The Meaning of Justice in Rashomon’s Symbolic Photography

“Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife” and “Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s goods.”   The Judeo-Christian laws from the Bible still resonate regardless of the period we live in, the religious principles we embrace or the culture we are a part of. This is clearly applicable in Akira Kurosawa’s Rashomon (1950), which takes place in Feudal Japan.   Rashomon is a timeless morality play that retells the story of a nobleman’s murder from four different court testimonies, a woodcutter, bandit, wife, and medium through flashbacks.   The nonlinear narrative begins in the present, which takes place at the Rashomon gates where a woodcutter, commoner, and priest reflect on the court testimonies and decide who is responsible for the crime.  Through this multi-layered narrative that cuts between past and present, Kurosawa uses symbolic photography not only to provide insights on the characters’ motives but also to examine the various meanings of justice and their implications on a fallen humanity, especially through the characters such as the bandit, the wife, and the woodcutter.

The bandit—a thief and a rogue by social default—is aware of his inferior status and, therefore, has an insatiable need to assert himself as a man who is better than everybody else to justify his depraved actions. He is a braggart; he is untamed. He is also a very envious man, governed by his carnal appetite. He desires what he does not have. This is clearly illustrated in Kurosawa’s use of dramatic shadows and lighting, especially when we first see the bandit sleeping under the tree. We see patches of sunlight on his glistening body along with flickering shadows of the foliage. As spectators, the images we see prompt us to recognize signs and symbols that go beyond their visual representation. In this case, the symbolism of the bandit’s animalism is accentuated by the dramatic lighting that makes him appear threatening.   He is literally lurking in the shadows. When he sees the nobleman and his wife, he immediately marks his prey, the husband whom he must get rid of in order for him to satiate his desire for lust. But what will make his plan of action so “great” in his eyes is that he would not have to kill the husband to get to his wife. Through this, he is able to become more “alpha” than a man who is supposedly higher in status. The bandit achieves this by reasserting his masculine dominance through animal-like behaviors. Like a sly fox, he lures the husband by telling him there is a hidden treasure deep in the forest—the setting where the bandit is able to pounce on him and tie him up. Once the husband was immobile, he was able to engage the wife into a tryst. His ability to dupe and capture the husband (a man who supposedly has the skills of a fighting samurai) and to claim the nobleman’s wife sexually without having to kill the husband makes him a “better” man. Therefore, according to the bandit his actions are justified—but in a perverse way.  In the bandit’s twisted reasoning, the husband and the wife deserve their fate—since the husband is weak and easily outwitted—and the wife is a “willing” adulterer. Indeed, he is a vindicated man full of bravado and narcissism.

Like the bandit, the wife’s idea of justice is achieved through selfish means—as a way to “unstain” her virtue—especially after being raped by the bandit. The wife’s adultery, regardless of it being consensual or not, prompts her to become manipulative and conniving in order to protect her image as a woman of virtue. Based on the commoner’s confession after the trial, the wife is seen in a different “light,” which contrasts with the bandit’s initial depiction of her. Kurowsawa plays with lighting (literally and figuratively) to show the duality of the wife’s persona. When the bandit first sees her, she is captured in a low angle point of view shot—as if on a pedestal. When she first appears, she is riding on a horse. She looks like an illuminated goddess who is wearing a hat with a veil and flowy white dress. Symbolically, the high-key lighting makes her look like an unattainable highly prized figure of beauty and innocence.  However, we question the veracity of her innocence in the death of her husband. Her exaggerated damsel in distress testimony about her blackout amid her husband’s murder is an indication of her fear of shedding light to the shameful and incriminating truth, that is, the sin of adultery (even if it is out of her control) and her doomed fate as the wife of a samurai.   In addition, the woodcutter, commoner, and the priest tell us “never believe a woman’s tears” because her deceit stems from a personal motive, that is, self-preservation. The wife knows that a woman’s virtue is prized, which also cements her status as a noble woman.    After the rape, the wife tells the bandit that she is a fallen woman: “How can I, a woman, have a say in this?”  She is motivated to protect her status.   When the husband berates her for being a “shameless whore” since she has been with two men, she redirects the blame on the men.   She emasculates them by provoking the men to fight. Through this, she reasserts herself as the prize again by going with the survivor. The fight eventually becomes a test of masculine will and strength. When the bandit wins by chance, which was not what she has initially anticipated, she, too, is incriminated in her husband’s death since she is partly to blame.

The wife’s sinful action is also emphasized through the light imagery. Adultery is considered sinful. This is underscored by the glare of the sun in which Kurosawa points the camera upwards and we are blinded by the lighting.[1]   This happens amid the bandit and the wife engaged in an act of adultery. This is foreshadowed by the triangular framing where were we see the wife and bandit facing each other in the foreground while the husband is seen tied up in the background (underneath their image). The husband symbolically appears miniscule compared to the images of the wife and bandit. Critic André Bazin believes in this meticulous orchestration of images in a given frame that consists of “composing … the camera and staging an action in front of it”—also referred to mise en scène (qtd. in Braudy in Cohen 2). In Rashomon, the triangular mise en scène is effectively used to underscore the love triangle, the looming marital conflict, and the husband’s ultimate doom. Thus, the symbolic use of the blinding sun and a mise en scène (that helps “stage” the plot) contribute to the narrative’s “visual flamboyance” and “unrelentingly aggressive images” (Prince 127).   The hostility of mother nature (i.e., the sun) coincides with the cruel nature of man.

On the other hand, justice for the woodcutter is illustrated through penitential means.    The woodcutter is introduced cinematically through a close up shot of his ax, signifying his lowly status in society—the poor who must forage for food and seek other materials for survival. According to Gianetti, a close-up shot of an image carries symbolic significance (10).   In the scene, the woodcutter’s face is not in the frame. What dominates the frame is the ax itself. Later, we later see a shot of his horrified faced framed between a pair of raised stiff arms, which belong to the slain nobleman/samurai. This second triangular framing suggests the typical wrong- place- at- the-wrong-time predicament that inadvertently pulls him into the triangle. Not only did he see the actual crime unfold (which he later confesses to after the trial), but he has also profited from the crime by stealing the dagger with a pearl inlay that belonged to the nobleman’s wife. Much like the bandit, he was also tempted—not by lust but by greed. Although initially lying about seeing the murder unfold (because he initially did not want to get involved) and stealing from the scene of the crime may ruin the credibility of his testimony, he is able to redeem himself by admitting to his follies and later atoning for his sins. As a witness, he feels guilty for looting from the crime scene. Consequently, towards the end of the film, the woodcutter decides to accept and provide for an abandoned child in spite of the fact that he is poor and is still obligated to feed his own children. From this, justice is achieved when a man is able to feel guilty for his wrongdoings and to compensate for his them.   This is highly contrasted with the actions of both the wife and bandit where the preservation of the self takes precedence when it comes to justice. Although lowly in social status, the woodcutter is exceptional by humanistic standard, especially in the rectitude he displays. This is clearly reiterated in the symbolic composition of the woodcutter where he is foregrounded in the center of the composition and the commoner and priest remain in the background. He is the central character and, most importantly, a character with a moral compass whose course is to do what is right.

In Rashomon, we see how justice takes on a whole new meaning as it is juxtaposed with examples of human corruption and accentuated by Kurosawa’s symbolic photography.   Self-interest rather than moral reasoning distort the wife and the bandit’s notion of justice.  By contrast, the woodcutter exemplifies a different type of justice in the form of restitution, that is, to give back to humanity. His action of greed has prompted him to feel a sense of guilt and moral understanding—and, therefore, a reconnection with his own humanity. In spite of this, Kurosawa indirectly poses the question of whether or not humanity in general is capable of this type of self-deprecation, which can lead to human redemption, as in the case of the woodcutter. Towards the end, we are left to ponder over the film’s enduring moral teachings about the flaws of humanity that cannot be easily rectified, which eloquently speaks through the film’s compelling use of symbolic photography.

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[1]This symbolic interpretation of the sun imagery was mentioned by Stephen Prince’s audio commentary for Criterion Collection’s DVD release of Rashomon.

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[1]This symbolic interpretation of the sun imagery was mentioned by Stephen Prince’s audio commentary for Criterion Collection’s DVD release of Roshomon.

Works Cited Page

Braudy, Leo and Marshall Cohen. Film Theory and Criticism. 7th ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. 1-2.

Gianetti, Louis.   Understanding Movies. 13th ed. Pearson: Boston, 2014.

Prince, Stephen. The Warrior’s Camera: The Cinema of Akira Kurosawa.   New Jersey:     Princeton University Press, 1991.