6.9/10
Senior Film Conservator
A definitive 6.9/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. Morning's Tree-Lined Street remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
If you like movies that move like a slow drip of water, you’ll probably find something here to hold onto. If you need a plot that moves at a clip or feels 'big,' you’re going to be bored out of your mind within ten minutes. It’s for the folks who like watching faces and quiet rooms.
Mikio Naruse isn't interested in making Tokyo look pretty. The Shiba neighborhood in this film feels heavy, like the humidity is actually stuck to the lens. Chiyo isn't some tragic heroine in a neon-lit dream; she’s just a person who’s exhausted.
There’s a specific scene where someone is just staring at a wall, and the silence goes on for just a second too long. It’s uncomfortable. It’s great.
You can tell these women are tired. Not just 'had a long shift' tired, but deep-in-the-bones tired. The way they handle their glasses, the way they slump when the camera isn't even fully focused on them—it’s all very human.
The bar itself is tiny. It feels like a closet. I kept wanting them to just open a window, but they never do.
It’s hard not to compare the weariness here to the grit you see in something like Caught in Berlin's Underworld. Both films have this way of making the city feel like a cage, even if the bars are made of wood and paper instead of iron.
It reminded me a bit of the suffocating domesticity in The Old House, though this feels much more urban and dusty. Naruse knows how to film a room so it feels like a trap. 🏚️
There’s no big climax. No moment where Chiyo screams at the sky. She just keeps walking down the street. It’s almost frustrating, but that’s the point, I think.
You’re not supposed to feel good after watching this. You’re just supposed to notice that life keeps going, even when it’s not really going anywhere.
It’s a bit of a tough watch, but it sticks to you. Like humidity.
