which place the viewer at the eye level of the children, subtly aligning us with their perspective. This visual choice amplifies the humour of everyday misunderstandings, as neighbours and family members are framed in clusters highlighting social dynamics and tiny frictions.

Composition is meticulous: doors, windows and thresholds repeatedly divide spaces, reflecting both the formal rituals of domestic life and the barriers to genuine communication. Filmed in a real, tightly planned neighbourhood- full of neat rows of houses and narrow streets- the film is a microcosm of postwar Japanese society. Spaces allow eavesdropping, while highlighting the ritualised, segmented movements of daily life. Furthermore, Tatsuo Hamada’s production design is atmospheric, emphasizing the modernity encroaching on traditional routines.

Yoshiyasu Hamamura’s understated editing is essential to the film’s tone. Scenes frequently unfold in long, static takes, while transitions are often achieved through Ozu’s famous “pillow shots”- static images of streets, gardens, or everyday objects- giving characters space to breathe and reflecting the measured rhythms of suburban life. Toshirô Mayuzumi’s gently stirring score similarly complements the narrative without ever drawing undue attention to itself.

The cast is uniformly understated. Koji Shitara and Masahiko Shimazu impress as the two main children, whose expressive mischievousness is infectious. As their English tutor, Keiji Sada brings a gentle charm to proceedings, working well alongside Yoshiko Kuga, who plays their aunt. Chishū Ryū and Kuniko Miyake are equally strong as their parents, while Haruko Sugimura is a riot as the leading gossip.

In the end, ‘Good Morning’ may appear to be one of Yasujirō Ozu’s breeziest films, but it still has a lot to say. An initially simple tale of two boys refusing to speak masks a gentle study of a community negotiating modernity, manners and the small misunderstandings which bind and divide. Strikingly shot and strongly acted, the film delights with quiet pleasures and subtle insights, showing that even Ozu’s lightest touch can reveal deep truths. In short, nearly seven decades on, ‘Good Morning’ still makes for good watching.