The Book of Job

Man, this is a powerful story. The Book of Job has a complex message which is still relevant today. Job was a righteous man who did all the right things in the eyes of God. He was thus rewarded for this. But God, persuaded by Satan, decided to test Job in a harsh way. God destroyed Job’s livestock, killed his children, destroyed his house, and covered him in boils. Job understandably falls into despair and curses the day he was born. He laments and, at times, his faith in the fairness of God falters. Why has a righteous man been forced to suffer so much? But we learn from the fable that this is a narrow way of looking at things. This way of looking at things doesn’t do justice to the immense complexity of the universe - a universe which includes but transcends individual human concerns.

The story of Job warns us against descending into bitterness and resentment and encourages us to maintain our humility and faith in the cosmic order. It shows us that it is important, whenever possible, to be humble and grateful and to not feel as though the world somehow owes us something. Mark Twain once quipped “The world owes you nothing, it was here first”. This to me is what makes the story so relevant nowadays. I see a lot of bitterness and resentment in modern times. Many people seem to have forgotten what a miracle and wonder it is just to be alive. Through the story of Job, we learn that suffering and hardship are essential to life. Suffering and hardship give beings the opportunity to rise and face challenges. To develop and grow.

Through a revelatory vision, God provides Job a deep understanding of the cosmic process. God shows Job the majesty, vastness and complexity of nature. Through this vision, God seems to be advising Job that one should maintain perspective and shouldn’t dwell on individual worries. Job's primary response to this revelation is one of silence and awe. This revelation reminds me of a passage in the Bhagavad Gita, when Krishna reveals to Arjuna his full, divine form - a form described as “wonderful and terrible”. Krishna's full embodiment of the cosmic process is not only one of sheer wonder and creation but of terror and destruction. The vision gets so intense that Arjuna pleads to Krishna to return to his gentler form. We learn that the cosmos in its essence transcends human concerns and dualities.

Sacred Nature

Some thoughts inspired by the book Sacred Nature by Karen Armstrong

When experienced deeply and receptively, there is something about the world which is mysterious and awe-inspiring. There is an intelligent process going on. Some people have described this process as sacred or divine. To my mind, describing it as sacred or divine means one is recognising that there is a meaningful, beautiful process occurring - a process that we can never fully grasp in a conscious or scientific way. 

I'm not just saying this because it’s a nice comforting story and to alleviate my fear of death, but because this is something that I (and seemingly other people throughout history) have felt in their bones. They've felt it stronger than they’ve felt anything else. They can’t necessarily explicate these experiences in a linear way, but this doesn’t mean they are any less true or meaningful. In fact, I feel the most profound and beneficial truths cannot be rationalised or talked about in a linear, one-dimensional way. They can only be hinted at poetically and esoterically. Just because mystical experiences can’t be empirically proven doesn’t mean they should be dismissed. 

If we are receptive and sensitive enough to feel this mysterious cosmic process, then we realise how inseparable we are from everything else. Our usual feelings of isolation and insignificance dissolve and we begin to experience reality as it is. If enough people managed to have these experiences and interpret them accurately, then enough people would respect nature. They would not see nature as separate from themselves. They would feel a deep compassion, gratitude and thoughtfulness toward the whole world, including every being within that world.

I agree with the premise of Sacred Nature. Armstrong suugests that the world (primarily the Western world) needs to conceive of and feel nature to be sacred. This is something we used to do more, before the Enlightenment. We need to rediscover a reverential connection to the natural world. We need to humble ourselves to the mystery of the cosmos. 

Organised religion has done a lot of damage. But in our technological age, with our understandable distate of organised religion, we have swung too far the other way. As a result,  many rigid atheists have themselves become dogmatic. They have adopted the same narrow, linear ways of thinking that religious fundamentalists adopt. Dogmatism is the real thing to be challenged, and dogmatism can manifest in many areas.

I love the way Armstrong spends time looking at some of the Romantic poets and how they venerated nature. In terms of venerating nature, Wordsworth is unparalleled. Armstrong discusses Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey ode, a deeply profound and intelligent piece of poetry. I used to think of Romantic poetry as a bit flowery and off-putting, but upon reading it recently and learning more about it, I'm realising just how impressive much of it is. In his Tintern Abbey ode, Wordsworth sees nature as imbued with a force that "impels all thinking things, all objects of all thought, and rolls through all things". Wordsworth's experience of nature is a participatory one, where his very ability to think is pervaded by the same force which gives rise to the natural world.

Armstrong's argument is laid out carefully and intelligently. In the introduction, she spends time looking at how our ancestors concieved of nature in a participatory way and how they saw the whole of nature, the whole of the phenomenal world, as alive and intelligent. This includes even inanimate matter. People nowadays tend to scoff at this kind of thing. We no longer think of inert matter as intelligent or alive. But our modern way of thinking about matter isn't necessarily helpful or true. 

Crucially, our early ancestors did not think of God as a distant and distinct being, but saw God as a cosmic presence, a "force imbuing all things". This is the kind of God I can get behind. When we think of 'the stuff of the universe' as unintelligent and inert, this can lead to the attitude that we, as supposedly intelligent beings, somehow have dominion over it. But if we rediscovered a more animistic way of looking at nature, which sees everything as sacred, we would no longer disrespect nature in the way we've been doing.

Armstrong then moves on to the value of myth and suggests that rational, secular thought by itself cannot sustain a healthy society. Myths represent a deep, nuanced way of understanding the world. Through allegory and symbolism, myths can touch upon truths that secular thought alone cannot reach. This isn't to say we should go back to the past and it also doesn't mean we should take myths to be literally true. In fact, the whole point of a myth, in my view, is that it is not a one-dimensional, literal explanation of something. Myths are more complex than this. I think the main take away here is that the linear, scientific way of understanding the world isn't sufficient by itself. We require other forms of understanding to do justice to the nuances of existence and to enrich our lives.

There are aspects of Sacred Nature, however, that I’m not sure about. It would have been beneficial to explore the negative effects of organised religion more, even just a cursory mention would’ve been sufficient. This would have contributed to a more nuanced argument. I think because the book discusses religion at length, it seems remiss to have neglected discussing the dogmatism of organised religion and the violence that has been inflicted on others as a result. This last point is particularly relevant here, as there is a whole chapter in the book devoted to the importance of ahimsa (non-violence). To respect nature we must also respect other people, even if they disagree with us. There are also a few times when Armstrong says "in order to save the planet". I disagree with this statement, in the same way that George Carlin would've disagreed with it. It is arrogant to think to think that we, as a single species, have the power to destroy or save this planet. The planet is far more powerful than us. We might do harm to the planet and the other species on it, but we can't destroy it.

The Shining

Rewatching The Shining after multiple years, I was reminded of just how good a film it is. Kubrick does it again. I love the way the story gradually unfolds as we follow Jack’s descent into possession and madness. I love the unsettling, eerie score by Wendy Carlos (who also did the incredible soundtrack for A Clockwork Orange). I love the wide shots and the smooth, deep-focus camera work which immerses you into the supernatural atmosphere of the Overlook Hotel. I love the plot, based on King’s novel, which blurs the boundary between the psychological and supernatural.

There’s a tendency when it comes to Kubrick films, perhaps more so with The Shining than any other, for some people to read too much into them. This is evidenced by the 2012 documentary Room 237. But films like The Shining aren’t meant to be explicated. There is something in Kubrick’s style, a suggestive, ambiguous way of telling stories, which can make people over-analyse them. But listening to Kubrick himself, we learn that he wasn’t a fan of “verbal pigeonholing”. Listening to this 2-hour interview with Kubrick, we learn that he feels the meaning of a film shouldn’t have to be explained. He feels a good film should stand on its own.

What I like about the story of The Shining, in both the book and the film, is the way it forges a link between the psychological and supernatural. More specifically, it forges a link between the inner, subjective turmoil of Jack Torrance (the protagonist) and the outer, objective force of the Overlook Hotel. In the novel, Jack’s character is carefully built up with a lot of detail. We greatly sympathise with him. We learn he has a lot of inner demons and that he is vulnerable. This is why the hotel was able to possess him. In the film, though we briefly learn of Jack’s alcoholism and temper, his character isn’t nearly as developed as in the novel. Therefore, we don’t sympathise with him as much. I think this is one of the main reasons why King hated the film. However, King didn’t seem to realise that Kubrick wasn’t trying to replicate the novel. He was playing with it in a sense. It might be a King novel, but it’s a Kubrick film. They are both good in different ways.

The film is a little more subtle than the novel, in that it makes the supernatural aspect less obvious and apparent. We aren’t always completely sure whether the ghosts are occurring in the minds of the characters or not. However, one of the events in the film which clearly points to the supernatural force of the hotel is when Jack is released from the store cupboard which Wendy locks him in. The most plausible explanation is that the ghost of Mr Grady let him out. It is also clear that Danny has psychic and telepathic gifts. 

The haunted house motif is a relatively common one in horror literature. We have stories like The Fall of the House of Usher, The Turn of the Screw, The Haunting of Hill House. The Shining could be said to follow in this tradition. These other stories, particularly Hill House and the House of Usher, expertly describe how certain spaces can reflect and magnify their inhabitants' psychological states. The Shining also does this to some extent, but there is more of an explicit supernatural element to The Shining. I like the idea that certain spaces retain a presence, energy or residue from past events. It’s as though stored up in these spaces is all this historical experience. If something particularly horrific happens somewhere, perhaps the emotion and impact of that event will always remain in that place to some extent. I feel this rings true in real life too. Some spaces do have a presence. They almost have a life of their own. The Overlook Hotel, from this perspective, could be seen as a kind of being or entity. 

In The Shining, Jack Torrance is recapitulating the actions of a former inhabitant of the hotel. This is a powerful element of the story for me. In a strange way, this is related to Joyce’s Ulysses, in that Leopold Bloom recapitulates the peregrinations of Odysseus in Homer’s Odyssey. This plot device implies that we as supposed individuals are not separate from that which has gone before us. There is a kind of continuous line running through every aspect of our experience, past and present. This theme also comes up in Alan Garners book The Owl Service. In The Shining film, there is a powerful scene when Jack confronts the previous caretaker, Mr Grady, in the bathroom. Grady states, in a grave tone of voice, “I’m sorry to differ with you sir, but you are the caretaker. You’ve always been the caretaker”. The hotel has a hold on Jack and has forced him to repeat the violent, brutal actions of the old caretaker. This is further confirmed at the end of the film, as the camera slowly zooms in to a 1921 photo of a party at the Overlook. At the centre of the crowd, we see Jack. With the song “Midnight the Stars and You” playing, this is a perfect way to end the film.

There are multiple unusual references in The Shining which add to a lot of speculation about the meaning or “point” of the film. But these references are ambiguous and inconclusive. Also, we have already learnt that Kubrick doesn’t feel his films should be conceptually explained. Some of these references are to do with native American Indians. For example, the hotel manager states that the hotel is built on an Indian burial ground, there are large Navaho wall hangings in the hotel and there are food cans in the storeroom with pictures of Indian warriors on them. This has led many to say that the film is about the persecution of Indian people, but this isn’t convincing enough for me as there’s not much else that points to this. Another reference relates to mythology, and this is the large maze which features in the film. We see Jack at one point standing over a miniature model of this maze, with a demonic look on his face. He seems to symbolise the minotaur in Greek mythology. But again, there’s not much else in the film which points to this mythological link. It's tempting to say that these references were intentionally placed in the film to add to the overall ambiguity of its meaning.  

Another point to make here, which I think is fairly valid, is that films and filmmakers might unconsciously (or consciously) “bring up”, in a cathartic way, past societal events. I feel Godzilla 1954 is one of the clearest and starkest examples of this point, which could be seen as a reaction to the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. So, in The Shining, maybe the blood bursting from the elevator is indicative of the violence and war that occurred in the 20th century, which is what some people believe. But again, there’s nothing conclusive about this. 

Near the end of the film, the possessed Jack follows his son Danny into the maze to kill him. It is freezing cold and the floor is coated in thick snow. After a period of running, Danny uses his wits and intelligence to outsmart Jack, even though he is very young. Danny steps backwards multiple paces in his own footprints (which Jack was following) and after a number of paces Danny turns a corner and begins brushing the snow to remove his current footprints. Danny then hides in a corner of the maze. There is something about this aspect of the story that I love. It shows us that we can overcome problems and evil forces by assessing the situation at hand and using our wits. This is a special kind of intelligence that is very effective at overcoming problems in the world. It reminds me of Edgar Allen Poe’s short story A Descent into the Maelstrom. In this short story, the protagonist is on a boat with his brother when they’re both sucked into a maelstrom on the ocean. As they are initially being sucked in, the protagonist is struck by terror and worry. But after some time has elapsed, when he has almost resigned himself to his fate, he starts observing the inside of the maelstrom and how certain objects, namely cylindrical ones, are being absorbed more slowly than others. Eventually he lashes himself to a cylindrical object in the boat, hurls himself into the water, and gets himself shot out of the maelstrom and back onto the ocean surface. By resigning himself to the situation, he stops panicking, and is then able to assess what is happening and use his wits to resolve the problem. Brute force isn’t helpful in such a situation.

There are other little touches in the film which are worth mentioning just becausethey’re great. There is the scene with Danny riding his trike through the halls of the hotel, rolling over the iconic, geometrically designed carpet. I like the way the camera follows Danny here. We are in Danny’s world at this point. There is another scene with Danny riding his trike when he encounters the ghosts of the 2 twin girls. There's something undeniably creepy about old fashion ghost girls. These 2 were inspired by the famous Diane Arbus photo. If you haven’t seen Arbus’s photography yet, you should check it out. The fact that the twin girls were inspired by this photo demonstrates Kubrick's cultural knowledge and his ability to weave such influences into his films. “Come and play with us, Danny. Forever and ever and ever”.

Diane Arbus Twins

Another scene I love, which adds a bit of humour to the film, is when Dick Halloran, the chef played by Scatman Crothers who shares Danny’s psychic abilities, is sitting in his bedroom. As the camera slowly zooms out, a large picture of a naked black woman with a huge afro is shown on the wall in his room. From another perspective in the room, we see a different photo of a naked black woman. It's funny touches like these which can really elevate a film to a higher status.

Even though The Shining is a masterful, thought-provoking film, and even though I like showing my appreciation for it by writing this, we shouldn’t try to pin down the meaning of it. The Shining is great because it is ambiguous. Most works of art are great for this reason. 2001: A Space Odyssey is another clear example of this. 

Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

Bonnie and Clyde has great cultural significance. Roger Ebert was correct in calling it a milestone in American cinema. The seed of this story, which is based on true events, can be found in many other classic films, such as Badlands, Thelma and Louise, True Romance and Natural Born Killers.

Some people have claimed that the film glamorises the lives of the real Bonnie and Clyde, who committed multiple murders. But I don’t think it’s as simple as this. When I watch this film, I don’t see their lives as something to admire and strive towards. The film doesn’t seem to condone or romanticise violence in any way. However, it certainly humanises Bonnie and Clyde.

As to the historical validity of the film, I don’t think it aligns a great deal with the real Bonnie and Clyde (and I don’t think it was meant to). Even though many of the events did actually take place, from what I’ve read the real Bonnie and Clyde seem more ruthless and less likeable than the characters in the film. In the film, Bonnie and Clyde are initially very reluctant to kill anybody. It is only when they are practically forced to that things snowball out of control.

In the film, Clyde initiates the crimes and lures Bonnie from her humdrum life, though it certainly didn’t take much to lure her. But even as the initiator, there is something endearingly naïve about Clyde. He just wants to steal cars and money and be left alone. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He also has sympathy with the average folk he comes across. For example, when stealing from a bank he doesn’t take any money from the civilians, only from the bank reserves. He also, after the first killing, gives Bonnie the opportunity to leave before she gets in too deep. She refuses of course. But this demonstrates that Clyde is relatively thoughtful and has some morals.

The main theme of the film, and what renders this story so archetypal and appealing, is that it captures the deep sense of restlessness that many feel in our civilised, urban lives. The idea of breaking free from social norms and conventions, of liberating oneself from conformity and normality, strikes a chord with many people. There is something anarchic and subversive about doing this. But importantly, and this is why I feel the film doesn’t glamorise violence or crime, Bonnie and Clyde shows us that when you begin a life of crime, things can easily spiral out of control. Things will usually end violently and tragically (especially if you're naïve).

The first few scenes of the film are magnificent pieces of cinematic storytelling. We see Bonnie pacing around her room restlessly in her little country house. We see lots of closeup shots of her, immediately signifying a sense of claustrophobia. At one point she flops on the bed and her face is obscured by the metal framing of the bed stand. She hits at the metal framing multiple times in a fidgety way. Here we are looking at a caged animal. We are looking at someone who feels oppressed by her humdrum life. We see someone who is yearning for something deeper and more meaningful. All of this is told to us without any dialogue. This is cinema at its best.

The performances from Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty are perfect. Their first interaction is particularly great. They both perform that initial awkwardness well. We can see they’re both trying to act cool but are coming across as a little effected. At the same time, they are both immediately drawn together. Gene Hackman plays Clyde’s brother Buck brilliantly. He's a jovial type who isn’t much of a deep thinker, but who clearly loves his brother and who you could say has just got swept up in Clyde’s escapades. The performance of Michael Pollard, as CW Moss, is also hard to forget. He plays the simple, suggestible, backcountry type brilliantly. His first scene in the gas station is particularly good. He comes across very plausibly as the kind of oddball character you would meet on the road.

The film seems to sympathise, in a fairly subtle way, with those in poverty. Early on in the film, we come across a family who have had their home taken from them by a bank. Clyde sympathises with these people. We then see Clyde asking a civilian in one of the banks they are robbing whether the money on the counter is his, to which the civilian replies yes. Clyde then lets the civilian keep his money. Toward the end of the film, when Bonnie and Clyde are seriously wounded, CW stops by a campsite with poor-looking, traveller types in it. They generously give water to the injured Bonnie and Clyde and give a pot of soup to them. The film, without being preachy, could be seen as making a comment on the wealth disparity in America and the corruption of the banking system. It's also worth noting it was set during the great depression.

Another element I like to the film is that Clyde isn’t a “lover boy”. He has trouble getting intimate with Bonnie, even when she makes advances. I like this as it is atypical. In your run of the mill film, romantic relationships are milked and men are seen as the pursuers in this regard. But Clyde’s actions aren’t motivated by a desire to get into Bonnie’s knickers (though at the end of the film they do get it on). The film isn’t scared to be different. This plot element adds a deeper layer to the story and shows the characters as more psychologically complex.

On a purely aesthetic level, the film is beautiful to watch. The colour is great, as is the cinematography. There is an artistry to the way it’s filmed, which helps raise it above your average action or crime film. The costume design and sets are also beautiful. On top of the aesthetic beauty, the film manages to balance multiple elements in a delicate and enjoyable way. We have humour, action and tragedy deftly woven together. While being entertaining, riveting and funny, it also manages to be deep, thought-provoking and artistic.

It’s possible for some to look at this classic and just see a violent crime film. But scratch the surface and you’ll find there’s much more to it. It also might be easy to take its influence for granted, as many of us are now familiar with films like Thelma and Louise and True Romance. But this was one of the first of its kind. I can see why Ebert rated this film so highly.

Ran (1985)

Ran was directed by the influential Akira Kurosawa. It was made late in his career, a career which spanned 6 decades. Ran is a film which shows a master director displaying his skills and experience to the utmost. It could be seen as the culmination of over 50 years of making films. It is a spectacle of a film. A harrowing, poignant story. Majestic shot compositions. The most beautiful, rich colour palette. Perhaps the best costume designs of any film. Simple yet skilful cinematography. On a purely aesthetic and visual level, it is sumptuous and a delight to watch. But throw in the deeply profound story and its portrayal of the follies of humanity, a story which is relevant on a fundamental level, and you get a masterpiece.

 

The film covers many themes, some of which I’ll try to delineate. It is set in medieval Japan and focuses on a warlord and his 3 sons. It is partially inspired by King Lear and partially by a tale about Mōri Motonari. Though ultimately, Kurosawa has crafted his own story. The warlord in question, Lord Hidetora Ichimonji, is played in a theatrical manner by the legendary Tatsuya Nakadai. Nakadai has starred in many outstanding Japanese films, such as Harakiri (1962), The Human Condition trilogy (1959-1961) and Samurai Rebellion (1967). 

 

Hidetora, the warlord, decides late in his life to give control of his kingdom to his eldest son, Taro. After 50 years of war making, he states he wants to “give free rein to peace”. His youngest son, Saburo, vehemently counsels against this and chastises his brothers for using “honeyed words” towards their father. Saburo talks bluntly and offends his father, to the extent that he is banished and disowned. But it is clear from the beginning that, while being blunt, Saburo was also the only son who was honest and had his father’s interests at heart. We even see this when his father falls asleep in the beginning of the film and Saburo shades him with branches from a nearby bush, a minor display of thoughtfulness and care.

 

After giving control of his kingdom to his eldest son, Taro, what ensues the warlord didn’t predict. Taro pushes the boundaries of his power, trying to wrest more control from his father. Taro is counselled in this regard by his wife, Lady Kaede. We learn that Lady Kaede was wronged by Hidetora. Her family was killed and her home taken over. Clearly, she intends to exact revenge by whatever means are at her disposal. She is very skilful in this regard. Orchestrated by his wife, Taro’s actions set in motion a cycle of conflict and violence whereby each of the elder brothers fight for control of the kingdom and betray their father.

 

Incredibly deceitful and manipulative, Lady Kaede is a very well-drawn character and is played brilliantly. Full of vitriol and seething hatred, she pulls the strings throughout the film. Taro and Jiro (Jiro is the middle son and next in line after Taro) are pathetic and ignorant by comparison. This sheds interesting light on power dynamics in these imperial situations, suggesting that those with most control might often be those who are behind the scenes.

 

The film is largely about Hidetora and how he deals with this grave betrayal of his sons. He is sent on a psychological journey where the peace he wanted to instil at the beginning of the film is thrown back in his face. The lesson I conjecture is that if you have inflicted violence throughout your life, this violence will usually come back to you in one way or another. You will not escape those wrong deeds. However, it might not be as simple as this.

 

A significant aspect of the story regards Lady Sué and her brother, Tsurumaru. Lady Sué is the wife of Jiro. As with Lady Kaede, we learn that Lady Sué’s family had been killed by Hidetora. We also learn that Tsurumaru, Lady Sué’s brother, had his eyes gouged out by Hidetora. Lady Sué, however, has turned to Buddhism and seems to practice love and forgiveness. She does not hate Hidetora. In this regard, she is sharply contrasted with Lady Kaede. They are like opposites. They have both been through very similar suffering, inflicted by Hidetora, but have reacted in antithetical ways. This shows the diversity of human behaviour.

 

There is a significant scene when Hidetora encounters Lady Sué at Jiro’s castle, before Jiro has betrayed him. Encountering Lady Sué, Hidetora states “When I see you it breaks my heart” Lady Sué then smiles and Hidetora backs off with horror in his eyes and continues “It’s worse when you smile. I burned down your castle, your father and mother perished. And you look at me like that. Look upon me with hatred. It would be easier to bear. Go on, hate me!” I find this scene very powerful. It suggests that Hidetora feels some kind of remorse for what he has done. He wants to be hated for it. This hate, he feels, would at least make him feel better. But seeing someone who has arguably overcome hatred makes him feel worse about himself. Lady Sué is a reminder of what he could be. She is a reminder of a better person.

 

There is another significant scene when Hidetora, Kyoami and Tango come upon a cabin during a storm, after the epic battle scene at the third castle. They are in dire need of shelter and barge into the cabin. Here we find Tsurumaru, the brother of Lady Sué, whose eyes had been gouged out. He announces who he is and at one point begins playing a haunting song on a flute. This sends the already distressed Hidetora into a frenzy.  Hidetora is beginning to taste a glimpse of the suffering he has spent his life subjecting others to. This encounter with Tsurumaru and his flute song is allowing all of that suffering to manifest and reach his consciousness. Hidetora is being reminded of how he has treated others and is overcome by these feelings.

 

With its panoramic longshots and majestic scenery, Ran is suggesting that humans are aspects of a large, encompassing process. With its largely static camerawork, filmgoers are encouraged to take a detached view on the grand, unfolding story. We are watching the human characters from a godlike, spectatorial view as we see them dwarfed by mountainous landscapes. This formal approach is worth noting. Maybe we are being reminded that, though some humans have inflated egos and may conquer much land throughout their lives, we are all small aspects of an infinite, unknowable system. Ultimately, the egotistical desires for fame, power and immortality are misguided, as everything in life is transient and fleeting.

 

At the end of the film, Hidetora is reunited with Saburo and has begun to come back to sanity. He is utterly overjoyed to see his only loyal son and their reunion is an emotional moment. But just as Hidetora has begun to awaken to his follies and wrongdoings, Saburo is shot down by enemy soldiers. This immediately sends Hidetora back into frenzied madness, and out of sheer exhaustion and suffering he dies atop Saburo’s corpse. This last scene suggests that perhaps there is a cosmic indifference to the lives played out by us humans. Even if we realise our wrongdoings, maybe we just can’t predict how our lives will unfold. We also see this point  being made when we sadly learn that Lady Sué, who practiced love and forgiveness, was slaughtered by Jiro's men. However, for some reason I don’t find this approach pessimistic. This aspect of the story is only pessimistic if you are looking at it from an egotistical perspective which sees physical survival as the ultimate goal of life. There are far deeper processes going on in the world and it is only when we come to terms with the perceived indifference of the universe, and overcome our petty, personal concerns, that we will find some kind of peace. This, I feel, is where the Buddhist element comes into the story, because Buddhism as I understand it teaches us to overcome egotistical, myopic concerns.

 

Just following Hidetora’s death we hear Kyoami and Tango lamenting. 

 

Kyoami: “Are there no gods, no buddha. If you exist, hear me! You are mischievous and cruel. Are you so bored up there, you must crush us like ants!? Is it such fun to see men weep?!”

 

Tango: “Enough! Do not blaspheme! It is the gods who weep. They see us killing each other over and over since time began. They can’t save us from ourselves. Don't cry. It's how the world is made. Men prefer sorrow over joy. Suffering over peace”
 

Ran is a magnificent illustration of the nightmare of history, of the relentless, cyclical mistakes of humanity. It is about desirous egos striving for power. It shows how people deal with suffering in different ways and it highlights the blindness and ignorance of our species. It could be argued that Buddhism is one of our main attempts to overcome this blindness and ignorance, which is why it features strongly in the film.