Shohei Imamura didn’t make movies to make people feel comfortable. If you’ve ever sat through his 1983 masterpiece, you know exactly what I mean. The Ballad of Narayama 1983 isn't just a film about old age; it’s a visceral, sweaty, and often heartbreaking look at what happens when human survival crashes head-first into cultural tradition. It’s tough. Honestly, it’s a lot tougher than the 1958 version by Keisuke Kinoshita, which felt more like a stylized kabuki play. Imamura went the other way. He went into the dirt.
The story takes us to a remote, starving village in 19th-century Japan. There’s a rule here. It’s called ubasute. Basically, when you hit seventy, your eldest son carries you up to the top of Mount Narayama to die. No exceptions. It sounds barbaric because it is, but the film asks a much more uncomfortable question: if there isn't enough food for everyone, who stays and who goes?
The Raw Reality of The Ballad of Narayama 1983
Most directors would treat this like a high tragedy. Imamura treats it like a nature documentary. He constantly cuts away from the human drama to show snakes eating birds, or insects mating, or predators stalking prey. It’s his way of saying that we aren't as special as we think. We are just animals trying to make it to the next winter.
Orin is the heart of the movie. Played by the incredible Sumiko Sakamoto—who actually had her front teeth ground down to look the part—she is sixty-nine and ready to go. She’s healthy, though. Too healthy. She’s actually ashamed of her strong teeth because it means she’s still "stealing" food from the younger generation.
It’s a wild performance.
She spends a good chunk of the first half of the film trying to arrange her family’s affairs before her time is up. She needs to find a wife for her son, Tatsuhei, and deal with her "stinky" younger son who no one wants to be around. There is a strange, grounded dignity in her pragmatism. She isn't afraid of the mountain. She’s afraid of being a burden.
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Why Imamura’s Version Hits Different
When people talk about The Ballad of Narayama 1983, they usually bring up the 1958 original. That version is beautiful, sure. It’s shot on soundstages with painted backdrops. It feels like a fable. But Imamura? He took the crew to the Niigata Prefecture. They lived in the elements.
The realism is what makes the final climb so agonizing. When Tatsuhei finally puts his mother on his back and starts the trek, you feel every heavy step. There is a long stretch of the film where no one speaks. You just hear the wind and the crunch of snow. It’s pure cinema. It’s also where the film earns its Palme d'Or from Cannes. The imagery of the "bone-dumping ground" at the summit is something that stays with you forever. It’s a sea of white skeletons.
Sex, Death, and the Village Code
Imamura doesn’t shy away from the "animal" side of village life. There’s a lot of sex in this movie, but it’s rarely romantic. It’s functional. It’s desperate. The village has these strict, unspoken social tiers. If you’re a family that steals food, the community doesn't call the police. They just bury your entire family alive in the middle of the night.
That scene is arguably the most horrifying thing Imamura ever filmed.
You see the village's collective morality at work. It’s not about "good" or "evil" in a Western sense. It’s about the survival of the group. If one family steals, everyone starves. Therefore, the family must be deleted. It’s cold. It’s efficient. It makes the act of ubasute look almost merciful by comparison.
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The Cultural Impact and Legacy
Even now, decades later, the film sparks debates about how we treat the elderly. Obviously, we aren't carrying our parents up mountains anymore, but the underlying anxiety is the same. We live in a world where "usefulness" is often equated with "worth." Orin’s struggle is her attempt to maintain her worth by choosing her own end.
Interestingly, Sumiko Sakamoto was only in her late 40s when she played Orin. The transformation is one of the most underrated pieces of acting in Japanese cinema history. She captured the walk of an old woman, the specific rasp of the voice, and that hauntingly calm gaze.
Ken Ogata, who plays Tatsuhei, is equally brilliant. His face throughout the final act is a mask of suppressed agony. He doesn't want to kill his mother. He loves her. But the law is the law, and the mountain is waiting.
Misconceptions About the Movie
A lot of people think this is a "miserabilist" film. You know the type—movies that just want to make you feel bad. I don't think that’s right. There is a lot of humor in the first hour. It’s earthy, bawdy, and crude. People joke about sex, they fight over trivial things, and they celebrate small wins.
By showing the vibrancy of their lives, Imamura makes the tragedy of their deaths feel real. It’s not a funeral procession for two hours. It’s a life lived at the edge of the world.
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How to Approach the Film Today
If you’re planning to watch The Ballad of Narayama 1983 for the first time, don't expect a fast-paced thriller. It’s a slow burn. It’s a movie that asks you to sit with discomfort.
- Watch for the animal motifs: Every time a human does something significant, Imamura shows an animal doing something similar. It’s the key to understanding his philosophy.
- Pay attention to the sound design: The silence of the mountain is a character in itself.
- Compare the two versions: If you have the time, watch the 1958 version first. The contrast between the theatricality of Kinoshita and the mud-and-blood realism of Imamura tells you everything you need to know about the evolution of Japanese film.
The movie is currently available on various boutique Blu-ray labels like Arrow Video or Criterion, depending on your region. The 4K restoration is particularly stunning, bringing out the terrifying beauty of the Japanese highlands.
Ultimately, this isn't a movie you "enjoy" in the traditional sense. It’s a movie you experience. It’s a reminder that beneath our clothes and our technology, we are still bound by the cycles of the earth. Winter always comes. The mountain is always there. And eventually, we all have to make the climb.
To truly appreciate the depth of Imamura's work, track down his other films like Pigs and Battleships or The Eel. They all share that same fascination with the "lower" parts of human nature—the parts we usually try to hide. Understanding the director's obsession with the "un-slick" side of Japan is the best way to decode why he chose to tell this specific story with such unflinching brutality. Check the special features on the Criterion release for interviews with the remaining crew; the stories about the filming conditions in the mountains are almost as intense as the movie itself.