Hiroshi Teshigahara’s masterpiece Woman In the Dunes (1964) is a Japanese New Wave psychological thriller that invites watchers to question what they know about the human experience, and specifically relationships. The performances by Eiji Okada and Kyōko Kishida combined with extreme close-ups, high angle and low angle shots, and repeated montage of sand all contribute to the unsettling nature that give this psychological thriller its ambiguous flair, and leaves audiences pondering the sincerity of human connections and relationships.
Okada’s performance as Niki Junpei, specifically his subtle and unsuspecting decent into what is seemingly madness, at first, but later discovered to be acceptance, is one important aspect of the film’s ambiguity. Okada first displays Junpei with arrogance and pride, creating an unlikeable character from the start. By the end of the film, Junpei as we know him is completely shattered; he was willing to go to any length to escape the dunes, while now he choses to stay on his own accord. This transition in character is done so subtly by Okada, the viewer doesn’t notice until the very end of the film when Junpei decides to “stay a little longer.” When positioned next to Kishida’s performance as The Woman, very interesting observations can be made about human connection and relationships. Their performances force the question of whether their character’s intimacy is a result of dependency or sincerity, and make viewers question the morality of such. This relationship is discussed by Louis Morgan in his review of the film: “Okada’s and Kishida’s chemistry really isn’t anything normal…this is not a traditional romance, or even necessarily romance at all” (Morgan 2021). The actors’ ability to express a sort of forced intimacy, or needed intimacy, and yet simultaneously convey a sense of codependency and longing for each other rises the question of whether they were acting out of pure human instinct, or instead a real and sincere longing for each other. Of course, Junpei was not there by choice—until the very end, after The Woman has been removed from the situation. However, their performances leave the audience questioning wether or not they cared for each other, truly. Morgan continues, “Their moments of intimacy…have almost a functional even desperate quality about them…their solace isn’t two people in love, but rather two people finding comfort within a mutually dependent situation” (Morgan). They were trapped, held captive by the villagers and forced to work, and yet they choose to bathe each other, and even make love. It is difficult to tell either character’s true intentions, as they were both acting out of survival. This leaves room to question whether their relationship was a result of mere instinct, or if there was perhaps something more driving the two characters together. By the end of the film, their relationship is unresolved, furthering the film’s ambiguity. The viewers are left wondering The Woman’s fate, while also pondering if Junpei’s fate was his own, or a result of manipulation.
The way Woman In the Dunes is filmed plays a major role in the film’s ambiguity and ability to leave audiences questioning human connection and relationships. Perhaps the most important choice would be the extreme close-ups we see of the actor’s cheeks, neck, shoulders, eyes, and other intimate body parts covered in a layer of sand. The nature of the extreme close-up allows the viewer to feel just how close sand and skin and sweat become, overlapping each other in a sensory nightmare. These shots force the uncomfortable nature of Junpei and The Woman’s relationship, furthering the question of whether there is really a connection between them, or if the sand alone is forcing them together. Some critics even argue the sand becomes personified as a third main character. Blogger Erin writes, “Ubiquitous, relentless, crumbling or flowing like a waterfall, the sand is so prominent that it might be called the third central character” (Erin 2016). In this light, the extreme close-ups become even more disturbing; it is as if the sand controls our two main characters and their relationship. Combined with the high angle and low angle shots of Junpei inside the dune, the audience feels trapped along with him. The high angle looks down on him, small and helpless, while the low angle shows us Junpei’s point of view—gazing at the sky, longing for a way out—hopeless. Together, these film techniques figuratively place viewers within the sand dunes alongside Junpei and The Woman. Another reviewer, Jaime, writes, “Never before have I come across any other depiction of claustrophobia so complex and layered, yet surreal” (Rebanal 2016). Indeed, these extreme close-ups and high and low angles all contribute to the overwhelming sense that the viewer is trapped alongside our characters, and allows for reflection on their relationship.
As mentioned, the sand in the film may as well be considered a third character. In the film, a variety of montage shots of the sand are used repeatedly and often. Not only does this intensify the claustrophobic feelings of Junpei, but this technique also depicts the sand as its own entity. Viewers get to see the sand from several points of view: close-ups on the skin of our characters, elegantly falling down the dunes like a waterfall, rigid contours of the dune from extreme long-shots, and Junpei’s desperate hands-on attempt of escape as he tries to climb the relentless grains. This montage is edited together in such a way that lets viewers consider the sand as they consider Junpei and The Woman’s relationship; one cannot be thought of without the other. Their relationship, literally, only exists because of the sand. Furthermore, the intimate moments they share begun due to the sand. The Woman lays naked as she sleeps to avoid sand burns; she bathes Junpei as he bathes her, ridding the sand of each other, yet ironically the sand is what brought them together. Perhaps the sand tells viewers more about human relationships than our characters do, or maybe the sand is giving a warning to the dangers of codependency and falsified intimacy. Roger Ebert beautifully writes, “Yet there is never a moment when the film doesn’t look absolutely realistic, and it isn’t about sand anyway, but about life” (Ebert 1998). Certainly, the film’s meticulous camera techniques alongside the actor’s performances allow for the contemplation of human relationships and their genuinity, and leave us with a wonderfully ambiguous discussion.